Part 3

O’er range and river toward the West I’ll keep and pray to learn Not what is easiest, but best, And worth a life’s return; For though I shall not pass again The way I thus prevail, It is my task for other men To blaze the homebound trail.

GRIEF AND JOY

Grief said there was no gladness At the season of the Child, But only memories of sadness In homes where babes once smiled.

Joy said there was no sorrow, But found solace in the touch Of gladness that perhaps to-morrow Would need our cheer as much.

* * * * *

Grief said that songs awaken Echoes of our buried love, As when silent chords are shaken And still responsive prove.

Joy said it yet were stranger If our babes made Bethlehem Not more dear because the manger Bore Him who gathered them.

* * * * *

Grief said that gifts but mocked us With the treasures snatched away And with chains forever locked us In tombs of memory.

Joy said that gifts were token Of our love and its domain, Earnest of our hopes unspoken Love would get again.

HOPE

I have a hope--’tis spirit-born And spirit-winged beside; ’Tis like the holy light of morn When Heaven opens wide.

Hope like the bird whose every note A loving Father’s hand Hath tuned within its swelling throat As though the song were planned!

What is it but the joyous sense Of love and harmony? What is it but the evidence Of life’s divinity?

That hope which makes us most divine And like to what it clings-- That hope which makes our hearts incline To higher, holier things--

That hope which spells eternal youth And goodness infinite-- Hath reason in it strong as truth And logical as light.

SOWING AND REAPING

Sow on though another age May do the reaping! Sow on, for the final wage Is in the keeping Of our divinest Master, who declared, “Sow on, for he shall reap not who hath spared!”

Reap on what another age Began by sowing! Reap on, for the highest wage Is in the knowing The fruit is garnered and the harvest-song To sower and to reaper doth belong!

HOPE ON!

Hope on! For there is no rising star When shadows creep across our sky More precious than this beam afar That trembles through eternity.

Hope on! That infinite desire Is but a foreglimpse of the dawn Of an immortal, holier and higher Day of perfection; therefore hope on!

Hope on, lest the heart be cankered By its own sense of dumb despair! But rather let the soul be anchored To the veiled Heaven over there

Where the light trembles through the mist And hope becomes more lucid faith, Yea, glad expectancy--for lo, the Christ Bids life unfold its wings and death And doubt begone! Therefore hope on!

HEARTED GOOD

Blest be the goodness which is spirit-fruit Of reverence as worship is of awe, Till goodness is both ripening and root! For just as truly as that it doth draw Its substance from divineness it must shoot By the same potency of nature’s law.

We may dispense the good we never grew As those who borrow; or we may profess The goodness which we know but never do, And so put on a form of fruitfulness; But ah, ’tis barren-hearted and untrue To worthiness, whate’er its outward dress!

To love as well as practise what is fine, To be what we would fain be taken for, To ripen from the root whose tendrils twine Around the very heart whose currents pour Into the good we do--this is divine And living fruit that blesses more and more.

COUNTRY

AMERICA

Divided by the ocean’s vast From other dear and shining strands, The wonder of the storied past Confesses this the land of lands; The refuge of the fair and brave When freedom was denied her due; Sing with the wild, wild ocean-wave, “America the true!”

Dear was the boon the pilgrim sought Amid the redman’s forest wild, And dearly, too, the lesson taught By this sweet Freedom’s native child; Which yet once learned forget no more, O heir of that loved Liberty! Breathe with the spirit of thy shore, “America the free!”

Her stars and stripes that proudly float So many citied states above, Shall we forget that they denote The oneness of a common love? Sweet token to the patriot O’er all thy territories wide, Float to this one inspiring thought, “America our pride!”

And still as fuller swell thy veins And crimsoner thy throbbing blood, Be virtue in thy broad domains, The God of nations be thy God! The echo of thy forest-days Still mingle with thy voiceful sea Or linger in the poet’s praise, “America the free!”

THE ALTAR OF COUNTRY

O Country of my altar, Where the incense flame doth burn And a priestly hand doth part the Temple-veil-- Let me ne’er in purpose falter, Let me never from thee turn Nor the vision of the holy ever fail-- O my country, till I learn How to purpose not to palter, Let the vision of the holy never pale!

O altar of my Country, Sealed with bloody sacrifice, Yet glorious with living triumph, too, May I nobly offer on thee Duty’s most devoted price, Never doubting it to be thy sacred due! From thy altar let me rise All to offer, O my country, That I treasure most supreme and true!

(_From_ “GREATHEART.”)

THE STARS OF DESTINY

The midnight stars wheel in their course Through trackless vasts of space, And every distant sun’s a source Of motions taking place Beyond the reach of eye or thought, Yet part of Heaven’s design In order infinitely wrought By majesty divine.

We cannot know the perfect plan In such a universe, Nor what its horoscope for man, Be it for good or worse; Enough the same law rules the stars And human destinies, And man the future makes or mars As he observeth these;

As he the lesson of the past Applies to issues new, And makes experience forecast The Fate which cometh true Because it is the TRUTH and moves Though oft in courses strange, And like the time-eternal proves, The stars that never change.

LAST OF THE GRAND ARMY

There they come with feeble step, There they come with lessened rank, And yet pathetic with the martial air And ancient discipline of field and camp! There they come with sounding pipe, There they come with armor clank; The dimming uniform’s parade each year And ensign’s flaunting--Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!

Thus they pass in broken corps, Thus they pass in mounted troop, Across the square in valor’s proud review, Beneath the victor’s green triumphal arch; Heads with many a Winter hoar, Upright shoulders now astoop; Their once imperial numbers grown so few, But bravely onward--March! March! March!

Many a soldier’s vacant place, Many an officer’s blank post, And many a veteran, too, with touching zeal To mend the losses hobbling along; Many a scarred and figured face, Many a luckless member lost With silent eloquence the tale reveal Of desperate battles--On! On! On!

By Gratitude’s tall monuments, By private cemetery tombs Where floral wreaths from loving hands lie mute Upon each honored grave for Memory’s sight; Bowing heads in reverence, Treading slow with muffled drums, With tear-dimmed eye and sorrowful salute And lowered standard--Right! Left! Right!

Every footfall of the past, Every annual elapse, The silent hearts and silent years no more, Half-echo, mingle in that ghostly tread And seem to swell the muster vast And seem to say with hollow steps, From all that mighty vanguard gone before To this small rearguard--Dead! Dead! Dead!

A few more years bivouac here, A few more years of sepulture In trench or dungeon, grave or moaning deep, A few more years of Death’s soft slumbering night Till all that spectral host appear Before the throned Cynosure Whose reveille will call them from their sleep To Heaven’s reviewing--Right! Left! Right!

No shotted cannon, deadly arms, No trophy of a fallen foe, Till God define the worthiest conqueror; Him who has vanquished Death and conquered Doubt And faced a thousand alarms Till life sits firmly on his brow Or echoes through the happy Evermore, Ye host of victors--Shout! Shout! Shout!

_VINCIT OMNIA JUS_

With one foot on the rock of right already won And one upon the rock of faith no right can be undone, I stand prophetic-voiced that presently from these _Right_ peak by peak shall grandly rise in towering Pyrenees.

The Liberty we know and passionately love Shall bless the vineyards far below that drink the snows above; And in the guardian frown of Freedom’s lofty height Shall think ’tis God who cometh down to thunder for the right.

As from the granite base where we must battle for To firmly plant each sacred Cause, we rear the mountain o’er, The bolt of stormy skies shall burst above each peak, Assuring us when man defies oppression God doth speak.

And if from some sheer crag a vanguard hero fall The while the coward safely lags who’d rather be a thrall, We’ll set a cross upon the cliff from which he fell And over it a victor’s crown of Freedom’s immortelle.

But better still we’ll climb inspired by his fate To heights of liberty sublime unreached by tyrant’s hate; And Right shall look at last from mountain-top to land In glad humanity more vast, in destiny more grand!

THE FLYING JACK

The sky was blue and smiling down Upon a human sea; Old Glory fluttered, danced and shone In varicolored glee.

A merry breeze went laughing through The laughing folds of silk Until the red and white and blue Were sylphs with teeth of milk.

Yet not for them the rapturous eyes Of shouting crowds were bright, Who came to hail with praise and prize The hero winged for flight.

“The first to fly,” the challenge read, “Shall win the wreath and cup.” He spread his pinions and o’erhead A dizzy height went up.

“Bravo! Bravo!” they shouted as He spiralled down and down; Then surged toward him in a mass And wreathed him with the crown.

He smiled and in his eyes of blue And on his cheeks of red A something noble came to view As gallantly he said:

“The cup I’ll keep, the wreath I’ll place Where it by right belongs; The first to fly my hand shall grace And you acclaim with tongues.”

So saying towards his ship he stepped And set the sails again, Then in a rising circle swept With sun-kissed face and plane.

They wondered when they saw him rise Toward the streamered staff Until he grazed its middle thrice And cleared it with a laugh;

Until above its gilded ball He steadied and from high The trophy flung before them all With practised hand and eye.

Upon Old Glory’s head the wreath Fell true and with it fell The airman’s words to those beneath Who needed but their spell:

“The first to fly above our land On wings that never lag I crown with patriotic hand, Our country’s starry flag!”

And then he doffed his cap and lo, A jackie’s suit he wore As circling still he cried, “Oho, I’ve flown in peace and war!”

I rubbed my eyes and all was fled Except the silken folds Of Glory floating overhead A sailor-boy which holds.

HUMOR

SAP’S A-BILIN’

Out in the country where they tap The maple-trees in Spring, There’s something doin’ on the map When March is on the wing. The bar’ls and buckets overrun, The busy farmer’s smilin’, The cracklin’ fire helps the fun; For sap’s a-bilin’.

Out in the country where they all Have lived a hundred years And heard the go-to-meetin’ call As Sunday storms or clears, Thermometer’s a-risin’ when For trouble folks are spilin’; Till some one pokes the kettle--then The sap’s a-bilin’.

Just hold a bit--don’t let it burn By bein’ too intense! The man who biles has first to learn A leetle common sense. It’s sugar that we’re bilin’, mind, Not human nature rilin’; So jest go back to sweetness kind When sap’s a-bilin’!

JUST MUD

What’s this live stuff you call a boy Just in the plastic stage And fairly oozing with the joy Of youth’s unmoulded age? What’s this to fashion into form Of early blade or bud Or fruit with life or color warm? Why say, just mud!

What’s Summer’s golden harvest-yield That ripens into grain, The bloom of orchard, wood or field So riotous with gain? What’s this comes trooping with the grace Of man-and-woman-hood From out the muck of yesterdays? Why say, just mud!

What’s yonder statue borne aloft By noble edifice, Which passers-by beholding oft Forget immortal is Of living deed and living art (Now clay, once flesh and blood) Both growing from a humble start? Why say, just mud!

KNOCKIN’ ROUND

Funny how some men grow up Knockin’ round-- Drinkin’ out of fortune’s cup Overwound With the ivy of Japan Or a South-American Revolutionary plot-- Comin’ back no matter what, Knockin’ round.

After seein’ half the world, Knockin’ round Under every flag unfurled Safe and sound-- Home again from climbin’ Alps, Raisin’ Filipino scalps, Fishin’ in a Scottish tarn-- You will find him at the barn Knockin’ round.

All the smiles of Beauty’s eyes Knockin’ round Underneath Italian skies Or renowned Erin’s native land of charms Fade away as in his arms Blushes--just the same old girl From whose locks he kept a curl, Knockin’ round.

THE SNAIL AND STAR

A humble snail crawled from his shell one night To drink the dew and surfeit on young greens; How came he wise in nature when so slight A weakling of it passes wisdom’s means.

But as he inched along, a winking star His locomotion mocked and oddity-- “How far, O pigmy gastropod, how far Dost thou suppose it is from thee to me?

“And at the rate of travel thou dost creep How long to bridge the distance would it take? Yet I across its vastness nightly leap While you a paltry rod of progress make.”

“I may be slow,” the snail vouchsafed reply, “But then I’m no pretense, howe’er you twit; Thou movest not at all except thy eye And now as I perceive thy nimble wit.

“No doubt we both our mission magnify; You give the world the cheer of astral fire While from a lowlier position I A proverb for its ridicule inspire,--

“A proverb which, while I’m the ancient butt, Yet makes the human snail a byword too, And often moves him more of life to put In duty; therefore why so much ado?”

The star had no retort, so saved its face By prompt amends:--“My brother, you are right; We both are filling our appointed place To teach the world a lesson. So good night!”

THE OLD SOR’L HOSS

The old sor’l hoss limps up the lane And whinners for his oats; But he will never work again ’Cept as the milk he totes To skimmin’-station down the road To sort-o’-make-believe He’s haulin’ of an honest load And earnin’ his reprieve.

Sure that was paid for long ago If twenty faithful years Can make a critter’s master owe Return for what he clears By plow and reaper, laden rack, And stump-an’-loggin’ bee, Yet gives the beast-of-burden back Oft scant humanity.

For when the old sor’l hoss’s jints Grow stiff with work and age, There’s many a man with musket pints His death and keeps his wage; But not this hoss with sorrel mane And coat, which every morn Comes limpin’ up the scrubby lane And whinners for his corn.

NICODEMUS BOGGS

Nicodemus Boggs was named By scripture-loving aunts, Though never for that virtue famed Was Demus----till by chance His mind was turned to churchly choice, And then one solemn night He heard an otherworldly voice Which put him in a fright Call ----“Nicodemus! Nico-de-mus! Nic-o-de-mus Boggs!” Although there were some folks blasphemous Who said ’twas only frogs; Be that however as it may, To Demus ’twas a sign; So forthwith he began to pray And talk of things divine.

Of course ’twas given him to know Without a studied mind; His tongue was loosened and the flow Of words left wit behind. Yet strange to say no church was moved His parish to become, Though Demus said it only proved The church was deaf and dumb. For certainly the call was plain, As often half-asleep He heard the selfsame voice again In solemn tones and deep Urge ----“Nicodemus! Nic-o-de-mus! Nic-o-de-mus-s Bog-g-s!” Although there were some folks blasphemous Who said ’twas only frogs.

Be that as each opined, ’tis sure With Demus soon it turned To ague, and the only cure For flesh which froze or burned, The doctor ordered, was to drain The hollow in the rear Where Demus lived; for while in vain He followed his career Of human welfare, there had lain The most neglected near. ’Twas remedied and ne’er again Did Nicodemus hear The voice which had become so famous For back-door croaks and frogs Call ----“Nicodemus! Nic-o-de-mus! Nic-o-de-mus-s Bog-g-s!”

SACRED

WHAT IS FAITH?

Faith is no weakling, howsoe’er It needeth courage for its task, But strength whose confidence to dare Is that which humbles it to ask A higher help, a higher word To lift it, bid it trust and try, Assured its selfless prayer is heard, Its task beneath a Master’s eye.

Faith is the reasoning of heart Toward the Heart-of-hearts which beats In unison with every part Of all it quickens and completes; And with a sense of love and plan Sees only good from truth and right, Wrong as the only ill which can Defeat design and quench the light.

Faith is the fortifying gate Which walls us in, our terrors out, Through which we fare to conquer fate Or flee for refuge from our doubt; Faith blows the trumpet, mans the tower, Inspires hope, believes in Heaven And trusts the overruling Power To care for what its will hath given.

Faith is the burden-bearer’s stay, The footsore pilgrim’s trusty staff, The victor’s martial panoply, The martyr’s noblest epitaph. Faith is the vision’s inner eye Whose pupil is the seeing soul, Its iris the reflected sky, Its long perspective Spirit’s goal.

A FORGIVENESS

A pilgrim long devout arrived at last Before the Gate of Paradise, and cast His staff aside triumphantly to press Within the dreamed-of goal. But strange to say, It did not open to his eagerness As knocking he solicited the way.

“Nay,” said the Guardian Angel of the Gate, “The proof of thy assurance I await, The sesame and heavenliest word That passes here! Three trials shalt thou have, And if thou hast not found it by the third No privilege to enter canst thou crave.”

So sure the Pilgrim was the truest right Must be the one of evangelic might He quickly answered “LOVE!” The Angel’s wing Drooped o’er his countenance as he replied, “Nay, such a plea might any sinner bring Like any saint whose zeal is undenied.

“Canst thou not to the name come closer yet Of Goodness’ greatest key?” The Pilgrim let His thoughts go outward in a second quest And slowly made response, “Why, then, ’tis GRACE, The covenant and seal of all the rest, The chain whose lock is Love.” The Angel’s face Was still compassionate as he withheld The entrance, and his pity would have spelled The password in his eyes as he again Made answer, “Grace is truly all our hope In promise and fulfilment, but ’tis when We lay it to our hearts the Gate we ope And our admission most divinely plead; For none can think the word but feels its need And healing touch.” The Pilgrim’s brow grew sad, But as he pondered to his knees he fell And rose as oft before in wonder glad-- “FORGIVENESS!” The Angel answered, “Well!” And stood aside to let him pass.

THE GOOD SAMARITAN

The Good Samaritan was he Who had compassion not alone Humanely but divinely. We Must look beyond the Healer--see The Sympathizing Savior--be Forgiven, lifted up and shown The heart of Love and in our own Begin to feel the sympathy Which from His humanness had grown To deeds of such divinity.

How little ’tis to minister To one poor soul unless we feel The touching brotherhood of care, The sense how easy ’tis to err, To fall, to need another’s prayer, Another’s help! But when we kneel Our fellowfeeling must be real Enough that we can rise and share The burden of our own appeal And help our brother’s cross to bear.

He is the Good Samaritan Who loves enough to never wrong, To ever right a brother man-- To bind his wounds and shape the plan Of life benignly so he can His neighbor also cheer along. Blest be the mercifully strong! Blest be the human-hearted man Who never quenched a living song! For he is God’s Samaritan.

SHEPHERD OF ISRAEL

Shepherd of Israel, hear The calling of thy flock, And when we seek do thou be near To lead us to the Rock Where full and sheltered we At noonday may repose Or find at night security From all our lurking foes!

Help us to trust thy care Through green or barren ways And voice our doubts and fears in prayer, Our blessedness in praise! If thorns beset our path, To feel Thou leadest us Is sweet assurance goodness hath A loving purpose thus.

Guide us by living streams That rise in mountain height And up where wisdom’s heavenly beams Our spirits bathe in light! Lead us to ranges high, To visions rich and broad, To pinnacles that touch the sky And help us know Thee, God!

THE LADDER OF CLOUD

There’s a beautiful ladder of fine-spun cloud That stretches from earth to sky And up and down it the angels crowd With calling and soft reply:--

AMRAEL

Children of men, who only by sight Know that the stars exist, There was one that shone o’er the world last night Through an aureole of mist.

MISHAEL

They only saw it who had kept The vigil of the seers With inner sense; but ye who slept Knew not the sign of the years.

URIEL

The spirit of life became a star And we the herald-host; And we sang as the Wise Men gazed afar And the Shepherds Heavenmost;

HOST

Joy to the world! For lo, is born The Gift-Child! Echo on And on forever song of morn, Yet trembling into dawn!

_Refrain_

Joy to the pure in heart! For thou Alone dost know the worth And meaning of the Gift, who bow Before the Virgin-birth.

_Chorus_

All hail Madonna’s Gift That shall the earth to Heaven uplift! All hail! Rejoice!

* * * * *

What softening of angel-voice And light and listening sense Fell hush-like on the last “Rejoice, Madonna-reverence!”

* * * * *

The pearly wings the host enshroud, The voices fade away, And the beautiful ladder of fine-spun cloud Becomes the Gate of the Day.

THE RISEN CHRIST MEANS VICTORY

Go forth and hail the Conqueror With flowers and sacred psalms! The triumph we observe is more Than that of martial palms; For lo! there cometh from the tomb The Lord of life and life-to-be, Around whose feet the lilies bloom; The risen Christ means victory.

Go forth and on His living brow Entwine a laurel-wreath; For never was so great as now The glory of His death! The Cross and Sepulchre had been The world’s most damning tragedy But for the conquered curse of sin; The risen Christ means victory.