Chapter 3

And who will walk a mile with me Along life's weary way? A friend whose heart has eyes to see The stars shine out o'er the darkening lea, And the quiet rest at the end o' the day,-- A friend who knows, and dares to say, The brave, sweet words that cheer the way Where he walks a mile with me.

With such a comrade, such a friend, I fain would walk till journeys end, Through summer sunshine, winter rain, And then?--Farewell, we shall meet again!

December, 1902.

SPRING IN THE SOUTH

Now in the oak the sap of life is welling, Tho' to the bough the rusty leafage clings; Now on the elm the misty buds are swelling, See how the pine-wood grows alive with wings; Blue-jays fluttering, yodeling and crying, Meadow-larks sailing low above the faded grass, Red-birds whistling clear, silent robins flying,-- Who has waked the birds up? What has come to pass?

Last year's cotton-plants, desolately bowing, Tremble in the March-wind, ragged and forlorn; Red are the hill-sides of the early ploughing, Gray are the lowlands, waiting for the corn. Earth seems asleep still, but she's only feigning; Deep in her bosom thrills a sweet unrest. Look where the jasmine lavishly is raining Jove's golden shower into Danae's breast!

Now on the plum the snowy bloom is sifted, Now on the peach the glory of the rose, Over the hills a tender haze is drifted, Full to the brim the yellow river flows. Dark cypress boughs with vivid jewels glisten, Greener than emeralds shining in the sun. Who has wrought the magic? Listen, sweetheart, listen! The mocking-bird is singing Spring has begun.

Hark, in his song no tremor of misgiving! All of his heart he pours into his lay,-- "Love, love, love, and pure delight of living: Winter is forgotten: here's a happy day!" Fair in your face I read the flowery presage, Snowy on your brow and rosy on your mouth: Sweet in your voice I hear the season's message,-- Love, love, love, and Spring in the South!

March, 1904.

LOVE'S NEARNESS

I think of thee, when golden sunbeams shimmer Across the sea; And when the waves reflect the moon's pale glimmer, I think of thee.

I see thy form, when down the distant highway The dust-clouds rise; In deepest night, above the mountain by-way, I see thine eyes.

I hear thee when the ocean-tides returning Loudly rejoice; And on the lonely moor, in stillness yearning, I hear thy voice.

I dwell with thee: though thou art far removed, Yet art thou near. The sun goes down, the stars shine out,-- Beloved, Ah, wert thou here!

From Goethe: "Nahe des Geliebten."

TWO SCHOOLS

I put my heart to school In the world, where men grow wise, "Go out," I said, "and learn the rule; "Come back when you win a prize."

My heart came back again: "Now where is the prize?" I cried.-- "The rule was false, and the prize was pain, "And the teacher's name was Pride."

I put my heart to school In the woods, where veeries sing, And brooks run cool and clear; In the fields, where wild flowers spring, And the blue of heaven bends near. "Go out," I said: "you are half a fool, "But perhaps they can teach you here."

"And why do you stay so long, "My heart, and where do you roam?" The answer came with a laugh and a song,-- "I find this school is home."

April, 1901.

A PRAYER FOR A MOTHER'S BIRTHDAY

Lord Jesus, Thou hast known A mother's love and tender care: And Thou wilt hear, while for my own Mother most dear I make this birthday prayer.

Protect her life, I pray, Who gave the gift of life to me; And may she know, from day to day, The deepening glow of Life that comes from Thee.

As once upon her breast Fearless and well content I lay, So let her heart, on Thee at rest, Feel fears depart and troubles fade away.

Her every wish fulfill; And even if Thou must refuse In anything, let Thy wise will A comfort bring such as kind mothers use.

Ah, hold her by the hand, As once her hand held mine; And though she may not understand Life's winding way, lead her in peace divine.

I cannot pay my debt For all the love that she has given; But Thou, love's Lord, wilt not forget Her due reward,--bless her in earth and heaven.

July, 1903.

INDIAN SUMMER

A soft veil dims the tender skies, And half conceals from pensive eyes The bronzing tokens of the fall; A calmness broods upon the hills, And summer's parting dream distills A charm of silence over all.

The stacks of corn, in brown array, Stand waiting through the placid day, Like tattered wigwams on the plain; The tribes that find a shelter there Are phantom peoples, forms of air, And ghosts of vanished joy and pain.

At evening when the crimson crest Of sunset passes down the West, I hear the whispering host returning; On far-off fields, by elm and oak, I see the lights, I smell the smoke,-- The Camp-fires of the Past are burning.

Tertius and Henry Van Dyke.

November, 1903.

ONE WORLD

"The worlds in which we live are two The world 'I am' and the world 'I do.'"

The worlds in which we live at heart are one, The world "I am," the fruit of "I have done"; And underneath these worlds of flower and fruit, The world "I love,"--the only living root.

HIDE AND SEEK

I

All the trees are sleeping, all the winds are still, All the flocks of fleecy clouds have wandered past the hill; Through the noonday silence, down the woods of June, Hark, a little hunter's voice comes running with a tune. "Hide and seek! "When I speak, "You must answer me: "Call again, "Merry men, "Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!"

Now I hear his footsteps, rustling through the grass: Hidden in my leafy nook, shall I let him pass? Just a low, soft whistle,--quick the hunter turns, Leaps upon me laughing, rolls me in the ferns. "Hold him fast, "Caught at last! "Now you're it, you see. "Hide your eye, "Till I cry, "Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!"

II

Long ago he left me, long and long ago: Now I wander through the world and seek him high and low; Hidden safe and happy, in some pleasant place,-- Ah, if I could hear his voice, I soon should find his face. Far away, Many a day, Where can Barney be? Answer, dear, Don't you hear? Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!

Birds that in the spring-time thrilled his heart with joy, Flowers he loved to pick for me, mind me of my boy. Surely he is waiting till my steps come nigh; Love may hide itself awhile, but love can never die. Heart, be glad, The little lad Will call some day to thee: "Father dear, "Heaven is here, "Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!"

January, 1900.

DULCIS MEMORIA

Long, long ago I heard a little song, (Ah, was it long ago, or yesterday?) So lowly, slowly wound the tune along, That far into my heart it found the way: A melody consoling and endearing; And still, in silent hours, I'm often hearing The small, sweet song that does not die away.

Long, long ago I saw a little flower,-- (Ah, was it long ago, or yesterday?) So fair of face and fragrant for an hour, That something dear to me it seemed to say: A thought of joy that blossomed into being Without a word; and now I'm often seeing The friendly flower that does not fade away.

Long, long ago we had a little child,-- (Ah, was it long ago, or yesterday?) Into his mother's eyes and mine he smiled Unconscious love; warm in our arms he lay. An angel called! Dear heart, we could not hold him; Yet secretly your arms and mine infold him-- Our little child who does not go away.

Long, long ago? Ah, memory, make it clear-- (It was not long ago, but yesterday,) So little and so helpless and so dear Let not the song be lost, the flower decay! His voice, his waking eyes, his gentle sleeping: The smallest things are safest in thy keeping. Sweet memory, keep our child with us alway.

April, 1903.

AUTUMN IN THE GARDEN

When the frosty kiss of Autumn in the dark Makes its mark On the flowers, and the misty morning grieves Over fallen leaves; Then my olden garden, where the golden soil Through the toil Of a hundred years is mellow, rich, and deep, Whispers in its sleep.

'Mid the crumpled beds of marigold and phlox, Where the box Borders with its glossy green the ancient walks, There's a voice that talks Of the human hopes that bloomed and withered here Year by year,-- Dreams of joy, that brightened all the labouring hours, Fading as the flowers.

Yet the whispered story does not deepen grief; But relief For the loneliness of sorrow seems to flow From the Long-Ago, When I think of other lives that learned, like mine, To resign, And remember that the sadness of the fall Comes alike to all.

What regrets, what longings for the lost were theirs! And what prayers For the silent strength that nerves us to endure Things we cannot cure! Pacing up and down the garden where they paced, I have traced All their well-worn paths of patience, till I find Comfort in my mind.

Faint and far away their ancient griefs appear: Yet how near Is the tender voice, the careworn, kindly face, Of the human race! Let us walk together in the garden, dearest heart, Not apart! They who know the sorrows other lives have known Never walk alone.

October, 1903.

THE MESSAGE

Waking from tender sleep, My neighbour's little child Put out his baby hand to me, Looked in my face, and smiled.

It seemed as if he came Home from a happy land, To tell me something that my heart Would surely understand.

Somewhere, among bright dreams, A child that once was mine Had whispered wordless love to him, And given him a sign.

Comfort of kindly speech, And counsel of the wise, Have helped me less than what I read In those deep-smiling eyes.

Sleep sweetly, little friend, And dream again of heaven: With double love I kiss your hand,-- Your message has been given.

November, 1903.

LIGHT BETWEEN THE TREES

Long, long, long the trail Through the brooding forest-gloom, Down the shadowy, lonely vale Into silence, like a room Where the light of life has fled, And the jealous curtains close Round the passionless repose Of the silent dead.

Plod, plod, plod away, Step by step in mouldering moss; Thick branches bar the day Over languid streams that cross Softly, slowly, with a sound In their aimless creeping Like a smothered weeping, Through the enchanted ground.

"Yield, yield, yield thy quest," Whispers through the woodland deep; "Come to me and be at rest; "I am slumber, I am sleep." Then the weary feet would fail, But the never-daunted will Urges "Forward, forward still! "Press along the trail!"

Breast, breast, breast the slope! See, the path is growing steep. Hark! a little song of hope When the stream begins to leap. Though the forest, far and wide, Still shuts out the bending blue, We shall finally win through, Cross the long divide.

On, on, onward tramp! Will the journey never end? Over yonder lies the camp; Welcome waits us there, my friend. Can we reach it ere the night? Upward, upward, never fear! Look, the summit must be near; See the line of light!

Red, red, red the shine Of the splendour in the west, Glowing through the ranks of pine, Clear along the mountain-crest! Long, long, long the trail Out of sorrow's lonely vale; But at last the traveller sees Light between the trees!

March, 1904.

RELIANCE

Not to the swift, the race: Not to the strong, the fight: Not to the righteous, perfect grace: Not to the wise, the light.

But often faltering feet Come surest to the goal; And they who walk in darkness meet The sunrise of the soul.

A thousand times by night The Syrian hosts have died; A thousand times the vanquished right Hath risen, glorified.

The truth the wise men sought Was spoken by a child; The alabaster box was brought In trembling hands defiled.

Not from my torch, the gleam, But from the stars above: Not from my heart, life's crystal stream, But from the depths of Love.

October, 1903.

GREETINGS AND INSCRIPTIONS

KATRINA'S SUN-DIAL

Hours fly, Flowers die: New days, New ways: Pass by! Love stays.

**

Time is Too Slow for those who Wait, Too Swift for those who Fear, Too Long for those who Grieve, Too Short for those who Rejoice; But for those who Love, Time is not.

TO JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

On his "Book of Joyous Children"

Yours is a garden of old-fashioned flowers; Joyous children delight to play there; Weary men find rest in its bowers, Watching the lingering light of day there.

Old-time tunes and young love's laughter Ripple and run among the roses; Memory's echoes, murmuring after, Fill the dusk when the long day closes.

Simple songs with a cadence olden-- These you learned in the Forest of Arden: Friendly flowers with hearts all golden-- These you borrowed from Eden's garden.

This is the reason why all men love you; Truth to life is the charm of art: Other poets may soar above you-- You keep close to the human heart.

December, 1903.

A HEALTH TO MARK TWAIN

At his Birthday Feast

With memories old and wishes new We crown our cups again, And here's to you, and here's to you With love that ne'er shall wane! And may you keep, at sixty-seven, The joy of earth, the hope of heaven, And fame well-earned, and friendship true, And peace that comforts every pain, And faith that fights the battle through, And all your heart's unbounded wealth, And all your wit, and all your health,-- Yes, here's a hearty health to you, And here's to you, and here's to you, Long life to you, Mark Twain.

A RONDEAU OF COLLEGE RHYMES

Our college rhymes,--how light they seem, Like little ghosts of love's young dream That led our boyish hearts away From lectures and from books, to stray By flowery mead and flowing stream!

There's nothing here, in form or theme, Of thought sublime or art supreme: We would not have the critic weigh Our college rhymes.

Yet if, perchance, a slender beam Of feeling's glow or fancy's gleam Still lingers in the lines we lay At Alma Mater's feet today, The touch of Nature may redeem Our college rhymes.

May, 1904.

THE MOCKING-BIRD

In mirth he mocks the other birds at noon, Catching the lilt of every easy tune; But when the day departs he sings of love,-- His own wild song beneath the listening moon.

March, 1904.

THE EMPTY QUATRAIN

A flawless cup: how delicate and fine The flowing curve of every jewelled line! Look, turn it up or down, 't is perfect still,-- But holds no drop of life's heart-warming wine.

April, 1904.

INSCRIPTIONS FOR A FRIEND'S HOUSE

THE HOUSE

The cornerstone in Truth is laid, The guardian walls of Honour made, The roof of Faith is built above, The fire upon the hearth is Love: Though rains descend and loud winds call, This happy house shall never fall.

THE DOORSTEAD

The lintel low enough to keep out pomp and pride: The threshold high enough to turn deceit aside: The doorband strong enough from robbers to defend: This door will open at a touch to welcome every friend.

THE HEARTHSTONE

When the logs are burning free, Then the fire is full of glee: When each heart gives out its best, Then the talk is full of zest: Light your fire and never fear, Life was made for love and cheer.

THE SUN-DIAL

Time can never take What Time did not give; When my shadows have all passed, You shall live.

THE STATUE OF SHERMAN BY ST. GAUDENS

This is the soldier brave enough to tell The glory-dazzled world that 'war is hell': Lover of peace, he looks beyond the strife, And rides through hell to save his country's life.

April, 1904.

THE SUN-DIAL AT WELLS COLLEGE

The shadow by my finger cast Divides the future from the past: Before it, sleeps the unborn hour In darkness, and beyond thy power: Behind its unreturning line, The vanished hour, no longer thine: One hour alone is in thy hands,-- The NOW on which the shadow stands.

March, 1904.