Part 2

’Tis thus we bring our own distorting grief To our beloved Physician for relief; And as our burden at thy feet we lay, Lord, say ’tis well and take our cross away!

Thus too we bring our sin-misshapen soul To our great Healer, who can make us whole, And there beside His cross, not ours, we pray, “Lord, make me well and take my sins away!”

Ah, time may hold surcease from pain and care; Who knows what is the answering of prayer Or why the Potter breaks the faulty clay? Lord, make us beautiful in Thine own way!

THE BOY MILLIONAIRE

Boy, I’m worth a hundred million And I’m sixty seasons old, But you’re worth about a billion In another kind of gold! I’ve the money, you’ve the treasure, You’ve the future, I’ve the past, I’ve the power, you’ve the pleasure, Mine is fleeting, yours will last.

When you whistle through the clover, Capturing the bumble-bee, When the brook is running over And the trout-line craftily Feels the eddy--who can offer You a kingdom more divine? I’ve an overflowing coffer But would trade it all for thine.

A LULLABY

Little birdie, fold thy wings, Snuggle in thy nest; While the wind thy cradle swings, Baby-birdie, rest! Oh, so wee and warm and near To thy mamma’s breast! Oh, so free from harm and fear! Go to rest, go to rest!

Little flower, hide thy face, For ’tis eventide! In the sleepy night’s embrace, Little flower, hide! Oh, so wee and fair and still On thy mamma’s breast! Oh, so free from care and ill! Be at rest, be at rest!

Little baby, close thine eyes; Fairies come for thee From the land of lullabys, Where my baby’ll be Oh, so blissful while she sleeps On her mamma’s breast! And I kiss her smiling lips; She’s at rest, she’s at rest!

THE LAST SONG

Just one more little song, mother, Before I go to sleep; For thou hast often hushed my heart To slumber soft and deep. Before ’tis dark I long, mother, For thy dear voice, which seems To make thy gentle face a part Of childhood’s golden dreams.

Just one more little song, mother, Before I sink to rest; For thou hast often stilled my fears Upon thy tender breast. Thy love so great was strong, mother, With childhood’s safe repose On lips that kissed away its tears, In arms that held it close.

Just one more little song, mother, Before I dream of skies Where stars and flowers smile and shine And angel-harps surprise. But not in Heaven’s throng, mother, Is there a dearer face, A sweeter song or soul than thine The Gloryland to grace.

YOUTH

A vision of morning, A sparkle of dew, With roses adorning Life’s pilgrimage through; All joy and no sorrow, No trouble to borrow, An endless to-morrow, And love ever true.

AGE

To sit in the gloaming And muse by the fire Till the spirit of homing Takes wings of desire; And the might-have-beens lighten And the things-to-be brighten And the heavenlies heighten And the holies inspire.

SENTIMENT

A CORONATION

Dear, on thy brow I set a crown, Invisible yet rare; Not jewelled gold, which burdens down With royalty and care.

I bring thee nothing but my love And what my hands can win, And yet I crown thee, dear, above A kingdom’s proudest queen.

I kiss each gleaming tress of thine Coiled lightly round thy head, And woman’s glory grows divine With love’s aurora shed.

If thou canst but forget the rest, The gems I cannot bring, This jewel doth become thee best To me, thy lover-king.

Dear, in my soul thou hast a throne All white and heavengold, And on thy brow I set a crown That doth my heart infold.

I’LL BE WATCHING ON THE SHORE

She kissed me when we parted,-- I to sail the stormy main, She to keep the little cottage Snug until I come again; And well do I remember What she promised o’er and o’er:-- “When you come sailing from the ocean I’ll be watching on the shore!”

So I was a jolly skipper, Coiling rope or reefing sail; Many a distant port I entered, Many a homebound ship did hail. If I sent or got a message, Always it the promise bore:-- “When you come sailing from the ocean I’ll be watching on the shore!”

Death came yawning in the tempest; Wild and high the spindrift flew, And from dizzy deck and masthead Oft I thought my hour was due; Till her dear prophetic promise Sang above the billows’ roar:-- “When you come sailing from the ocean I’ll be watching on the shore!”

But alas! One time I harbored She was sleeping white and still Where the ivy made a trellis Of the lookout on the hill; And the cold engraven marble Yet the farewell promise bore:-- “When you come sailing from the ocean I’ll be watching on the shore!”

I GIVE THEE MY PROMISE

I give thee my promise, sweetheart, With thy dear lips to mine, That nothing shall keep from us The sealing of this sign; As o’er the world I wander By hope of fortune sped, My heart will grow the fonder For thy promise me to wed.

I give thee the token, sweetheart, Whose circle on thy hand God grant may ne’er be broken, However far the land! For where it pleaseth Heaven To lead my errant feet, This little token given Will keep the promise sweet.

I give thee the keeping, sweetheart, Of my own heart that pleads For love’s immediate reaping And with the parting bleeds; But I with arms that hold thee Must labor for thee, too; And so I fast enfold thee And bid thee, love, adieu!

CHAMBERED ROSES

Over in Dolorosa Hall, Romantic memories breathing, There’s a quaint old room with flowered wall Of roses interwreathing, The key on golden chain I wear To guard the sacred chamber, For as a bride demure and fair My sainted Mary came there.

’Twas her dear self arranged it so And helped to match the roses, As she, alas, the ones which grow O’er walls where she reposes. I nurture these, the others seal For subtler necromancy Where Mary’s loving roses steal Around the room of fancy.

They ramble from each corner to The border o’er the moulding And on in buds and tendrils through The ceiling’s faded golding. No hand shall ever tear them down With cheap artistic violence, For Mary wreathed the roses on, Still fragrant with her silence.

TWO FRAMES

In the gallery of remembrance Down on Unforgotten Street Hangs a picture of two lovers After they the vows repeat; Lovely--handsome--picture--lovers-- Golden-framed against the wall, Love in rich and stately setting-- Revenue and manor-hall.

And beside it hangs another, Limned again with lovers’ pose, Just as lovely on the canvas Till the golden in it glows; But ’tis framed in white enamel Whereon lilies intertwine-- Love in sweet and simple setting-- Virtue and a cottage-vine.

Love-in-woman stands before them With reflected gold and grace But with struggling decision On her dew-and-flower face; Eyes are drawn to frame of yellow, Heart to canvas set in white: Rich man, poor man? Love-in-woman Chose and lilies turned to light.

_PARS SUMMAE_

I did not think that love was mine Because I toiled; But if I caught its every line And not despoiled More perfect love to grace my own, Then might I feel That I at love’s supremest throne Could rightly kneel.

I veiled my face when glory shed Its trembling light; Nor would I lift my humbled head Till I as white Could show the pureness of a soul That doth reveal Love which before the sacred whole Can rightly kneel.

My altar was her blessing-place Whence she bestowed The gifts divinely of her grace On worship bowed; For as my adoration rose To love’s ideal She lifted me as one of those Who rightly kneel.

A VISION

Tall and fair and azure-eyed, Covert glances ’neath the drooping lash Like Cupid’s arrows in an artful quiver-- She is this and much beside, Which to tell in detail would be rash By any but the beggar to the giver.

If I gathered, if she gave, I could put it better into art, By countless little charming things elated-- Silken tresses in a wave, Cheek with stolen pigment from the heart, And mouth the most inviting e’er created.

Still I’m short of total truth Just to feature forth her lovely face Wreathed in rebel-locked or coiffured limbus; Yet the highest charm of youth Is the soft inimitable grace That bathes a woman with a glowing nimbus.

And this my goddess hath improved By every feminine instinct of taste, And still the deeper charm of spiritism-- Which, if it were the soul and loved Some kindred soul in this world of love-waste, Would laugh at every selfish catechism

Of worldly wisdom and its creed And tremble to the fate which love revealed, Flushed at its glimpse of Paradise, delirious That life was not all craft and greed But underneath its shallows half-concealed Lay passion grand, transfiguring, imperious!

THE AFTERMATH

Lovers making foolish vows, Thinking love is deathless When ’tis fiercest to espouse What it sings so breathless; Now caressing, now confessing In romantic stanza-- Such is passion and its fashion Of extravaganza.

But the love that’s worth a throne Is the kind that later More than sentiment alone Proves and heavens greater Than a frenzy of the fancy Or a creed of nature, Or the praises in fine phrases Of a charming creature.

Oh, the happy aftermath When the mating’s over And ordeals of life and death Teach the whilom lover That the woman, though for human Charms he did enshrine her, Is the essence of a presence Sweeter and diviner!

PROOF-WORDS

There was a face--I loved it; There was a pulse--I felt it; There was a soul--I sensed it And made it mine for aye. There was a heart--I proved it; There was a word--I spelt it; Yet scarcely had commenced it When called from dreams away.

There was a hope--I wreathed it; There was a prayer--I sped it; There was a seal--I gave it, Then bade my love adieu. There was a sigh--I breathed it; There was a tear--I shed it; There was a gift--I save it To know my love is true.

MEMORIES

ADIEUS

When we from the ship or shore Bid farewell--Oh, fare thee well! Though the voyage may be o’er Ocean-vasts and none can tell Whether we shall evermore Meet again, yet fare-thee-well Means a hope whose accents spell Till we greet again--farewell!

When we over sea or land Godspeed wish--Oh, speed thee God! Him we trust with kindly hand, Narrow though the way or broad, Sometime from the distant strand Back again to bring us shod Joyous o’er the way we trod. Hope is Godspeed--speed thee God!

When our parting word fore’er Is goodbye--God’s way be thine! Whether ’tis ourself who fare Or another we resign, Yet committed to His care And a future as benign, We await the proof divine Hope’s goodbye is God be thine!

DUST TO DUST

Earth to earth, we sadly sigh-- Beloved, beloved, why didst thou die? Heaven, why untimely death When so sweet are life and breath? Earth and Heaven tell us why Our beloved have to die?

Dust to dust, the elements Swallow clay and sleeping sense. Wilt thou wake, beloved, yet To the eyes no longer wet, To the arms that no more ache, Wilt thou, O beloved, wake?

Ashes to ashes mingling, Flesh they cover, tears they wring. Beloved, beloved, the flowers I bring Wither, but the ones that spring O’er thy mould with promise smile “Dearest, yet a little while!”

LITTLE WORDS

Speak but the little words of truth And they shall live when thou hast ceased to be; The lips by trial daily put to proof Breathe nothing sweeter than sincerity, Helping thy brother to be true like thee.

Speak but the little words of love And they shall linger when the tongue is still; For whether there be thrones they shall remove, But love abideth all our thoughts to fill And fashioneth remembrance as it will.

Speak but the little words of hope And they shall cheer the way when cometh night To thee or others who in dark would grope But for the courage of thy humble light Fed by the oil of promise--“All comes right.”

Speak but the little words of trust And they shall rob the struggle of its cross, The heart of sorrow’s bitterness, the dust Of victory o’er our dead--for out of loss Trust sees eternal gain transform the dross.

A WAYSIDE LIFE

A little stream sprang from its distant source, And through the peopled valley with a song It held its smiling uneventful course, Grateful with cooling draught the whole year long, Till they who daily drank of it grew strong.

A little star shone softly in the night, And in the many-gloried heavenly host It shed a true and never-failing light; So that for constancy ’twas loved the most Because for lack of it no way was lost.

A little coin was passed from hand to hand, And humbly served its mission day by day In the life-needs its value could command; Pure gold it was though small in currency, And many a debt of want sufficed to pay.

A humble life was lived where others felt Its truth and worth to hand and lip and eye; And when ’twas spent its debtors mutely knelt To thank the Giver for its ministry-- The stream, the star, the coin they travelled by,

The vanished life whose benison of grace Was like the cup of water or the beam Of friendly light or as the gold whose base Of humanness, though it might dull the gleam, Yet perisheth and leaves its worth supreme.

O TEAR!

O tear of grief from stricken spirit wrung By nature’s requisition of our shrined And best-beloved!--if sympathizing tongue Can speak one word of hope or comfort kind By Heaven approved,-- Drop thou upon it like a jewelled sphere Whose trembling iris makes it lovelier!

By such a Heaven-inspired word, O tear Of human sorrow, thou art made to be Divinely thrilled with comforting more dear Than helpless love or hopeless sympathy!-- For thou art filled With visions now of soul’s supremer sphere, Like thine but infinite in love, O tear!

Thou art too blurred and blinding now to let Thine eye behold the beauty of the light That glimmers through thy grief,--but thou wilt yet, If pleaseth God, with faith-anointed sight And love anew Dissolve in joy and for the sepulchre Glad that which makes it victory, O tear!

THE DEW OF DUST

O dead of earth, rejoice! The flowers from the dust By vernal dews arise And smile reviving trust, When from their Wintry tomb they wake And into Summer beauty break.

And so shall sleeping be Within our fleshly tomb; The Eastertide shall free The life that lieth numb, And from the dust shall rise anew The deathless bloom of Spring and dew.

Say not to ashes turns Our being with its shell, For a divineness burns By death unquenchable To warm the poor chill mould we’re of And our undying nature prove.

If not another grace Shall clothe our soul’s desire, Let not the grave efface What in us doth aspire! So shall we nobler be than clay And give a truth to “life for aye.”

A SMILE

As from the window-pane a light doth gleam To cheer the traveller at eventide, So was her smile the ever-friendly beam That lit the way or bade the guest abide.

She knew no cross or care but what was eased By smiling trust that everything was best; When all around were happy she was pleased, When she could make them happy she was blest.

We knew who loved her best, the sweetness of Her always gentle look and Christian grace; She filled the home with precious motherlove, And no one else can fill her sacred place.

Hers was the smile that shone in sun and storm, In ministry to others or when they Looked to her out of trouble, and the charm Of such serenity drove doubt away.

She smiled in life and then the miracle Of soul untroubled triumphed to the end; She smiles in death to comfort us--“’Tis well!” To let us know that she hath found a Friend.

PHILOSOPHY

THE HILL-TOPS

There are cloudy, sullen skies, But what of that? There are discontented eyes, But what of that? When the day is gloomiest, Over on the hill-tops west There is sunshine. Brother, best Think of that.

There are dour looks enough, But what of that? Tasks forbidding, hard and rough, But what of that? Though the vale the weather spoils, On the hill-tops there are miles Of old Sol’s unconquered smiles; What of that?

Living in the valley long, Maybe that Quenched the laughter and the song; But for that, Hearts might look to higher hills, Kissed by sun and full of rills, Smiling over cares and ills. Think of that!

THE MAN WHO BEARS THE HOD

Go, mould and burn the clay to brick With all the skill of ages; It took the shovel and the pick Before it took the sages. But leaving that to honor’s past For things which men applaud, Who is it makes the pile so vast, An edifice to rise and last? The man who bears the hod.

The potter and the architect May shape and plan the temple, The master-builders may erect, Ennoble or assemble; But leaving that to future fame For things we rarely laud, Who is it carries up the frame On shoulders called in lieu of name The man who bears the hod?

The dreamer and the statesman may Inspirèd be with genius, And in the oven put the clay That rears renown between us; But who must heap the bricks they mould On backs and bases broad, Toil up the scaffolds and uphold The towers growing high and bold? The man who bears the hod.

JOG ALONG!

Jog along! Jog along! The day is young, the goal’s ahead, The limbs are strong and hope is fed On promises where’er you look, Of nodding bud and laughing brook. Cheer up! Cheer up! while there’s a song Of bird or smile of sunny nook, There’s love and bread. So jog along!

Jog along! Jog along! ’Tis only noon and there’s an inn Where you may soon an hour win Of humble fellowship and fare-- A luxury of life too rare. Hail, friend well met, who in the throng Is brotherly in spite of care! There’s human kin--so jog along!

Jog along! Jog along! The sun goes down but twilight’s still To reach the town upon the hill; And there the sun’s an hour high To give thee grace of foot and eye. Keep on! Keep on! with dauntless will; You’ve still the promise of the sky The stars until! So jog along!

THE FAMILY TREE

Your genealogy may be The finest thing on earth Or merely a decadent tree Of past descent and worth.

The children of the Puritans Should have the Pilgrims’ souls Or else an alien wire spans Your insulated poles.

An aristocracy of breed Is that which keeps the stamp Of spirit from heroic deed In patriot hall or camp.

The veins whose life-blood flows for home Or right or liberty Should be the same from which they come, To keep the nation free.

To find in our ancestral line A sire of noble blood Puts on us truth to make the sign Of our escutcheon good.

Colonial forbears condemn Like ghosts from hollow boles Unless we reincarnate them Without their shrouds and stoles.

To be well-born a century back, A century of fruit, A century the soil to pack About the ancient root,

Is such a heritage we well May trace it to its source For all from which its scions swell, Its vital ichors course.

REPLEVIN

Who can replevin all his own From his platonic debtors-- From plagiarists perchance unknown Who steal his thoughts or letters?

His property is small or great As it is worth the using, And such a tribute to his rate Makes property worth losing.

To say or do a thing that’s fine, Which makes the world the wiser, Should be a royalty divine To any but a miser.

Their pound of flesh let Shylocks sue And bank in figures seven-- Our noblest own is what is due In goods beyond replevin.

HOMILIES

WHAT IS TRUTH?

Truth is the vision of the skies That does not ask us to be wise But just to lift perceiving eyes Wherever there is living light To clearer make the way of right Or soiled humanity more white.

Truth is the meaning of all things Not to the mind but to the springs Of love and peace and fashionings; For what we love is life’s concern And hope is more than sages learn And truth is most to which we turn.

Truth is the spirit of all truths Which from the same supremeness moves And universal purpose proves; Truth is the light and not the spheres Whose laws are known to only seers; But by the stars the sailor steers.

Truth is the image of its God Who all its endless vistas trod And flung His attributes abroad; For while too rare to minds more dense Its mirror makes it real to sense And gives its soul an evidence.

FRIENDSHIP

O Friendship! On life’s crown the pearl Amidst its jewels rare, A star for peasant or for earl The other gems whate’er-- Be diamond on the kingly brow Or garnet dull on toil, The hearted radiance art thou, Of noblest might or moil.

But ah, to only value thee As treasure of desire For peerlessness of purity We gain to but admire; And not to feel thy inner worth As stuff of primal deeps, Some miracle of troubled birth Where lowly nature creeps!

Is this, O Friendship, worthy of The praises of the Muse, Of life so lightly prone to love But fire to refuse? If only in our hand we hold Another’s sacrifice And give it back no gift of gold, ’Tis not the Pearl of Price.

THOUGHT

Think nobly! For the things we ponder are the sum Of what we treasure and we do become The fashion of our thinking--just as from The chain we know the linking. Therefore think nobly!

Think purely! For our meditation is the glass Through which our spirit doth in vision pass, The face of God beholding--and the grace Of his divine unfolding. Therefore think purely!

Think truly! For a true ideal is the light By which we struggle up the lofty height Of Truth’s supreme divineness--and the right To which it doth incline us. Therefore think truly!

WHEN I’M NO MORE

Will yonder Orient flush with morning hue? Will on the flowers shine the crystal dew And Heaven retain its soft cerulean blue When I’m no more?

Will yet the jasper ocean lap the beach And woo the wildflower just beyond its reach? Will yet the treebirds murmur each to each When I’m no more?

Will yet the laughing brook keep on its way? Will yet yon moon smile sadly o’er my clay And those bright twinkling stars dance in the day When I’m no more?

Will yet a smiling world salute the dawn And still its course of love and joy flow on-- My image once some heart enshrined soon gone When I’m no more?

What means this chill misgiving--fate or fear? Death, rend the veil and calm this dark despair! Say, tell me will this memory be dear When I’m no more?

* * * * *

Ah Death, thy only kindness is the bliss Of answer in love’s fondest parting kiss That one at least my humbleness will miss When I’m no more!

THE BLAZED TRAIL

Life is a human wilderness Where duty, right and truth Are tangled in the morasses Of folly, doubt and youth. I know I cannot hope to cleave A path through brake and swale, But I a guiding index leave If I but blaze the trail.

The forest as I struggle through By compass, sun and stars I’ll mark so that another, too, Can travel by my scars. From woods where labor would get lost And feet would err or fail I’ll single pines on ridges crossed And blaze on them the trail.