Part 1
NIAGARA, AND OTHER POEMS
Niagara, and Other Poems
By
Benjamin Copeland
_Buffalo and New York:_ _The Matthews-Northrup Works_ _1904_
_Copyright, 1904,_
_By_
_Benjamin Copeland_
CONTENTS.
NIAGARA 11
THE MEADOW AIR IS SWEET 13
WHEN LIFE WAS LIKE A SUNNY STREAM 15
THE FIRST ROBIN 18
THE GOAL 20
THE REWARD 21
STRENGTH AND BEAUTY 22
VIOLET, ROSE, AND GOLDEN ROD 23
OCTOBER 25
THE WINDOW OVER THE STABLE-DOOR 27
“HAIL TO THE CHIEF!” (PRESIDENT MCKINLEY) 30
CUBA LIBRE 32
THE GREATER REPUBLIC 34
EMERSON 36
DANIEL WEBSTER 39
LINCOLN 40
AGASSIZ—EMERSON 40
WELCOME 41
FAME 43
DEFEATED 44
FIDELITY 45
TRANSFIGURED! 46
BETRAYED 47
SUNSET 48
FULFILLMENT 49
CONTENTMENT 49
COMPANIONSHIP 50
ASPIRATION AND ATTAINMENT 51
A QUESTION OR TWO 53
OTHER SHEEP 55
BY MANY PATHS 57
POOR LITTLE JOE! 58
DARK, AND DAYS 59
EXPERIENCE 59
A SURE FOUNDATION 60
THE VOYAGE 60
THE STONECROFT 61
PROGRESS 62
A BENEDICTION 62
LOVE AND TRUTH 63
BEAUTY 64
HEART OF LOVE 64
THE CORONATION 65
DISCIPLESHIP 65
THE GREATER DEEP 66
FAITH 66
THE GIFT 66
SONSHIP 67
REALITY 67
INFINITY 67
UNANSWERED 68
SELF-SENTENCED 69
A ROYAL PRIESTHOOD 70
INSPIRATION 70
UNCONSCIOUS INFLUENCE 71
HOLD FAST THIS TRUTH 71
GLORIA IN EXCELSIS! 72
A CONTRAST 72
CROWNED! 73
THE MEASURE 73
HUMILITY 74
ENTREATY 74
AT LAST! 75
FORGIVE US, LORD! 75
ASSURANCE 76
THE LITTLE ONES 77
LITTLE RUTH 79
LITTLE THEODORE 81
WHERE THERE IS NO MORE PAIN 83
THE EASTER ANSWER 85
COMMUNION 87
ST. AUGUSTINE 88
BETHEL 90
AN IDYL OF THE SPIRITUAL LIFE 94
OPPORTUNITY 95
LET IN THE LIGHT! 96
THE LAW OF LOVE 98
SUPPLICATION 99
OUR LIFE IS LENT 100
LENTEN LESSONS 102
REMEMBER! 103
THE RECKONING 104
THE FONT, THE ALTER, AND THE TOMB 105
THE EVENTIDE 107
THE LARGER LIFE 108
A PRAYER 109
THE MESSAGE 110
AS THOU WILT 111
WE WOULD SING THE STORY! 112
CHRISTMAS 115
“AS HE IS.” 117
PASSION-TIDE 118
IN BROTHERHOOD WITH ALL 119
CODE AND CREED 120
EASTER-TIDE 121
EASTER LILIES 123
EASTER-TIDE ADORATION 124
THE KING 125
AN EASTER-TIDE LYRIC 126
AN EASTER IDYL 127
ASCENSION-TIDE 128
HOMEWARD 130
CHRISTUS CONSOLATOR 131
COMPENSATION 132
FROM MORNING TO MORNING! 133
NIAGARA.
Majestic symbol of eternal power! Dread oracle of eons all unknown! Before thy presence Pomp and Passion cower,— All men are equal at thy awful throne.
Abashed, the eager babble of the mart,— To silence shamed, the vulgar greed for gain; No more ambition goads the weary heart, And Toil forgets its unrequited pain.
Stern type of Truth’s inexorable law! No room remains for envy or for pride; Here prince and pauper stand in common awe, Swayed by the spell of thy resistless tide.
A rushing, seething Sinai,—thou dost pour On sluggish consciences the solemn sense Of justice infinite:—thy thunder’s roar Declares to Wrong relentless recompense.
Against our arrogance thy strength doth plead; Deep unto deep imperiously calls; Impartial annalist! the nations read Their transient glory on thy ageless walls.
Yet dost thou deign to dower the moment’s need,— Our dreams exceeding by thy bounteous sway; With power unrivaled thy proud flood shall speed The New World’s progress toward Time’s perfect day.
O mighty monitor! O seer sublime! The soul’s surpassing grandeur thou dost show;— The fountains of thy immemorial prime Through man’s immortal being freely flow.
THE MEADOW AIR IS SWEET.
The meadow air is sweet;— The cowslip’s cup of gold Is full of fresh and fragrant dew,— More full than it can hold.
The meadow air is sweet;— The blackbird’s mellow note, Like water in a little brook, Flows gurgling from his throat.
The meadow air is sweet;— The stream that cheers the lea Will feel the willow’s tender kiss, E’en to the distant sea.
The meadow air is sweet;— Hark! from the old elm tree:— Ah! only lovers understand The oriole’s ecstasy.
The meadow air is sweet;— The clover, handsome-white, With dainty odors woos the bee, And fills her with delight.
The meadow air is sweet;— The bobolink is there! When he is mute a faery flute Seems echoing in the air.
The meadow air is sweet;— The daisy in the grass Looks up to see the clouds, and feel Their shadow as they pass.
The meadow air is sweet;— The swallow flashes by, Too merry for a moment’s rest Between the earth and sky.
The meadow air is sweet;— The day wanes in the west, And twilight’s soothing shadows lull A weary world to rest.
The meadow air is sweet;— Like altar incense rare, It blends the robin’s even-song With the little children’s prayer.
WHEN LIFE WAS LIKE A SUNNY STREAM.
Alas! it seemeth but a dream,— My childhood’s bright, bright day, When life was like a sunny stream Left to its own glad way.
How wonderful the radiant Spring, In garden, glade, and wood! Fresh from God’s hand seemed everything, "And everything was good!"
Close by the door, the apple tree, From many a fruitful bough, Its richest blossoms spread for me;— I feel their fragrance now!
The robin and the oriole, (I loved them both the same), Their sweetest songs to me did troll,— I think they knew my name!
A little brook, from hidden spring, Ran babbling down the hill; It seemed to me a living thing,— I hear its laughter still!
Ah! ours was bliss without alloy, And friendship fondly leal;— I brought it human love and joy,— It turned my water-wheel!
And, tired of play, what peace I found, As the bright clouds sailed by, Just to lie down upon the ground And look into the sky!
Deep, deep, that look of calm delight, So free from care and pain;— Would God I might its holy height, Its sweet repose, regain!
The meadow, and the old elm tree, The woods, the waterfall,— Once more they all come back to me; I see and hear them, all.
I see and hear them, and rejoice; For forms and faces dear, Lost long, long since to sight and voice, Once more to me appear.
And hark! a little child again,— I hear, with heart abrim, That tender, ravishing refrain,— The redbreast’s evening hymn!
So God be praised for that sweet dream, My childhood’s bright, bright day,— When life was like a sunny stream Left to its own glad way.
THE FIRST ROBIN.
Herald of the happy year, Robin redbreast, art thou here? Welcome to thy destined goal; Welcome, songster of the soul!
Age and Childhood find, in thee, Kindred bond of sympathy; Hope and memory are one, In thy song’s sweet unison.
Common freehold all hearts claim In thy nature’s artless aim; Best of priests and poets, thou, Singing on the leafless bough.
Mead and mountain, wood and wold, Wait the rapture manifold, Which shall prove thee saint and seer,— Dearest minstrel of the year!
Every note like April rain,— Thou transmutest, in thy strain, With the season’s subtle power, Winter’s dearth to summer’s dower.
Glows the mold with vernal fire Kindled by thy love’s desire; Nature wakens, at thy call, To her Easter festival.
Mateless messenger divine! Peerless privilege is thine:— Thou interpretest to Faith The deep mystery of death.
THE GOAL.
Sweet scents, sweet sounds, sweet scenes! With all that intervenes In sweeter solemn silences profound,— Whereinto overflows, In forest, river, rose, Passionless being, beauty without bound.
How deep the mind’s repose! The vagrant sea-breeze blows With kindred pulses through the fragrant shade; And sod and soul are blent In blest enfranchisement,— Prefiguring the end for all things made.
For life and love, supreme Beyond the poet’s dream, Shall bear all being to its blissful goal; The wondrous word is true— "Lo! I make all things new;" The universe is ransomed with the soul!
THE REWARD.
From green to gold The year grows old, With beautiful increase; The seasons wane To ripened grain And Nature’s deepest peace.
The same sure plan Is thine, O man! Alike for sod and soul, The law of love,— Enthroned above— That guides thee to thy goal.
Have faith in God:— Who gives the clod Its meed of fruit or flower, Shall crown thy cares, Thy tears, thy prayers, With an immortal dower.
STRENGTH AND BEAUTY.
The Useful and the Beautiful, Indissolubly blent, One law reveal, one Will and weal, In sod and firmament.
The earth below, the sky above, With flowers and stars are sprent;— The child to cheer, the saint, the seer, Their love and light are lent.
For Strength and Beauty equal are, In Nature’s kind intent,— The hawthorn hedge, and granite ledge That binds the continent.
Were wish and will more dutiful, And life more nobly spent, Would we not know, with souls aglow, What such high vision meant?
Ah, yes! our lowliest tasks would then In heaven’s own glory shine, And time be told on harps of gold, In dream and deed divine.
VIOLET, ROSE, AND GOLDEN-ROD.
Violet, rose, and golden-rod! Blossoms of the self-same sod, Springing from the breathing mold Into beauty manifold.
Each its season knoweth well, Without sign or syllable,— Faithful to the law benign Potent over palm and pine.
Excellent in their degree, Rivals they can never be; Fashioned with divinest grace, Each is perfect in its place.
Dear to Childhood and to Age, Each hath ample heritage In these human hearts of ours, Kindred with the leaves and flowers.
Children of the shower and sun, Soon, like theirs, our day is done;— We are fading e’en as they,— We with them must pass away.
But the flowers shall bloom again; Ends, at last, the winter’s reign;— Life is larger than a breath,— Love is master over death!
Precious, in the sight of God, Violet, rose, and golden-rod;— Dearer far to Heaven are we, Children of eternity!
OCTOBER.
Crimson-and-gold, October’s boughs proclaim The approaching Passion of the waning year; By sacramental signs, for aye the same, Pathetic portents show the end is near.
The landscape lessens in the shimmering haze; The songless silence chants the season’s grief;— Too soon shall follow, with the darkening days, The fading field-flower and the falling leaf.
No more allures the lovely glade or glen; A nameless sorrow haunts the lonely shore; The frosts have fallen on the hearts of men; The little children seek the woods no more.
For Nature holds us surely as her own, In sleet and snow, or under skies of blue; From birth to death we share her mirth or moan,— Forever to our faithful mother true.
Yet, in our loneliest hours, alike we feel The comfort Heaven to wood and wold supplies,— A hope that doth the season’s sadness heal And binds us closer still, in tenderest ties.
A kindred impulse stirs our common dust To look beyond the winter’s dearth and dole, And find in God, our Life, our Strength, our Trust, The everlasting summer of the soul.
THE WINDOW OVER THE STABLE-DOOR.
An Idyl of the Common Life.
From the window over the stable-door, Hark! how the notes of gladness pour! Like playful brook, their free, clear flow,— But why such joy I do not know; For ’tis the coachman’s humble cot;— The horses share his lowly lot:— The same roof shelters beast and man;— So prudently doth Dives plan!
Who here would look to see enshrin’d A happy heart, a peaceful mind? The fact exceeds my fancy’s range,— Yet ’tis as true as it is strange;— For hark! how the notes of gladness pour Through the window over the stable-door!
In such secluded spot, I fear ’T were sacrilege to venture near;— Half guiltily I close the book, And turn, unseen, an eager look To the window over the stable-door, Whence still those notes of gladness pour.
Ah! now the meaning plain I see Of that sweet-throated mystery;— For, rocking softly to and fro, With fair, fine forehead bending low, A mother lulls to slumber blest Her first-born babe upon her breast. A lovelier sight, through leafy screen, By faun or fairy ne’er was seen; And never more melodious word The sylvan silence ever stirred.
Not hers to see the grace she wears,— Nor hers to dream the peace she bears, By such a blessed minstrelsy, Into the world’s wide misery;— But all unconsciously each thought Is into melting music wrought. She does not hear the song she sings,— Nor can she know the bliss it brings, Far, far beyond her babe, to me,— A life’s space from a mother’s knee! It tells me of a heart at rest, A quiet mind, contented, blest,— A little paradise, shut in From envy, vanity, and sin.
She meekly shares her husband’s lot, And sanctifies this humble spot With trustful, sweet simplicity, In all her girlhood’s purity,— With word and look from murmuring free, And love’s unmeasured ministry.
Hark! how the notes of gladness pour From the window over the stable door!
And now as soft as vesper bells, The soul’s deep song more faintly swells. Is it because, the while she sings, Like Mary, pondering “these things,” She thinks of angels far away, And Him who in a manger lay?— The Blessed Babe the Virgin press’d Adoringly to her pure breast? The Holy Child, forever dear,— The Son of God, forever near,— The loving Christ, whose kingdom, sure, Is in the bosoms of the poor;— Who passed from out the stable-door All souls to serve, on sea or shore, And rule all worlds forevermore.
“HAIL TO THE CHIEF!”
(William McKinley.)
Niagara-like the welcome which awaits The Nation’s Chief, approaching now our gates; From depths sincere the People’s joy shall pour Like many waters thundering on the shore, As to her heart her honored Guest she takes,— The Town we love,—the Empress of the Lakes! Nor ours alone the President to greet;— The North, the South, the East, the West, here meet,— Each Commonwealth contributing its share Of honor due, beneath one banner fair:— Brothers forevermore, from sea to sea,— One country dear, one hope, one destiny! Nor even here shall the wide welcome end;— Beyond our bounds its ardour shall extend; For neighboring Nations, each American, Admire with us the President, the man! And, sharing with delight the common feast, Shall feel anew their noblest aims increased.
City of Light! Crown-jewel of our fame! Throw wide your gates to him of blameless name;— With peerless pageant swell the rising tide Of grateful joy and patriotic pride. Rehearse the thrilling history once more:— Manila’s bay and Santiago’s shore! Let glowing dome and pennoned turret tell, To God’s sole praise, the matchless miracle. Nor fail to voice the Present’s mighty plan, And justify the name American! Saxon, or Latin-born,—we’re all one blood:— The Exposition stands for brotherhood.
So may the morrow dawn,—so pass away, In cheer prophetic of our widening sway;— And when the evening’s deepening shadows fall, And heaven’s sweet silence broodeth over all, May the blest memories of the day be blent In that fair Vision in mid-firmament, The Tower of Light! Niagara’s flood in flame! The radiant symbol of our Future’s fame:— Pledge of an age whose light shall never cease,— The boundless empire of the Prince of Peace!
The above lines were written September 3, 1901, and printed the following afternoon in the Buffalo Commercial, an hour or two before President McKinley’s arrival in the city the evening before “President’s Day” at the Pan-American Exposition.
B. C.
CUBA LIBRE.
(Tune: Maryland, My Maryland.)
The work is wrought; the cannon’s roar On sea or land is heard no more; The battle’s rage and tumult cease In songs of victory and peace. The Heaven-appointed task is done; The cause for which we fought is won; And Cuba Libre, fairest gem, Is set in Freedom’s diadem!