Part 5

But penitence and a troubled mind Were fruits of the night's reflection; After all, he was simple, and strong, and kind-- 'Twas wrong to flout his affection.

They met on the hill as she walked to school; He said, unheeding her blushes, "Here's the early flower your April fool Found growing among the rushes.

"Take it or leave it as you will"-- His voice ringing out so clearly Awoke in her heart a happy thrill-- "You know that I love you dearly."

Day-dreams indulged as she taught the school Held lovers kneeling and suing; "Take it or leave it"--her April fool Was masterful in his wooing.

He gave her the flower--she gave him a kiss-- His suit she had long been scorning; But you never can tell what the primmest miss Will do of a bright spring morning.

BILLY.

O! He was the boy of the house, you know, A jolly and rollicking lad; He never was sick, he never was tired, And nothing could make him sad.

If he started to play at sunrise, Not a rest would he take at noon; No day was so long from beginning to end, But his bed-time came too soon.

Did someone urge that he make less noise, He would say, with a saucy grin: "Why, one boy alone doesn't make much stir-- O sakes! I wish I was a twin.

"There's two of twins, and it must be fun To go double at everything; To holler by twos, and whistle by twos, To stamp by twos, and to sing!"

His laugh was something to make you glad, So brimful was it of joy; A conscience he had, perhaps, in his breast, But it never troubled the boy.

You met him out on the garden path, The terrier at his heels, And knew by the shout he hailed you with How happy a youngster feels.

The maiden auntie was half distraught With his tricks as the days went by; "The most mischievous child in all the world!" She said with a shrug and a sigh.

His father owned that her words were true, His mother declared each day He was putting wrinkles into her face, And turning her brown hair gray.

His grown-up sister referred to him As "a trouble," "a trial," "a grief"; The way he ignored all rules, she said, Was something beyond belief!

It never troubled the boy of the house, He revelled in racket and din, Had only one regret in the world-- He hadn't been born a twin!

* * * * *

There's nobody making a noise to-day, There's nobody stamping the floor, 'Tis strangely silent upstairs and down-- White ribbons upon the door.

The terrier's whining out in the sun: "Where's my comrade?" he seems to say. Turn your plaintive eyes away, little dog, There's no frolic for you to-day.

The freckle-faced girl from the house next door Is sobbing her young heart out. Don't cry, little girl, you'll soon forget The laugh and the merry shout.

The grown-up sister is kissing his face, And calling him "angel" and "sweet," And the maiden aunt is nursing the boots He wore on his restless feet.

So big, so solemn the old house seems-- No uproar, no racket, no din, No shrill peal of laughter, no voice shrieking out, "O sakes! I wish I was a twin!"

A man and a woman white with grief Watch the wearisome moments creep-- Oh! the loneliness touches everything, The boy of the house is asleep!

SLY BOY.

I was the slyest boy at home, The slyest boy at school, I wanted all the world to know That I was no one's fool.

I kept my childish hopes and schemes Locked closely in my breast, No single secret shared with Bob, The chum I liked the best.

I never showed my squirrel's nest, Nor beaver dam, nor cave, Nor fortress where I used to go To be a soldier brave.

Oh, I was sly, just awful sly, In winter, summer, spring, While Bob would tell me all he knew, I never told a thing.

And yet Bob always got ahead; I'd find the careless knave Asleep within my fortress walls, And fishing in my cave.

"What, yours!" he said, in great surprise, "You should have told me so. You never said a word, old chum, And how was I to know?"

My slyness hurt more than it helped; If Bob had known, you see, He was too kind to do his best To get ahead of me.

I still was sly when I grew up. I fell in love with Nan, But scorned to own it to myself Or any other man.

So sly was I, Nan never guessed-- No more did handsome Bob-- That every time she looked my way My heart, it stirred and throbbed.

The same old story! Ere I knew, My chum had loved and won. When I explained I'd picked her out To be my very own,

"What, yours!" he said in great surprise, "You should have told me so. You never said a word, old chum, And how was I to know?"

I've learned my lesson, lost my girl; You'll own 'tis rather rough. Henceforward I'll not be too sly-- I'll be just sly enough.

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

QUEEN VICTORIA.

1837.

The sunshine streaming through the stained glass Touched her with rosy colors as she stood, The maiden Queen of all the British realm, In the old Abbey on that soft June day. Youth shone within her eyes, where God had set All steadfastness, and high resolve, and truth; Youth flushed her cheek, dwelt on the smooth white brow Whereon the heavy golden circlet lay.

The ashes of dead kings, the history of A nation's growth, of strife, and victory, The mighty past called soft through aisle and nave: "Be strong, O Queen; be strong as thou art fair!" A virgin, white of soul and unafraid, Since back of her was God, and at her feet A people loyal to the core, and strong, And loving well her sweetness and her youth.

1901.

Upon her woman's head earth's richest crown Hath sat with grace these sixty years and more. Her hand, her slender woman's hand, hath held The weightiest sceptre, held it with such power All homage hath been hers, at home, abroad, Where'er hath dwelt a chivalrous regard For strength of purpose and for purity, For grand achievement and for noble aim.

To-day the cares of State no longer vex; To-day the crown is laid from off her brow.

Dead! The great heart of her no more will beat With tenderness for all beneath her rule. Dead! The clear eyes of her no more will guard The nation's welfare. Dead! The arm of her No more will strike a mighty blow for right And justice; make a wide world stand amazed That one so gentle as old England's Queen Could be so fearless and so powerful!

Full wearily the sense of grief doth press And weight us down. The good Queen is no more; And we are fain to weep as children weep When greedy death comes to the home and bears From thence the mother, whose unfailing love Hath been their wealth, their safeguard, and their pride. O bells that toll in every zone and clime! There is a sound of sobbing in your breath. East, west, north, south, the solemn clamor goes, Voicing a great, a universal grief!

THANKFULNESS.

I thank Thee, Lord, For every joyous hour That has been mine! For every strengthening and helpful word, For every tender sound that I have heard, I thank Thee, Lord!

I thank Thee, Lord, For work and weariness That have been mine! For patience toward one groping toward the light, For mid-day burden and for rest of night, I thank Thee, Lord.

THE NATIVE BORN.

There's a thing we love to think of when the summer days are long, And the summer winds are blowing, and the summer sun is strong, When the orchards and the meadows throw their fragrance on the air, When the grain-fields flaunt their riches, and the glow is everywhere. Something sings it all the day, Canada, fair Canada, And the pride thrills through and through us, 'Tis our birthplace, Canada!

There's a thing we love to think of when the frost and ice and snow Hold high carnival together, and the biting north winds blow. There's a thing we love to think of through the bitter winter hours, For it stirs a warmth within us--'tis this fair young land of ours. Something sings it all the day, Canada, fair Canada, And the pride thrills through and through us, 'Tis our birthplace, Canada!

Ours with all her youth and promise, ours with all her strength and might, Ours with all her mighty waters and her forests deep as night. Other lands may far outshine her, boast more charms than she can claim, But this young land is our own land, and we love her very name. Something sings it all the day, Canada, fair Canada, And the pride thrills through and through us, 'Tis our birthplace, Canada!

Let the man born in old England love the dear old land the most, For what spot a man is born in, of that spot he's fain to boast; Let the Scot look back toward Scotland with a longing in his eyes, And the exile from old Erin think her green shores paradise, Native born are we, are we, Canada, fair Canada, And the pride thrills through and through us, 'Tis our birthplace, Canada!

Well we love that sea-girt island, and we strive to understand All the greatness, all the grandeur, of the glorious Mother Land; And we cheer her to the skies, cheer her till the echoes start, For the old land holds our homage, but the new land holds our heart! Native born are we, are we, Canada, fair Canada! And the pride thrills through and through us, 'Tis our birthplace, Canada!

THE KING'S GIFT.

TO E. S. R.

The new year coming to us with swift feet Is the King's gift, And all that in it lies Will make our lives more rounded and complete. It may be laughter, May be tear-filled eyes; It may be gain of love, Or loss of love; It may be thorns, or bloom and breath of flowers, The full fruition of these hopes that move-- It may be what will break these hearts of ours, What matter? 'Tis the great gift of the King-- We do not need to fear what it may bring.

THE PASSAGE.

O soul on God's high seas! the way is strange and long, Yet fling your pennons out, and spread your canvas strong; For though to mortal eyes so small a craft you seem, The highest star in heaven cloth lend you guiding gleam.

O soul on God's high seas! look to your course with care, Fear most when winds are kind and skies are blue and fair. Your helm must sway at touch of no hand save your own-- The soul that sails on God's high seas must sail alone.

O soul on God's high seas! sail on with steady aim, Unmoved by winds of praise, untouched by seas of blame. Beyond the lonely ways, beyond the guiding star, There stretches out the strand and golden harbor bar.

AIR CASTLES.

I built a castle in the air-- A radiant thing made out of dreams; Love's dear desire its golden stair-- Naught heavier than a hope was there-- A thing of mist and rainbow gleams.

But when it fell--ah! when it fell, Though made o' dreams and mist and shine, The mystery of it who can tell? Its falling shook both heaven and hell, And ground to dust this heart of mine.

YOUTH AND JUNE.

I was your lover long ago, sweet June, Ere life grew hard; I am your lover still, And follow gladly to the wondrous tune You pipe on golden reeds to vale and hill. I am your lover still--to me you seem To hold the fragrance of the joys long dead-- The brightness and the beauty of the dream We dreamed in youth--to hold the tears we shed, The laughter of our lips--the faith that lies Back in that season dear to every heart, Life's springtime, when God's earth and God's blue skies Are, measured by our glance, not far apart.

THE MOTHER.

As "Peace on earth!" the glad world sings one glorious Christmas morn, "Peace, peace on earth! Good-will to men! Peace, peace! the Christ is born!" As through the courts, the wondrous courts, of heaven hosannas ring, As harpers strike their harps of gold and "Glory! Glory!" sing, Upon the City's threshold fair A woman steps, and lingers there.

The eyes she turns on Peter's face with unshed tears are dim, "Tell Christ," she says, "a mother waits who fain would speak with Him." Through all the music, far above the highest, grandest note Of triumph, and of joy and praise, her soft voice seems to float; And hearing it, straight from His throne Comes down to her the Kingly One With shining face and eyes that hold Such wealth of love and peace, She feels her trembling heart grow bold, Her doubt and grieving cease. "Dear Lord!" she cries, and lowly kneels, "I have a prayer to make; O do Thou hear and answer it for Thine own mercy's sake, Since heaven will not seem fair to me If one dear face I may not see.

"Dear Christ, a mother's love is great To shield, to guide, to watch, to wait. The last kiss that I gave on earth was to my wayward son, Whose soul, though deeply stained by sin, may yet by love be won To penitence, to higher walk, to purer, holier way; O wilt Thou let me to go to him and guard him night and day?

"Thou wert a babe in Bethlehem, a mother guarded Thee. I pray Thee now, for her dear sake, to hearken unto me! Remember how she held Thee close, and crooned Thee, sweet and low, The lullabies that mothers sang long centuries ago, And bared her snowy breast to Thee, And stroked Thy forehead tenderly.

"And kissed Thee oft, and told herself, again and yet again, To hold Thee thus one hour outweighed the travail and the pain! Dear Christ, this city is most fair; its glories thrill and move; O doth it grieve Thee that my heart cleaves to an earthly love? That on mine eyes heaven's beauties dim Because my heart is back with him?

"With him--the wandering son of mine, the wayward one--whose need Of patient love and guiding hand is very great indeed! Think not I love Thee not, dear Lord, nor long for heaven's rest; 'Tis only that the mother-heart throbs fiercely in my breast. On this glad morning of Thy birth, O grant me leave to visit earth!"

Lo! on her head she feels the touch of tender wounded hand, "Fear not," she hears, "a love like thine the Christ can understand. No mother prays in vain to Me on this day of the year, For when the faltering words she speaks fall on My waiting ear, I do remember that My cheek Lay on a bosom warm, I do remember Bethlehem, And Mary's cradling arm."

LOVE'S LESSON.

One lesson let us bear in mind-- Be very gentle with our own, Be to their faults a little blind, Nor wound them by a look or tone.

Put self behind! turn tender eyes; Keep back the words that hurt and sting; We learn, when sorrow makes us wise, Forbearance is the grandest thing.

Be patient lest some day we turn Our eyes on loved one fast asleep, And whisper, as we lean and yearn, "How often I have made you weep!

"Some loved you not and words let fall That must have pierced your gentle breast, But I, who loved you best of all, Hurt you far more than all the rest."

One lesson let us keep in mind-- To hold our dear ones close and fast, Since loyal hearts are hard to find, And life and love so soon are past.

IMMORTALITY.

The fluttering leaves above his grave, The grasses creeping toward the light, The flowers fragile, sweet, and brave, That hide the earth clods from our sight,

The swelling buds on shrub and tree, The golden gleam of daffodil, The violet blooming fair and free Where late the winds blew harsh and chill,

The lily lifting up its breath Where snowdrifts spread but yesterday-- All cry: "Where is thy sting, O death? O grave, where is thy victory?"

Each Eastertide the old world sings Her anthem sweet and true and strong, And all the tender growing things Join in her resurrection song.

AUGUST.

God in His own right hand doth take each day-- Each sun-filled day--each rare and radiant night, And drop it softly on the earth and say: "Touch earth with heaven's own beauty and delight."

A SONG OF HARVEST HOME.

Praise God for blessings great and small, For garden bloom and orchard store, The crimson vine upon the wall, The green and gold of maples tall, For harvest-field and threshing-floor!

Praise God for children's laughter shrill, For clinging hands and tender eyes, For looks that lift and words that thrill, For friends that love through good and ill, For home, and all home's tender ties!

Praise God for losses and for gain, For tears to shed, and songs to sing, For gleams of gold and mists of rain, For the year's full joy, the year's deep pain, The grieving and the comforting!

THE USURER.

Fate says, and flaunts her stores of gold, "I'll loan you happiness untold. What is it you desire of me?" A perfect hour in which to be In love with life, and glad, and good, The bliss of being understood, Amid life's cares a little space To feast your eyes upon a face, The whispered word, the love-filled tone, The warmth of lips that meet your own, To-day of Fate you borrow; In hunger of the heart, and pain, In loneliness, and longing vain, You pay the debt to-morrow!

Prince, let grim Fate take what she will Of treasures rare, of joys that thrill, Enact the cruel usurer's part, Leave empty arms and hungry heart, Take what she can of love and trust, Take all life's gladness, if she must, Take meeting smile and parting kiss-- The benediction and the bliss. What then? The fairest thing of all Is ours, O Prince, beyond recall-- Not even Fate would dare to seize Our store of golden memories.

MIRACLES.

Love met a worldling on the way, And softly crept into his breast. Straight Self and Greed refused to stay Where Love had dared to make his nest.

Love met a mourner on the road, And said: "I'll bear thee company." Full soon the mourner lost his load Of grief, and care, and misery.

Into a grim and cheerless home Love forced his way through barriers tall; Fled wretchedness, and chill, and gloom-- The golden sunshine flooded all.

PEACE.

Unbroken peace, I ween, is sweeter far Than reconciliation. Love's red scar, Though salved with kiss of penitence, and tears, Remains, full oft, unhealed through all the years.

LIFE'S GRANDEST THINGS.

What is the greatest work of all? The work that comes every day; The work that waits us on ev'ry hand Is work that, for us, is truly grand, And the love of work is our pay.

What is the highest life of all? It is living, day by day, True to ourselves and true to the right, Living the truth from dawn till the night, And the love of truth for our pay.

What is the grandest thing of all-- Is it winning Heaven some day? No, and a thousand times say no; 'Tis making this old world thrill and glow With the sun of love till each shall know Something of Heaven here below, And God's _well done_ for our pay.

STRENGTH.

Write on Life's tablet all things tender, great and good, Uncaring that full oft thou art misunderstood. Interpretation true is foreign to the throng That runs and reads; heed not its praise or blame. Be strong! Write on with steady hand, and, smiling, say, "'Tis well!" If when thy deeds spell _Heaven_ The rabble read out _Hell_.

THE TIME AND THE DEED.

Art going to do a kindly deed? 'Tis never too soon to begin; Make haste, make haste, for the moments speed, The world, my dear one, has pressing need Of your tender thought and kindly deed. 'Tis never too soon to begin.

But if the deed be a selfish one, 'Tis ever too soon to begin; If some heart will be sorer when all is done, Put it off! put it off from sun to sun, Remembering always, my own dear one, 'Tis ever too soon to begin.

DISCONTENT.

My soul spoke low to Discontent: Long hast thou lodged with me, Now, ere the strength of me is spent, I would be quit of thee.

Thy presence means revolt, unrest, Means labor, longing, pain; Go, leave me, thou unwelcome guest, Nor trouble me again.

I longed for peace--for peace I cried; You would not let her in; No room was there for aught beside The turmoil and the din.

I longed for rest, prayed life might yield Soft joy and dear delight; You urged me to the battlefield, And flung me in the fight.

We two part company to-day. Now, ere my strength be spent, I open wide my doors and say: "Begone, thou Discontent!"

Then something strong and sweet and fair Rose up and made reply: Who gave you the desire to dare And do the right? 'Twas I.

The coward soul craves pleasant things, Soft joys and dear delights-- I scourged you till you spread your wings And soared to nobler heights.

You know me but imperfectly-- My surname is Divine; God's own right hand did prison me Within this soul of thine,

Lest thou, forgetting work and strife, By human longings prest, Shouldst miss the grandest things of life, Its battles and unrest.

A PRAYER OF LOVE.

A prayer of love, O Father! A fair and flowery way Life stretches out before these On this their marriage day. O pour Thy choicest blessing, Withhold no gift of Thine, Fill all their world with beauty And tenderness divine!

A prayer of love, O Father! This holy love and pure, That thrills the soul to rapture, O may it e'er endure! The richest of earth's treasures, The gold without alloy, The flower of faith unfading, The full, the perfect joy!

No mist of tears or doubting, But in their steadfast eyes The light divine, the light of love, The light of Paradise. A prayer of love, O Father! A prayer of love to Thee, God's best be theirs for life, for death, And all Eternity!

WILD STRAWBERRIES.

The glad, glad days, and the pleasant ways-- Ho! for the fields and the wildwood! The scents, the sights, and the dear delights-- Ho! for our care-free childhood!

Heavy the air with a fragrance rare, Strawberries ripe in the meadow, Luscious and red where the vines are spread Thickly in sun and shadow.

The glad, glad days, and the pleasant ways, Chorus of wild birds calling: "Strawberry ripe! Ho! strawberry ripe!" From dawn till the dew is falling.

SPRING.

O the frozen valley and frozen hill make a coffin wide and deep, And the dead river lies, all its laughter stilled within it, fast asleep.

The trees that have played with the merry thing, and freighted its breast with leaves, Give never a murmur or sigh of woe--they are dead--no dead thing grieves.