Chapter 3

O restless soul, thou canst not sleep, For, ship-like, thou art tossed the deep; Aye, tossed by surge of mighty wave, With none to share and none to save.

O God, in Thee I now believe, Since life in Thee I do receive; I pray Thee now with trembling fear To my sad soul draw near, draw near.

O God, Thou knowest this night I dread, As 'twere to number me with the dead-- I plead to Thee as by a rule, O God, wilt Thou help me in school?

To-night, O God, the darkest gloom Hangs o'er me like a cloud to doom; I cry while sitting on this stool-- O God, wilt Thou help me in school?

This wide world o'er my mind doth roam, So many miles away from home, With thoughts thread-like wound in a spool-- O God, wilt Thou help me in school?

Dear Lord, I ask of Thee one boon, Pure as the light of "harvest moon"; And cry as when bathed in a pool-- O God, wilt Thou help me in school?

While time and tide flow o'er my mind, For wisdom, Lord, I ever pine; But not in folly of a fool-- O God, wilt Thou help me in school?

Oh, may I now look up and smile, As children, mirthful all the while, When playing in the shade so cool-- O God, wilt Thou help me in school?

When life's long journey nears its end, And friend so dear must part from friend, To bathe deep in Thy living pool-- O God, wilt Thou help me in school?

Oh days of woe, oh do relent, For all my sins I now repent, To bathe in Siloam's ancient pool-- O God, right now help me in school.

Ah, when this stormy life is o'er, I'll moor my bark on th' eternal shore; Then shall I cross life's mortal pool, And God will then help me in school!

BEHIND THE BARS

I am a pilgrim far from home, A wanderer like Mars, And thought my wanderings ne'er should come, So fixed behind the bars!

I left my sunny Southern home Beneath the silver stars; A northward path began to roam, Not seeking prison bars.

I sought a higher, holier life, Which never virtue mars; But Fate had spun a net of strife For me behind the bars!

My mother's lowly thatched-roofed cot My nobler senses jars; And so I seek to aid her lot, But not behind the bars!

'Tis said, forsooth, the poet learns Through sufferings and wars To sing the song which deepest burns Behind the prison bars!

Thus I resign myself to Fate, Regardless of her scars; For soon she'll open wide the gate For me behind the bars.

I plead to you, my fellow man, For all who wear the tars; To lend what little help you can To us behind the bars.

O God, I breathe my prayer to Thee, Who never sinner bars: Set each immortal spirit free Behind these prison bars!

HARVARD SQUARE

'Tis once in life our dreams come true, The myths of long ago, Quite real though fairy-like their view, They surge with ebb and flow; Thus thou, O haunt of childhood dreams, More beauteous and fair Than Nature's landscape and her streams, Historic Harvard Square.

My soul hath panted long for thee, Like as the wounded hart That vainly strives himself to free Full from the archer's dart; And struggled oft all, all alone With burdens hard to bear, But now I stand at Wisdom's throne To-night in Harvard Square.

A night most tranquil,--I was proud My thoughts soared up afar, To moonbeams pouring through the cloud, Or some lone twinkling star; And musing thus, my quickened pace Beat to the printery's glare, Where first I saw a friendly face In classic Harvard Square.

"Ho! stranger, thou art wan and worn Of journey's wear and tear; Thy face all haggard and forlorn, Pray tell me whence and where?" "I came--from out--the Sunny South-- The spot--on earth--most fair," Fell lisping from my trembling mouth-- "In search--of--Harvard Square."

"Here rest, my friend, upon this seat, And feel thyself at home; I'll bring thee forth some drink and meat, 'Twill give thee back thy form." And then I prayed the Lord to bless Us, and that little lair-- Quite sure, I thought, I had found rest Most sweet in Harvard Square.

"I came," I said, "o'er stony ways, Through mountain, hill and dale, I've felt old Sol's most scorching rays, And braved the stormy gale; I've done this, Printer, not for gold, Nor diamonds rich and rare-- But for a burning in my soul To learn in Harvard Square.

"I've journeyed long without a drink Nor yet a bite of bread, While in this state, O Printer, think-- No shelter for my head. I mused, 'Hope's yet this side the grave'-- My pluck and courage there Then made my languid heart bear brave-- Each throb for Harvard Square."

A sound soon hushed my heart's rejoice-- "The watchman on his search?" "No!" rang the printer's gentle voice, "'Deak' Wilson in from church. O'er there, good 'Deak'," the printer said, "The wanderer in that chair, Hath come to seek the lore deep laid Up here in Harvard Square."

"It matters not how you implore, He can no longer stay; But on the night's 'Plutonian shore,' Await the coming day. I'm sorry, sir," he calmly said, "Though hard, I guess 'tis fair, Thou hast no place to lay thy head-- Not yet in Harvard Square!"

"Good night!" he said, and we the same-- I sighed, "Where shall I go?" He soon returned and with him came An officer and--Oh! "Now sir, you take this forlorn tramp With all his shabby ware, And guide him safely off the 'Camp' Of dear old Harvard Square."

As soon as locked within the jail, Deep in a ghastly cell, Methought I heard the bitter wail Of all the fiends of hell! "O God, to Thee I humbly pray No treacherous prison snare Shall close my soul within for aye From dear old Harvard Square."

Just then I saw an holy Sprite Shed all her radiant beams, And round her shone the source of light Of all the poets' dreams! I plied my pen in sober use, And spent each moment spare In sweet communion with the Muse I met in Harvard Square!

I cried: "Fair Goddess, hear my tale Of sorrow, grief and pain." That made her face an ashen pale, But soon it glowed again! "They placed me here; and this my crime, Writ on their pages fair:-- 'He left his sunny native clime, And came to Harvard Square!'"

"Weep not, my son, thy way is hard, Thy weary journey long-- But thus I choose my favorite bard To sing my sweetest song. I'll strike the key-note of my art And guide with tend'rest care, And breathe a song into thy heart To honor Harvard Square.

"I called old Homer long ago, And made him beg his bread Through seven cities, ye all know, His body fought for, dead. Spurn not oppression's blighting sting, Nor scorn thy lowly fare; By them I'll teach thy soul to sing The songs of Harvard Square.

"I placed great Dante in exile, And Byron had his turns; Then Keats and Shelley smote the while, And my immortal Burns! But thee I'll build a sacred shrine, A store of all my ware; By them I'll teach thy soul to sing 'A place in Harvard Square.'

"To some a store of mystic lore, To some to shine a star: The first I gave to Allan Poe, The last to Paul Dunbar. Since thou hast waited patient, long, Now by my throne I swear To give to thee my sweetest song To sing in Harvard Square."

And when she gave her parting kiss And bade a long farewell, I sat serene in perfect bliss As she forsook my cell. Upon the altar-fire she poured Some incense very rare; Its fragrance sweet my soul assured I'd enter Harvard Square.

Reclining on my couch, I slept A sleep sweet and profound; O'er me the blessed angels kept Their vigil close around. With dawning's smile, my fondest hope Shone radiant and fair: The Justice cut each chain and rope 'Tween me and Harvard Square!

_Cell No. 40, East Cambridge Jail, Cambridge, Mass., July 26, 1910_

THE END

Though man through life so swiftly wends, And o'er its journey runs his race; Though rough, or smooth, or 'round the bends, In distance putting fleetest friend: Alas! there comes a halting place, A place of rest--the journey's end!

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Transcriber's Notes

Original variations in spelling, hyphenation, and punctuation have been retained except for the following three changes:

Page 29: A comma was added after banks for consistency. (From the Gulf and the Lakes to the Oceans' banks,--)

Page 62: Caucasin was changed to Caucasian (statements which place them with the Caucasian race;)

Page 65: Pharaoahs changed to Pharaohs. (Once in great splendor did thy Pharaohs rule)

Page 22: In the line: "There are homes are our natal, and nothing is fatal," the first "are" may be a typo for "our." Left unchanged.