Part 4
Go forth with precious ointment of Affection to thy dead, With Easter’s glad, believing love That He Who for us bled, Who slept and rose again, is strong To roll corruption’s stone away. And loose the Resurrection Song; The risen Christ means victory!
THE EVERLASTING ARMS
When to our life dark shadows come, Stern crosses, sacrificial cares And other fancied temporal harms, There is eternal refuge from Our terrifying doubts and fears Within the Everlasting Arms.
When o’er our souls temptations sweep And goodness loses half its grace As sin pursues us with its charms, There is no refuge left to keep But the eternal hiding-place Within the Everlasting Arms.
When through the valley dark and drear We walk or see another sink And death o’ercomes us with alarms, Be then, Eternal Refuge, near To hold us up upon the brink Within the Everlasting Arms!
HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP
The task is done, the sun is set, The evening shadows fall apace, The course is run, and tarries yet The glory only of the race; But ere the guerdon of the toil The fleeting soul shall rise to reap, God maketh it to rest awhile-- He giveth his beloved sleep.
What though the eyes are closed in death, The tired hands are folded now? Life shall arise, saith living faith. And ministry diviner grow. ’Tis but the hush before the day: The Father bids his angels keep The treasure that we lay away-- He giveth his beloved sleep.
But not, oh not forever thus Doth death enshroud our silent ones-- We know not what transfigures us, What miracle of quickening suns-- But we await their healing wings, Their living flash, seraphic sweep, The glory of the King of Kings Who giveth his beloved sleep.
THE GLORY DWELLS
Oh, the glory that we dream of Trembling over Bethlehem! Magi following the beam of Starry prophecy to them! Shepherds startled by the gleam of Heavenly light and angel-hymn!
Time hath made the vision holy, But I know that glory dwells Not in manger-village solely, Nor in dream that prophet tells, But wherever there’s a lowly Child-heart, there the glory swells.
Pride of earth and pomp of power Dazzle with their tinsel show; But compared to goodness’ dower They’re as only glint to glow. Pride is merely for an hour, Goodness doth to glory grow.
THE LIGHT OF LIFE
O Light of Life, shine thou Into my soul as doth the Sun of Day Into the world for seeing with mine eyes! Reveal the good and evil--teach me how To stumble not but walk the Living Way That fills earth with the glory of the skies!
Let there be spirit-quickenings That thrill the being to responsiveness Lest vision be but human, uninspired! Ah, make it throb until from vision springs Anointed nature to in life express The Grace which makes the Heavenly desired!
DESIGN
The universe of rolling spheres Is not for Deity’s display But for a purpose which appears In its supernal harmony.
Its mass that in momentum sweeps, Its energy of elements, The order which its system keeps Are aspects of omnipotence;
And power working such design Is proof of Presence everywhere Intelligent, supreme, divine, Both in creatorship and care.
For in His watchcare of the worlds He-Over-All doth manifest A greater power than that which whirls Them on their way at its behest,
A greater purpose than to span The Heavens by His glory lit; For ’tis the more eternal plan Of making all creation fit
For fellowship with Nature’s God In higher terms of wisdom, truth And love by perfect will endowed, Whereof the worlds are but the proof.
Thou Supersoul, who Spirit art And rulest star-host, wave and wind, Teach us Thy majesty to heart And feel in music perfect Mind!
SONG
GOLDEN HOPE
There is nothing in the world so sweet As the hope which never, never dies, That sometime, somewhere we shall meet In gladder love beyond the skies-- Oh, beyond the skies so golden, With the hope of Heaven olden; For there’s nothing in all the world so sweet As the olden, golden hope again to meet!
There is nothing in all the world so fleet As the hope that ever, ever flies Swift onward, upward to the seat Of perfect love beyond the skies-- Oh, beyond the skies so glowing, With the hope of Heaven growing; For there’s nothing in all the world so sweet As the glowing, growing hope again to meet!
There is nothing in all the world so great As hope that bids us, helps us rise With more responsive hands and feet, With gladder tongues and clearer eyes-- Oh, upon the skies so golden, With the hope of Heaven olden; For there’s nothing in all the world so sweet As the olden, golden hope again to meet!
THE COMING CROWNING
When the chariots of glory Come flashing from the east On the day of Advent-story, The crowning of the Christ; When the clouds are seraph-mounted And radiant of wing With angel-hosts uncounted, And the skies with rapture ring-- My soul, wilt thou undaunted Meet the coming of the King?
When earth the blessed vision With lifted eyes beholds And feels the swift transition Of glory that enfolds; When from the skies descending The hosts of Heaven bring The Kingdom never-ending Of which all peoples sing-- O Spirit, wilt thou blending Hail the coming of the King?
When thrones are set for mercy And love to minister To the naked, sick and thirsty And all who faint or err; When the Lord of glory reigneth And choired censers swing With the praises God ordaineth As Heavens their banners fling-- O Soul, a crown that gaineth, Crown and enthrone the King!
THE LIVING CUP
Gather all the beauty and the riches of the world, The flowers’ blush and lover’s flush, The hoards of gold and pearl; But you’ll never have enough to sum The wealth and treasure up Like the blessing of the drinking from The living water’s cup.
Gather all the music and the fountain-springs of love, The heart’s desire, censer’s fire And starry host above; But you’ll never have enough to sum The soul of gladness up Like the blessing of the drinking from The living water’s cup.
Gather all the glories and the triumphs of all time, Of temples’ pride and kingdoms wide And grace and art sublime; But you’ll never have enough to sum The joy of Heaven up Like the blessing of the drinking from The living water’s cup.
THE SINGERS
Oh, the song of the soul we have sought for forever, In ages gone by and the ages to come, But what of the voices whose noblest endeavor Must lift it as high as the height it is from? For the song must mount up on the wings of the Spirit And out of the heart that kindles with love Before all the world will listen to hear it, Before the world’s sense it trembles above.
Oh, the song of the soul we have sought for wherever There’s beauty or sunshine, glory or joy; But what of the voices whose praises must gather The echoes that melt with the lips they employ? For the notes must spring up from the souls they awaken And out of the hearts they kindle with love Before all the world by their sweetness is shaken, Before the world’s life they triumph above.
Oh, the song of the soul we have sought for as treasure Wherever are kingdoms, jewels or gold; But what of the voices whose heavenly measure The wealth of the world’s richest treasure must hold? For the song must be born from the world’s greatest passion And out of a Heart that was kindled by love Before all the world its power can fashion To glory like that of the Master above.
THE CROWN OF THORNS
O crown of thorns upon the brow Of Him they nailed on Calvary, The serpent’s coil and sting wert thou, The seal of sin and agony.
_Chorus_
_For where the grief and thought of us_ _The Savior’s brow had borne,_ _They put the_ MOCKERY _of the Cross,_ _The crown of thorn, the crown of thorn_.
O crown of thorns, whose suffering The Savior for the world endured, ’Twas thus He healed the serpent’s sting, The evil mind of nature cured.
_Chorus_
_For where the grief and thought of us_ _The Savior’s brow had borne,_ _They put the_ SORROW _of the Cross,_ _The crown of thorn, the crown of thorn._
O crown of thorns, whose wounds became Redeeming scars of victory, The glory where was once the shame-- The diadem of Heaven be!
_Chorus_
_For where the grief and thought of us_ _The Savior’s brow had borne,_ _They put the_ TRIUMPH _of the Cross,_ _The crown of thorn, the crown of thorn_.
SONG ALONG
I sang an old song as I worked one day-- What cared I who smiled, What cared I who frowned? So long as my song made the task seem play, What cared I how many were pleasure-bound? I heeded them not unless they as well Were singing a song that work-glad fell, And then we together went singing along.
I courted my love when dreamers were we-- What cared I who laughed What cared I who sighed? So long as my love was the world to me, What cared I for others the whole world wide? I heeded them not unless they as well Were dreaming upon the same love’s spell, And then we together went dreaming along.
So I worked with a love-song for my cheer-- What cared I who hated Both labor and joy? So long as my loved ones to me were dear, What cared I how others made loving alloy? I heeded them not unless they as well Were part of the song which cherubs swell, And then we together went singing along.
_ECCE HOMO!_
Upon the Cross I see Him nailed, The man of Nazareth; His brow is pierced, His visage paled With sufferings of death. Around Him gather those who hate And those who love Him most To watch His sin-appointed fate With grief or ruthless boast; And as His pleading face I scan All history cries--“Behold the Man!”
His wounded hands and feet I see, The fountain from His side; O Calvary, O Calvary, Behold the Crucified! Yet not the cruel thorns are worst Nor blood of anguish spilt, But that the sinless One is curst For all the race’s guilt; And as His pleading face I scan All history cries--“Behold the Man!”
Yet as I on His visage marred With guilt and sorrow gaze It changes from the beauty scarred To time’s most wondrous face. A glory as of Heaven breaks Upon the crown of thorn And every tortured feature takes A love by passion born; For as His pleading face I scan All history cries--“Behold the Man!”
THE LOVE THAT WASHED HIS FEET
She came as at supper the Lord reclined, She came with purpose sweet; Not of the host’s or servant’s kind Withheld from Him at meat; For she came to wash His feet. She watered them with tears of grief, She wiped them with her hair, She kissed them till she found relief And words of pardon there As she knelt to wash His feet.
She loved the most because she knew Forgiveness so great; She loved, and nothing else could do To prove her love complete But to wash her Savior’s feet. No goodly laver did she own, No costly perfume bring; But hers was the truest service shown Whose faith the world will sing As the love which washed His feet.
O sinner, the Savior’s present still Beside Compassion’s seat To pardon whosoever will The woman’s trust repeat And kiss the Savior’s feet! Let contrite tears be mercy’s plea And love its passion press Upon the feet of ministry That came to save and bless The hands which clasp His feet!
MISCELLANEOUS
THE SHUT AND OPEN HAND
THE FIST
I shut my eyes and opened them, And while they were shut I saw All the dread things that happen to men In the name of cause and law.
I saw the tortured toil and travail As the cost of bread and birth; I saw the skein of fate unravel Around the helpless earth;
A million who had nobly striven Go down to grim defeat, A million who their heart-blood given Spurned from proud Honor’s seat;
Hope mocked and dear ideals shattered, Truth crushed and crucified, The fruits of love and labor scattered And Greed o’er Goodness ride;
Curse like a ghoul despair and sorrow Leave at the race’s door, Pledging to-morrow and to-morrow Cursing the world still more.
And as men were broken and stricken I saw the darkness loom To a frown of Hate and slowly thicken To a spectral shape of Doom.
Shadows, thunders, griefs and grossness Gathered in a blacker mass, Life’s calamities and crosses Wrapped the midnight of all space
Into--God! What awful likeness Of a giant arm and wrist Bulking blacker still to smite us As a clenched terrific FIST!
THE OPEN HAND
I shut my eyes and opened them, And when they were open I saw All the glad things that happen to men By a more benignant law.
I saw the smiling heaven bending Above the fruitful land, The beauty and the bounty blending, The kiss of sea on strand;
The love in labor and the guerdon Of home and wrought ideal, The benison behind the burden, The worth which works the weal;
The glory of the sacrificial, The sanctity and song Of Nature’s benedictive missal O’er suffering and wrong.
I saw the good and grace of seasons Aglow with golden yield, And giving trust a thousand reasons In flowerfest and field;
Until a misty plexus trembled In midair and anon A presence as of Love resembled Diaphanous at dawn,
With morning vestments all a-shimmer, Yet from whose potent charm Of godlike gloriole and glimmer There stretched a Titan ARM.
Earth and sky seemed coalescing By filmy fingers spanned And became as if in blessing A mighty, OPEN HAND.
THE MAN-BIRD
The man-bird harnessed on his wings, Empowered the impatient heart And mounted into space as springs Some captive eagle when released From durance; but though human art Might imitate, its genius ceased Too short to force one secret of The wild, fierce mastery of flight In spiral sweeps away, above The dizziest pinnacle of sight.
Man could but follow as he dared With plane and engine, chance and nerve, Yet like a Jove who boldly fared Across the firmament supreme; O’er vortexes with plunge and swerve, O’er air-abysses where the scream Of harpies echoed mocking forth On ears too tense--yet ever on O’er blinding South and blasting North, Triumphant up or headlong down!
Ten thousand feet on high, ye gods, Man tries conclusions for your realm And gambles life at daring odds To ride above the storm-strewn fleece; A modern Jason at the helm By siren lured like him of Greece To desperate hazard; yet to fail One pulse-beat for a thrilling glance-- Ah, well the boldest might turn pale And choose ’twixt glory and mischance!
A moment poised the avian, Then earthward swooped as never Jove Rode down the vault of superman. Wind-surges roared and clouds fled by, Death raced beside and demons strove To wrench one slender part or ply; But flawless-sinewed, man and steed Came flashing, wheeling down and down With thrice a Roman courser’s speed To earth and conqueror’s renown.
THE PHANTOM CAVALRY
What knows the world of battles? History writes The deeds of men with blood and triumph hails As trophy of their valor, armament Or better fortune, thinking he who fights With surer odds or tactics seldom fails In the last holocaust of war’s event.
Impassioned eyes see not the shadow-shapes That hover on the flank of charging hosts, Ready to launch themselves as chance array; Not one of all the mustered lines escapes When mockery’s phantom centauri the boasts Of martial pride downtrample and dismay.
Ah, Waterloo! where scarred battalions strove And overwhelmed each other, blood-imbrued, Hurling their troops with savage impotence-- The conquering cavalry which o’er thee drove Was not the one the Corsican reviewed, Nor yet the Iron Duke with grimmer sense.
Ah, Gettysburg! whose murderous brigades Met in the shambles of a horror-hell Or rushed like demons in the jaws of death-- Thy most resistless riders were the shades Of other erstwhile terribles who fell Drawing the sword from its envenomed sheath.
In vain each other’s throats the blue and grey Sprang at like wolves of Winter mad for flesh, And yet unsated till the kill-lust leaped In exultation’s shout of victory! Not all thy columns veteran or fresh Could save the field by grisly corpses heaped
Against the spectral squadron which outrode Both Fighting Phil and Morgan’s Men alike, As on the Battle’s flank it weirdly hung Or where the Dragon’s Teeth of Hate were sowed Sprang up as Headless Horsemen armed to strike And crumple back the charge by fury flung.
They loomed like apparitions, terror-born, Yet ghastly real and dreadly sinister, Abreast of every vanguard and redoubt; O’er trench and belching gun they swept in scorn Or carried panic to the broken rear Till all was carnage, cowardice and rout.
Invincible formations, onsets’ surge Of vengeance’ boldest fiends, manœuvres dire With compassing destruction--all before The grewsome legionaries’ mounted charge Were swept like chaff by maelstrom wind and fire And rose again in prowess nevermore.
But on the ghost-troop galloped as of old In every bloody battle, never dead And never yet defeated; phantoms still That gallop, gallop o’er the mortal mould Of every tragic battlefield once red With madmen’s life-blood at their country’s will!
THOU CALLEST ME BROTHER
Thou callest me thy human brother; well, Am I less flesh and spirit than thyself Or less entitled so to humbly dwell In honest peace and plenty that to delve Is equally as noble as to draw From the rich depths digged up? Or is the law Of brotherhood pretense?--Our separate lots But differ as our make, not as our meed. Do brothers share according to their thoughts Or in the rough according to their need? If thou dost think thee finer in the end Than him thou flatterest, thou art no friend.
Thou callest me thy brother and dost praise My struggle to get even, holding fast Thyself the odds of vantage, so the race Is to the swift and strong--and he is last Whose toiling body forged the chariot-wheel That rolls thee on to fortune. It were base To make the difference one of feast and fast, Of full and empty measure of our weal; For I am he who’s spent--the spender thou; Yet thou dost call me brother! Heaven, how?
THE SINGING DEATH
Men whisper low of spectres, calibans And curses almost devilish with doom, Mysterious fiends like hellhounds, werwolves, ghouls And other nameless shapes as jinns and janns That spring from demon-haunts and skulk or loom To terror-stricken fancy of weak souls.
But none have named the scourge of Singing Death, The dread reality which out of hell Comes forth as often as the blood-lust burns; Foulness and fury volcanize its breath As, ravening for flesh insatiate, fell It swoops, devours and bloodier returns.
An army gathers flushed with high resolve And there is martial music and display Of glory ominous with human fate; For ere the dial shall again revolve The Singing Death exultantly will prey Upon the host till horror outdoes hate.
A floating citadel superbly steers Her ocean-course with victory-flags unfurled, Alike to sea and foe invincible; Yet somewhere from the blue as she careers The Singing Death by Titan forces hurled Will scream above her decks with damning knell.
Hark! Hear you it like vomit from the throat Of Hades hurtling through the sulphurous air, With cross between the moan of Manes’ wraith, The torture of Inferno and the note Of vulture-torn Prometheus’ despair? Ah! ’Tis the cannon missile’s Singing Death!
It plays no diapason as the roar It leaves behind where thunders loud intone, Nor as the mighty swell of organ-reeds; But all the stops of battle rising o’er, It shrieks its way to finish with the groan Of mortal agony where valor bleeds.
It sings not as a master for applause, With perfect-voiced-and-chested range of gift Till song becomes the triumph of all time; But, rather, ’tis a dirge which discord flaws With time’s infernal arts lest God uplift The world by love to Peace’s choir sublime.
THE OLD MOON IN THE ARMS OF THE NEW
The young moon rises low Just where the passing earth Has stood aside to help it grow, Once it has come to birth.
Yet on the old moon’s back The image of the new Reflected is with lustre-lack From earth it kindled to.
In gleaming arms of youth The sire is embraced; The silver edge of ancient truth In younger truth is traced.
The clasp of morning love Embosoms that of eve; And memory’s in the crescent of Old age’s child-reprieve.
A sickly sickle frames The lusty one that reaps; So power, pleasure, fortune, fame’s Pale as the keener sweeps.
Our latest wish infolds The hope that’s almost spent, And every rim of promise holds The past to future bent.
But not so feebly say Youth hastens on the heels Of age, but that ’tis nature’s way Our myriad orb reveals.
Transcriber’s Notes
All poetry spacing and minor errors in the original have been maintained.