Chapter 2
Our moaning is another's mirth,-- And what is worse by half, We say the funniest thing on earth And never raise a laugh: Mid friends that love us overwell, And sparkling jests and liquor, Our hearts somehow are liable To melt in tears the quicker.
We reach the wrong when most we seek The right; in like effect, We stay the strong and not the weak-- Do most when we neglect.-- Neglected genius--truth be said-- As wild and quick as tinder, The more we seek to help ahead The more we seem to hinder.
I've known the least the greatest, too-- And, on the selfsame plan, The biggest fool I ever knew Was quite a little man: We find we ought, and then we won't-- We prove a thing, then doubt it,-- Know _everything_ but when we don't Know _anything_ about it.
A SCRAWL
I want to sing something--but this is all-- I try and I try, but the rhymes are dull As though they were damp, and the echoes fall Limp and unlovable.
Words will not say what I yearn to say-- They will not walk as I want them to, But they stumble and fall in the path of the way Of my telling my love for you.
Simply take what the scrawl is worth-- Knowing I love you as sun the sod On the ripening side of the great round earth That swings in the smile of God.
WRITIN' BACK TO THE HOME-FOLKS
My dear old friends--It jes beats all, The way you write a letter So's ever' _last_ line beats the _first_, And ever' _next_-un's better!-- W'y, ever' fool-thing you putt down You make so inte_rest_in', A feller, readin' of 'em all, Can't tell which is the _best_-un.
It's all so comfortin' and good, 'Pears-like I almost _hear_ ye And git more sociabler, you know, And hitch my cheer up near ye And jes smile on ye like the sun Acrosst the whole per-rairies In Aprile when the thaw's begun And country couples marries.
It's all so good-old-fashioned like To _talk_ jes like we're _thinkin'_, Without no hidin' back o' fans And giggle-un and winkin', Ner sizin' how each-other's dressed-- Like some is allus doin',-- "_Is_ Marthy Ellen's basque ben _turned_ Er shore-enough a new-un!"--
Er "ef Steve's city-friend haint jes 'A _lee_tle kindo'-sorto'"-- Er "wears them-air blame eye-glasses Jes 'cause he hadn't ort to?" And so straight on, _dad-libitum_, Tel all of us feels, _some_way, Jes like our "comp'ny" wuz the best When we git up to come 'way!
That's why I like _old_ friends like you,-- Jes 'cause you're so _abidin'_.-- Ef I was built to live "_fer keeps_," My principul residin' Would be amongst the folks 'at kep' Me allus _thinkin'_ of 'em, And sorto' eechin' all the time To tell 'em how I love 'em.--
Sich folks, you know, I jes love so I wouldn't live without 'em, Er couldn't even drap asleep But what I _dreamp'_ about 'em,-- And ef we minded God, I guess We'd _all_ love one-another Jes like one fam'bly,--me and Pap And Madaline and Mother.
LAUGHTER HOLDING BOTH HIS SIDES
Ay, thou varlet!--Laugh away! All the world's a holiday! Laugh away, and roar and shout Till thy hoarse tongue lolleth out! Bloat thy cheeks, and bulge thine eyes Unto bursting; pelt thy thighs With thy swollen palms, and roar As thou never hast before! Lustier! wilt thou! peal on peal! Stiflest? Squat and grind thy heel-- Wrestle with thy loins, and then Wheeze thee whiles, and whoop again!
THE SONG OF YESTERDAY
I
But yesterday I looked away O'er happy lands, where sunshine lay In golden blots Inlaid with spots Of shade and wild forget-me-nots.
My head was fair With flaxen hair, And fragrant breezes, faint and rare, And warm with drouth From out the south, Blew all my curls across my mouth.
And, cool and sweet, My naked feet Found dewy pathways through the wheat; And out again Where, down the lane, The dust was dimpled with the rain.
II
But yesterday:-- Adream, astray, From morning's red to evening's gray, O'er dales and hills Of daffodils And lorn sweet-fluting whippoorwills.
I knew nor cares Nor tears nor prayers-- A mortal god, crowned unawares With sunset--and A scepter-wand Of apple-blossoms in my hand!
The dewy blue Of twilight grew To purple, with a star or two Whose lisping rays Failed in the blaze Of sudden fireflies through the haze.
III
But yesterday I heard the lay Of summer birds, when I, as they With breast and wing, All quivering With life and love, could only sing.
My head was lent Where, with it, blent A maiden's o'er her instrument; While all the night, From vale to height, Was filled with echoes of delight.
And all our dreams Were lit with gleams Of that lost land of reedy streams. Along whose brim Forever swim Pan's lilies, laughing up at him.
IV
But yesterday!... O blooms of May, And summer roses--where-away? O stars above; And lips of love, And all the honeyed sweets thereof!--
O lad and lass, And orchard pass, And briered lane, and daisied grass! O gleam and gloom, And woodland bloom, And breezy breaths of all perfume!--
No more for me Or mine shall be Thy raptures--save in memory,-- No more--no more-- Till through the Door Of Glory gleam the days of yore.
SONG OF PARTING
Say farewell, and let me go; Shatter every vow! All the future can bestow Will be welcome now! And if this fair hand I touch I have worshipped overmuch, It was my mistake--and so, Say farewell, and let me go.
Say farewell, and let me go: Murmur no regret, Stay your tear-drops ere they flow-- Do not waste them yet! They might pour as pours the rain, And not wash away the pain: I have tried them and I know.-- Say farewell, and let me go.
Say farewell, and let me go: Think me not untrue-- True as truth is, even so I am true to you! If the ghost of love may stay Where my fond heart dies to-day, I am with you alway--so, Say farewell, and let me go.
OUR KIND OF A MAN
I
The kind of a man for you and me! He faces the world unflinchingly, And smites, as long as the wrong resists, With a knuckled faith and force like fists: He lives the life he is preaching of, And loves where most is the need of love; His voice is clear to the deaf man's ears, And his face sublime through the blind man's tears; The light shines out where the clouds were dim, And the widow's prayer goes up for him; The latch is clicked at the hovel door And the sick man sees the sun once more, And out o'er the barren fields he sees Springing blossoms and waving trees, Feeling as only the dying may, That God's own servant has come that way, Smoothing the path as it still winds on Through the Golden Gate where his loved have gone.
II
The kind of a man for me and you! However little of worth we do He credits full, and abides in trust That time will teach us how more is just. He walks abroad, and he meets all kinds Of querulous and uneasy minds, And, sympathizing, he shares the pain Of the doubts that rack us, heart and brain; And, knowing this, as we grasp his hand, We are surely coming to understand! He looks on sin with pitying eyes-- E'en as the Lord, since Paradise,-- Else, should we read, "Though our sins should glow As scarlet, they shall be white as snow"?-- And, feeling still, with a grief half glad, That the bad are as good as the good are bad, He strikes straight out for the Right--and he Is the kind of a man for you and me!
"HOW DID YOU REST, LAST NIGHT?"
"How did you rest, last night?"-- I've heard my gran'pap say Them words a thousand times--that's right-- Jes them words thataway! As punctchul-like as morning dast To ever heave in sight Gran'pap 'ud allus haf to ast-- "How did you rest, last night?"
Us young-uns used to grin, At breakfast, on the sly, And mock the wobble of his chin And eyebrows belt so high And kind: _"How did you rest, last night?"_ We'd mumble and let on Our voices trimbled, and our sight Was dim, and hearin' gone.
* * * * *
Bad as I used to be, All I'm a-wantin' is As puore and ca'm a sleep fer me And sweet a sleep as his! And so I pray, on Jedgment Day To wake, and with its light See _his_ face dawn, and hear him say-- "How did you rest, last night?"
OUT OF THE HITHERWHERE
Out of the hitherwhere into the Yon-- The land that the Lord's love rests upon; Where one may rely on the friends he meets, And the smiles that greet him along the streets: Where the mother that left you years ago Will lift the hands that were folded so, And put them about you, with all the love And tenderness you are dreaming of.
Out of the hitherwhere into the Yon-- Where all of the friends of your youth have gone,-- Where the old schoolmate that laughed with you, Will laugh again as he used to do, Running to meet you, with such a face As lights like a moon the wondrous place Where God is living, and glad to live, Since He is the Master and may forgive.
Out of the hitherwhere into the Yon!-- Stay the hopes we are leaning on-- You, Divine, with Your merciful eyes Looking down from the far-away skies,-- Smile upon us, and reach and take Our worn souls Home for the old home's sake.-- And so Amen,--for our all seems gone Out of the hitherwhere into the Yon.
JACK-IN-THE-BOX
_(Grandfather, musing.)_
In childish days! O memory, You bring such curious things to me!-- Laughs to the lip--tears to the eye, In looking on the gifts that lie Like broken playthings scattered o'er Imagination's nursery floor! Did these old hands once click the key That let "Jack's" box-lid upward fly, And that blear-eyed, fur-whiskered elf Leap, as though frightened at himself, And quiveringly lean and stare At me, his jailer, laughing there?
A child then! Now--I only know They call me very old; and so They will not let me have my way,-- But uselessly I sit all day Here by the chimney-jamb, and poke The lazy fire, and smoke and smoke, And watch the wreaths swoop up the flue, And chuckle--ay, I often do-- Seeing again, all vividly, Jack-in-the-box leap, as in glee To see how much he looks like me!
... They talk. I can't hear what they say-- But I am glad, clean through and through Sometimes, in fancying that they Are saying, "Sweet, that fancy strays In age back to our childish days!"
THE BOYS
Where are they?--the friends of my childhood enchanted-- The clear, laughing eyes looking back in my own, And the warm, chubby fingers my palms have so wanted, As when we raced over Pink pastures of clover, And mocked the quail's whir and the bumblebee's drone?
Have the breezes of time blown their blossomy faces Forever adrift down the years that are flown? Am I never to see them romp back to their places, Where over the meadow, In sunshine and shadow, The meadow-larks trill, and the bumblebees drone?
Where are they? Ah! dim in the dust lies the clover; The whippoorwill's call has a sorrowful tone, And the dove's--I have wept at it over and over;-- I want the glad luster Of youth, and the cluster Of faces asleep where the bumblebees drone!
IT'S _GOT_ TO BE
"When it's _got_ to be,"--like! always say, As I notice the years whiz past, And know each day is a yesterday, When we size it up, at last,-- Same as I said when my _boyhood_ went And I knowed _we_ had to quit,-- "It's _got_ to be, and it's _goin'_ to be!"-- So I said "Good-by" to _it_.
It's _got_ to be, and it's _goin'_ to be! So at least I always try To kind o' say in a hearty way,-- "Well, it's _got_ to be. Good-by!"
The time jes melts like a late, last snow,-- When it's _got_ to be, it melts! But I aim to keep a cheerful mind, Ef I can't keep nothin' else! I knowed, when I come to twenty-one, That I'd soon be twenty-two,-- So I waved one hand at the soft young man, And I said, "Good-by to _you_!"
It's _got_ to be, and it's _goin'_ to be! So at least I always try To kind o' say, in a cheerful way,-- "Well, it's _got_ to be.--Good-by!"
They kep' a-goin', the years and years, Yet still I smiled and smiled,-- For I'd said "Good-by" to my single life, And I now had a wife and child: Mother and son and the father--one,-- Till, last, on her bed of pain, She jes' smiled up, like she always done,-- And I said "Good-by" again.
It's _got_ to be, and it's _goin'_ to be! So at least I always try To kind o' say, in a humble way,-- "Well, it's _got_ to be. Good-by!"
And then my boy--as he growed to be Almost a man in size,-- Was more than a pride and joy to me, With his mother's smilin' eyes.-- He gimme the slip, when the War broke out, And followed me. And I Never knowed till the first right's end ... I found him, and then, ... "Good-by."
It's _got_ to be, and it's _goin'_ to be! So at least I always try To kind o' say, in a patient way, "Well, it's _got_ to be. Good-by!"
I have said, "Good-by!--Good-by!--Good-by!" With my very best good will, All through life from the first,--and I Am a cheerful old man still:
But it's _got_ to end, and it's _goin'_ to end! And this is the thing I'll do,-- With my last breath I will laugh, O Death, And say "Good-by" to _you_!...
It's _got_ to be! And again I say,-- When his old scythe circles high, I'll laugh--of course, in the kindest way,-- As I say "Good-by!--Good-by!"
"OUT OF REACH?"
You think them "out of reach," your dead? Nay, by my own dead, I deny Your "out of reach."--Be comforted: 'Tis not so far to die.
O by their dear remembered smiles And outheld hands and welcoming speech, They wait for us, thousands of miles This side of "out-of-reach."
"A BRAVE REFRAIN"
When snow is here, and the trees look weird, And the knuckled twigs are gloved with frost; When the breath congeals in the drover's beard, And the old pathway to the barn is lost; When the rooster's crow is sad to hear, And the stamp of the stabled horse is vain, And the tone of the cow-bell grieves the ear-- O then is the time for a brave refrain!
When the gears hang stiff on the harness-peg, And the tallow gleams in frozen streaks; And the old hen stands on a lonesome leg, And the pump sounds hoarse and the handle squeaks; When the woodpile lies in a shrouded heap, And the frost is scratched from the window-pane And anxious eyes from the inside peep-- O then is the time for a brave refrain!
When the ax-helve warms at the chimney-jamb, And hob-nailed shoes on the hearth below, And the house-cat curls in a slumber calm, And the eight-day clock ticks loud and slow; When the harsh broom-handle jabs the ceil 'Neath the kitchen-loft, and the drowsy brain Sniffs the breath of the morning meal-- O then is the time for a brave refrain!
ENVOI
When the skillet seethes, and a blubbering hot Tilts the lid of the coffee-pot, And the scent of the buckwheat cake grows plain-- O then is the time for a brave refrain!
IN THE EVENING
I
In the evening of our days, When the first far stars above Glimmer dimmer, through the haze, Than the dewy eyes of love, Shall we mournfully revert To the vanished morns and Mays Of our youth, with hearts that hurt,-- In the evening of our days?
II
Shall the hand that holds your own Till the twain are thrilled as now, Be withheld, or colder grown? Shall my kiss upon your brow Falter from its high estate? And, in all forgetful ways, Shall we sit apart and wait-- In the evening of our days?
III
Nay, my wife--my life!--the gloom Shall enfold us velvetwise, And my smile shall be the groom Of the gladness of your eyes: Gently, gently as the dew Mingles with the darkening maze, I shall fall asleep with you-- In the evening of our days.
JIM
He was jes a plain, ever'-day, all-round kind of a jour., Consumpted-lookin'--but la! The jokiest, wittiest, story-tellin', song-singin', laughin'est, jolliest Feller you ever saw! Worked at jes coarse work, but you kin bet he was fine enough in his talk, And his feelin's, too! Lordy! ef he was on'y back on his bench ag'in to-day, a-carryin' on Like he ust to do!
Any shop-mate'll tell you there never was, on top o' dirt, A better feller'n Jim! You want a favor, and couldn't git it anywheres else-- You could git it o' him! Most free-heartedest man thataway in the world, I guess! Give up ever' nickel he's worth-- And, ef you'd a-wanted it, and named it to him, and it was his, He'd a-give you the earth!
Allus a-reachin' out, Jim was, and a-he'ppin' some Pore feller onto his feet-- He'd a-never a-keered how hungry he was hisse'f, So's _the feller_ got somepin' to eat! Didn't make no differ'nee at all to him how _he_ was dressed, He ust to say to me,-- "You togg out a tramp purty comfortable in winter-time, a-huntin' a job, And he'll git along!" says he.
Jim didn't have, ner never could git ahead, so overly much O' this world's goods at a time.-- 'Fore now I've saw him, more'n one't, lend a dollar, and haf to, more'n like, Turn round and borry a dime! Mebby laugh and joke about it hisse'f fer a while--then jerk his coat. And kindo' square his chin, Tie on his apern, and squat hisse'f on his old shoe-bench, And go to peggin' ag'in!
Patientest feller, too, I reckon, 'at ever jes natchurly Coughed hisse'f to death! Long enough after his voice was lost he'd laugh in a whisper and say He could git ever'thing but his breath-- "_You fellers_," he'd sorto' twinkle his eyes and say, "Is a-pilin' onto me A mighty big debt fer that-air little weak-chested ghost o' mine to pack Through all Eternity!"
Now there was a man 'at jes 'peared-like, to me, 'At ortn't _a-never_ a-died! "But death hain't a-showin' no favors," the old boss said-- "On'y to _Jim_!" and cried: And Wigger, who puts up the best sewed-work in the shop-- Er the whole blame neighborhood,-- He says, "When God made Jim, I bet you He didn't do anything else that day But jes set around and feel good!"
THE BEST IS GOOD ENOUGH
I quarrel not with Destiny, But make the best of everything-- The best is good enough for me.
Leave Discontent alone, and she Will shut her month and let _you_ sing. I quarrel not with Destiny.
I take some things, or let 'em be-- Good gold has always got the ring; The best is good enough for me.
Since Fate insists on secrecy, I have no arguments to bring-- quarrel not with Destiny.
The fellow that goes "haw" for "gee" Will find he hasn't got full swing. The best is good enough for me.
One only knows our needs, and He Does all of the distributing. I quarrel not with Destiny; The best is good enough for me.
HONEY DRIPPING FROM THE COMB
How slight a thing may set one's fancy drifting Upon the dead sea of the Past!--A view-- Sometimes an odor--or a rooster lifting A far-off "_Ooh! ooh-ooh!_"
And suddenly we find ourselves astray In some wood's-pasture of the Long Ago-- Or idly dream again upon a day Of rest we used to know.
I bit an apple but a moment since-- A wilted apple that the worm had spurned.-- Yet hidden in the taste were happy hints Of good old days returned.--
And so my heart, like some enraptured lute, Tinkles a tune so tender and complete, God's blessing must be resting on the fruit-- So bitter, yet so sweet!
AS MY UNCLE USED TO SAY
I've thought a power on men and things, As my uncle ust to say,-- And ef folks don't work as they pray, i jings! W'y, they ain't no use to pray! Ef you want somepin', and jes dead-set A-pleadin' fer it with both eyes wet, And _tears_ won't bring it, w'y, you try _sweat_, As my uncle ust to say.
They's some don't know their A, B, C's, As my uncle ust to say, And yit don't waste no candle-grease, Ner whistle their lives away! But ef they can't write no book, ner rhyme No singin' song fer to last all time, They can blaze the way fer the march sublime, As my uncle ust to say.
Whoever's Foreman of all things here, As my uncle ust to say, He knows each job 'at we're best fit fer, And our round-up, night and day: And a-sizin' _His_ work, east and west, And north and south, and worst and best. I ain't got nothin' to suggest, As my uncle ust to say.
WE MUST BELIEVE
_"Lord, I believe: help Thou mine unbelief."_
We must believe-- Being from birth endowed with love and trust-- Born unto loving;--and how simply just That love--that faith!--even in the blossom-face The babe drops dreamward in its resting-place, Intuitively conscious of the sure Awakening to rapture ever pure And sweet and saintly as the mother's own, Or the awed father's, as his arms are thrown O'er wife and child, to round about them weave And wind and bind them as one harvest-sheaf Of love--to cleave to, and _forever_ cleave.... Lord, I believe: Help Thou mine unbelief.
We must believe-- Impelled since infancy to seek some clear Fulfillment, still withheld all seekers here;-- For never have we seen perfection nor The glory we are ever seeking for: But we _have_ seen--all mortal souls as one-- Have seen its _promise_, in the morning sun-- Its blest assurance, in the stars of night;-- The ever-dawning of the dark to light;-- The tears down-falling from all eyes that grieve-- The eyes uplifting from all deeps of grief, Yearning for what at last we shall receive.... Lord, I believe: Help Thou mine unbelief.
We must believe-- For still all unappeased our hunger goes, From life's first waking, to its last repose: The briefest life of any babe, or man Outwearing even the allotted span, Is each a life unfinished--incomplete: For these, then, of th' outworn, or unworn feet Denied one toddling step--O there must be Some fair, green, flowery pathway endlessly Winding through lands Elysian! Lord, receive And lead each as Thine Own Child--even the Chief Of us who didst Immortal life achieve.... Lord, I believe: Help Thou mine unbelief.
A GOOD MAN
I
A good man never dies-- In worthy deed and prayer And helpful hands, and honest eyes, If smiles or tears be there: Who lives for you and me-- Lives for the world he tries To help--he lives eternally. A good man never dies.
II
Who lives to bravely take His share of toil and stress, And, for his weaker fellows' sake, Makes every burden less,-- He may, at last, seem worn-- Lie fallen--hands and eyes Folded--yet, though we mourn and mourn, A good man never dies.
THE OLD DAYS
The old days--the far days-- The overdear and fair!-- The old days--the lost days-- How lovely they were! The old days of Morning, With the dew-drench on the flowers And apple-buds and blossoms Of those old days of ours.
Then was the _real_ gold Spendthrift Summer flung; Then was the _real_ song Bird or Poet sung! There was never censure then,-- Only honest praise-- And all things were worthy of it In the old days.
There bide the true friends-- The first and the best; There clings the green grass Close where they rest: Would they were here? No;-- Would _we_ were _there_!... The old days--the lost days-- How lovely they were!
A SPRING SONG AND A LATER
She sang a song of May for me, Wherein once more I heard The mirth of my glad infancy-- The orchard's earliest bird-- The joyous breeze among the trees New-clad in leaf and bloom, And there the happy honey-bees In dewy gleam and gloom.