The Project Gutenberg EBook of Muse and Mint, by Walter S. Percy This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. Title: Muse and Mint Author: Walter S. Percy Release Date: October 19, 2020 [EBook #63500] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MUSE AND MINT *** Produced by Charlene Taylor, Susan Carr and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) MUSE AND MINT BY WALTER S. PERCY [Illustration: (Colophon)] BOSTON SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY 1914 COPYRIGHT, 1914 SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY TO MY DEAR MOTHER AND WIFE WHO BEST LOVED MY MUSE AND WHOSE LOVE WAS THE MINT THAT EVER MADE IT AN INSPIRATION AND JOY MUSE AND MINT I mused upon the strangeness of all things, So different from the dream Whereof the morning mounted up on wings Above the world agleam With light that trembled into life and love As when a censer swings And joy of promise sings-- “The dream whereof The gleam above The world is love!” Oh, bitterness to muse and neither find The beauty of the Muse Nor yet the music which the soul divined Ere set the rosy hues In sombre lines that disenchant and fret The heart with growing grief Which struggles for relief-- “O Muse, but let My spirit yet The rue forget!” As if to answer me a little child, To whom the sunshine’s glint Was gloom forever, on the corner smiled And vended sprigs of mint, As though there were in blindness still a bloom And fragrance which could reach The passer-by and teach-- “In glint or gloom There’s mint in bloom To earth perfume!” CONTENTS NATURE PAGE FIREFLIES 3 BO-PEEP 5 PEEP-OF-DAWN 6 THE RILLY RIVER 7 CHERRIES 8 A SNOWFLAKE 10 THE BLIZZARD 11 SUGARING OFF 12 THE CHRYSALIS 13 WHEN I SURVEY 14 PAUPACK 19 FIRESIDE MOTHER 23 CHATTERBOX 24 LITTLE STOCKING 26 ELFIN FACES 28 SWEET ’STEEN 30 BOY 31 A CHILD’S LIFTED CROSS 32 THE BOY MILLIONAIRE 33 A LULLABY 34 THE LAST SONG 35 YOUTH 36 AGE 36 SENTIMENT A CORONATION 39 I’LL BE WATCHING ON THE SHORE 40 I GIVE THEE MY PROMISE 42 CHAMBERED ROSES 43 TWO FRAMES 44 _Pars Summae_ 45 A VISION 46 THE AFTERMATH 48 PROOF-WORDS 49 MEMORIES ADIEUS 53 DUST TO DUST 54 LITTLE WORDS 55 A WAYSIDE LIFE 56 O TEAR! 57 THE DEW OF DUST 58 A SMILE 59 PHILOSOPHY THE HILL-TOPS 63 THE MAN WHO BEARS THE HOD 64 JOG ALONG! 65 THE FAMILY TREE 66 REPLEVIN 68 HOMILIES WHAT IS TRUTH? 71 FRIENDSHIP 72 THOUGHT 73 WHEN I’M NO MORE 74 THE BLAZED TRAIL 75 GRIEF AND JOY 76 HOPE 77 SOWING AND REAPING 78 HOPE ON! 79 HEARTED GOOD 80 COUNTRY AMERICA 83 THE ALTAR OF COUNTRY 85 THE STARS OF DESTINY 86 LAST OF THE GRAND ARMY 87 _Vincit Omnia Jus_ 90 THE FLYING JACK 92 HUMOR SAP’S A-BILIN’ 97 JUST MUD 98 KNOCKIN’ ROUND 99 THE SNAIL AND STAR 100 THE OLD SOR’L HOSS 102 NICODEMUS BOGGS 103 SACRED WHAT IS FAITH? 107 A FORGIVENESS 109 THE GOOD SAMARITAN 111 SHEPHERD OF ISRAEL 113 THE LADDER OF CLOUD 114 THE RISEN CHRIST MEANS VICTORY 116 THE EVERLASTING ARMS 117 HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP 118 THE GLORY DWELLS 119 THE LIGHT OF LIFE 120 DESIGN 121 SONG GOLDEN HOPE 125 THE COMING CROWNING 126 THE LIVING CUP 128 THE SINGERS 129 THE CROWN OF THORNS 131 SONG ALONG 133 _Ecce Homo!_ 134 THE LOVE THAT WASHED HIS FEET 136 MISCELLANEOUS THE SHUT AND OPEN HAND 141 THE MAN-BIRD 144 THE PHANTOM CAVALRY 146 THOU CALLEST ME BROTHER 149 THE SINGING DEATH 150 THE OLD MOON IN THE ARMS OF THE NEW 152 NATURE FIREFLIES The murky night hung dank and dark The Summer shower after; A distant dog’s staccato bark Disturbed the strollers’ laughter; The mournful whip-poor-will’s lament, The frogs’ and crickets’ chorus A weird, sepulchral feeling lent To meadow-lot and morass. A thousand insect-lanterns flashed Their phosphorescent signals Of living sparks that dot-and-dashed Out swift electric riddles; For scarcely was the eye upon A single tiny glowlight When wink, it flitted and was gone Like prankish imp on show-night! And while one guessed its next surprise Afar from where it dwindled A myriad others to the eyes All intercrossed and kindled Until the ghostly gloom became Illumined with manœuvres As though of fairies fanning flame Within a park of lovers. And thus does fancy people night With fugitive creations Of phantom-folk whose fitful light Yet feeds our inspirations And teaches us there is no dark But fellowships the presence Of every soul that sheds its spark Of humble incandescence. BO-PEEP Everywhere I ramble In the ides of May, Through the boughs and bramble The wood-nymphs play. Where the sunshine dapples Shadows all a-creep Beneath the budding apples, Dances Bo-Peep. Over where the mosses Make a coverlet Which the Spring embosses With a green fret, From the long hibernal Dreaminess of sleep Wakes with dimples vernal Little Bo-Peep. Violets and bluets Mischievously peek; Monks like pigmy druids Play at hide-and-seek; O’er each stump a picket Spies with cunning deep, And in every thicket Beckons Bo-Peep. PEEP-OF-DAWN The tallyho of slumber’s on The last relay of dreams; Posthaste it rides with ribbons drawn O’er curvetting gray teams. The wayside house just left behind Was Where-the-Cock-Crew Inn; The road ahead with rose is lined And known as Work-to-Win. Intoxicated senses sink In visions of delight; And Venus’ eye begins to wink Where it outrides the night. Sly fingers lift the window-shades, But ere espied are gone; And on the drowsy milking-maids Tiptoes the Peep-of-Dawn. Dame Nature in abandon lies With skirts in disarray, And overtaken with surprise Is kissed by stealthy Day; The coverts rub their eyes and wake, And dreaming Love anon Goes forth on Rosy Road to make A tryst with Peep-of-Dawn. THE RILLY RIVER The cold and turbid flood of Spring Has melted to the Summer shallow, And now the vivid greeneries cling Along the margin lush and fallow, And where were sombre deeps and chills Are silver trills of rippling rills. The loiterer upon the bridge Which o’er the eddying river poises Salutes the island’s sandy ridge That reappears; the eye rejoices In all the old familiar frills And saucy spills of rippling rills. The rod and reel the rapture feel And from the boat take finny chances, But less for luck than with the keel To be a part of runic dances; For thus the river’s music thrills Like joy that fills the rippling rills. CHERRIES Cherries! Cherries! Cherries! The robins are excited and delighted To change the fare at last; For ’twas bugs and grubs and slugs Over two months past. Now it’s cherries till the berries Ripen full and fast. Cherries! Cherries! Cherries! The robins are excited and affrighted; There’s a man up the tree In a big wig and rig That would scare a chickadee-- But a robin--see him bobbin’ In a solemn colloquy! Cherries! Cherries! Cherries! The scare-crow is indicted and requited With a pocketful of eggs Baby-blue, with ’em too Gettin’ ready bill and legs For the Summer that’s a comer When the cherry-season begs. Cherries! Cherries! Cherries! The robins are excited and delighted-- Not the redbreast but the kind That eclipse with cherry lips And are not a whit behind Robin Jerries stealin’ cherries When the dummy’s but a blind. A SNOWFLAKE Million-needled star of hoar, Parachuting little kite Sailing by my cottage-door, Flurried, jostled, fairy-light-- Whither, whither, whence and why Comest thou of crystal From the welkin, hasting by Like a lost epistle? Softly did the snowflake sigh “Read me as I rest awhile!” So I read the whence and why; For the snowflake is a smile, Melting Heaven-dew congealed Lest we miss its beauty, Love in miracle revealed On the wings of duty! THE BLIZZARD The whited pumice of the storm Is over house and hill Or drifted into shroudlike form About the ruined mill. The fences hide beneath the drifts; The snowy terraces Ascend to where the hemlock lifts Its virgin-broidered dress. The trackless highway challenges The sweltered caravan Of traffic and in fastnesses Of chalk imprisons man. The wind-wolves howl at cottage-door Or down the chimney leap; The windows all are rimed with hoar Where frozen fingers creep. The house-frame groans at blast and frost Like quarry of the pack O’ertaken, but though torn and tossed Still stout of heart and back; Still stout of heart like us secure By ruddy fire warm, Too humbly thankful to be poor While sheltered from the storm. SUGARING OFF Essence of all that’s sweet, what joy To watch thy amber flow And sip thy nectar till it cloy Or waxen it on snow! What joy to watch the trickling veins Of our old maple-friend And know the vernal Odin reigns As heir of Winter’s end! Drink to the earnest of the Spring, The ichor of the bud, To all the rising hopes that sing Of life and loverhood! Drink to the sweetness in thee hid By softer airs distilled; Let Nature sugar off and bid Her kindlier cup be filled! THE CHRYSALIS Come out of your Winter shell, old grub Of horns and crusty twist, And with your fellows elbows rub More like a humanist! A spiral armor’s very well For its eccentric curve, But not a gloomy hermit-cell Of cynical reserve. Come out of your Winter shell, old slug Of dormant sense and soul! You’re far too round and hard and smug; Your Summer self unroll And show you’ve got some nature left That sprouts an airy wing; The man of humus is bereft Who can’t respond to Spring. Come out of your Winter shell, old worm Of wrapped-up gossamer, If you would burst your scaly derm And let the spirit stir; For after all, for better things A man created is Than lying with imprisoned wings A half-dead chrysalis. WHEN I SURVEY ’Tis midnight and I am in the country! The world is still and all the lights are out Save for the ones which stud the firmament With diamond clusters everywhere about. Like royal David pondering the Heaven I stand uncovered, torn and battle-spent And from my flocking meditations driven By spectral bears and lions; but not as he Victorious, for the raveners I smote Were modern pride and doubt which stalked my faith For its ewe-lamb of trust and by the throat Dragged it away from me to bleating death. My staff is broken and the scroll I read A thousand nights like this lies crumpled where I flung it as with fevered brow I fled In mocking disillusion and despair From burnt-out wicks still sputtering in the oil Of self-illumination with the quizz “What am I? What the infinite I AM?” God! If the answer were in spirit-toil Or as the echo of Whatever IS! The stars smile down on me undimmed and calm. My soul! Have I so many years been blind To all the glories wheeling o’er my head And starry with the challenge of my quest? Orion jewel-girdled and behind Coursing his dogs, in mighty combat strange With red-eyed Taurus! And the Charioteer Flashing toward the goal in full career! The thrice-immortal Twins the chase abreast, Cheering the race but keeping out of range Of Ursa’s long, lean paws where his huge frame Looms in the Polar Circle! Farther south The Lion’s crouching form, with gleaming eyes And shadowy mouth! The Plowman of the skies, Proud of Arcturus’ fame! And Hercules Setting his giant heel upon the fang Of the unwieldy Dragon; while beyond The Serpent’s Crown makes mockery of the deed! Far over by a handful of degrees Imperial Vega rides the horizon, Harped on by Lyra, as when morning sang The genesis of systems God-decreed. Already shines afar the Northern Cross Where else were only dreariness and dark, Like flaming symbol of a holy Cause Which bore its ensign up the Winter arc And more divinely glowed with sacred fire Than the tiaraed Lady of the Chair With dazzling looks, or than her daughter whom Impetuous Perseus, thinking her so fair, Delivered by the right of passion from The Beast with jaws of grossness open wide. Nor would I miss the Eagle, argus-eyed And swift on wings of night. What! Call this Night, With thousand thousand suns in timeless space So vast that distance gives no parallax And centuries untold would pass ere light From the remotest wanderer could burn! So vast yon fires are a hundred-fold More luminous than ours to them in turn, And it in lost direction would dissolve From Earth’s own lode-star here yclept the Pole! So vast that hosts so numberless revolve In unison as no assembled whole Of man’s most perfect mechanism moves, Yet by the which he boasts perpetual noon As though the elements he late improves And plays them in a more triumphant tune. What! Call this Night and our small dial Day Because by it we see ourselves and then As mere automatons! Such is the way Of over-conscious men; why, even I An hour since called light a flickering lamp, Philosophy the palimpsest of pedants, The universe a papier-mache script, While on it egotism’s ink was still too damp And speculation dript. But as I mount the Great Highway of Pearl Which turns to diamonds where its steeds strike hoof And chariot-wheels o’er the arena whirl Until the course is flashing flint and fire-- How my soul thrills with this real vision of The truth no lips can utter--with desire To feel, not name, the Maker! Night is Day To eyes which earth’s diurnal sun had blinded But now see glory, majesty, design, Love eternal-minded, Will divine, Swinging out censers, filling space with throne-rooms, Ordering the times of destiny, Making music and revealing purpose Perfect but unthinkable, yet in man Tuning a chord of nature in response To fugitive notes of a melodious plan, To stray scintillas of a Master-spell, That we might have sufficient just of sense To throb with feeling of theophany, Just awe enough of the Ineffable Out of our pinpoint nothingness to cry “What is man that Thou art mindful of him? And what is he that he should give a Name Which we with lips vainglorious can laud, A shape of Person to the Great I AM Before we deign to worship Him as GOD?” PAUPACK Whither waters, gently flowing In thy rocky channel-race, Yet anon more noisy growing O’er the stones which stay thy pace-- Gentle waters, whither going? Laughing louder as they hurried, Making music as they ran, Deeper still the rock they furrowed And a stolen run began Half in cliffs and chasms buried. Through the narrows flung they churning, Leaped they in a mad cascade And a bedded boulder spurning They a misty iris made, Spray to fitful spectrum turning. Wildling waters thus romancing Through the gorge in joy’s career, Wooded witchery enhancing, Paupack picturesque and dear, Haste thee onward ever dancing! Let thy pilgrimage and laughter Quicken an Algonquin vein Till the lure I follow after Flushes every sense again Like the freshet of the water; Till, O Paupack, each erosion Of my nature is at flood With a primitive emotion, With an impulse of the blood, Singing on towards the ocean! FIRESIDE MOTHER Only one link is to us all A never-failing bond, Only one thought of time’s recall Makes all the world respond. Dear ties there are that knit us close As parent, friend or brother; But God a universal chose In the dear name of “Mother!” Only one face no stranger is Sometime at every side, Only one love whose holy kiss To few has been denied; And whether we it treasure up Or its affection smother, Yet still the world’s communion-cup Is the dear name of “Mother!” Only one touch of nature makes Us feel alike at best, Only one gift for our sakes Outbalances the rest; And whether good or evil, we Are human to each other When our most sacred memory Is the dear name of “Mother!” CHATTERBOX Miss Chatterbox, come here and tell Me all about the fairies’ spell So new to you but strange to me Till you revive its mystery! I, too, delight in Summer bowers But you bewitch the birds and flowers; I, too, rejoice in sunny nooks But you make music of the brooks! Miss Chatterbox, the secret share Of all the magic of the air! How comes the woodland’s passing breeze To be the whisper of the trees? How come the echoes through their screen To be the pranks of elves unseen?-- The bushy tails and beadlike eyes The wizard and the kewpie spies? Miss Chatterbox, the riddle read Of yonder fence-side hearts that bleed, Of yonder riot in the field Where buttercups to daisies yield; Where drowsy sprites sip clover-sweets And bobolink with Cupid meets; Where brownies over on the knoll The puff-balls of the pasture roll. Miss Chatterbox, how happens it That you in all this witchcraft fit; That in your feet the fairies dance And from your eyes the sun-sprites glance; That in your curls are elfin kinks And in your cheek a cupid winks; The wood-nymphs clap their hands with thine And thou art nature’s countersign? LITTLE STOCKING Cunningly, patiently I knit you, Little stocking, Counting the stitches the while; Lovingly in thought I fit you While rocking Back and forth, back and forth, with a smile, On the baby-feet I kiss Or in slumber absent miss, Dreams flocking, little stocking, Like this. Skilfully, wistfully I weave you, Interlocking The strands in and out and around; Tenderly in mind I leave you, Little stocking, As the woolen thread’s unwound, And I think of baby feet You will cover when complete, Half-mocking, little stocking, So sweet. Artfully I toe and heel you, Little stocking, Clicking the needle ends; Fondly I fashion and feel you, Heart a-talking As the tapering fabric spends; Will the baby-feet be true To the dreams I wove in you? Little stocking, little stocking, Adieu! ELFIN FACES Round me gather Rosycheeks, Clean and fresh as peaches, Smiling daughters of the Greeks, Golden-tongued with speeches. “Papa, tell your little girls All about the fairies!” Bless my soul! they all had curls And Cupid-lips like cherries. Yes, indeed, and starry eyes And merry little dimples Something like a sly surprise Hid in cunning wimples. Yes, and twinkling baby-feet Dancing midst the flowers, Gathering the honey sweet Through the morning hours. But at twilight is the time Each becomes a brownie, Murmuring a sleepy rhyme, Growing soft and downy Till--say, I declare there springs Up from either shoulder Fluffy little angel-wings That at first enfold her,-- Then I have to rub my eyes All alert and scarey, For right out the window flies Every single fairy And I’m left there all alone, Peering in the corners. * * * * * Little elfin-faces gone Leave behind them mourners. SWEET ’STEEN Little outgrown pinafore Hanging there behind the door, Seldom seen, Sprigged all over full of buds Like the yesterdays whose suds Only partly washed you out-- What d’you mean By reviving such a time Like a phantom put to rout Till it runs to rue and rhyme? Ah, ’tis sad to think of it-- Missy that you used to fit Till between Top and bottom was a glance, Now is wearing styles of France; For alas, she’s grown to be Sweet sixteen, With young ladyship’s conceit And its sprouting vanity-- Sixteen, pinafore, and sweet! BOY Boy, thou art the work of ages, Disporting by creation’s glades and streams-- Laughing at the sages And filling all the pages Of time eternal with thy hopes and dreams! Boy, thou art the work of nature, Commingling of earth and air and fire-- In consciousness and feature A juvenescent creature With active mind and limbs that never tire. Boy, thou art the work of gladness And meant to fill the world with lusty shout, With laughter, not with sadness, With goodness, not with badness, With eager confidence and not with doubt! Boy, thou art the work of Heaven, A thought to give the world a bonnie heir-- A living joyous leaven, A spirit nobly driven To try the future and divinely dare! A CHILD’S LIFTED CROSS How are we taught by childhood’s simple plea Our greatest need and poor deformity When such a child each vesper hour could pray, “Lord, make me well and take my cross away! “That I may share in joy and love return, That I may live to labor and to learn And that to-morrow may redeem to-day, Lord, make me well and take my cross away!” The help came down not as the cry went up, Not as the thirst the giving of the cup; Poor little one, if only we could say God made him well and took his cross away! ’Tis thus we bring our own distorting grief To our beloved Physician for relief; And as our burden at thy feet we lay, Lord, say ’tis well and take our cross away! Thus too we bring our sin-misshapen soul To our great Healer, who can make us whole, And there beside His cross, not ours, we pray, “Lord, make me well and take my sins away!” Ah, time may hold surcease from pain and care; Who knows what is the answering of prayer Or why the Potter breaks the faulty clay? Lord, make us beautiful in Thine own way! THE BOY MILLIONAIRE Boy, I’m worth a hundred million And I’m sixty seasons old, But you’re worth about a billion In another kind of gold! I’ve the money, you’ve the treasure, You’ve the future, I’ve the past, I’ve the power, you’ve the pleasure, Mine is fleeting, yours will last. When you whistle through the clover, Capturing the bumble-bee, When the brook is running over And the trout-line craftily Feels the eddy--who can offer You a kingdom more divine? I’ve an overflowing coffer But would trade it all for thine. A LULLABY Little birdie, fold thy wings, Snuggle in thy nest; While the wind thy cradle swings, Baby-birdie, rest! Oh, so wee and warm and near To thy mamma’s breast! Oh, so free from harm and fear! Go to rest, go to rest! Little flower, hide thy face, For ’tis eventide! In the sleepy night’s embrace, Little flower, hide! Oh, so wee and fair and still On thy mamma’s breast! Oh, so free from care and ill! Be at rest, be at rest! Little baby, close thine eyes; Fairies come for thee From the land of lullabys, Where my baby’ll be Oh, so blissful while she sleeps On her mamma’s breast! And I kiss her smiling lips; She’s at rest, she’s at rest! THE LAST SONG Just one more little song, mother, Before I go to sleep; For thou hast often hushed my heart To slumber soft and deep. Before ’tis dark I long, mother, For thy dear voice, which seems To make thy gentle face a part Of childhood’s golden dreams. Just one more little song, mother, Before I sink to rest; For thou hast often stilled my fears Upon thy tender breast. Thy love so great was strong, mother, With childhood’s safe repose On lips that kissed away its tears, In arms that held it close. Just one more little song, mother, Before I dream of skies Where stars and flowers smile and shine And angel-harps surprise. But not in Heaven’s throng, mother, Is there a dearer face, A sweeter song or soul than thine The Gloryland to grace. YOUTH A vision of morning, A sparkle of dew, With roses adorning Life’s pilgrimage through; All joy and no sorrow, No trouble to borrow, An endless to-morrow, And love ever true. AGE To sit in the gloaming And muse by the fire Till the spirit of homing Takes wings of desire; And the might-have-beens lighten And the things-to-be brighten And the heavenlies heighten And the holies inspire. SENTIMENT A CORONATION Dear, on thy brow I set a crown, Invisible yet rare; Not jewelled gold, which burdens down With royalty and care. I bring thee nothing but my love And what my hands can win, And yet I crown thee, dear, above A kingdom’s proudest queen. I kiss each gleaming tress of thine Coiled lightly round thy head, And woman’s glory grows divine With love’s aurora shed. If thou canst but forget the rest, The gems I cannot bring, This jewel doth become thee best To me, thy lover-king. Dear, in my soul thou hast a throne All white and heavengold, And on thy brow I set a crown That doth my heart infold. I’LL BE WATCHING ON THE SHORE She kissed me when we parted,-- I to sail the stormy main, She to keep the little cottage Snug until I come again; And well do I remember What she promised o’er and o’er:-- “When you come sailing from the ocean I’ll be watching on the shore!” So I was a jolly skipper, Coiling rope or reefing sail; Many a distant port I entered, Many a homebound ship did hail. If I sent or got a message, Always it the promise bore:-- “When you come sailing from the ocean I’ll be watching on the shore!” Death came yawning in the tempest; Wild and high the spindrift flew, And from dizzy deck and masthead Oft I thought my hour was due; Till her dear prophetic promise Sang above the billows’ roar:-- “When you come sailing from the ocean I’ll be watching on the shore!” But alas! One time I harbored She was sleeping white and still Where the ivy made a trellis Of the lookout on the hill; And the cold engraven marble Yet the farewell promise bore:-- “When you come sailing from the ocean I’ll be watching on the shore!” I GIVE THEE MY PROMISE I give thee my promise, sweetheart, With thy dear lips to mine, That nothing shall keep from us The sealing of this sign; As o’er the world I wander By hope of fortune sped, My heart will grow the fonder For thy promise me to wed. I give thee the token, sweetheart, Whose circle on thy hand God grant may ne’er be broken, However far the land! For where it pleaseth Heaven To lead my errant feet, This little token given Will keep the promise sweet. I give thee the keeping, sweetheart, Of my own heart that pleads For love’s immediate reaping And with the parting bleeds; But I with arms that hold thee Must labor for thee, too; And so I fast enfold thee And bid thee, love, adieu! CHAMBERED ROSES Over in Dolorosa Hall, Romantic memories breathing, There’s a quaint old room with flowered wall Of roses interwreathing, The key on golden chain I wear To guard the sacred chamber, For as a bride demure and fair My sainted Mary came there. ’Twas her dear self arranged it so And helped to match the roses, As she, alas, the ones which grow O’er walls where she reposes. I nurture these, the others seal For subtler necromancy Where Mary’s loving roses steal Around the room of fancy. They ramble from each corner to The border o’er the moulding And on in buds and tendrils through The ceiling’s faded golding. No hand shall ever tear them down With cheap artistic violence, For Mary wreathed the roses on, Still fragrant with her silence. TWO FRAMES In the gallery of remembrance Down on Unforgotten Street Hangs a picture of two lovers After they the vows repeat; Lovely--handsome--picture--lovers-- Golden-framed against the wall, Love in rich and stately setting-- Revenue and manor-hall. And beside it hangs another, Limned again with lovers’ pose, Just as lovely on the canvas Till the golden in it glows; But ’tis framed in white enamel Whereon lilies intertwine-- Love in sweet and simple setting-- Virtue and a cottage-vine. Love-in-woman stands before them With reflected gold and grace But with struggling decision On her dew-and-flower face; Eyes are drawn to frame of yellow, Heart to canvas set in white: Rich man, poor man? Love-in-woman Chose and lilies turned to light. _PARS SUMMAE_ I did not think that love was mine Because I toiled; But if I caught its every line And not despoiled More perfect love to grace my own, Then might I feel That I at love’s supremest throne Could rightly kneel. I veiled my face when glory shed Its trembling light; Nor would I lift my humbled head Till I as white Could show the pureness of a soul That doth reveal Love which before the sacred whole Can rightly kneel. My altar was her blessing-place Whence she bestowed The gifts divinely of her grace On worship bowed; For as my adoration rose To love’s ideal She lifted me as one of those Who rightly kneel. A VISION Tall and fair and azure-eyed, Covert glances ’neath the drooping lash Like Cupid’s arrows in an artful quiver-- She is this and much beside, Which to tell in detail would be rash By any but the beggar to the giver. If I gathered, if she gave, I could put it better into art, By countless little charming things elated-- Silken tresses in a wave, Cheek with stolen pigment from the heart, And mouth the most inviting e’er created. Still I’m short of total truth Just to feature forth her lovely face Wreathed in rebel-locked or coiffured limbus; Yet the highest charm of youth Is the soft inimitable grace That bathes a woman with a glowing nimbus. And this my goddess hath improved By every feminine instinct of taste, And still the deeper charm of spiritism-- Which, if it were the soul and loved Some kindred soul in this world of love-waste, Would laugh at every selfish catechism Of worldly wisdom and its creed And tremble to the fate which love revealed, Flushed at its glimpse of Paradise, delirious That life was not all craft and greed But underneath its shallows half-concealed Lay passion grand, transfiguring, imperious! THE AFTERMATH Lovers making foolish vows, Thinking love is deathless When ’tis fiercest to espouse What it sings so breathless; Now caressing, now confessing In romantic stanza-- Such is passion and its fashion Of extravaganza. But the love that’s worth a throne Is the kind that later More than sentiment alone Proves and heavens greater Than a frenzy of the fancy Or a creed of nature, Or the praises in fine phrases Of a charming creature. Oh, the happy aftermath When the mating’s over And ordeals of life and death Teach the whilom lover That the woman, though for human Charms he did enshrine her, Is the essence of a presence Sweeter and diviner! PROOF-WORDS There was a face--I loved it; There was a pulse--I felt it; There was a soul--I sensed it And made it mine for aye. There was a heart--I proved it; There was a word--I spelt it; Yet scarcely had commenced it When called from dreams away. There was a hope--I wreathed it; There was a prayer--I sped it; There was a seal--I gave it, Then bade my love adieu. There was a sigh--I breathed it; There was a tear--I shed it; There was a gift--I save it To know my love is true. MEMORIES ADIEUS When we from the ship or shore Bid farewell--Oh, fare thee well! Though the voyage may be o’er Ocean-vasts and none can tell Whether we shall evermore Meet again, yet fare-thee-well Means a hope whose accents spell Till we greet again--farewell! When we over sea or land Godspeed wish--Oh, speed thee God! Him we trust with kindly hand, Narrow though the way or broad, Sometime from the distant strand Back again to bring us shod Joyous o’er the way we trod. Hope is Godspeed--speed thee God! When our parting word fore’er Is goodbye--God’s way be thine! Whether ’tis ourself who fare Or another we resign, Yet committed to His care And a future as benign, We await the proof divine Hope’s goodbye is God be thine! DUST TO DUST Earth to earth, we sadly sigh-- Beloved, beloved, why didst thou die? Heaven, why untimely death When so sweet are life and breath? Earth and Heaven tell us why Our beloved have to die? Dust to dust, the elements Swallow clay and sleeping sense. Wilt thou wake, beloved, yet To the eyes no longer wet, To the arms that no more ache, Wilt thou, O beloved, wake? Ashes to ashes mingling, Flesh they cover, tears they wring. Beloved, beloved, the flowers I bring Wither, but the ones that spring O’er thy mould with promise smile “Dearest, yet a little while!” LITTLE WORDS Speak but the little words of truth And they shall live when thou hast ceased to be; The lips by trial daily put to proof Breathe nothing sweeter than sincerity, Helping thy brother to be true like thee. Speak but the little words of love And they shall linger when the tongue is still; For whether there be thrones they shall remove, But love abideth all our thoughts to fill And fashioneth remembrance as it will. Speak but the little words of hope And they shall cheer the way when cometh night To thee or others who in dark would grope But for the courage of thy humble light Fed by the oil of promise--“All comes right.” Speak but the little words of trust And they shall rob the struggle of its cross, The heart of sorrow’s bitterness, the dust Of victory o’er our dead--for out of loss Trust sees eternal gain transform the dross. A WAYSIDE LIFE A little stream sprang from its distant source, And through the peopled valley with a song It held its smiling uneventful course, Grateful with cooling draught the whole year long, Till they who daily drank of it grew strong. A little star shone softly in the night, And in the many-gloried heavenly host It shed a true and never-failing light; So that for constancy ’twas loved the most Because for lack of it no way was lost. A little coin was passed from hand to hand, And humbly served its mission day by day In the life-needs its value could command; Pure gold it was though small in currency, And many a debt of want sufficed to pay. A humble life was lived where others felt Its truth and worth to hand and lip and eye; And when ’twas spent its debtors mutely knelt To thank the Giver for its ministry-- The stream, the star, the coin they travelled by, The vanished life whose benison of grace Was like the cup of water or the beam Of friendly light or as the gold whose base Of humanness, though it might dull the gleam, Yet perisheth and leaves its worth supreme. O TEAR! O tear of grief from stricken spirit wrung By nature’s requisition of our shrined And best-beloved!--if sympathizing tongue Can speak one word of hope or comfort kind By Heaven approved,-- Drop thou upon it like a jewelled sphere Whose trembling iris makes it lovelier! By such a Heaven-inspired word, O tear Of human sorrow, thou art made to be Divinely thrilled with comforting more dear Than helpless love or hopeless sympathy!-- For thou art filled With visions now of soul’s supremer sphere, Like thine but infinite in love, O tear! Thou art too blurred and blinding now to let Thine eye behold the beauty of the light That glimmers through thy grief,--but thou wilt yet, If pleaseth God, with faith-anointed sight And love anew Dissolve in joy and for the sepulchre Glad that which makes it victory, O tear! THE DEW OF DUST O dead of earth, rejoice! The flowers from the dust By vernal dews arise And smile reviving trust, When from their Wintry tomb they wake And into Summer beauty break. And so shall sleeping be Within our fleshly tomb; The Eastertide shall free The life that lieth numb, And from the dust shall rise anew The deathless bloom of Spring and dew. Say not to ashes turns Our being with its shell, For a divineness burns By death unquenchable To warm the poor chill mould we’re of And our undying nature prove. If not another grace Shall clothe our soul’s desire, Let not the grave efface What in us doth aspire! So shall we nobler be than clay And give a truth to “life for aye.” A SMILE As from the window-pane a light doth gleam To cheer the traveller at eventide, So was her smile the ever-friendly beam That lit the way or bade the guest abide. She knew no cross or care but what was eased By smiling trust that everything was best; When all around were happy she was pleased, When she could make them happy she was blest. We knew who loved her best, the sweetness of Her always gentle look and Christian grace; She filled the home with precious motherlove, And no one else can fill her sacred place. Hers was the smile that shone in sun and storm, In ministry to others or when they Looked to her out of trouble, and the charm Of such serenity drove doubt away. She smiled in life and then the miracle Of soul untroubled triumphed to the end; She smiles in death to comfort us--“’Tis well!” To let us know that she hath found a Friend. PHILOSOPHY THE HILL-TOPS There are cloudy, sullen skies, But what of that? There are discontented eyes, But what of that? When the day is gloomiest, Over on the hill-tops west There is sunshine. Brother, best Think of that. There are dour looks enough, But what of that? Tasks forbidding, hard and rough, But what of that? Though the vale the weather spoils, On the hill-tops there are miles Of old Sol’s unconquered smiles; What of that? Living in the valley long, Maybe that Quenched the laughter and the song; But for that, Hearts might look to higher hills, Kissed by sun and full of rills, Smiling over cares and ills. Think of that! THE MAN WHO BEARS THE HOD Go, mould and burn the clay to brick With all the skill of ages; It took the shovel and the pick Before it took the sages. But leaving that to honor’s past For things which men applaud, Who is it makes the pile so vast, An edifice to rise and last? The man who bears the hod. The potter and the architect May shape and plan the temple, The master-builders may erect, Ennoble or assemble; But leaving that to future fame For things we rarely laud, Who is it carries up the frame On shoulders called in lieu of name The man who bears the hod? The dreamer and the statesman may Inspirèd be with genius, And in the oven put the clay That rears renown between us; But who must heap the bricks they mould On backs and bases broad, Toil up the scaffolds and uphold The towers growing high and bold? The man who bears the hod. JOG ALONG! Jog along! Jog along! The day is young, the goal’s ahead, The limbs are strong and hope is fed On promises where’er you look, Of nodding bud and laughing brook. Cheer up! Cheer up! while there’s a song Of bird or smile of sunny nook, There’s love and bread. So jog along! Jog along! Jog along! ’Tis only noon and there’s an inn Where you may soon an hour win Of humble fellowship and fare-- A luxury of life too rare. Hail, friend well met, who in the throng Is brotherly in spite of care! There’s human kin--so jog along! Jog along! Jog along! The sun goes down but twilight’s still To reach the town upon the hill; And there the sun’s an hour high To give thee grace of foot and eye. Keep on! Keep on! with dauntless will; You’ve still the promise of the sky The stars until! So jog along! THE FAMILY TREE Your genealogy may be The finest thing on earth Or merely a decadent tree Of past descent and worth. The children of the Puritans Should have the Pilgrims’ souls Or else an alien wire spans Your insulated poles. An aristocracy of breed Is that which keeps the stamp Of spirit from heroic deed In patriot hall or camp. The veins whose life-blood flows for home Or right or liberty Should be the same from which they come, To keep the nation free. To find in our ancestral line A sire of noble blood Puts on us truth to make the sign Of our escutcheon good. Colonial forbears condemn Like ghosts from hollow boles Unless we reincarnate them Without their shrouds and stoles. To be well-born a century back, A century of fruit, A century the soil to pack About the ancient root, Is such a heritage we well May trace it to its source For all from which its scions swell, Its vital ichors course. REPLEVIN Who can replevin all his own From his platonic debtors-- From plagiarists perchance unknown Who steal his thoughts or letters? His property is small or great As it is worth the using, And such a tribute to his rate Makes property worth losing. To say or do a thing that’s fine, Which makes the world the wiser, Should be a royalty divine To any but a miser. Their pound of flesh let Shylocks sue And bank in figures seven-- Our noblest own is what is due In goods beyond replevin. HOMILIES WHAT IS TRUTH? Truth is the vision of the skies That does not ask us to be wise But just to lift perceiving eyes Wherever there is living light To clearer make the way of right Or soiled humanity more white. Truth is the meaning of all things Not to the mind but to the springs Of love and peace and fashionings; For what we love is life’s concern And hope is more than sages learn And truth is most to which we turn. Truth is the spirit of all truths Which from the same supremeness moves And universal purpose proves; Truth is the light and not the spheres Whose laws are known to only seers; But by the stars the sailor steers. Truth is the image of its God Who all its endless vistas trod And flung His attributes abroad; For while too rare to minds more dense Its mirror makes it real to sense And gives its soul an evidence. FRIENDSHIP O Friendship! On life’s crown the pearl Amidst its jewels rare, A star for peasant or for earl The other gems whate’er-- Be diamond on the kingly brow Or garnet dull on toil, The hearted radiance art thou, Of noblest might or moil. But ah, to only value thee As treasure of desire For peerlessness of purity We gain to but admire; And not to feel thy inner worth As stuff of primal deeps, Some miracle of troubled birth Where lowly nature creeps! Is this, O Friendship, worthy of The praises of the Muse, Of life so lightly prone to love But fire to refuse? If only in our hand we hold Another’s sacrifice And give it back no gift of gold, ’Tis not the Pearl of Price. THOUGHT Think nobly! For the things we ponder are the sum Of what we treasure and we do become The fashion of our thinking--just as from The chain we know the linking. Therefore think nobly! Think purely! For our meditation is the glass Through which our spirit doth in vision pass, The face of God beholding--and the grace Of his divine unfolding. Therefore think purely! Think truly! For a true ideal is the light By which we struggle up the lofty height Of Truth’s supreme divineness--and the right To which it doth incline us. Therefore think truly! WHEN I’M NO MORE Will yonder Orient flush with morning hue? Will on the flowers shine the crystal dew And Heaven retain its soft cerulean blue When I’m no more? Will yet the jasper ocean lap the beach And woo the wildflower just beyond its reach? Will yet the treebirds murmur each to each When I’m no more? Will yet the laughing brook keep on its way? Will yet yon moon smile sadly o’er my clay And those bright twinkling stars dance in the day When I’m no more? Will yet a smiling world salute the dawn And still its course of love and joy flow on-- My image once some heart enshrined soon gone When I’m no more? What means this chill misgiving--fate or fear? Death, rend the veil and calm this dark despair! Say, tell me will this memory be dear When I’m no more? * * * * * Ah Death, thy only kindness is the bliss Of answer in love’s fondest parting kiss That one at least my humbleness will miss When I’m no more! THE BLAZED TRAIL Life is a human wilderness Where duty, right and truth Are tangled in the morasses Of folly, doubt and youth. I know I cannot hope to cleave A path through brake and swale, But I a guiding index leave If I but blaze the trail. The forest as I struggle through By compass, sun and stars I’ll mark so that another, too, Can travel by my scars. From woods where labor would get lost And feet would err or fail I’ll single pines on ridges crossed And blaze on them the trail. O’er range and river toward the West I’ll keep and pray to learn Not what is easiest, but best, And worth a life’s return; For though I shall not pass again The way I thus prevail, It is my task for other men To blaze the homebound trail. GRIEF AND JOY Grief said there was no gladness At the season of the Child, But only memories of sadness In homes where babes once smiled. Joy said there was no sorrow, But found solace in the touch Of gladness that perhaps to-morrow Would need our cheer as much. * * * * * Grief said that songs awaken Echoes of our buried love, As when silent chords are shaken And still responsive prove. Joy said it yet were stranger If our babes made Bethlehem Not more dear because the manger Bore Him who gathered them. * * * * * Grief said that gifts but mocked us With the treasures snatched away And with chains forever locked us In tombs of memory. Joy said that gifts were token Of our love and its domain, Earnest of our hopes unspoken Love would get again. HOPE I have a hope--’tis spirit-born And spirit-winged beside; ’Tis like the holy light of morn When Heaven opens wide. Hope like the bird whose every note A loving Father’s hand Hath tuned within its swelling throat As though the song were planned! What is it but the joyous sense Of love and harmony? What is it but the evidence Of life’s divinity? That hope which makes us most divine And like to what it clings-- That hope which makes our hearts incline To higher, holier things-- That hope which spells eternal youth And goodness infinite-- Hath reason in it strong as truth And logical as light. SOWING AND REAPING Sow on though another age May do the reaping! Sow on, for the final wage Is in the keeping Of our divinest Master, who declared, “Sow on, for he shall reap not who hath spared!” Reap on what another age Began by sowing! Reap on, for the highest wage Is in the knowing The fruit is garnered and the harvest-song To sower and to reaper doth belong! HOPE ON! Hope on! For there is no rising star When shadows creep across our sky More precious than this beam afar That trembles through eternity. Hope on! That infinite desire Is but a foreglimpse of the dawn Of an immortal, holier and higher Day of perfection; therefore hope on! Hope on, lest the heart be cankered By its own sense of dumb despair! But rather let the soul be anchored To the veiled Heaven over there Where the light trembles through the mist And hope becomes more lucid faith, Yea, glad expectancy--for lo, the Christ Bids life unfold its wings and death And doubt begone! Therefore hope on! HEARTED GOOD Blest be the goodness which is spirit-fruit Of reverence as worship is of awe, Till goodness is both ripening and root! For just as truly as that it doth draw Its substance from divineness it must shoot By the same potency of nature’s law. We may dispense the good we never grew As those who borrow; or we may profess The goodness which we know but never do, And so put on a form of fruitfulness; But ah, ’tis barren-hearted and untrue To worthiness, whate’er its outward dress! To love as well as practise what is fine, To be what we would fain be taken for, To ripen from the root whose tendrils twine Around the very heart whose currents pour Into the good we do--this is divine And living fruit that blesses more and more. COUNTRY AMERICA Divided by the ocean’s vast From other dear and shining strands, The wonder of the storied past Confesses this the land of lands; The refuge of the fair and brave When freedom was denied her due; Sing with the wild, wild ocean-wave, “America the true!” Dear was the boon the pilgrim sought Amid the redman’s forest wild, And dearly, too, the lesson taught By this sweet Freedom’s native child; Which yet once learned forget no more, O heir of that loved Liberty! Breathe with the spirit of thy shore, “America the free!” Her stars and stripes that proudly float So many citied states above, Shall we forget that they denote The oneness of a common love? Sweet token to the patriot O’er all thy territories wide, Float to this one inspiring thought, “America our pride!” And still as fuller swell thy veins And crimsoner thy throbbing blood, Be virtue in thy broad domains, The God of nations be thy God! The echo of thy forest-days Still mingle with thy voiceful sea Or linger in the poet’s praise, “America the free!” THE ALTAR OF COUNTRY O Country of my altar, Where the incense flame doth burn And a priestly hand doth part the Temple-veil-- Let me ne’er in purpose falter, Let me never from thee turn Nor the vision of the holy ever fail-- O my country, till I learn How to purpose not to palter, Let the vision of the holy never pale! O altar of my Country, Sealed with bloody sacrifice, Yet glorious with living triumph, too, May I nobly offer on thee Duty’s most devoted price, Never doubting it to be thy sacred due! From thy altar let me rise All to offer, O my country, That I treasure most supreme and true! (_From_ “GREATHEART.”) THE STARS OF DESTINY The midnight stars wheel in their course Through trackless vasts of space, And every distant sun’s a source Of motions taking place Beyond the reach of eye or thought, Yet part of Heaven’s design In order infinitely wrought By majesty divine. We cannot know the perfect plan In such a universe, Nor what its horoscope for man, Be it for good or worse; Enough the same law rules the stars And human destinies, And man the future makes or mars As he observeth these; As he the lesson of the past Applies to issues new, And makes experience forecast The Fate which cometh true Because it is the TRUTH and moves Though oft in courses strange, And like the time-eternal proves, The stars that never change. LAST OF THE GRAND ARMY There they come with feeble step, There they come with lessened rank, And yet pathetic with the martial air And ancient discipline of field and camp! There they come with sounding pipe, There they come with armor clank; The dimming uniform’s parade each year And ensign’s flaunting--Tramp! Tramp! Tramp! Thus they pass in broken corps, Thus they pass in mounted troop, Across the square in valor’s proud review, Beneath the victor’s green triumphal arch; Heads with many a Winter hoar, Upright shoulders now astoop; Their once imperial numbers grown so few, But bravely onward--March! March! March! Many a soldier’s vacant place, Many an officer’s blank post, And many a veteran, too, with touching zeal To mend the losses hobbling along; Many a scarred and figured face, Many a luckless member lost With silent eloquence the tale reveal Of desperate battles--On! On! On! By Gratitude’s tall monuments, By private cemetery tombs Where floral wreaths from loving hands lie mute Upon each honored grave for Memory’s sight; Bowing heads in reverence, Treading slow with muffled drums, With tear-dimmed eye and sorrowful salute And lowered standard--Right! Left! Right! Every footfall of the past, Every annual elapse, The silent hearts and silent years no more, Half-echo, mingle in that ghostly tread And seem to swell the muster vast And seem to say with hollow steps, From all that mighty vanguard gone before To this small rearguard--Dead! Dead! Dead! A few more years bivouac here, A few more years of sepulture In trench or dungeon, grave or moaning deep, A few more years of Death’s soft slumbering night Till all that spectral host appear Before the throned Cynosure Whose reveille will call them from their sleep To Heaven’s reviewing--Right! Left! Right! No shotted cannon, deadly arms, No trophy of a fallen foe, Till God define the worthiest conqueror; Him who has vanquished Death and conquered Doubt And faced a thousand alarms Till life sits firmly on his brow Or echoes through the happy Evermore, Ye host of victors--Shout! Shout! Shout! _VINCIT OMNIA JUS_ With one foot on the rock of right already won And one upon the rock of faith no right can be undone, I stand prophetic-voiced that presently from these _Right_ peak by peak shall grandly rise in towering Pyrenees. The Liberty we know and passionately love Shall bless the vineyards far below that drink the snows above; And in the guardian frown of Freedom’s lofty height Shall think ’tis God who cometh down to thunder for the right. As from the granite base where we must battle for To firmly plant each sacred Cause, we rear the mountain o’er, The bolt of stormy skies shall burst above each peak, Assuring us when man defies oppression God doth speak. And if from some sheer crag a vanguard hero fall The while the coward safely lags who’d rather be a thrall, We’ll set a cross upon the cliff from which he fell And over it a victor’s crown of Freedom’s immortelle. But better still we’ll climb inspired by his fate To heights of liberty sublime unreached by tyrant’s hate; And Right shall look at last from mountain-top to land In glad humanity more vast, in destiny more grand! THE FLYING JACK The sky was blue and smiling down Upon a human sea; Old Glory fluttered, danced and shone In varicolored glee. A merry breeze went laughing through The laughing folds of silk Until the red and white and blue Were sylphs with teeth of milk. Yet not for them the rapturous eyes Of shouting crowds were bright, Who came to hail with praise and prize The hero winged for flight. “The first to fly,” the challenge read, “Shall win the wreath and cup.” He spread his pinions and o’erhead A dizzy height went up. “Bravo! Bravo!” they shouted as He spiralled down and down; Then surged toward him in a mass And wreathed him with the crown. He smiled and in his eyes of blue And on his cheeks of red A something noble came to view As gallantly he said: “The cup I’ll keep, the wreath I’ll place Where it by right belongs; The first to fly my hand shall grace And you acclaim with tongues.” So saying towards his ship he stepped And set the sails again, Then in a rising circle swept With sun-kissed face and plane. They wondered when they saw him rise Toward the streamered staff Until he grazed its middle thrice And cleared it with a laugh; Until above its gilded ball He steadied and from high The trophy flung before them all With practised hand and eye. Upon Old Glory’s head the wreath Fell true and with it fell The airman’s words to those beneath Who needed but their spell: “The first to fly above our land On wings that never lag I crown with patriotic hand, Our country’s starry flag!” And then he doffed his cap and lo, A jackie’s suit he wore As circling still he cried, “Oho, I’ve flown in peace and war!” I rubbed my eyes and all was fled Except the silken folds Of Glory floating overhead A sailor-boy which holds. HUMOR SAP’S A-BILIN’ Out in the country where they tap The maple-trees in Spring, There’s something doin’ on the map When March is on the wing. The bar’ls and buckets overrun, The busy farmer’s smilin’, The cracklin’ fire helps the fun; For sap’s a-bilin’. Out in the country where they all Have lived a hundred years And heard the go-to-meetin’ call As Sunday storms or clears, Thermometer’s a-risin’ when For trouble folks are spilin’; Till some one pokes the kettle--then The sap’s a-bilin’. Just hold a bit--don’t let it burn By bein’ too intense! The man who biles has first to learn A leetle common sense. It’s sugar that we’re bilin’, mind, Not human nature rilin’; So jest go back to sweetness kind When sap’s a-bilin’! JUST MUD What’s this live stuff you call a boy Just in the plastic stage And fairly oozing with the joy Of youth’s unmoulded age? What’s this to fashion into form Of early blade or bud Or fruit with life or color warm? Why say, just mud! What’s Summer’s golden harvest-yield That ripens into grain, The bloom of orchard, wood or field So riotous with gain? What’s this comes trooping with the grace Of man-and-woman-hood From out the muck of yesterdays? Why say, just mud! What’s yonder statue borne aloft By noble edifice, Which passers-by beholding oft Forget immortal is Of living deed and living art (Now clay, once flesh and blood) Both growing from a humble start? Why say, just mud! KNOCKIN’ ROUND Funny how some men grow up Knockin’ round-- Drinkin’ out of fortune’s cup Overwound With the ivy of Japan Or a South-American Revolutionary plot-- Comin’ back no matter what, Knockin’ round. After seein’ half the world, Knockin’ round Under every flag unfurled Safe and sound-- Home again from climbin’ Alps, Raisin’ Filipino scalps, Fishin’ in a Scottish tarn-- You will find him at the barn Knockin’ round. All the smiles of Beauty’s eyes Knockin’ round Underneath Italian skies Or renowned Erin’s native land of charms Fade away as in his arms Blushes--just the same old girl From whose locks he kept a curl, Knockin’ round. THE SNAIL AND STAR A humble snail crawled from his shell one night To drink the dew and surfeit on young greens; How came he wise in nature when so slight A weakling of it passes wisdom’s means. But as he inched along, a winking star His locomotion mocked and oddity-- “How far, O pigmy gastropod, how far Dost thou suppose it is from thee to me? “And at the rate of travel thou dost creep How long to bridge the distance would it take? Yet I across its vastness nightly leap While you a paltry rod of progress make.” “I may be slow,” the snail vouchsafed reply, “But then I’m no pretense, howe’er you twit; Thou movest not at all except thy eye And now as I perceive thy nimble wit. “No doubt we both our mission magnify; You give the world the cheer of astral fire While from a lowlier position I A proverb for its ridicule inspire,-- “A proverb which, while I’m the ancient butt, Yet makes the human snail a byword too, And often moves him more of life to put In duty; therefore why so much ado?” The star had no retort, so saved its face By prompt amends:--“My brother, you are right; We both are filling our appointed place To teach the world a lesson. So good night!” THE OLD SOR’L HOSS The old sor’l hoss limps up the lane And whinners for his oats; But he will never work again ’Cept as the milk he totes To skimmin’-station down the road To sort-o’-make-believe He’s haulin’ of an honest load And earnin’ his reprieve. Sure that was paid for long ago If twenty faithful years Can make a critter’s master owe Return for what he clears By plow and reaper, laden rack, And stump-an’-loggin’ bee, Yet gives the beast-of-burden back Oft scant humanity. For when the old sor’l hoss’s jints Grow stiff with work and age, There’s many a man with musket pints His death and keeps his wage; But not this hoss with sorrel mane And coat, which every morn Comes limpin’ up the scrubby lane And whinners for his corn. NICODEMUS BOGGS Nicodemus Boggs was named By scripture-loving aunts, Though never for that virtue famed Was Demus----till by chance His mind was turned to churchly choice, And then one solemn night He heard an otherworldly voice Which put him in a fright Call ----“Nicodemus! Nico-de-mus! Nic-o-de-mus Boggs!” Although there were some folks blasphemous Who said ’twas only frogs; Be that however as it may, To Demus ’twas a sign; So forthwith he began to pray And talk of things divine. Of course ’twas given him to know Without a studied mind; His tongue was loosened and the flow Of words left wit behind. Yet strange to say no church was moved His parish to become, Though Demus said it only proved The church was deaf and dumb. For certainly the call was plain, As often half-asleep He heard the selfsame voice again In solemn tones and deep Urge ----“Nicodemus! Nic-o-de-mus! Nic-o-de-mus-s Bog-g-s!” Although there were some folks blasphemous Who said ’twas only frogs. Be that as each opined, ’tis sure With Demus soon it turned To ague, and the only cure For flesh which froze or burned, The doctor ordered, was to drain The hollow in the rear Where Demus lived; for while in vain He followed his career Of human welfare, there had lain The most neglected near. ’Twas remedied and ne’er again Did Nicodemus hear The voice which had become so famous For back-door croaks and frogs Call ----“Nicodemus! Nic-o-de-mus! Nic-o-de-mus-s Bog-g-s!” SACRED WHAT IS FAITH? Faith is no weakling, howsoe’er It needeth courage for its task, But strength whose confidence to dare Is that which humbles it to ask A higher help, a higher word To lift it, bid it trust and try, Assured its selfless prayer is heard, Its task beneath a Master’s eye. Faith is the reasoning of heart Toward the Heart-of-hearts which beats In unison with every part Of all it quickens and completes; And with a sense of love and plan Sees only good from truth and right, Wrong as the only ill which can Defeat design and quench the light. Faith is the fortifying gate Which walls us in, our terrors out, Through which we fare to conquer fate Or flee for refuge from our doubt; Faith blows the trumpet, mans the tower, Inspires hope, believes in Heaven And trusts the overruling Power To care for what its will hath given. Faith is the burden-bearer’s stay, The footsore pilgrim’s trusty staff, The victor’s martial panoply, The martyr’s noblest epitaph. Faith is the vision’s inner eye Whose pupil is the seeing soul, Its iris the reflected sky, Its long perspective Spirit’s goal. A FORGIVENESS A pilgrim long devout arrived at last Before the Gate of Paradise, and cast His staff aside triumphantly to press Within the dreamed-of goal. But strange to say, It did not open to his eagerness As knocking he solicited the way. “Nay,” said the Guardian Angel of the Gate, “The proof of thy assurance I await, The sesame and heavenliest word That passes here! Three trials shalt thou have, And if thou hast not found it by the third No privilege to enter canst thou crave.” So sure the Pilgrim was the truest right Must be the one of evangelic might He quickly answered “LOVE!” The Angel’s wing Drooped o’er his countenance as he replied, “Nay, such a plea might any sinner bring Like any saint whose zeal is undenied. “Canst thou not to the name come closer yet Of Goodness’ greatest key?” The Pilgrim let His thoughts go outward in a second quest And slowly made response, “Why, then, ’tis GRACE, The covenant and seal of all the rest, The chain whose lock is Love.” The Angel’s face Was still compassionate as he withheld The entrance, and his pity would have spelled The password in his eyes as he again Made answer, “Grace is truly all our hope In promise and fulfilment, but ’tis when We lay it to our hearts the Gate we ope And our admission most divinely plead; For none can think the word but feels its need And healing touch.” The Pilgrim’s brow grew sad, But as he pondered to his knees he fell And rose as oft before in wonder glad-- “FORGIVENESS!” The Angel answered, “Well!” And stood aside to let him pass. THE GOOD SAMARITAN The Good Samaritan was he Who had compassion not alone Humanely but divinely. We Must look beyond the Healer--see The Sympathizing Savior--be Forgiven, lifted up and shown The heart of Love and in our own Begin to feel the sympathy Which from His humanness had grown To deeds of such divinity. How little ’tis to minister To one poor soul unless we feel The touching brotherhood of care, The sense how easy ’tis to err, To fall, to need another’s prayer, Another’s help! But when we kneel Our fellowfeeling must be real Enough that we can rise and share The burden of our own appeal And help our brother’s cross to bear. He is the Good Samaritan Who loves enough to never wrong, To ever right a brother man-- To bind his wounds and shape the plan Of life benignly so he can His neighbor also cheer along. Blest be the mercifully strong! Blest be the human-hearted man Who never quenched a living song! For he is God’s Samaritan. SHEPHERD OF ISRAEL Shepherd of Israel, hear The calling of thy flock, And when we seek do thou be near To lead us to the Rock Where full and sheltered we At noonday may repose Or find at night security From all our lurking foes! Help us to trust thy care Through green or barren ways And voice our doubts and fears in prayer, Our blessedness in praise! If thorns beset our path, To feel Thou leadest us Is sweet assurance goodness hath A loving purpose thus. Guide us by living streams That rise in mountain height And up where wisdom’s heavenly beams Our spirits bathe in light! Lead us to ranges high, To visions rich and broad, To pinnacles that touch the sky And help us know Thee, God! THE LADDER OF CLOUD There’s a beautiful ladder of fine-spun cloud That stretches from earth to sky And up and down it the angels crowd With calling and soft reply:-- AMRAEL Children of men, who only by sight Know that the stars exist, There was one that shone o’er the world last night Through an aureole of mist. MISHAEL They only saw it who had kept The vigil of the seers With inner sense; but ye who slept Knew not the sign of the years. URIEL The spirit of life became a star And we the herald-host; And we sang as the Wise Men gazed afar And the Shepherds Heavenmost; HOST Joy to the world! For lo, is born The Gift-Child! Echo on And on forever song of morn, Yet trembling into dawn! _Refrain_ Joy to the pure in heart! For thou Alone dost know the worth And meaning of the Gift, who bow Before the Virgin-birth. _Chorus_ All hail Madonna’s Gift That shall the earth to Heaven uplift! All hail! Rejoice! * * * * * What softening of angel-voice And light and listening sense Fell hush-like on the last “Rejoice, Madonna-reverence!” * * * * * The pearly wings the host enshroud, The voices fade away, And the beautiful ladder of fine-spun cloud Becomes the Gate of the Day. THE RISEN CHRIST MEANS VICTORY Go forth and hail the Conqueror With flowers and sacred psalms! The triumph we observe is more Than that of martial palms; For lo! there cometh from the tomb The Lord of life and life-to-be, Around whose feet the lilies bloom; The risen Christ means victory. Go forth and on His living brow Entwine a laurel-wreath; For never was so great as now The glory of His death! The Cross and Sepulchre had been The world’s most damning tragedy But for the conquered curse of sin; The risen Christ means victory. Go forth with precious ointment of Affection to thy dead, With Easter’s glad, believing love That He Who for us bled, Who slept and rose again, is strong To roll corruption’s stone away. And loose the Resurrection Song; The risen Christ means victory! THE EVERLASTING ARMS When to our life dark shadows come, Stern crosses, sacrificial cares And other fancied temporal harms, There is eternal refuge from Our terrifying doubts and fears Within the Everlasting Arms. When o’er our souls temptations sweep And goodness loses half its grace As sin pursues us with its charms, There is no refuge left to keep But the eternal hiding-place Within the Everlasting Arms. When through the valley dark and drear We walk or see another sink And death o’ercomes us with alarms, Be then, Eternal Refuge, near To hold us up upon the brink Within the Everlasting Arms! HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP The task is done, the sun is set, The evening shadows fall apace, The course is run, and tarries yet The glory only of the race; But ere the guerdon of the toil The fleeting soul shall rise to reap, God maketh it to rest awhile-- He giveth his beloved sleep. What though the eyes are closed in death, The tired hands are folded now? Life shall arise, saith living faith. And ministry diviner grow. ’Tis but the hush before the day: The Father bids his angels keep The treasure that we lay away-- He giveth his beloved sleep. But not, oh not forever thus Doth death enshroud our silent ones-- We know not what transfigures us, What miracle of quickening suns-- But we await their healing wings, Their living flash, seraphic sweep, The glory of the King of Kings Who giveth his beloved sleep. THE GLORY DWELLS Oh, the glory that we dream of Trembling over Bethlehem! Magi following the beam of Starry prophecy to them! Shepherds startled by the gleam of Heavenly light and angel-hymn! Time hath made the vision holy, But I know that glory dwells Not in manger-village solely, Nor in dream that prophet tells, But wherever there’s a lowly Child-heart, there the glory swells. Pride of earth and pomp of power Dazzle with their tinsel show; But compared to goodness’ dower They’re as only glint to glow. Pride is merely for an hour, Goodness doth to glory grow. THE LIGHT OF LIFE O Light of Life, shine thou Into my soul as doth the Sun of Day Into the world for seeing with mine eyes! Reveal the good and evil--teach me how To stumble not but walk the Living Way That fills earth with the glory of the skies! Let there be spirit-quickenings That thrill the being to responsiveness Lest vision be but human, uninspired! Ah, make it throb until from vision springs Anointed nature to in life express The Grace which makes the Heavenly desired! DESIGN The universe of rolling spheres Is not for Deity’s display But for a purpose which appears In its supernal harmony. Its mass that in momentum sweeps, Its energy of elements, The order which its system keeps Are aspects of omnipotence; And power working such design Is proof of Presence everywhere Intelligent, supreme, divine, Both in creatorship and care. For in His watchcare of the worlds He-Over-All doth manifest A greater power than that which whirls Them on their way at its behest, A greater purpose than to span The Heavens by His glory lit; For ’tis the more eternal plan Of making all creation fit For fellowship with Nature’s God In higher terms of wisdom, truth And love by perfect will endowed, Whereof the worlds are but the proof. Thou Supersoul, who Spirit art And rulest star-host, wave and wind, Teach us Thy majesty to heart And feel in music perfect Mind! SONG GOLDEN HOPE There is nothing in the world so sweet As the hope which never, never dies, That sometime, somewhere we shall meet In gladder love beyond the skies-- Oh, beyond the skies so golden, With the hope of Heaven olden; For there’s nothing in all the world so sweet As the olden, golden hope again to meet! There is nothing in all the world so fleet As the hope that ever, ever flies Swift onward, upward to the seat Of perfect love beyond the skies-- Oh, beyond the skies so glowing, With the hope of Heaven growing; For there’s nothing in all the world so sweet As the glowing, growing hope again to meet! There is nothing in all the world so great As hope that bids us, helps us rise With more responsive hands and feet, With gladder tongues and clearer eyes-- Oh, upon the skies so golden, With the hope of Heaven olden; For there’s nothing in all the world so sweet As the olden, golden hope again to meet! THE COMING CROWNING When the chariots of glory Come flashing from the east On the day of Advent-story, The crowning of the Christ; When the clouds are seraph-mounted And radiant of wing With angel-hosts uncounted, And the skies with rapture ring-- My soul, wilt thou undaunted Meet the coming of the King? When earth the blessed vision With lifted eyes beholds And feels the swift transition Of glory that enfolds; When from the skies descending The hosts of Heaven bring The Kingdom never-ending Of which all peoples sing-- O Spirit, wilt thou blending Hail the coming of the King? When thrones are set for mercy And love to minister To the naked, sick and thirsty And all who faint or err; When the Lord of glory reigneth And choired censers swing With the praises God ordaineth As Heavens their banners fling-- O Soul, a crown that gaineth, Crown and enthrone the King! THE LIVING CUP Gather all the beauty and the riches of the world, The flowers’ blush and lover’s flush, The hoards of gold and pearl; But you’ll never have enough to sum The wealth and treasure up Like the blessing of the drinking from The living water’s cup. Gather all the music and the fountain-springs of love, The heart’s desire, censer’s fire And starry host above; But you’ll never have enough to sum The soul of gladness up Like the blessing of the drinking from The living water’s cup. Gather all the glories and the triumphs of all time, Of temples’ pride and kingdoms wide And grace and art sublime; But you’ll never have enough to sum The joy of Heaven up Like the blessing of the drinking from The living water’s cup. THE SINGERS Oh, the song of the soul we have sought for forever, In ages gone by and the ages to come, But what of the voices whose noblest endeavor Must lift it as high as the height it is from? For the song must mount up on the wings of the Spirit And out of the heart that kindles with love Before all the world will listen to hear it, Before the world’s sense it trembles above. Oh, the song of the soul we have sought for wherever There’s beauty or sunshine, glory or joy; But what of the voices whose praises must gather The echoes that melt with the lips they employ? For the notes must spring up from the souls they awaken And out of the hearts they kindle with love Before all the world by their sweetness is shaken, Before the world’s life they triumph above. Oh, the song of the soul we have sought for as treasure Wherever are kingdoms, jewels or gold; But what of the voices whose heavenly measure The wealth of the world’s richest treasure must hold? For the song must be born from the world’s greatest passion And out of a Heart that was kindled by love Before all the world its power can fashion To glory like that of the Master above. THE CROWN OF THORNS O crown of thorns upon the brow Of Him they nailed on Calvary, The serpent’s coil and sting wert thou, The seal of sin and agony. _Chorus_ _For where the grief and thought of us_ _The Savior’s brow had borne,_ _They put the_ MOCKERY _of the Cross,_ _The crown of thorn, the crown of thorn_. O crown of thorns, whose suffering The Savior for the world endured, ’Twas thus He healed the serpent’s sting, The evil mind of nature cured. _Chorus_ _For where the grief and thought of us_ _The Savior’s brow had borne,_ _They put the_ SORROW _of the Cross,_ _The crown of thorn, the crown of thorn._ O crown of thorns, whose wounds became Redeeming scars of victory, The glory where was once the shame-- The diadem of Heaven be! _Chorus_ _For where the grief and thought of us_ _The Savior’s brow had borne,_ _They put the_ TRIUMPH _of the Cross,_ _The crown of thorn, the crown of thorn_. SONG ALONG I sang an old song as I worked one day-- What cared I who smiled, What cared I who frowned? So long as my song made the task seem play, What cared I how many were pleasure-bound? I heeded them not unless they as well Were singing a song that work-glad fell, And then we together went singing along. I courted my love when dreamers were we-- What cared I who laughed What cared I who sighed? So long as my love was the world to me, What cared I for others the whole world wide? I heeded them not unless they as well Were dreaming upon the same love’s spell, And then we together went dreaming along. So I worked with a love-song for my cheer-- What cared I who hated Both labor and joy? So long as my loved ones to me were dear, What cared I how others made loving alloy? I heeded them not unless they as well Were part of the song which cherubs swell, And then we together went singing along. _ECCE HOMO!_ Upon the Cross I see Him nailed, The man of Nazareth; His brow is pierced, His visage paled With sufferings of death. Around Him gather those who hate And those who love Him most To watch His sin-appointed fate With grief or ruthless boast; And as His pleading face I scan All history cries--“Behold the Man!” His wounded hands and feet I see, The fountain from His side; O Calvary, O Calvary, Behold the Crucified! Yet not the cruel thorns are worst Nor blood of anguish spilt, But that the sinless One is curst For all the race’s guilt; And as His pleading face I scan All history cries--“Behold the Man!” Yet as I on His visage marred With guilt and sorrow gaze It changes from the beauty scarred To time’s most wondrous face. A glory as of Heaven breaks Upon the crown of thorn And every tortured feature takes A love by passion born; For as His pleading face I scan All history cries--“Behold the Man!” THE LOVE THAT WASHED HIS FEET She came as at supper the Lord reclined, She came with purpose sweet; Not of the host’s or servant’s kind Withheld from Him at meat; For she came to wash His feet. She watered them with tears of grief, She wiped them with her hair, She kissed them till she found relief And words of pardon there As she knelt to wash His feet. She loved the most because she knew Forgiveness so great; She loved, and nothing else could do To prove her love complete But to wash her Savior’s feet. No goodly laver did she own, No costly perfume bring; But hers was the truest service shown Whose faith the world will sing As the love which washed His feet. O sinner, the Savior’s present still Beside Compassion’s seat To pardon whosoever will The woman’s trust repeat And kiss the Savior’s feet! Let contrite tears be mercy’s plea And love its passion press Upon the feet of ministry That came to save and bless The hands which clasp His feet! MISCELLANEOUS THE SHUT AND OPEN HAND THE FIST I shut my eyes and opened them, And while they were shut I saw All the dread things that happen to men In the name of cause and law. I saw the tortured toil and travail As the cost of bread and birth; I saw the skein of fate unravel Around the helpless earth; A million who had nobly striven Go down to grim defeat, A million who their heart-blood given Spurned from proud Honor’s seat; Hope mocked and dear ideals shattered, Truth crushed and crucified, The fruits of love and labor scattered And Greed o’er Goodness ride; Curse like a ghoul despair and sorrow Leave at the race’s door, Pledging to-morrow and to-morrow Cursing the world still more. And as men were broken and stricken I saw the darkness loom To a frown of Hate and slowly thicken To a spectral shape of Doom. Shadows, thunders, griefs and grossness Gathered in a blacker mass, Life’s calamities and crosses Wrapped the midnight of all space Into--God! What awful likeness Of a giant arm and wrist Bulking blacker still to smite us As a clenched terrific FIST! THE OPEN HAND I shut my eyes and opened them, And when they were open I saw All the glad things that happen to men By a more benignant law. I saw the smiling heaven bending Above the fruitful land, The beauty and the bounty blending, The kiss of sea on strand; The love in labor and the guerdon Of home and wrought ideal, The benison behind the burden, The worth which works the weal; The glory of the sacrificial, The sanctity and song Of Nature’s benedictive missal O’er suffering and wrong. I saw the good and grace of seasons Aglow with golden yield, And giving trust a thousand reasons In flowerfest and field; Until a misty plexus trembled In midair and anon A presence as of Love resembled Diaphanous at dawn, With morning vestments all a-shimmer, Yet from whose potent charm Of godlike gloriole and glimmer There stretched a Titan ARM. Earth and sky seemed coalescing By filmy fingers spanned And became as if in blessing A mighty, OPEN HAND. THE MAN-BIRD The man-bird harnessed on his wings, Empowered the impatient heart And mounted into space as springs Some captive eagle when released From durance; but though human art Might imitate, its genius ceased Too short to force one secret of The wild, fierce mastery of flight In spiral sweeps away, above The dizziest pinnacle of sight. Man could but follow as he dared With plane and engine, chance and nerve, Yet like a Jove who boldly fared Across the firmament supreme; O’er vortexes with plunge and swerve, O’er air-abysses where the scream Of harpies echoed mocking forth On ears too tense--yet ever on O’er blinding South and blasting North, Triumphant up or headlong down! Ten thousand feet on high, ye gods, Man tries conclusions for your realm And gambles life at daring odds To ride above the storm-strewn fleece; A modern Jason at the helm By siren lured like him of Greece To desperate hazard; yet to fail One pulse-beat for a thrilling glance-- Ah, well the boldest might turn pale And choose ’twixt glory and mischance! A moment poised the avian, Then earthward swooped as never Jove Rode down the vault of superman. Wind-surges roared and clouds fled by, Death raced beside and demons strove To wrench one slender part or ply; But flawless-sinewed, man and steed Came flashing, wheeling down and down With thrice a Roman courser’s speed To earth and conqueror’s renown. THE PHANTOM CAVALRY What knows the world of battles? History writes The deeds of men with blood and triumph hails As trophy of their valor, armament Or better fortune, thinking he who fights With surer odds or tactics seldom fails In the last holocaust of war’s event. Impassioned eyes see not the shadow-shapes That hover on the flank of charging hosts, Ready to launch themselves as chance array; Not one of all the mustered lines escapes When mockery’s phantom centauri the boasts Of martial pride downtrample and dismay. Ah, Waterloo! where scarred battalions strove And overwhelmed each other, blood-imbrued, Hurling their troops with savage impotence-- The conquering cavalry which o’er thee drove Was not the one the Corsican reviewed, Nor yet the Iron Duke with grimmer sense. Ah, Gettysburg! whose murderous brigades Met in the shambles of a horror-hell Or rushed like demons in the jaws of death-- Thy most resistless riders were the shades Of other erstwhile terribles who fell Drawing the sword from its envenomed sheath. In vain each other’s throats the blue and grey Sprang at like wolves of Winter mad for flesh, And yet unsated till the kill-lust leaped In exultation’s shout of victory! Not all thy columns veteran or fresh Could save the field by grisly corpses heaped Against the spectral squadron which outrode Both Fighting Phil and Morgan’s Men alike, As on the Battle’s flank it weirdly hung Or where the Dragon’s Teeth of Hate were sowed Sprang up as Headless Horsemen armed to strike And crumple back the charge by fury flung. They loomed like apparitions, terror-born, Yet ghastly real and dreadly sinister, Abreast of every vanguard and redoubt; O’er trench and belching gun they swept in scorn Or carried panic to the broken rear Till all was carnage, cowardice and rout. Invincible formations, onsets’ surge Of vengeance’ boldest fiends, manœuvres dire With compassing destruction--all before The grewsome legionaries’ mounted charge Were swept like chaff by maelstrom wind and fire And rose again in prowess nevermore. But on the ghost-troop galloped as of old In every bloody battle, never dead And never yet defeated; phantoms still That gallop, gallop o’er the mortal mould Of every tragic battlefield once red With madmen’s life-blood at their country’s will! THOU CALLEST ME BROTHER Thou callest me thy human brother; well, Am I less flesh and spirit than thyself Or less entitled so to humbly dwell In honest peace and plenty that to delve Is equally as noble as to draw From the rich depths digged up? Or is the law Of brotherhood pretense?--Our separate lots But differ as our make, not as our meed. Do brothers share according to their thoughts Or in the rough according to their need? If thou dost think thee finer in the end Than him thou flatterest, thou art no friend. Thou callest me thy brother and dost praise My struggle to get even, holding fast Thyself the odds of vantage, so the race Is to the swift and strong--and he is last Whose toiling body forged the chariot-wheel That rolls thee on to fortune. It were base To make the difference one of feast and fast, Of full and empty measure of our weal; For I am he who’s spent--the spender thou; Yet thou dost call me brother! Heaven, how? THE SINGING DEATH Men whisper low of spectres, calibans And curses almost devilish with doom, Mysterious fiends like hellhounds, werwolves, ghouls And other nameless shapes as jinns and janns That spring from demon-haunts and skulk or loom To terror-stricken fancy of weak souls. But none have named the scourge of Singing Death, The dread reality which out of hell Comes forth as often as the blood-lust burns; Foulness and fury volcanize its breath As, ravening for flesh insatiate, fell It swoops, devours and bloodier returns. An army gathers flushed with high resolve And there is martial music and display Of glory ominous with human fate; For ere the dial shall again revolve The Singing Death exultantly will prey Upon the host till horror outdoes hate. A floating citadel superbly steers Her ocean-course with victory-flags unfurled, Alike to sea and foe invincible; Yet somewhere from the blue as she careers The Singing Death by Titan forces hurled Will scream above her decks with damning knell. Hark! Hear you it like vomit from the throat Of Hades hurtling through the sulphurous air, With cross between the moan of Manes’ wraith, The torture of Inferno and the note Of vulture-torn Prometheus’ despair? Ah! ’Tis the cannon missile’s Singing Death! It plays no diapason as the roar It leaves behind where thunders loud intone, Nor as the mighty swell of organ-reeds; But all the stops of battle rising o’er, It shrieks its way to finish with the groan Of mortal agony where valor bleeds. It sings not as a master for applause, With perfect-voiced-and-chested range of gift Till song becomes the triumph of all time; But, rather, ’tis a dirge which discord flaws With time’s infernal arts lest God uplift The world by love to Peace’s choir sublime. THE OLD MOON IN THE ARMS OF THE NEW The young moon rises low Just where the passing earth Has stood aside to help it grow, Once it has come to birth. Yet on the old moon’s back The image of the new Reflected is with lustre-lack From earth it kindled to. In gleaming arms of youth The sire is embraced; The silver edge of ancient truth In younger truth is traced. The clasp of morning love Embosoms that of eve; And memory’s in the crescent of Old age’s child-reprieve. A sickly sickle frames The lusty one that reaps; So power, pleasure, fortune, fame’s Pale as the keener sweeps. Our latest wish infolds The hope that’s almost spent, And every rim of promise holds The past to future bent. But not so feebly say Youth hastens on the heels Of age, but that ’tis nature’s way Our myriad orb reveals. Transcriber’s Notes All poetry spacing and minor errors in the original have been maintained. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Muse and Mint, by Walter S. Percy *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MUSE AND MINT *** ***** This file should be named 63500-0.txt or 63500-0.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/5/0/63500/ Produced by Charlene Taylor, Susan Carr and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. 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