Chapter 4
"I note through all your fissures how the tide Of healthful life goes leaping as of old; Your royal dawns retain their pomp and pride; Your sunsets lose no atom of their gold. How can this wonder be?" My soul's fine ear Leaned, listening, till a small voice answered near:
"My days lapse never over into night; My nights encroach not on the rights of dawn. I rush not breathless after some delight; I waste no grief for any pleasure gone. My July noons burn not the entire year. Heart, hearken well!" "Yes, yes; go on; I hear."
"I do not strive to make my sunsets' gold Pave all the dim and distant realms of space. I do not bid my crimson dawns unfold To lend the midnight a fictitious grace. I break no law, for all God's laws are good. Heart, hast thou heard?" "Yes, yes; and understood."
DROUTH.
Why do we pity those who weep? The pain That finds a ready outlet in the flow Of salt and bitter tears is blessed woe, And does not need our sympathies. The rain But fits the shorn field for new yield of grain; While the red, brazen skies, the sun's fierce glow, The dry, hot winds that from the tropics blow Do parch and wither the unsheltered plain. The anguish that through long, remorseless years Looks out upon the world with no relief Of sudden tempests or slow-dripping tears-- The still, unuttered, silent, wordless grief That evermore doth ache, and ache, and ache-- This is the sorrow wherewith hearts do break.
THE CREED.
Whoever was begotten by pure love, And came desired and welcome into life, Is of immaculate conception. He Whose heart is full of tenderness and truth, Who loves mankind more than he loves himself, And cannot find room in his heart for hate, May be another Christ. We all may be The Saviours of the world if we believe In the Divinity which dwells in us And worship it, and nail our grosser selves, Our tempers, greeds, and our unworthy aims, Upon the cross. Who giveth love to all; Pays kindness for unkindness, smiles for frowns; And lends new courage to each fainting heart, And strengthens hope and scatters joy abroad-- He, too, is a Redeemer, Son of God.
PROGRESS.
Let there be many windows to your soul, That all the glory of the universe May beautify it. Not the narrow pane Of one poor creed can catch the radiant rays That shine from countless sources. Tear away The blinds of superstition; let the light Pour through fair windows broad as Truth itself And high as God.
Why should the spirit peer Through some priest-curtained orifice, and grope Along dim corridors of doubt, when all The splendor from unfathomed seas of space Might bathe it with the golden waves of Love? Sweep up the debris of decaying faiths; Sweep down the cobwebs of worn-out beliefs, And throw your soul wide open to the light Of Reason and of Knowledge. Tune your ear To all the wordless music of the stars And to the voice of Nature, and your heart Shall turn to truth and goodness as the plant Turns to the sun. A thousand unseen hands Reach down to help you to their peace-crowned heights. And all the forces of the firmament Shall fortify your strength. Be not afraid To thrust aside half-truths and grasp the whole.
MY FRIEND.
When first I looked upon the face of Pain I shrank repelled, as one shrinks from a foe Who stands with dagger poised, as for a blow. I was in search of Pleasure and of Gain; I turned aside to let him pass: in vain; He looked straight in my eyes and would not go. "Shake hands," he said; "our paths are one, and so We must be comrades on the way, 'tis plain."
I felt the firm clasp of his hand on mine; Through all my veins it sent a strengthening glow. I straightway linked my arm in his, and lo! He led me forth to joys almost divine; With God's great truths enriched me in the end: And now I hold him as my dearest friend.
CREATION.
The impulse of all love is to create. God was so full of love, in his embrace He clasped the empty nothingness of space, And low! the solar system! High in state The mighty sun sat, so supreme and great With this same essence, one smile of its face Brought myriad forms of life forth; race on race, From insects up to men.
Through love, not hate, All that is grand in nature or in art Sprang into being. He who would build sublime And lasting works, to stand the test of time, Must inspiration draw from his full heart. And he who loveth widely, well, and much, The secret holds of the true master touch.
RED CARNATIONS.
One time in Arcadie's fair bowers There met a bright immortal band, To choose their emblems from the flowers That made an Eden of that land.
Sweet Constancy, with eyes of hope, Strayed down the garden path alone And gathered sprays of heliotrope, To place in clusters at her zone.
True Friendship plucked the ivy green, Forever fresh, forever fair. Inconstancy with flippant mien The fading primrose chose to wear.
One moment Love the rose paused by; But Beauty picked it for her hair. Love paced the garden with a sigh He found no fitting emblem there.
Then suddenly he saw a flame, A conflagration turned to bloom; It even put the rose to shame, Both in its beauty and perfume.
He watched it, and it did not fade; He plucked it, and it brighter grew. In cold or heat, all undismayed, It kept its fragrance and its hue.
"Here deathless love and passion sleep," He cried, "embodied in this flower. This is the emblem I will keep." Love wore carnations from that hour.
LIFE IS TOO SHORT.
Life is too short for any vain regretting; Let dead delight bury its dead, I say, And let us go upon our way forgetting The joys and sorrows of each yesterday Between the swift sun's rising and its setting We have no time for useless tears or fretting: Life is too short.
Life is too short for any bitter feeling; Time is the best avenger if we wait; The years speed by, and on their wings bear healing; We have no room for anything like hate. This solemn truth the low mounds seem revealing That thick and fast about our feet are stealing: Life is too short.
Life is too short for aught but high endeavor-- Too short for spite, but long enough for love. And love lives on forever and forever; It links the worlds that circle on above: 'Tis God's first law, the universe's lever. In His vast realm the radiant souls sigh never "Life is too short."
A SCULPTOR.
As the ambitious sculptor, tireless, lifts Chisel and hammer to the block at hand, Before my half-formed character I stand And ply the shining tools of mental gifts. I'll cut away a huge, unsightly side Of selfishness, and smooth to curves of grace The angles of ill-temper.
And no trace Shall my sure hammer leave of silly pride. Chip after chip must fall from vain desires, And the sharp corners of my discontent Be rounded into symmetry, and lent Great harmony by faith that never tires. Unfinished still, I must toil on and on, Till the pale critic, Death, shall say, "'Tis done."
BEYOND.
It seemeth such a little way to me Across to that strange country--the Beyond; And yet, not strange, for it has grown to be The home of those of whom I am so fond, They make it seem familiar and most dear, As journeying friends bring distant regions near.
So close it lies that when my sight is clear I think I almost see the gleaming strand. I know I feel those who have gone from here Come near enough sometimes to touch my hand. I often think, but for our veiled eyes, We should find Heaven right round about us lies.
I cannot make it seem a day to dread, When from this dear earth I shall journey out To that still dearer country of the dead, And join the lost ones, so long dreamed about. I love this world, yet shall I love to go And meet the friends who wait for me, I know.
I never stand above a bier and see The seal of death set on some well-loved face But that I think, "One more to welcome me When I shall cross the intervening space Between this land and that one 'over there'; One more to make the strange Beyond seem fair."
And so for me there is no sting to death, And so the grave has lost its victory. It is but crossing--with a bated breath And white, set face--a little strip of sea To find the loved ones waiting on the shore, More beautiful, more precious than before.
THE SADDEST HOUR.
The saddest hour of anguish and of loss Is not that season of supreme despair When we can find no least light anywhere To gild the dread, black shadow of the Cross; Not in that luxury of sorrow when We sup on salt of tears, and drink the gall Of memories of days beyond recall-- Of lost delights that cannot come again.
But when, with eyes that are no longer wet, We look out on the great, wide world of men, And, smiling, lean toward a bright to-morrow, Then backward shrink, with sudden keen regret, To find that we are learning to forget: Ah! then we face the saddest hour of sorrow.
SHOW ME THE WAY.
Show me the way that leads to the true life. I do not care what tempests may assail me, I shall be given courage for the strife; I know my strength will not desert or fail me; I know that I shall conquer in the fray: Show me the way.
Show me the way up to a higher plane, Where body shall be servant to the soul. I do not care what tides of woe or pain Across my life their angry waves may roll, If I but reach the end I seek, some day: Show me the way.
Show me the way, and let me bravely climb Above vain grievings for unworthy treasures; Above all sorrow that finds balm in time; Above small triumphs or belittling pleasures; Up to those heights where these things seem child's-play: Show me the way.
Show me the way to that calm, perfect peace Which springs from an inward consciousness of right; To where all conflicts with the flesh shall cease, And self shall radiate with the spirit's light. Though hard the journey and the strife, I pray, Show me the way.
MY HERITAGE.
I into life so full of love was sent That all the shadows which fall on the way Of every human being could not stay, But fled before the light my spirit lent.
I saw the world through gold and crimson dyes: Men sighed and said, "Those rosy hues will fade As you pass on into the glare and shade!" Still beautiful the way seems to mine eyes.
They said, "You are too jubilant and glad; The world is full of sorrow and of wrong. Full soon your lips shall breathe forth sighs--not song." The day wears on, and yet I am not sad.
They said, "You love too largely, and you must, Through wound on wound, grow bitter to your kind." They were false prophets; day by day I find More cause for love, and less cause for distrust.
They said, "Too free you give your soul's rare wine; The world will quaff, but it will not repay." Yet in the emptied flagons, day by day, True hearts pour back a nectar as divine.
Thy heritage! Is it not love's estate? Look to it, then, and keep its soil well tilled. I hold that my best wishes are fulfilled Because I love so much, and cannot hate.
RESOLVE.
Build on resolve, and not upon regret, The structure of thy future. Do not grope Among the shadows of old sins, but let Thine own soul's light shine on the path of hope And dissipate the darkness. Waste no tears Upon the blotted record of lost years, But turn the leaf and smile, oh, smile, to see The fair white pages that remain for thee.
Prate not of thy repentance. But believe The spark divine dwells in thee: let it grow. That which the upreaching spirit can achieve The grand and all-creative forces know; They will assist and strengthen as the light Lifts up the acorn to the oak tree's height. Thou hast but to resolve, and lo! God's whole Great universe shall fortify thy soul.
AT ELEUSIS.
I, at Eleusis, saw the finest sight, When early morning's banners were unfurled. From high Olympus, gazing on the world, The ancient gods once saw it with delight. Sad Demeter had in a single night Removed her sombre garments! and mine eyes Beheld a 'broidered mantle in pale dyes Thrown o'er her throbbing bosom. Sweet and clear There fell the sound of music on mine ear. And from the South came Hermes, he whose lyre One time appeased the great Apollo's ire. The rescued maid, Persephone, by the hand He led to waiting Demeter, and cheer And light and beauty once more blessed the land.
COURAGE.
There is a courage, a majestic thing That springs forth from the brow of pain, full-grown, Minerva-like, and dares all dangers known, And all the threatening future yet may bring; Crowned with the helmet of great suffering; Serene with that grand strength by martyrs shown, When at the stake they die and make no moan, And even as the flames leap up are heard to sing:
A courage so sublime and unafraid, It wears its sorrows like a coat of mail; And Fate, the archer, passes by dismayed, Knowing his best barbed arrows needs must fail To pierce a soul so armored and arrayed That Death himself might look on it and quail.
SOLITUDE.
Laugh, and the world laughs with you; Weep, and you weep alone; For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth, But has trouble enough of its own. Sing, and the hills will answer; Sigh, it is lost on the air; The echoes bound to a joyful sound, But shrink from voicing care.
Rejoice, and men will seek you; Grieve, and they turn and go; They want full measure of all your pleasure, But they do not need your woe. Be glad, and your friends are many; Be sad, and you lose them all; There are none to decline your nectar'd wine, But alone you must drink life's gall.
Feast, and your halls are crowded; Fast, and the world goes by. Succeed and give, and it helps you live, But no man can help you die. There is room in the halls of pleasure For a large and lordly train, But one by one we must all file on Through the narrow aisles of pain.
THE YEAR OUTGROWS THE SPRING.
The year outgrows the spring it thought so sweet, And clasps the summer with a new delight, Yet wearied, leaves her languors and her heat When cool-browed autumn dawns upon his sight.
The tree outgrows the bud's suggestive grace, And feels new pride in blossoms fully blown. But even this to deeper joy gives place When bending boughs 'neath blushing burdens groan.
Life's rarest moments are derived from change. The heart outgrows old happiness, old grief, And suns itself in feelings new and strange; The most enduring pleasure is but brief.
Our tastes, our needs, are never twice the same. Nothing contents us long, however dear. The spirit in us, like the grosser frame, Outgrows the garments which it wore last year.
Change is the watchword of Progression. When We tire of well-worn ways we seek for new. This restless craving in the souls of men Spurs them to climb, and seek the mountain view.
So let who will erect an altar shrine To meek-browed Constancy, and sing her praise. Unto enlivening Change I shall build mine, Who lends new zest and interest to my days.
THE BEAUTIFUL LAND OF NOD.
Come, cuddle your head on my shoulder, dear, Your head like the golden-rod, And we will go sailing away from here To the beautiful Land of Nod. Away from life's hurry and flurry and worry, Away from earth's shadows and gloom, To a world of fair weather we'll float off together, Where roses are always in bloom.
Just shut your eyes and fold your hands, Your hands like the leaves of a rose, And we will go sailing to those fair lands That never an atlas shows. On the North and the West they are bounded by rest, On the South and the East, by dreams; 'Tis the country ideal, where nothing is real, But everything only seems.
Just drop down the curtains of your dear eyes Those eyes like a bright bluebell, And we will sail out under starlit skies, To the land where the fairies dwell.
Down the river of sleep our barque shall sweep, Till it reaches that mystical Isle Which no man hath seen, but where all have been, And there we will pause awhile. I will croon you a song as we float along To that shore that is blessed of God, Then, ho! for that fair land, we're off for that rare land, That beautiful Land of Nod.
THE TIGER.
In the still jungle of the senses lay A tiger soundly sleeping, till one day A bold young hunter chanced to come that way.
"How calm," he said, "that splendid creature lies! I long to rouse him into swift surprise." The well aimed arrow shot from amorous eyes,
And lo! the tiger rouses up and turns, A coal of fire his glowing eyeball burns, His mighty frame with savage hunger yearns.
He crouches for a spring; his eyes dilate-- Alas! bold hunter, what shall be thy fate? Thou canst not fly; it is too late, too late.
Once having tasted human flesh, ah! then, Woe, woe unto the whole rash world of men. The wakened tiger will not sleep again.
ONLY A SIMPLE RHYME.
Only a simple rhyme of love and sorrow, Where "blisses" rhymed with "kisses," "heart," with "dart:" Yet, reading it, new strength I seemed to borrow, To live on bravely and to do my part.
A little rhyme about a heart that's bleeding-- Of lonely hours and sorrow's unrelief: I smiled at first; but there came with the reading A sense of sweet companionship in grief.
The selfishness of my own woe forsaking, I thought about the singer of that song. Some other breast felt this same weary aching; Another found the summer days too long.
The few sad lines, my sorrow so expressing, I read, and on the singer, all unknown, I breathed a fervent though a silent blessing, And seemed to clasp his hand within my own.
And though fame pass him and he never know it, And though he never sings another strain, He has performed the mission of the poet, In helping some sad heart to bear its pain.
I WILL BE WORTHY OF IT.
I may not reach the heights I seek, My untried strength may fail me, Or, half-way up the mountain peak, Fierce tempests may assail me. But though that place I never gain, Herein lies comfort for my pain-- I will be worthy of it.
I may not triumph in success, Despite my earnest labor; I may not grasp results that bless The efforts of my neighbor; But though my goal I never see, This thought shall always dwell with me-- I will be worthy of it.
The golden glory of Love's light May never fall on my way; My path may always lead through night, Like some deserted by-way; But though life's dearest joy I miss There lies a nameless strength in this-- I will be worthy of it.
SONNET.
Methinks ofttimes my heart is like some bee That goes forth through the summer day and sings. And gathers honey from all growing things In garden plot or on the clover lea.
When the long afternoon grows late, and she Would seek her hive, she cannot lift her wings. So heavily the too sweet burden clings, From which she would not, and yet would, fly free.
So with my full, fond heart; for when it tries To lift itself to peace crowned heights, above The common way where countless feet have trod, Lo! then, this burden of dear human ties, This growing weight of precious earthly love, Binds down the spirit that would soar to God.
REGRET.
There is a haunting phantom called Regret, A shadowy creature robed somewhat like Woe, But fairer in the face, whom all men know By her sad mien and eyes forever wet. No heart would seek her; but once having met, All take her by the hand, and to and fro They wander through those paths of long ago-- Those hallowed ways 'twere wiser to forget.
One day she led me to that lost land's gate And bade me enter; but I answered "No! I will pass on with my bold comrade, Fate; I have no tears to waste on thee--no time; My strength I hoard for heights I hope to climb: No friend art thou for souls that would be great."
LET ME LEAN HARD.
Let me lean hard upon the Eternal Breast: In all earth's devious ways I sought for rest And found it not. I will be strong, said I, And lean upon myself. I will not cry And importune all heaven with my complaint. But now my strength fails, and I fall, I faint: Let me lean hard.
Let me lean hard upon the unfailing Arm. I said I will walk on, I fear no harm, The spark divine within my soul will show The upward pathway where my feet should go. But now the heights to which I most aspire Are lost in clouds. I stumble and I tire: Let me lean hard.
Let me lean harder yet. That swerveless force Which speeds the solar systems on their course Can take, unfelt, the burden of my woe, Which bears me to the dust and hurts me so. I thought my strength enough for any fate, But lo! I sink beneath my sorrow's weight: Let me lean hard.
PENALTY.
Because of the fullness of what I had All that I have seems void and vain. If I had not been happy I were not sad; Though my salt is savorless, why complain?
From the ripe perfection of what was mine, All that is mine seems worse than naught; Yet I know as I sit in the dark and pine, No cup could be drained which had not been fraught.
From the throb and thrill of a day that was, The day that now is seems dull with gloom; Yet I bear its dullness and darkness because 'Tis but the reaction of glow and bloom.
From the royal feast which of old was spread I am starved on the diet which now is mine; Yet I could not turn hungry from water and bread, If I had not been sated on fruit and wine.
SUNSET.