i 
 
 PS 3513 
 .048 L6 
 1912 
 Copy 1 
 
 LONG, LONG AGO 
 ON THE FARM 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 
 < -Wflu't^^. 
 
 Caroline Leonard Goodenough 
 
LONG, LONG AGO 
 ON THE FARM 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 CAROLINE LEONARD GOODENOUGH 
 
 OBTAINABLE FROM 
 
 A. G. COMINGS & SON 
 
 37 WEST COLLEGE STREET 
 
 ©BERLIN, OHIO 
 
 Prick, Thirty-five Cents 
 
 Copyright, 1912, by 
 Caroline L. Goodenough 
 
gCI.A30585l 
 / 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS j 
 
 ( 
 1 
 \ 
 
 PART I. Long, Long Ago ... 9 ] 
 
 PART II. Grandma's Rocking Chair -35 j 
 
 1 
 « 
 
 PART III. The Checker-Board ... 63 \ 
 
 \ 
 
 PART IV. The Undertone ... 97 j 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 Go forth, ye vagrant children of my pen, 
 
 And wander down the years when I'm away. 
 As some wild roadside flower on summer day 
 Nods thru the pasture bars and smiles again, 
 But catches not a glance from busy men. 
 On bauble each of wealth or fame intent— 
 Until some blithesome maiden tripping by, 
 With nature-loving eyes the flower doth spy, 
 And knows its simple grace for her was meant. 
 Then plucks it for her belt in glad content :— 
 So thou, my little book, at last shalt win 
 Some loving readers, to myself akin, 
 And be the link which draws those souls to me. 
 On that fair star where we at last shall be. 
 
PART I 
 LONG, LONG AGO 
 
CHILDHOOD ON THE FARM 
 LONG, LONG, AGO 
 
 Joining in the laughter of the long-imprisoned brooks, 
 Seeking the first violets in sheltered sunny nooks, 
 Visiting the baby lambs the Aprils winds did bring ; 
 Such the breezy' memories of childhood's early spring. 
 
 Listening to the anthem when the early song birds wake, 
 Picking water lilies rocking white upon the lake. 
 Riding^ to the wide old barn upon the fragrant hay ; 
 So for me doth memory paint my childhood's summer day. 
 
 Wild and purple hang the grapes upon the moss-grown wall, 
 Tempting are the orchards where the russet apples fall ; 
 Gorgeous are the forests with the maple's golden glow, 
 Brilliant are the autumns on the page of long ago. 
 
 Silently the snowflakes float like feathers thru the air, 
 Still and white the sleeping earth in garments pure and fair ; 
 Dark against the wintry sky the pines stand sharp and clear. 
 Thus mv childish heart spelled out the message of the year. 
 
 THE OLD HOME j 
 
 Is it then theirs, the house where we were born — j 
 
 The farm, the lakeshore with its fringing grove? ■ 
 
 The dear old garden, and the very flowers \ 
 
 We used to tend and love? j 
 
 We watched to see their blooming, spring by spring : 
 
 The Star of Bethlehem, tulip, daflfodil, 
 Peony, pink, narcissus, iris blue. 
 Columbine's purple bell. 
 
LONG, LONG AGO 
 
 Is it then theirs, who bargained and who bought, — 
 
 Who duly paid the paltry price of gold? 
 Nay ! Wealth was there upon that sacred spot — 
 Could not be bought — or sold. 
 
 What gold can buy the tender memories 
 
 That twine and crown an old ancestral home ? 
 Our scattered band turn back as to a shrine, 
 How far soe'er we roam. 
 
 Nay, nay, not theirs ! Ours by the many ties 
 
 Within those walls — of marriage, birth and death ; 
 Ours, by a thousand days of childhood's joy, 
 Whate'er the stranger saith. 
 
 THE MOSS PLAY HOUSE 
 
 A little moss-house 'neath a butternut tree. 
 And a dear little girl, with her dollies three ! 
 Each doll on a velvet green carpet sits up. 
 And drinks make-believe tea from an acorn cup. 
 
 The butternut sighs o'er the ruin today, 
 "Why doesn't my darling come out to play?" 
 But the breezes make answer, "From over the sea 
 She still remembers the butternut tree." 
 
 12 
 
LONG, LONG AGO 
 
 THE WELL 
 
 There was a deep and mossy well 
 
 Beside the farmhouse door, 
 In whose cool depths the bucket fell, 
 
 Soon rising, brimming o'er 
 With water sweet as summer rain; 
 
 I ne'er shall taste the like again. 
 
 We often leaned above the brink 
 
 To view ourselves beneath ; 
 'Twas ghosts we saw, we used to think, 
 
 Some dim and far-off wraith. 
 
 My little sister's frock I held 
 ' With both my hands so tight. 
 Lest she should fall into the well — 
 
 She laughed to see my fright. 
 Dear sister, half the world away — 
 
 'Tis half a lifetime since that day. 
 
 13 
 
LONG, LONG AGO 
 
 THE ORCHARDS 
 
 How sweet the orchards were in May ! 
 
 The air was laden with perfumes, 
 As drifting earthward, slowly fell 
 
 The petals of the apple blooms. 
 
 There breathes today around my home, 
 
 Within a southern sunny clime. 
 The fragrance of the orange groves, 
 
 The custard apple and the lime. 
 
 Take them, and give New England's May, 
 The blossomed orchards, white and fair, 
 
 Each tree, a bride's superb bouquet, \ 
 
 Of apple, cherry, peach or pear. 
 
 And O, the orchards in the fall ! 
 
 How oft, upon the dear old farm, ; 
 
 I brought their melting treasures home, : 
 
 Within the basket on my arm. : 
 
 O give me one such basket more — 
 
 The juicy gold of luscious pear ■ 
 
 Nestling beside the clustered grapes, 
 
 The rosy peach, the apple fair. 
 
 One more bright walk along the lane, j 
 
 To find each well-loved favorite tree ; i 
 
 Yet if I sought one there in vain, 
 
 'Twould seem a friend were lost to me, ! 
 
 14 
 
LONG, LONG AGO 
 
 BLUEBERRIES 
 
 I chanced today, upon a pictured page, 
 To find a cut of the low blueberry. 
 Fve scarcely seen one since, a maiden merry, 
 
 I culled the skirt lands of my native village. 
 
 Instantly there flashed before my eyes the image 
 Of the old rocky pasture where they grew ; 
 And odors of the pine woods round me blew, 
 
 Spicy with wintergreen and saxifrage. 
 
 Where are ye gone, O intervening years ? 
 Vanished away your weariness and tears, 
 
 With little eager hands, a child again, 
 I kneel with small tin pail wherein to pick, 
 Down where the blueberries are ripe and thick. 
 
 O vanished years ! How sweet your stab of pain ! 
 
 LITTLE SHAKER BONNETS 
 
 Bob, bob, down to the pond, 
 
 Three little Shaker bonnets ; 
 Plump, dump down in the sand, 
 Down by the lakelet's flower-ringed strand, 
 
 Three little maids upon it. 
 
 Clink, clink, little tin cups. 
 
 Ready for mud-pie making; 
 White sand sugar and cranberry plums, 
 Press them together with fingers and thumbs. 
 
 Now they are right for baking. 
 
 Click, clack, out on the bench, 
 
 Rattle the broken dishes ; 
 Set up the dolls for the mud-pie feast. 
 Mud-pie's delicious to largest and least. 
 
 Give the rest to the fishes. 
 
 IS 
 
LONG, LONG AGO 
 
 Search the shore, breeze of the morn, 
 
 Pour out your sighs upon it; 
 Why are the dolHes forsaken, forlorn? 
 Waves are crying, "Oh, where have you gone, 
 
 Dear little Shaker bonnets?" 
 
 The prairies know the secret of one. 
 
 The Indian Sea another; 
 But one was left by the lakelet's shore. 
 For where the sun doth smite nevermore 
 
 Is the face that was under the other. 
 
 THE PUMPKIN VINE i 
 
 Now welcome, friend the pumpkin vine, \ 
 
 Upon a foreign shore; 
 
 How good to see thy spreading leaves i 
 
 And trumpet flowers once more. ■ 
 
 You bring again the dear old farm, ; 
 
 The barn where once we played, ! 
 The grinning jack-o-lantern's face 
 
 That Jamie's jack-knife made; 
 
 Thanksgiving's fair old-fashioned feast, 
 
 When mother said that I , 
 
 And all the rest might eat our fill > 
 
 Of good old pumpkin pie. i 
 
 And since on memory's glowing page i 
 
 You bear so brave a part, | 
 
 You still shall have a corner in j 
 
 My garden and my heart. . : 
 
 16 
 
LONG^ LONG AGO 
 
 LILACS 
 
 Lilacs, lilacs, back with the spring! 
 How you roll back for me the years, 
 Filled with heart-breaking, filled with tears. 
 
 Childhood and joy you bring. 
 
 Growing close by the farmhouse door, 
 Lifting your flower spikes so tall. 
 Plucked I, and tugged with hands so small, 
 
 Till my arms could hold no more. 
 
 These for teacher at call of the bell, 
 Such bouquets did the garden spill. 
 Pinks, narcissus, dafifodil. 
 How I remember well ! 
 
 . High aloft in the lilac tree, 
 Yearly the catbird made her nest ; 
 Three pretty eggs 'neath mother's breast 
 Shyly we peeped to see. 
 
 Years so sad, so long — with the spring 
 When the lilac clusters blow. 
 Time's strong current doth backward flow, 
 
 Childhood again to bring. 
 
 Lilacs, bless you ! Lilacs sweet ! 
 Back into childhood land you take. 
 Me again as a child you make. 
 
 One glad hour so fleet. 
 
 Omaha, 1910 
 
 17 
 
LONG, LONG AGO 
 
 THE GARRET 
 
 Patter, patter, on the shingles, ■ 
 
 What a very rainy day ! i 
 
 Little matter to the children, 
 In the garret hard at play. 
 
 Round and round the mammoth chimney [ 
 
 They have run till breath is spent — 
 
 Set the spinning wheels a-twirling, \ 
 
 Wondered how they went. ] 
 
 j 
 
 On the ancient loom they scramble, j 
 
 On its swinging bar they ride, ! 
 
 Where in olden days were woven i 
 
 Dainty fabrics for the bride. j 
 
 j 
 
 Next they say they're grand, grand ladies, \ 
 
 And at keeping house they play ; j. 
 
 With the broken chairs and dishes ^ 
 
 In the garret tucked away. i 
 
 Here's the chest of children's dresses, • 
 
 Big and little, coarse and fine ; \ 
 
 Worn in turn, to each descending. 
 
 All along the line. j 
 
 j 
 
 Here is grandpa's sword and scabbard, ; 
 
 Silver lion on the hilt; ! 
 
 Could it tell of British battles, i 
 
 And the blood it spilt ? | 
 
 Grandpa's cradle — tell the story 
 
 Of the day when he was born. { 
 
 Why, the dinner-bell is ringing — j 
 
 Where's the morning gone? , j 
 
 18 ^ i 
 
LONG, LONG AGO 
 
 Patter, patter down the staircase 
 Go the little tinkling feet, 
 
 Keeping time in memory's echoes. 
 To the raindrops' beat. 
 
 THE CELLAR 
 
 Now light the tallow candle, 
 
 And take the biggest tin, 
 And clatter down the cellar stairs 
 
 To find the apple-bin. 
 
 The sun-kissed golden russets. 
 The greenings smooth and sleek, 
 
 The rosy Baldwins, round and fair 
 As baby sister's cheek. 
 
 The cellar's like a pocket, 
 With treasures tucked away. 
 
 The goodly cheer of all the year 
 For many a winter's day. 
 
 Here, cabbages and turnips. 
 We'll have some piping hot, 
 
 When mother lifts the steaming lid 
 Of the big boiled-dinner pot. 
 
 Llere, jars of quince and currants 
 
 We stuck our fingers in, 
 When we were very, very small. 
 
 And tasted them and sin. 
 
 The archway's neath the chimney ; 
 
 That's how the dungeons look. 
 Where the Ogre shut the Princess up 
 
 In the fairy story book. 
 
 19 
 
LONG, LONG AGO 
 
 Let's each one eat an apple, 
 
 Before we fill the pies, ■ 
 
 And read our love's initial, i 
 
 In the way the peeling lies. j 
 
 j 
 
 Now name my true love's apple, j 
 
 And count the seeds of fate; \ 
 
 There, don't you see, my love loves me, j 
 
 There are exactly eight. i 
 
 THE CROOKED APPLE TREE 
 
 Now to the crooked apple tree ; 
 
 We'll do our hemming there. 
 Its twisted limbs for each shall be 
 
 A green and leafy chair. 
 
 We pass the weeping willow tree, 
 Whose branches trail the ground ; 
 
 An old-time priestess each shall be, 
 With classic chaplet crowned. 
 
 We'll take our rag dolls — they shall sit 
 
 Beside us as we sew ; 
 While o'er our heads the robins flit; 
 
 Their nest is near we know. 
 
 And there we'll sing our well-loved songs, 
 
 Your part is treble sweet ; 
 To me the alto chord belongs, 
 
 To make the strain complete. 
 
 And o'er our stints we'll have a race. 
 
 To make our needles flash ; 
 When each has hemmed her pillow-case, 
 
 Then for the pond — and splash ! 
 
 20 
 
LONG, LONG AGO 
 
 A MEMORY WALK 
 
 Come with me, my little Edith, ; 
 
 For a memory walk today ; j 
 
 We will see the grove together i 
 
 Where once I used to play. i 
 The blue lake glints and sparkles 
 
 Thru tassels of the pine ; [ 
 
 See what a lovely carpet ; 
 
 Of needles brown and fine. i 
 
 This bunch of phlox, half hidden 
 
 Amid the grasses rank, i 
 
 Marks Kitty's grave we made there, 
 
 Upon this sloping bank. j 
 
 Beneath those giant pine trees, \ 
 
 That stretch up toward the blue, J 
 
 We used to sit on Sundays ■ 
 
 And read our stories thru. 
 
 On this big rock of granite ■ 
 
 We used to sit and sing; ; 
 
 Like Plymouth Rock we thought it, 
 
 An emblematic thing. 
 Now home, the stone stile over, ! 
 
 Climb up ! Give me your hand. 
 We've had a pleasant walk, dear, 
 
 In mother's memory land. ; 
 
 21 
 
LONG. LONG AGO 
 
 THE TOY CLOSET 
 
 Lend us the little closet key, 
 
 Oh mother dear, today ; 
 The snowy drifts are piling high. 
 And heavy clouds are in the sky: 
 
 Outside we cannot play. 
 
 But now our childish tears are dried 
 
 In eagerness and joys, 
 As kneeling on the chamber floor, 
 We find behind this little door 
 
 A fairy-land of toys. 
 
 We'll take each tiny shelf in turn. 
 
 And have some lovely plays ; 
 Sweet pleasures by our mother planned, 
 With treasures placed by loving hand 
 Aside for rainy days. 
 
 That Chinese puzzle's at the top; 
 
 We rack our little brains 
 To reproduce these figures queer. 
 But we must give it up, I fear, 
 
 In spite of all our pains. 
 
 And here's the dolly's looking glass 
 
 And red morocco shoes, 
 And waxen doll with cheeks so pale. 
 And golden ringlets, much too frail 
 
 For ordinary use. 
 
 The doll's best furniture is here — 
 
 A bureau and a chair, 
 A desk with painted colors gay, 
 And in this drawer hid away 
 
 Are fliowers made of hair. 
 22 
 
LONG, LONG AGO 
 
 This darkey boy will wipe the pens ; 
 
 A wish-bone is within ; 
 'Tis sealing wax that makes his head ; 
 His eyes are beads, his mouth is red ; 
 
 Just see his wicked grin ! 
 
 Now get the dollies' tea-set out, 
 
 And little table lay ; 
 And bring the dolls, Irene and Rose, 
 And dress them in their smartest clothes, 
 
 In honor of the day. 
 
 That fork and knife that will not cut. 
 
 We'd better not put on. 
 Why, mother's calling us to tea; 
 It surely, surely cannot be 
 
 The afternoon has gone. 
 
 Be quick and pick the dishes up 
 
 And put them all away ; 
 And then we'll lock the little door, 
 And hang the key in place once more, 
 ' Till comes a rainy day. 
 
 Ithaca, 191 i 
 
 23 
 
LONC;. LONC. AGO 
 
 THE DOLLS' IIOUSEKREinNn 
 
 Let's play housekeeping witli dollies ! 
 
 Eirst our toys we will divide ; 
 You choose one, and I another. 
 
 That is how we will decide. 
 
 See, you've ^ot the set of dishes. 
 
 Dining tahle, sofa, chair ; 
 I've got bureau, bed and washstand, 
 
 vSo T think we've started fair. 
 
 'i^ike that corner for your cottage, 
 And I'll take this one for mine; 
 
 Set each i)iece to best advantage; 
 Don't our little homes look fine! 
 
 Next, we will divide the dollies, 
 
 They should all be dressed and fed ; 
 
 Renie May's my oldest daughter. 
 Nearly old enough t(^ wed. 
 
 1 lave a party for oiu" children ! 
 
 do ask mother for some food; 
 See, she's sent us cake and raisins. 
 
 Milk and jelly, goody! good! 
 
 Mix. them all, and make a pudding, 
 
 Won't the dollies have a feast? 
 Set them all around the table, 
 
 iM-om the largest to the least. 
 
 Well, we'll have lo eat i( for them. 
 
 Do you think ihe pudding's nice? 
 "Not so very?" Take the cake then. 
 It is better in the slice. 
 
 IUttle Ckkkk, 191 1 
 24 
 
I>()Nf;. LONG AGO 
 
 Nin>icNNK:KrriT ] 
 
 One of New I'ji^^l.'ind's tiiiMjUoisc lakes, i 
 
 With strange old Indian name; ! 
 
 How often there, at evening's hour, 
 I with my sister came. 
 
 lJ|)on the jutting'- line of rocks, j 
 
 Which moored our little hoat, i 
 
 We sat and sent the dear old songs 
 
 Across the waves afloat. I 
 
 The lake-reflected glow we watched. 
 
 Till grey displaced the rose; 
 And many a sunset since I've seen, ^ 
 
 f')Ut none more fair than those. 
 
 In summer, when the thirsty sun ' 
 
 Had left its edges ])are, 
 A fringe of marsh-land flowers sprang up 
 
 Anjund the lakelet fair. i 
 
 The wild sahhatia lent the ])ink | 
 
 Which formed the hlushing frame ; 
 
 Upon our loving childish lips ; 
 "Pond roses" was their name. 
 
 How white upon the wavelet's crest 
 
 The water-lily's snow ; i 
 
 White as the slender sleeve-stripped arms ; 
 
 That sought their stems helow. j 
 
 i 
 
 When autunni to the ma])led hills ! 
 
 Her rainhow garlands hrought, j 
 
 The glory of celestial shores j 
 
 It seemed our lake had caught. j 
 
 25 : 
 
LONG^ LONG AGO . 
 
 And when December's ice brought sport I 
 
 For Httle sHding feet, ] 
 
 We watched the crystal blocks put by ' 
 
 For summer's fervid heat. ' 
 
 Sweet Nippcnnickett! Thee we count 
 
 Part of ourselves to be, 
 Since scarce a thought of childhood stirs 
 
 Without a thought of thee. ' 
 
 BLACKBERRIES 
 
 The summer's bottled sunshine 
 
 Is in their crimson vines ; 
 The poor man's common blessing. 
 
 The running blackberry vines. 
 
 In what benign profusion 
 
 They fringe each Stonewall's shade, | 
 
 The sandy country roadsides, j 
 
 The skirting of each glade. I 
 
 The frock-stained, briar-torn children | 
 
 In fancy still I see, i 
 
 Bearing their juicy treasures, I 
 
 To grace the farmhouse tea. : 
 
 I know you still remember \ 
 
 The happy days we spent, 1 
 
 Upon the pasture's sand-dunes I 
 When we a-berrying went. 
 
 One more such day together. 
 
 As free as we were then, 
 Just you and I, dear sister — 
 
 'Twould make us girls again. 
 
 26 
 
LONG, LONG AGO 
 
 THE MARKET WAGON 
 
 Come, don the Sunday frocks and hats, 
 
 To market we will ride; 
 The beets and cabbages behind. 
 
 The butter-box beside. 
 
 While father peddles garden sauce 
 
 We'll see what's to be seen ; 
 And play we're going shopping, 
 
 Just as rich as any queen. 
 
 Now here's the draper's window, gay 
 
 With silks of every hue; 
 I'll choose a dress of pink for mine. 
 
 You look the best in blue. 
 
 A new hat from the milliner's 
 
 Will suit the summer weather. 
 Let's get those wide-brimmed Leghorn hats, 
 , Trimmed with an ostrich feather. 
 
 Now here's the cake and candy shop, 
 The cream-cakes look so nice; 
 
 Let's have some lemonade with ours, 
 And have it cooled with ice. 
 
 O see ! The toys and lovely dolls. 
 
 In velvet and in lace ! 
 I'll choose the one with golden hair, 
 
 And that dear dolly's chaise. 
 
 Why, there's the market wagon back, 
 (The horse is Peter Griffin) ; 
 
 Take out the home-made ginger-snaps, 
 We're ready for our tiffin. 
 27 
 
LONG, LONG AGO 
 
 God bless their childish fancies sweet, 
 
 And little empty purses ! 
 They own the world and all its wealth, 
 
 Without its cares and curses. 
 
 A VISIT TO AUNT CARRIE'S 
 
 We are going to Aunt Carrie's! 
 
 Tis a grander house than ours, 
 But she has not any children, 
 
 So there won't be any toys. 
 
 We must wear our hair in ringlets, 
 And put on our dresses blue, 
 
 And we'd better watch the others 
 For the proper thing to do. 
 
 We will swing within the hammock, 
 To the cupola, will climb ; 
 
 Find the puzzles on the what-not. 
 And we'll have a lovely time. 
 
 Aunt will make a splendid dinner, 
 There'll be pudding, cake and pie ; 
 
 But we nuisn't seem too greedy, 
 We must let some things go by. 
 
 Uncle then will show the coins, 
 
 That he brought from o'er the sea 
 
 But wc do not think them pretty, 
 And we wonder, why does he? 
 
 But the things are very curious 
 That he found in Holy Land. 
 
 There's a bottle to put tears in, 
 And an ancient mummy's hand. 
 
 28 
 
LONG, LONG AGO 
 
 Next the story of Aladdin 
 
 We will slip from out its nook, 
 
 And we always g'ct excited 
 
 When we read that story book. 
 
 We will read it in the arbor 
 When we in the garden roam, 
 
 Aunt will come and give us flowers 
 When 'tis time for going home. 
 
 THE SAND-BANK HILL 
 
 I know a lonely barren hill, 
 
 With naught to please a stranger's eye. 
 But at its mention years roll back. 
 
 And leave a gracious memory. 
 
 It is an early summer morn, 
 A Sabbath hush is o'er the hill ; 
 Upon its top, two little maids, 
 
 'Hand clasped in hand, are standing still. 
 
 Their tongues are mute, their hearts are full, 
 The sense of God is all around ; 
 
 I cannot say I since have felt 
 
 A worship more sincere, profound. 
 
 The child that early seeks shall find 
 The children's promise holdeth true; 
 
 The barren hill the secret knows. 
 And tells the over-arching blue. 
 
 29 
 
LONG, LONG AGO 
 
 DRIVING HOME THE COWS 
 
 Spot, Whitey, Hornblcnd, leadino^ all the rest, 
 Move slowly home at close of day and spring ; 
 
 More slowly still, their heads together pressed, 
 Two little country girls are following. 
 
 In childish treble their ''co-boss, co-boss" 
 
 Rang thru the forest pasture where they stood. 
 
 Till thru the bars the soft-eyed cattle pass, 
 Emerging from the depths of piney wood. 
 
 Then for the sunset walk thru golden glades. 
 Deeply absorbed in that fair tale they tell. 
 
 Of what the future hath for little maids. 
 And fancy paints the fairy scenes right well. 
 
 So much engrossed are they, they scarcely note 
 How blue the bird's-foot violets fringe their way, 
 
 The lady's slipper with her crimson boat, 
 The coral club-moss with its goblets gray. 
 
 That world of make-believe in which they dream, 
 Yet hath no chain of circumstance so strange. 
 
 As the true story of their life shall seem, 
 
 Beneath the wonder-working wand of change. 
 
 Dream on my little maids, nor heed today 
 
 How soon your lives must sunder east and west, 
 
 But follow hand-in-hand the woodland way, 
 With Spot and Whitey, Hornblend and the rest. 
 
 30 
 
LONG, LONG AGO 
 
 OUR NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR 
 
 Dear neighbor of our childhood days, 
 With apple cheek and ample breast, 
 
 How oft the path that sought her door 
 Our childish feet have gladly pressed. 
 
 A fir tree grew beside the house, 
 
 A sentinel so dark and tall, 
 And sweet old-fashioned pinks were there. 
 
 And briar roses brushed the wall. 
 
 We loved her well — her lively chat, 
 Her quaint remarks, her homely ways, 
 
 Her friendly gossip mingled in 
 With stories of her younger days ; 
 
 Her interest in what befell 
 
 As we grew on to woman's years. 
 
 We shared our happenings with her. 
 Our life's details, our hopes and fears. 
 
 And so the first shy thoughts of love, 
 That we to others whispered not, 
 
 Rose to our lips those afternoons 
 We visited her rural cot. 
 
 That sweet word "neighbor" speaks of thee, 
 And pleasant is thy memory still — 
 
 Dear woman, with the apple cheeks. 
 In thy white cot upon the hill ! 
 
 31 
 
LONG, LONG AGO 
 
 I REMEMBER A VOICE. 
 
 I remember a voice that rang 
 
 Down the years that are far away: 
 "Who are these in white array?" 
 
 Was the anthem that it sang. 
 
 'They have washed their gamients white, 
 
 Never thirsty, ever fed ; 
 
 By the tender Shepherd led, 
 In the land without a night." 
 
 That child singer for many a year, 
 
 Has been one of that white-robed throng 
 She has joined their sweeter song 
 
 In the land without a night." 
 
 HER SHRINE 
 
 Out from her door with morning's earliest grey, 
 Down by the wide old-fashioned portico, 
 Over the Book her straining eyes bent low. 
 
 Mother was wont to steal apart to pray, 
 
 And fortify her soul against the day. 
 
 Sweet on her cheek the breath of roses blew — 
 
 The white, her best beloved, — from where they grew, | 
 
 Deep in the garden where she might not stray. " 
 
 No hour, her beauty-loving soul to feed, | 
 
 Was hers to claim from toil and children's need. \ 
 
 How nobly borne those years of constant care ! 
 
 Bright was her crown of patience ! and we knew 
 
 It shone with lustre of the early dew, 
 The strength and solace of her morning prayer. i 
 
 32 
 
r.ONG, LONG A(iO 
 
 HER FLOWER 
 
 Strangers in tlic dear old home, 
 
 Grant us one re(|nest: 
 From the garden give a rose 
 
 For our mother's rest. 
 
 Snowy rose with liiiil of hlnsh, 
 
 Flower of her love, 
 Pour your pcrfinne on the hreczc 
 
 1 fer low hed above. 
 
 Curled and soft like baby hands 
 
 Let your petals strew ; 
 Flutter down, and kiss the spot 
 
 Where she lieth low. 
 
 THEIR (;h:NTM<: answer 
 
 Up to the lustrous stars, those watching eyes. 
 
 Mother has gone. 
 Was she afraid their mystery to face, 
 
 All, all alone? 
 
 Thus from the tearful gaze of (hose who love 
 
 We pass from sight, 
 And, one by one, up ihrongh (he fields of stars 
 
 Must take oiu* flight. 
 
 To hearts that (|n('s(ion (luiii, their secrets deep 
 
 They will not show ; 
 ''After a few more days, come np," they say, 
 
 "And you shall know." 
 
 33 
 
LONG, LONG AGO 
 
 CHILDHOOD'S SUNIMY NICllT 
 
 We used lo sit on Sunday ni<;lUs and sinj;-, 
 Until the daylight faded into p;-looni, 
 That hlottcd out the objects of the room. 
 I could recount each well remembered thinj^, 
 And tell the sweet old soni^s that used to ring 
 Out on the summer dusk, hymn after hynui, 
 Until our hearts were soft and eyes were dim. 
 
 I never hear those son<;s except they brinj^ 
 
 Vision of faces I shall see no more 
 
 Until they j^Tcet me on a heavenly shore. 
 O household band, now sundered wide and far! 
 
 O fair youno- brows, now lined with care and pain ! 
 
 O tender tones! we ne'er shall hear as^ain 
 Till we with them have joined the anoels' song. 
 
 -.-,.... I 
 
 34 
 
PART II 
 GRANDMA'S ROCKING CHAIR 
 
THE WHITE-GOWNED BABY AND 
 THE ROCKING-CHAIR 
 
 When the world weighs heavy 
 
 And the goal seems far, 
 When the wheels of living 
 
 Turn with creak and jar, 
 There's a cruse of comfort 
 
 Which we all may share : 
 'Tis the white-gowned baby 
 
 And the rocking-chair. 
 
 When the ghost of trouble 
 
 Is the guest alone, 
 When the work snarls tangle 
 
 And the rain makes moan, 
 Set the bright flames leaping 
 
 On the hearth-stone there; 
 Bring the cooing baby, 
 
 And the rocking-chair. 
 
 When the sighs keep coming 
 
 To the lips again, 
 When the heart's hurt deepens 
 
 And the toil seems vain. 
 Let the wee pink fingers 
 
 Soothe the cheek of care; 
 Get the gurgling baby 
 
 And the rocking-chair. 
 
 Umvoti, 1892 
 
 37 
 
j 
 grandma's rocking chair .: 
 
 METASINA'S LULLABY ] 
 
 Let's get the wrinkles off the brow, 
 
 There's a baby in the house ! • 
 
 No time for griefs and troubles now, ' 
 
 There's a baby in the house ! 
 
 She brings relief from all our woes, j 
 
 She shows us where the smile-flower grows, j 
 
 'Tis where we play with pretty toes ] 
 
 Of the baby in the house. | 
 
 \ 
 
 No matter if without there's storm, I 
 
 There's a baby in the house ; : 
 
 The dainty nest is soft and warm, ! 
 
 Of the baby in the house. i 
 
 No matter if 'tis washing-day, ; 
 
 Or if we've heavy bills to pay, ; 
 
 And twenty troubles in our way — ' 
 
 There's a baby in the house. j 
 
 Now who could keep a sour face, : 
 
 With a baby in the house? 
 
 To try one on, would be disgrace, ; 
 
 With a baby in the house. ^ 
 
 Come, teary folk, and wipe your eyes, ; 
 
 Each day shall bring some sweet surprise, I 
 
 Some pretty phase to bless our eyes — • 
 
 Of the baby in the house. : 
 
 Omaha, 1910 i 
 
 38 
 
grandma's rocking chair 
 
 ORIOLE LULLABY 
 
 Oriole, with flashing breast, 
 
 Tell me what the wild winds sing, 
 As they toss your hammock nest 
 With rush and swing 
 
 By-o-by 
 
 I've a swinging hammock too. 
 And within my birdling lies, 
 And my heart above it sings 
 Its lullabies 
 
 By-o-by 
 
 Teach me what the breezes tell, 
 
 Swaying softly to and fro. 
 That my heart may learn it well — 
 Repeat it low 
 
 By-o-by 
 Epambela, 1892 
 
 CAROL'S BY-BY 
 
 The little birds have gone to sleep. 
 Why doth my baby wake and weep? 
 They feel their mother's sheltering wings, 
 So hush, my dear, while mother sings. 
 
 Your goat that's lost his legs and hair 
 Is stabled now beneath the chair ; 
 Your blocks are in the basket snug. 
 And pussy sleeps upon the rug. 
 
 I know a Christmas dolly too, 
 Who'll play Bo-peep with little you; 
 What Christmas means you do not know, 
 Or else I should not tell you so. 
 
 39 
 
GRANDMA S ROCKING CHAIR 
 
 Now lay your little restless head 
 
 Down here upon your cradle bed ; 
 
 And dream sweet dreams of Christmas Day 
 
 When )'Our new dolly'll come and play. 
 
 CRADLE TIME 
 
 Crouching- low beside the cradle, 
 
 Crooning- so softly a song, 
 Scarcely stirring e'en a linger. 
 
 Waits the mother long. 
 Go to sleep my tired baby, 
 
 Roam in the holds where the peace llower grows, 
 Wake in the morning rested and happy, 
 
 h^resh as the dew-drop, sweet as the rose. 
 
 Wakeful, wayward is the baby, 
 
 Will not rest or caress ; 
 Pushes back the arm that seeketh 
 
 To enfold and bless. 
 Go to sleep, my poor little baby. 
 
 Roam in the fields where the peace-llower grows. 
 Wake in the morning rested and happy. 
 
 Fresh as the dew-drop, sweet as the rose. 
 
 Thus the mother waiteth patient. 
 
 Sleep shall heal the mood ; 
 Thus above our sins and frailty 
 
 God's long love doth brood. 
 Turn to His love, all ye that are weary. 
 
 Seek for the path where the peace-flower grows ; 
 Wake in heaven's morning rested and happy. 
 
 After the nieht of sorrow shall close. 
 
 40 
 
grandma's rocking chair 
 
 THE MOTHER'S REVERIE 
 
 Darling, lying on my breast, 
 
 How the shadows creep; 
 Curtains o'er the dreamy eyes, 
 
 Droop and let her sleep. 
 Tiny maid, how many hopes 
 
 Are bound up in thee. 
 Sleeping in thy mother's arms 
 
 So unconsciously. 
 
 Soft her breath, as drifting snow. 
 
 In its fall and rise ; 
 Meek as flowers fold their leaves. 
 
 Close her dewy eyes. 
 Little one, just entering 
 
 On this world of care, 
 Mother's heart goes out for thee 
 
 In a yearning prayer. 
 
 Father, fold her safe and close 
 
 From adversities; 
 Lead her up to womanhood. 
 
 Pure as now she is. 
 Fit these little helpless hands 
 
 For the noble deed ; 
 Tiny feet in paths of peace 
 
 May'st Thou ever lead. 
 
 EDITH'S OBJECTION 
 
 Down to the shore to see the ocean fair 
 
 They took our four-year pet ; 
 She said, "If I should go in bathing there, 
 
 I'm 'fraid I should get wet." 
 41 
 
GRANDMA S ROCKING CHAIR 
 
 BARGE LULLABY 
 
 Never mind the work today, 
 
 Let the needle rest; 
 Baby claims the right to lay 
 
 Her head on mother's breast. 
 
 Leave the mending that doth tower 
 
 High with frocks and hose ; 
 For this sweet and fleeting hour. 
 
 Hold your baby close. 
 
 Away, away, on the beautiful stream, 
 Borne in the barge of a wonderful dream 
 Sweet is the flow of the lullaby song, 
 Rocking and floating it glideth along. 
 Away, Away! 
 
 CHILDIE, CHERUB 
 
 Childie, cherub of our home, 
 With thy lips — a scarlet thread. 
 Sea-shell ear, and silken head : 
 Wherefore have the angels sent thee, 
 When from heaven they weeping lent thee? 
 Wherefore art thou come? 
 
 Primrose eyes, and babbling tongue, 
 Rounded limbs and brow of pearl, 
 Shrine of love, our baby girl ! 
 Sent to keep us tender, trusting — 
 Keep the hand and heart from rusting: 
 Sent to keep us young ! 
 
 42 
 
GRANDMA S ROCKING CHAIR 
 
 THE SHADOW BABY 
 
 When falls the curtain of the night, 
 And evening sets her lamp alight, 
 The jolly baby on my knee 
 Goes then the shadow girl to see. 
 
 She always finds her waiting there, 
 Around by mother's rocking chair — 
 A chubby playmate, dark and small. 
 Who waves a welcome from the wall. 
 
 My baby gives her kisses sweet, 
 And seeks to catch her by the feet ; 
 E'en though to pull her hair she tries. 
 The shadow baby never cries. 
 
 But when the sunlight brings the day. 
 The shadow baby goes away. 
 And never comes again in sight 
 Until another candle-light. 
 
 HOW MANY 
 
 How many kisses in a day? l 
 
 Baby, beauty, tell me pray. ! 
 
 Some from father, some from mother, ; 
 
 Some from jolly little brother; ; 
 
 Kisses falling fast and thick, \ 
 
 Count them all and tell me quick. } 
 
 Kisses when I wake in bed, \ 
 
 Kisses when I bump my head ; j 
 
 When I laugh and when I cry, ] 
 
 When to do new things I try. ] 
 
 Kisses single or in showers, \ 
 
 All the days and all the hours. j 
 
 43 i 
 
GRANDMA'S ROCKING CHAIR 
 
 Count them? Tell them? Ask a star, 
 Tell how many stars there are. 
 Count the birds in all the trees, 
 Count the butterflies and bees. 
 When 3^ou know the number well, 
 Then my kisses you can tell. 
 
 BABY'S RAINY DAY 
 
 Pots, kettles and pans for a baby to play, 
 
 Hi, Ducky Daddies! 
 Pots, kettles and pans for the long- wet day. 
 
 Hi, Ducky Daddies! 
 What tho' her paddies are smutty and black, 
 Let her play with the kettles with clatter and clack ; 
 At bedtime we'll wash her and give her a smack. 
 
 Hi, Ducky Daddies! 
 
 What if her frock should be soiled on the floor? 
 
 Hi, Ducky Daddies! 
 Next wash-day will make it as good as before, 
 
 Pli, Ducky Daddies! 
 A smudge of the dirt is right healthy, they say, 
 It would be a shame to upset baby's play. 
 So hurrah for the pans and the long wet day ! 
 
 Hi, Ducky Daddies! 
 
 Epambela, 1892 
 
 BABY'S PLUM 
 
 Baby was eating a big sugar plum, 
 
 Sitting entranced as if chained to the spot. 
 Smacking her lips, the dear little dot ; 
 Mama came running to see what she'd got — 
 
 Nothing at all, but her sweet little thumb ! 
 44 
 
GRANDMA S ROCKING CHAIR 
 
 BABY'S FOOT 
 
 Sweet baby foot, that cannot walk or stand, 
 Its tracery so like a little hand ; 
 Its soft untrodden sole, still white and pink ; 
 That is the sweetest place to kiss, I think. 
 
 Her little soles, like rosy palms, 
 Are pressed together, as in prayer ; 
 
 She is asleep — the angels leave their psalms, 
 And sliding down the star-beams enter here. 
 
 Her soft unsteady feet 
 
 Go tottering o'er the floor — 
 Feet that must toil life's weary road 
 
 When earth for me is o'er. 
 
 Umvoti, 1892 
 
 OUR BABY ROSE 
 
 Gild ye golden clouds the morn. 
 Sparkle ye dew drops of the dawn. 
 Freshly bless, oh day new-born. 
 Our Baby Rose. 
 
 Noon-tide skies of azure deep. 
 Give new gifts of love to keep ; 
 Evening bring her peaceful sleep — 
 Our Baby Rose. 
 
 Days that fly on swiftest wing, 
 Summer, autumn, winter, spring. 
 Each some gift of joy shall bring 
 Our Baby Rose. 
 
 45 i 
 
GRANDMA'S ROCKING CHAIR 
 
 WHAT FOR? 
 
 "What are your eyes for, Baby Blue?'' 
 "Why, just to play at peek-a-boo." 
 
 "And why these ears, like dainty shells?" 
 *'To hear the stories mother tells." 
 
 "And why this mouth with rosy pout?" 
 "I don't know what they'd kiss without." 
 
 "These dimpled hands, so plump and fat?" 
 "To pat-a-cake. and pull the cat." 
 
 "What are your feet for, Baby Bright?" 
 "To kick the bed-clothes off at night." 
 
 "Why were you made from top to toe?" 
 "If I were gone, why then you'd know." 
 
 ASLEEP 
 
 A mouth with trace of sugar yet, 
 A cheek where lately tears were wet 
 And by her side the bit of bread, 
 She kept when she was put to bed ! 
 Two rosy feet that all the day 
 Ran thru the house with ceaseless play ; 
 Two dimpled hands at last at rest, 
 One, like a rose upon her breast. 
 A wicker cradle that doth hold 
 More than the world and all its gold. 
 
 Umvoti, 1893 
 
 46 
 
GRANDMA S ROCKING CHAIR 
 
 HER FIRST WORD 
 
 A father fond, it was my aim, 
 To teach my baby's lips to frame 
 Their first sweet lisping word, my name, 
 ''Say papa." 
 
 I could not to my wish attain, 
 Although she understood, 'twas plain. 
 And laughed, the while I plead in vain. 
 ''Say papa." 
 
 Upon her saucy babbling tongue 
 Was only wordless jargon strung; 
 No place was found those sounds among. 
 For papa. 
 
 At last, half vexed and half in play, 
 I shook my head in chiding way, 
 And said, "You jabber all the day, 
 Be jabbers !" 
 
 Then baby caught the closing sound. 
 And dashed my fond hopes to the ground. 
 And now she prattles all around, 
 "Be jabbers." 
 
 Umvoti, 1892 
 
 TELL US 
 
 Baby v/ith the flower-like face. 
 Baby with the corn-silk hair. 
 With the dainty things to wear. 
 
 Muslin frocks, and caps of lace — 
 Tell us what in heaven you wore, 
 Where you used to live before. 
 
 Little girls may well be gay, 
 
 Who from heaven have slipped away. 
 
 47 
 
GRANDMA S ROCKING CHAIR ] 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 KENNETH'S BY-BY ; 
 
 By-o-by, my little Kenneth, j 
 
 Cuddle down and do not cry; ] 
 
 As you sleep you'll take a voyage, j 
 
 Up into the sky. I 
 
 As you sail among the planets, j 
 
 If the stars are sugar plums, '^ 
 
 If the moon's a green cheese golden, t 
 
 You shall have some crumbs. j 
 
 When you see the baby angels, • 
 
 You'll not miss your box of toys ; ^ 
 
 On the cunning harp they'll give you : 
 
 You can make a noise. i 
 
 When the little heavenly babies 
 
 Get their cups of bread-and-milk. 
 
 You shall have a diamond teaspoon, ] 
 
 And a bib of silk. I 
 
 There my darling little Kenneth | 
 
 Will be very, very good ; 
 Never tip his teacup over — 
 
 Never spill his food. 
 
 Johannesburg, 1907 
 
 A PUZZLER 
 
 Wee three-year Gertrude, after the prayer. 
 Thinking awhile she questioned then, 
 
 "Why don't they sometimes say a-lady? 
 What makes them always say a-men?" 
 
 48 
 
GRANDMA S ROCKING CHAIR 
 
 KENNETH'S TRIP TO MISSION 
 MEETING 
 
 Three-year Kenneth, baby posy, 
 Cheeks like apples, round and rosy, 
 Goes a journey with his grandma, 
 Through the Free State riding far. 
 
 Homesick Kenneth on the train 
 Wants his mama, sad refrain! 
 Little Kenneth ends his cry-cry 
 On the cushion going by-by. 
 
 Waking early on the morrow. 
 All forgotten last night's sorrow. 
 Puff-puff train his way is winging. 
 To the mission children bringing. 
 
 What a romping ten-days' party! 
 Hear the shouting ! Laughing hearty ! 
 All at table, good and naughty ; 
 Can't forget it when they're forty ! 
 
 KENNETH'S DAY AT DURBAN 
 BEACH 
 
 I took my spade, and new red pail, 
 
 And grandma held my hand; 
 We rode upon the train at first, 
 
 And then we found the sand. 
 
 The white waves rolled and I made cakes, 
 And black Jack helped me dig ; 
 
 I lay down in the hole we made. 
 It was so deep and big. 
 49 
 
GRANDMA S ROCKING CHAIR 
 
 And then we walked and saw a glass 
 
 That made us funny shapes; 
 The people looked in it and laughed 
 
 To see themselves like apes. 
 
 Next, we had dinner in the shade, 
 
 And then we watched the swings. 
 The children wading, and the boats, 
 
 And many pretty things. 
 
 And then we saw the Judy show, 
 
 In where the crowd was thick ; 
 The bad Punch beat the other dolls, 
 
 And killed them with a stick. 
 
 I found a shell, and rode behind ' 
 
 A goat that was alive ; 
 
 I sat upon a little cart, j 
 
 And held the reins to drive. j 
 
 That was the best thing in the day, j 
 
 The nicest part of all ; ■ 
 
 But then there came the stupid part, ^ 
 
 When grandma made a call. j 
 
 \ 
 The ''ricksha" boy that brought us home i 
 
 Had horns upon his head. ■ 
 
 Then grandma said that I was tired. 
 
 And put me soon to bed. j 
 
 Durban, 1909 j 
 
 50 
 
GRANDMA S ROCKING CHAIR 
 
 KENNETH'S JOURNEY HOME 
 
 I have been to see the ocean ; 
 
 Now Vm going home again, 
 And I'm looking thru the window, 
 
 By my grandma, in the train. 
 
 Rubber Hon's watching with me, 
 But he can't get thru the glass ; 
 
 He wants to eat the baby lambs, 
 Out there upon the grass. 
 
 He is such a fierce old lion. 
 
 And he likes to growl and bite ; 
 
 I'll have to shut him in a cage 
 When I get home tonight. 
 
 Please old puff-puff train go quicker, 
 ' How I wish you'd faster fly ! 
 For it seems so long since mama 
 Bade her little boy good-bye. 
 
 How my mama'll laugh to see me. 
 And I'll hold her neck so tight; 
 
 And I'm glad I'll find my mama 
 In Johannesburg tonight. 
 
 En Route for Johannesburg, 1909 
 
 51 
 
GRANDMA S ROCKING CHAIR 
 
 DADO'S DINNER 
 
 Mama dear, at noontide's ray, j 
 
 When little Dado comes in from play, ■ 
 
 Fresh from the oven or boiling pot, . 
 
 Give little Dado potatoes hot. j 
 
 Mash them well, till pulp they seem. 
 
 Put on some butter and salt, and cream ; ] 
 
 Then little Dado for joy will sing, ] 
 
 He has a dinner that's fit for a king. ; 
 
 Then when the dinner is cleared away, • 
 
 Back little Dado will go to play ; ) 
 
 Out in the grass 'neath spreading trees, i 
 
 Friend of the flowers, the birds, and the bees. j 
 
 Indianola, 1910 i 
 
 DADO'S SQUIRREL 
 
 As Dado was playing he heard a soft whacking, 
 
 And there a grey squirrel a big nut was cracking. 
 
 Then Dado called out to the squirrel "How-do? 
 
 Don't you know me, grey squirrel, Fm Little Boy Blue?" 
 
 But big Bushy Tail was away with a whisking, 
 
 And he called from the tree-top with scamper and frisking, 
 
 ''I'm laying up nuts for my wee children four, 
 
 And we want no small boys at our good winter's store." 
 
 Then Dado looked up at the bushy tail flying, 
 ''You're a greedy old squirrel," he called in replying: 
 "There are plenty of nuts here for me and for you. 
 And I'll come back and get them," said Little Boy Blue. 
 
 Indianola, 1910 
 52 
 
GRANDMA S ROCKING CHAIR 
 
 A LITTLE GIRL'S JOURNEY j 
 
 IN SOUTH AFRICA \ 
 
 ] 
 
 My mother tied my yellow hair \ 
 
 With ribbons of pale blue; ] 
 
 I wore my fuzzy bear-skin coat — ; 
 
 My buttoned shoes were new. \ 
 
 The railroad cars went rattling i 
 
 Beside a grassy plain ; j 
 
 I had a piece of chocolate j 
 To eat upon the train. 
 
 We saw a lot of oxen there, • 
 
 Some red, some white, some black; 
 
 Basuto ponies raced the train, ; 
 
 A man upon each back. ■ 
 
 We saw a lovely little pond '\ 
 
 With curling waves upon it, 
 
 Like one I played by, near my home, j 
 
 And lost my pink sunbonnet. ! 
 
 They showed a cave where cannibals ; 
 
 Their bad feasts used to hold ; j 
 
 They said a man was eaten there j 
 
 When he was very old. ; 
 
 I saw a stork beside the lake, j 
 
 He waded in, for drinking; \ 
 
 He stood on one long slender leg — j 
 
 That's when he's busy thinking. l 
 
 I saw a place among the rocks, j 
 
 Would make a playhouse cosy. ] 
 
 The snow upon the mountains lay, \ 
 
 The sunset turned it rosy. i 
 
 S3 
 
GRANDMA S ROCKING CHAIR 
 
 Then mother said that I was tired, 
 And told a story pretty ; 
 
 And that is all I know about 
 My journey to the city. 
 
 THE FRIENDLY SQUIRREL 
 
 The moon's bright shield is sinking down 
 Behind the houses of the town, 
 And softly stirs the morning's breeze, 
 In budding branches of the trees. 
 
 The little tenants of the lawn 
 Are waking early with the dawn, 
 And stir brisk tails and glossy heads 
 While sleepy folk are in their beds. 
 
 That hollow tree a nest doth hold, 
 Where lives a friendly squirrel bold, 
 Who on his hind legs straight will stand. 
 And eat a nut from lady's hand. 
 
 Coax him still more, and you will see, 
 He'll lightly jump upon your knee; 
 But if to touch him you should try — 
 Whisk ! He's away to branches high. 
 
 Omaha, 1910 
 
 54 
 
GRA.NDMA S ROCKING CHAIR 
 
 DOLLIES AT THE WINDOW 
 
 All my dolls are at the window, 
 'Tis so dull for them mdoors; 
 
 When I go to kindergarten, 
 
 They can't play about, of course. 
 
 But the window'll entertain them — 
 Susan in her dress of lace. 
 
 Soldier John upon hisi pony, 
 Betsy with the battered face. 
 
 When I start for kindergarten 
 I wave each my fond adieu. 
 
 And they smile back so beseeching. 
 Wishing I would take them too. 
 
 While I'm gone to kindergarten, 
 Sing my songs, and needle ply, 
 Dollies watch beside the window 
 ' Everything that's going by. 
 
 So when I come home to dinner. 
 Then they tell me all they've seen ; 
 
 Once it was an organ-grinder 
 With a monkey dressed in green. 
 
 Once it was a troop of soldiers 
 Playing music as they went ; 
 
 Once it was a moving circus, 
 With wild animals and a tent. 
 
 And there's always something pretty, 
 If there's nothing else beside ; 
 
 There are ladies dressed so lovely, 
 In their carriages that ride. 
 55 
 
GRANDMA S ROCKING CHAIR 
 
 How I wish my darling dollies 
 All could speak and sing and run ; 
 
 Then they'd go to kindergarten — 
 Wouldn't we just have some fun? 
 
 THE BIRDS' CARNIVAL 
 
 There's a carnival held daily 
 
 Beneath the orange trees; 
 The neighboring families drop in 
 
 All day, by twos and threes. 
 The Toppies are aristocrats, 
 
 They always lead the van; 
 They wear their crests becomingly, 
 
 I'm much afraid they're vain. 
 
 Their little Moslem neighbor comes 
 
 With crescent on his breast; 
 The Frets and Yellow-eyes are here, 
 
 The Roibecks and the rest. 
 'Tis fashionable calls they make, 
 
 Just eat and chat and fly; 
 And we, the unnoticed lookers-on. 
 
 Are humble, you and I. 
 
 Their amber wine they sip and sip. 
 
 From golden chalices ; 
 With critical cocked heads discuss 
 
 Its merits and look wise. 
 All day they come, all day they go, 
 
 Until the sun goes down, 
 And then the feathered gentry take 
 
 Their feather-beds in town. 
 
 Umvoti, 1892 
 
 56 
 
GRANDMA S ROCKING CHAIR 1 
 
 EN ROUTE TO CALIFORNIA \ 
 
 I 
 
 We went to California with mother, Tom and I ; ; 
 
 When bedtime came they boosted us, to top-berths very high, i 
 
 And there I made the people laugh, by sticking up my head, ■ 
 
 Then bobbing out of sight again, before I went to bed. i 
 
 And Tom and I played we were birds and in the trees we flew, [ 
 And as the train rocked us along, it was the wind that blew, j 
 We made our nest of pillows soft, and lined it with Tom's vest, ' 
 We put our shoes inside for eggs, deep down within our nest, j 
 
 Then mother called 'twas time to stop, that we to sleep must go, 
 And in the morning we should see the mountains white with sno 
 And so we lived upon the train ; it seemed a long, long while, \ 
 We ate our dinners and our teas, and played horse in the aisle. ; 
 
 We made acquaintance with the folks, and thought them very ki: 
 One dear old lady told us tales — 'twas sad that she was blind. 
 At night we watched the rain of sparks the engine threw so fast, , 
 As on to California it brought us safe at last. 
 
 A STRANGE COMBINATION 
 
 Papa told Charley a riddle today, 
 
 One of the queerest things ever was seen ; 
 
 Charles thought 'twas funny to hear papa say, 
 "Blackberries truly are red when they're green." 
 
 57 
 
grandma's rocking chair 
 
 SNOW BIRDS 
 
 Merry snow bird, where's your home, 
 Now the wintry days have come? 
 Nestless, shelterless you roam. 
 Hardy little snow bird ! 
 
 When the darkened clouds unfurl, 
 And the snow drifts round us whirl, 
 Have you nook to hide, and curl, 
 Little storm-tossed snow bird ? 
 
 Tufts of withered grass so fine, 
 Heavy branches of the pine. 
 Stables' eaves where sleep the kine — 
 There we creep — the snow birds. 
 
 Little bird, with bravest breast. 
 Of life's secret you're possessed, 
 Taking all that comes as best — 
 Happy little snow bird. 
 
 Ithaca, 1911 
 
 THE FRETS 
 
 Dear little frets, as brown and thick 
 As the brown leaves in which you pick; 
 Tiny as humming-birds of light 
 Lacking their flash of colors bright. 
 Yet you have beauty all your own, 
 Heartening the waste till flowers be blown. 
 
 Speckling the air, then lighting down. 
 Rustling the leaves so curled and brown, 
 Comical quarrelings o'er a seed — 
 Fie! naughty fret, to show such greed. 
 Till ends the drought in rain and wet. 
 You are my solace, little fret. 
 
 Umvoti, 1892 
 58 
 
GRANDMA S ROCKING CHAIR j 
 
 j 
 
 THE LITTLE JAP MOTHER ! 
 
 There's a little Jap mother with wee children three, | 
 
 Just out at the back of the shop lives she. : 
 I watch the quaint toddlers, I watch her still more, 
 The little Jap mother, at back of the store. 
 
 She knows not there is such a being as I, 
 
 Who's watching at window with quizzical eye, i 
 
 And laughing to see her preen, cuddle and pat j 
 
 That little Jap baby, so funny and fat. ! 
 
 With babe at her breast, she stands out by the door, j 
 
 Her black hair combed high in a big pompadour. | 
 
 Since I too am mother, she's kin unto me — | 
 
 That little Jap mother with wee children three. j 
 
 Portland, 19 io j 
 
 OUR LITTLE MEN 
 
 Dash away, ride away, dear little men, 
 Over the hillside and down thru the glen; 
 Cheeks all a-tingle, brown-tanned in the sun, 
 There goes a trio that's ready for fun. 
 
 Mother who watchest with pride in your face, 
 Sweet is the hour that flieth apace ; 
 Let not your cares overshadow your joys, 
 While you have with you, your darlings, the boys. 
 
 Soon come the days when the playtime must cease. 
 Fewer and shorter the hours of release — 
 Manhood's endeavor and struggle; till then, 
 Dash away, ride away, dear little men ! 
 
 Epambela, 1892 
 59 
 
GRANDMA'S ROCKING CHAIR 
 
 BEATRICE 
 (A Picture) 
 
 Little Beatrice Goelet, 
 Who thou art I cannot say, 
 But thy baby dignity, 
 And thy quaint simplicity, 
 Have so won a stranger's heart, 
 She would know thee as thou art. 
 
 Little maid, where art thou now? 
 Has care touched that pearly brow ? 
 Sorrow dimmed those winsome eyes? 
 Parted grief, those lips with sighs? 
 Hath that dainty dimpled hand 
 Found love's sceptre of command? 
 
 Dost thou from a woman's life, 
 Mysteries of mother, wife, 
 Now thy baby picture see, 
 As a self that's slipped from thee? 
 
 Baby face, as grave and sage. 
 
 As thy parrot in its cage, 
 
 Art thou then a wandering sprite. 
 
 Slipped from heaven on moon-beam bright? 
 
 Prim, sweet mouth, thou wilt not say, 
 
 Baby Beatrice Goelet. 
 
 60 
 
GRANDMA S ROCKING CHAIR 
 
 A WHITE FLEUR-DE-LIS 
 
 Out from the ground, so lately dark and dead, 
 This morning when I open threw the door, 
 
 I saw thee lift thy fair and saintly head. 
 And to our little patient's bedside bore. 
 
 At sight of thee he brightened with a smile. 
 And I have placed thee in the window seat, 
 
 Where thru the busy day, each little while, 
 
 We catch a glimpse of thee, unstained and sweet. 
 
 And when tonight thy dainty grace must droop, 
 Thy gentle mission shall have been fulfilled. 
 
 To plan such joys for us, God's love doth stoop. 
 So in the mold thou wast to being willed. 
 
 Umvoti, 1892 
 
 LITTLE GRAY STREET REVISITED 
 
 This is the cot where Charley learned to walk. 
 
 'Tis smartly garnished now, since that long day, 
 When those small feet, on the veranda floor. 
 
 Began with tottering steps life's rugged way. 
 
 And down this little lane, to find the bay. 
 How oft at sunset's wistful hour I went ; 
 
 Jaded with many labors of the day. 
 
 With weary body and with soul-strength spent. 
 
 But I would put on record, that new peace 
 
 And gentle stillness here my heart hath found ; 
 
 And from the sense of burden, sweet release, 
 And strength unfailing, for the next day's round. 
 
 Durban, 1909 
 
 61 
 
GRANDMA S ROCKING CHAIR 
 
 DURBAN BACK BEACH REVISITED 
 
 'Twas long ago I watched these waves, 
 And I was young that sunny day; 
 
 The stretch of sand the ocean laves 
 In just the old-time way! 
 
 'Tis I no longer am the same — 
 
 This gray-haired woman with my name. 
 
 That day I brought my bonny child 
 To play upon the lonely beach 
 
 For us alone, the sea rolled wild 
 As far as eye could reach. 
 
 Today the giddy crowd flows past, 
 
 Breaking the peace that could not last. 
 
 Another boy holds fast my hand, 
 As to the sea we come today; 
 
 With spade and bucket, in the sand, 
 He's busy at his play. 
 
 A weary man, across the sea. 
 
 That other child who came with me. 
 
 Durban, 1909 
 
 62 
 
PART III 
 THE CHECKER-BOARD 
 
LIFE'S BARGAIN SALE 
 
 Life calls, "I hold a bargain sale ! 
 Come, purchasers, from hill and dale. 
 Inspect my excellence of ware, 
 And if my prices seem but fair. 
 Attend my bargain sale." 
 
 *'Now first I quote the price of love, 
 Marked strictly down to lowest groove : 
 To vainly long for full return 
 For vanished face, and kiss to yearn. 
 And that's the price of love." 
 
 ''And what's the price to voice in song, 
 The stifled heart-throb of the throng?" 
 "Of joys full sweet, one moment's sip, 
 And then — the cup dashed from the lip. 
 And that's the price of song." 
 
 ''And what's the price of art?" 
 "A struggle in the heart, 
 A haunting ghost, with torturing cry 
 For self-expression, or to die. 
 And that's the price of art." 
 
 "And what's the price of fame?" 
 "Misunderstanding, blame, 
 Averted glances, covert sneer. 
 Perhaps for life, perhaps a year. 
 And that's the price of fame." 
 
 "And what's the price of heaven. 
 When all is done, forgiven?" 
 "In coin of pain, last farthing paid, 
 That can on quivering heart be laid ; 
 65 
 
THE CHECKER-BOARD 
 
 So that, for all the wealth the sun 
 Has all the ages looked upon, 
 One would not bear again the throe 
 Of pain this life has made him know. 
 And that's the price of heaven." 
 
 So busy Life adorns her stall, 
 Just pausing to the crowd to call — 
 '*If some would buy who cannot pay. 
 We might arrange a future day, 
 But you shall settle all." 
 
 FATHER OF HIS COUNTRY 
 
 Father of this mighty nation, 
 Raised to meet her sorest need. 
 
 Gratitude for thee we render. 
 Gratitude shall be thy meed. 
 
 At the threshold of our story, 
 Doth thy striking figure stand, 
 
 In its strong majestic outline, 
 Fitting well our noble land. 
 
 Children at the school and fireside, 
 Men and women soon to be, 
 
 Hear the tale of him who guided 
 In our struggle to be free. 
 
 Yeoman, soldier, statesman, patriot, 
 By kind Providence was lent ; 
 
 To high Heaven our praise we render, 
 For our first great President. 
 
 66 
 
THE CHECKER-BOARD 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Mighty river, great Potomac, 
 
 Let thy current softly lave 
 Banks where rests the nation's chieftain, 
 
 Sleeping in his quiet grave. 
 
 To this mansion well befitting, 
 To this man, so simple, great, 
 
 Came the call to serve his country, 
 Leave the plow, to guide the state. 
 
 Forth to meet the mighty struggle. 
 Danger's dread and war's alarm. 
 
 Went he from his pleasant acres, 
 From the tillage of his farm. 
 
 After years came back the conqueror, 
 , With his nation's honor crowned, 
 To his well-loved fields returning, 
 To their peace and rest profound. 
 
 Hither pilgrims from all countries 
 Turn to pay their tribute meet. 
 
 Softly flow, oh great Potomac, 
 
 Guard that rest, well earned and sweet. 
 
 Washington, D. C., 191 i 
 
 67 i 
 
 I 
 
THE CHECKER-BOARD 
 
 LINCOLN 
 
 For thy great life, so hard from first to finish, 
 Laid on the altar of thy country's peace, 
 
 We bring a gratitude no years diminish. 
 
 We bring a love that time doth but increase. 
 
 Round that rude cabin in Kentucky valleys, 
 Where first thine eyes were opened to the light, 
 
 Liiagination o'er thy childhood dallies, 
 
 The fleeting years that o'er thee took their flight. 
 
 We watch thee carve thy youthful way in struggle, 
 By disadvantage hedged on every hand; 
 
 Ne'er turned aside by transitory bubble 
 From purpose in thy place to fitly stand. 
 
 Oh what a lot was that which for thee waited, 
 
 In fiery vortex of the storm and din, 
 While all the world was watching, breath abated, 
 
 Till war and blood wiped out a nation's sin. 
 
 'Twas through thy pain, and prayer, and wise endeavor. 
 
 That now again in unity we stand. 
 And for our healing we shall love forever 
 
 That life outpoured, to save our native land. 
 
 Ithaca, New York, 191 i 
 
THE CHECKER-BOARD 
 
 THE ARYANS 
 
 The fastnesses of the Hindoo-Koosh 
 Poured down the Ganges plains, 
 
 A wild and dauntless race of men, 
 In search of new domains. 
 
 Their goal, to reach the setting- sun, 
 They pressed, and looked not back ; 
 
 New^ cities rose upon their path, 
 New empires marked their track. 
 
 Their offspring are the Norsemen bold, 
 
 The Vikings of the sea, 
 The Saxons, with their waving locks ; 
 
 Their children, too, are we.' 
 
 What were the world without you then. 
 
 Oh men of restless will? 
 The Aryan cannot settle down; 
 
 He presseth westward still. 
 
 Mountain and plain his conquest owns, 
 
 Nor is his quest complete, 
 Till conqueror at the sunset gates. 
 
 The world is at his feet. 
 
 69 
 
THE CHECKER-BOARD 
 
 THE WILD LOVE LIES BLEEDING 
 
 Where'er I look, beside the path or kraal, 
 I see thee lift thy head with crimson dyes 
 And in my heart the fancy doth arise 
 That in thee, from the ground to us doth call 
 Some fellow creature's life-blood, that did fall 
 Unheeded in that spot. His helpless cry 
 In this thy blood-red flower doth testify. 
 
 Yet well I know, poor Africa, if all 
 
 The crimes thy continent doth daily see 
 
 Should rise in blood-red flowers that there would be 
 
 A sprinkled red from Capetown to the Nile, 
 A murderous tell-tale red from shore to shore. 
 
 Say, Christian hearts, can you look on and smile? 
 Stretch out your hands and heal her open sore. 
 
 Epambela_, 1892 
 
 THE RIVER REEDS 
 
 Ye feathery reeds, that by the rivers grow. 
 Who would believe ye could the aspect bear 
 As of a plumed pageant at a fair — 
 
 Who viewed your wastes a little while ago? 
 
 Acres of tossing tassels bend and blow ; 
 
 Their brave procession breathes a prophecy 
 
 Of this dark race, so sunk in savagery. 
 The flower within the sinewy reed shall blow ; 
 
 The dense and darkened brain its power attest ; 
 
 The sleeping Samson shall his fetters wrest. 
 
 God, not for naught this dusky race hath framed. 
 
 He is not mocked ; His plan shall time fulfil. 
 Poor Ham shall be forgiven and reclaimed; 
 
 The rank and tangled reed shall blossom still. 
 70 
 
THE CHECKER-BOARD 
 
 THE SNOW ANGEL 
 
 AN INCIDENT IN THE LIFE OF LARKIN G. MEAD, 
 THE VERMONT SCULPTOR 
 
 In peerless piles of purest white, 
 The snow lay heaped that winter's night; 
 Under the clear star-spangled dome, 
 The sculptor slept in his mountain home, 
 Till, suddenly waking, he saw that gloom 
 Had changed to a glory that filled the room. 
 And here in the sculptor's startled sight 
 There stood an angel in robes of white; 
 And from that vision of faultless grace 
 Beamed down upon him, a holy face. 
 
 Not a word was spoken or message said 
 And the sculptor lay, as he had been dead, 
 Till the vision passed, and as 'twas before, 
 The room was black with the night once more. 
 But' engraved in his soul, with a deep impress, 
 Was an angel figure, that seemed to bless. 
 
 Up from his couch, in the chilly air. 
 He is heaping up the white flakes fair. 
 A figure growls 'neath his passioned hands, 
 Till there in the garden, an angel stands. 
 
 The country-side came out to see, 
 And marvelled that such a thing could be. 
 And long 'twas told, with tones dropped low. 
 Of the wondrous figure of spotless snow. 
 For in that face, so pure and meek, 
 Something of heaven and God did speak. 
 
 71 
 
i 
 
 ] 
 
 THE CHECKER-BOARD f 
 
 I 
 \ 
 
 So we sleep or dream with open eyes, 
 
 And wander through holy paradise; ; 
 
 We rise to ourselves, from sin set free, \ 
 
 Ourselves as the angels we long to be. I 
 We turn from trammelled and earthly things, 
 
 Our souls expand and try their wings. ; 
 
 Alas ! if at morn, with workday light, ; 
 
 We forget the heavenly visions of night ; i 
 
 If recording angel takes up the pen ] 
 
 To write, our lives trail the dust again. ; 
 
 ! 
 
 True greatness lies not in heavenly gleams, ] 
 
 In vision of soul, or in holy dreams ; 
 
 But in rising up from the dreaming hour 
 
 To show in our deed the sweet dream's power. 
 
 When working out the soul's ideal, \ 
 
 We make the dreamland angel real. 
 
 Oberlin, 1875 
 
 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 Poor Christianity, her head for shame 
 
 Doth hide at mention of that blotted page: 
 The dreadful story of the middle age. 
 
 And horrors practised in her gentle name; 
 
 The human faggots in the cruel flame 
 And worse abominations still, that we 
 Can scarce believe that such foul things could be ; 
 
 Staining so dark and deep fair Europe's fame. 
 Only a brief three hundred years ago. 
 
 Although a better day has dawned, we know. 
 Yet for the truth may many martyrs bleed — 
 
 Evil oppress the good with hate and scorn, 
 And still on Thee, oh Love, may lay the deed. 
 
 Not yet, the days when that can be are gone. 
 
 72 
 
THE CHECKER-BOARD ; 
 
 A WISH 
 
 I would I had a wise man, close at hand, 
 
 To tell me all the lore I fain would know, ' 
 
 The names of all the strange new flowers that blow ; 
 
 Along the foot-paths of this foreign land. \ 
 
 And what thy name, sweet bird, with beryl wing: i 
 
 Art thou the woodpecker with the drumming bill, | 
 
 Whose tapping reaches me when winds are still? I 
 
 What is thy note ? I fain would hear thee sing. j 
 
 I 
 
 Come, man of science, — for I have no book, 1 
 
 Save the great book of nature — Sybil she, i 
 
 Who will not vouch her secrets unto me, j 
 
 Nor yet to any, who but stop and look. ■ 
 
 i 
 
 Only the one who waits, she maketh wise. i 
 
 Come, man of science, at my elbow stay ; ■ 
 
 Attend my walks at waning of the day, I 
 
 And answer all my questions as they rise. 1 
 
 Umvoti, 1892 i 
 
 INTERLUDE 
 
 When the sun, in robes of splendor, j 
 
 O'er the river mists doth rise, I 
 
 And the dewy dawn light, tender, ] 
 
 Bathed in brighter glory, dies — \ 
 
 For a moment work give o'er; ] 
 
 Drink the beauty at thy door. j 
 
 When the eve her colors mixeth j 
 
 On the palette of the sky, j 
 
 And o'er all the glimmering cane fields ^ 
 
 Song and sounds of labor die — ; 
 
 Pause to watch the evening's red, j 
 
 Let thy soul be soothed and fed. \ 
 
 Umvoti, 1892 j 
 
 73 I 
 
THE CHECKER-BOARD 
 
 AUTUMN HUES 
 
 Nature selects the colors she doth wear, 
 
 With such a nicety as maidens use, 
 
 When what becomes, they study out and choose — 
 Blue for the gold, rose for the raven hair. 
 Thus, for the virgin spring, pale flowers and fair, 
 
 Mixed in with tender green — the daffodil, 
 
 And pink and creamy stars o'er vale and hill. 
 
 But now, when autumn's plains are brown and bare, 
 And days are short and nights are growing cold, 
 Nature brings out her purple and her gold ; 
 Matronly colors, brightening the downs. 
 And mingling warm with russets and with browns. 
 Her faultless blendings, like a healing balm, 
 Fall on our jaded hearts and soothe them into calm. 
 
 ON THE BEACH -] 
 
 A shore, with fringing fronds of wild date-palm, i 
 
 And in the ears, the sea's unending psalm, i 
 
 And white waves telling to the velvet sands, ^ 
 
 Their tale of spicy isles and jewelled lands! ; 
 
 There are some spots along the shell-strewn shore, < 
 
 That of the sea's frail treasures, gather more 
 Than doth the long brown stretch of smooth-washed beac 
 Buttressed with head-lands, far as eye can reach. 
 
 Wait in this favored spot — a wave's retreat 
 
 Shall leave a shell of beauty at thy feet. ■ 
 
 Give too, bright waves, my waiting heart and pen 
 
 A tender strain to ease the hearts of men. 
 
 74 
 
THE CHECKER-BOARD 
 
 SWALLOWS IN THE RAIN 
 
 Why dinna ye hie to your nests again? 
 
 Swallows, out in this rainy weather, 
 
 As if ye cared not even a feather 
 For the drip, drip, drip of the soft brown rain ! 
 
 This is a pleasure, and not a bane. 
 
 Circling the river with curves and doubles, 
 Dimpled with millions of floating bubbles, 
 
 And the drip, drip, drip, of the sweet brown rain. 
 
 Umvoti, 1892 
 
 A LONG BREATH 
 
 Nothing like the sea and sky, 
 ' When the world doth press and smart. 
 When its sin and misery. 
 As an iron, goad the heart. 
 
 Prancing waves with tossing crests. 
 Mane of steeds so wild and free. 
 
 Bear the restless heart's unrests 
 To the boundline of the sea. 
 
 Deeper grows the breath and long. 
 Cooler grows the fevered brow ; 
 
 Calmer grow the thoughts and strong, 
 We can face the conflict now. 
 
 75 
 
THE CHECKER-BOARD 
 
 THE WINDS 
 
 Ye howling wintry winds, 
 
 That round my pathway blow, 
 Buffeting travellers on the road. 
 And piling deep the snow : 
 From caverns of the north, with icy pillars high. 
 From thence, your home, ye southward roam. 
 And shriek as on ye fly. 
 
 Ye raise the whelming waves, 
 
 Above the ships at sea, 
 And laugh to tear the rigging off 
 And fling the torn debris ; 
 While stoutest hearts grow faint, though busy is the hand, 
 And cheeks grow pale, as still the gale 
 Drives on the ship to land. 
 
 Ye enter tenements 
 
 Where dwell the wretched poor, 
 And penetrate each crevice there 
 At window and at door. 
 In homes of misery, too deep for hearts to hold, 
 Ye deal despair to sufferers there. 
 Who shiver in the cold. 
 
 Ye pinch the rosy cheeks 
 
 Of children at their play, 
 
 And purify the poisoned air. 
 
 And drive disease away. 
 
 Ye bring the needful rain ; ye have an errand kind, 
 
 As on ye blow, the sleet and snow — 
 
 Oh bracing wintry wind. 
 
 76 \ 
 
 1 
 
THE CHECKER-BOARD 
 
 SLEEP 
 
 The moon shines down upon the sleeping city ; 
 
 No light is seen, — no sound 
 Comes from the rows of houses, darkly visaged, 
 
 In all the streets around. 
 
 Night, wondrous night, hath cast her spell upon them. 
 
 They own her mighty thrall. 
 No footfall mars the deep majestic silence 
 
 That hangs above them all. 
 
 The tired brain hath ceased its busy planning; 
 
 The grief-crushed heart finds rest ; 
 Kind Nature gathers all her weary children 
 
 And lulls them on her breast. 
 
 Sweet Sleep, the nurse, tip-toeing lightly 'mongst them, 
 
 Her vigil soft doth keep. 
 How glad we turn from all the day doth bring us, 
 
 To thy kind arms, oh Sleep. 
 
 INANDA WATERFALL FERNS i 
 
 Beautiful forms \ 
 
 Fern upon fern, I 
 
 Not two alike ] 
 
 Yet all of a plan ; 1 
 
 Down in the cool, ] 
 
 Deep in the shade, j 
 
 Far from the haunts of man. ; 
 
 Inanda, 1897 j 
 
 77 
 
THE CHECKER-BOARD 
 
 ARBUTUS 
 
 From what land, thou sweet arbutus, 
 
 Dost thou bring thy subtle scent? 
 Whence this strange and haunting fragrance 
 
 That is with thy being blent ? 
 
 Doth in thee re-live some spirit 
 
 That once walked these shores upon, 
 
 Gentle, musing soul of mortal 
 Who once lived in ages gone? 
 
 Art thou rather breath of angel. 
 
 Sullied not by human birth, j 
 
 Floated down from realm mysterious, i 
 
 Breathing up from spring-touched earth? j 
 
 Strangely bearing those who breathe thee I 
 
 Far away from time and sense, | 
 
 Strangely waking slumbering instinct i 
 
 Of the soul's significance. I 
 
 Know we not what 'tis that stirs us. 
 
 Why we catch the breath and sigh. 
 When thy perfume floats upon us. 
 
 Linking with eternity. 
 
 THE BONFIRE j 
 
 The boy who made a bonfire \ 
 
 Of dry leaves in the street, j 
 
 Knew not he gave to lonely me, ] 
 
 At window high, a treat. | 
 
 Or that I said, while watching there j 
 
 Those gorgeous flames leap higher, j 
 
 "How beautiful, how wonderful, | 
 
 How terrible is fire." ' 
 
 78 
 
THE CHECKER-BOARD 
 
 IN WINTRY DAYS i 
 
 In wintry days, when drifting snows are piled, 
 
 And leaf-stripped trees stand shivering and bare, 
 
 We look upon a world that seems to miss 
 
 The great All-Father's tenderness and care. i 
 
 Yet there is sterling worth in Winter's heart ; 
 
 For trained and schooled beneath his rugged hands. 
 The races rise to stronger, nobler type 
 
 Than e'er they reach in the soft tropic lands. ,1 
 
 He's genial, for he drives to fireside joys, j 
 
 With storm and blast forbidding us to roam ; ; 
 
 Teaching what men of milder climes scarce know, j 
 
 The pregnant meaning of that sweet word **home." \ 
 
 ] 
 
 And 'tis in winter that men's hearts are drawn ; 
 
 With seriousness to scan life's import deep. ' 
 
 It is God's harvest, when he goes afield, j 
 
 Sheaves for His granaries above to reap. i 
 
 Johannesburg, 1897 ! 
 
 ( 
 
 WAS IT? 
 
 Was it out in the dewy garden, 
 
 When the twilight was growing late, 
 
 That she gave her tremulous answer 
 Which settled for both their fate? 
 
 The evening star their company, 
 Not asked nor wanted we. 
 
 At the first long kiss in the gloaming. 
 In the shadow of the tree. 
 
 79 
 
THE CHECKER-BOARD 
 
 DIRGE FOR THE TREES 
 
 Mourn winds, the noble trees, 
 Man's ruthless axe lays low ; 
 
 No more your cool refreshing breeze 
 In those green tops may blow. 
 
 Oft have ye whispered here, 
 
 To listening earth of rest ; 
 Today the fierce sun beateth drear 
 
 On her dismantled breast. 
 
 Leave, man, thy fancied gains. 
 And waive thy boasted right 
 
 And spare upon these upland plains 
 The trees that bless our sight. 
 
 Johannesburg, 1909 
 
 PLEASANTRY 
 
 Life's tremendous business — still, j 
 
 Joke a little, if you can. 
 It will give you heart and will. 
 
 It will help you play the man. 
 Mix sweet nonsense with your sense — 
 Not at some one's else expense. ] 
 
 \ 
 Since life's load is hard to bear, 
 
 Laugh a little when you may ; ■ 
 
 Courage it will give for care. 
 
 Lest you faint beside the way. i 
 
 Jest the jest that hides no sting; j 
 
 That brave laugh nev/ strength will bring \ 
 
 Umvoti, 1892 \ 
 80 • 
 
 j 
 
 i 
 
THE CHECKER-BOARD 
 
 MAN'S CRAVING HEART 
 
 Little dost thou know the meaning 
 Of that craving heart within thee ; 
 
 'Tis the sea-shell's plaintive murmur, 
 Sighing for its home, the sea. 
 
 Every want of weary body. 
 
 Longings of thy restless spirit. 
 
 Each is pledge God holdeth for thee 
 Satisfaction that can still it. 
 
 Man is greater than he knoweth ; 
 
 Earth his nature filleth, never. 
 God shall fill His God-like creature, 
 
 In the years of His forever. 
 
 DAISIES 
 
 Dream o'er the meadow, o'er the grass and daisies; ; 
 
 Dream in the shadow upon the lovers' faces. • 
 
 Old is the story the young man's lips are telling; ! 
 
 Sweet is the secret the maiden's heart is swelling. ,' 
 
 Gold in the sunshine her brown braids gleam and glisten ; | 
 
 Shyly the daisies lift up their heads to listen. \ 
 
 \ 
 Hush, little birds, in all your leafy bowers ! ] 
 
 Downcast her eyes upon her lap of flowers. ] 
 
 I 
 Low o'er the daisies that golden head is bending; 1 
 
 Told is the tale that hath on earth no ending. 
 
 81 
 
THE CHECKER-BOARD 
 
 THE FIRST KISS 
 
 Tints of the opal, 
 Dew of the dawn, 
 
 Gold for adorning, 
 Day newly born ! 
 
 Pencil of sunlight 
 
 Waking the rills, 
 Purple night hiding 
 
 Deep in the hills ! 
 
 Mists of the morning, 
 
 Softly arise ! 
 Waking earth blushes, 
 
 Kissed by the skies. 
 
 Cheek of the maiden 
 Thus doth receive 
 
 Kisses of lover. 
 Telling his love. 
 
 Rapture's delirium ! 
 
 Ecstasy's tears ! 
 Moment remembered 
 
 Down through the years. 
 
 GIVE ME A THICKET 
 
 Giv-^ me a thicket, and a tangled vine. 
 
 Swing there a hammock, that I may recline. i 
 
 Then let the sultry sun of noon-tide beat ; ; 
 
 It cannot penetrate my cool retreat. j 
 
 I 
 
 Give me a basketful of tropic fruit ; : 
 
 Give me a pillow and book to suit ; i 
 
 Give me the velvet lips I love to kiss: I 
 
 Take all the haughty world and leave me this. | 
 
 Natal, 1892 j 
 
 82 ] 
 
i 
 
 THE CHECKER-BOARD i 
 
 THE VIOLET 
 
 If I could be a flower, 
 
 I'd be a violet, 
 And close beside the cottage door 
 
 I'd pour my perfume sweet. 
 
 I'd wile the weary wife 
 
 To sit upon the step, 
 And break the treadmill of her life 
 
 To hold me on her lap. 
 
 My fragrance, subtle, strange, 
 Her cares away should blow. 
 
 As angels give our souls new range, 
 And strength, we know not how. 
 
 DAFFODILS 
 
 Daffodils, daffodils, pushing your gold up thru the mold ' 
 
 Telling the winter is over, with frost and cold: i 
 
 I love you, I love you, dancing daffodils ! i 
 
 Crocuses, crocuses, smiling so gay on April day, ■: 
 
 Telling the lovely summer is on the way; 
 
 I love you, I love you, sprightly crocuses ! ] 
 
 Violets, violets, stealing your blue, where clouds break thru. \ 
 
 Little white sisters, meek and modest too : j 
 
 I love you, I love you, nestling violets ! j 
 
 Ithaca, 191 i j 
 
 83 
 
THE CHECKER-BOARD 
 
 MAY 
 
 Horse chestnuts stand in stately rows, ] 
 
 Crowned with their creamy flowers ; ! 
 
 White petals sail each breeze that blows, ' 
 
 From blossomed orchard's bowers. j 
 
 The tulips lift their ^c:orgeous cups, .■ 
 
 The lilies of the valley - 
 
 Flinj": perfume from their dainty bells, ] 
 
 Delighting those who dally. , 
 
 i 
 
 The purple lilacs and the white '• 
 
 Vie which shall be the sweeter; | 
 
 Each beauty, fading, leaves the right i 
 
 To other and completer. ] 
 
 Oh what a thing it is to live j 
 
 When verdure is upspringing; i 
 
 When dandelions glory give, ; 
 
 And all the birds are singing. j 
 
 i 
 
 Shall man alone be out of gear i 
 
 In all this sweet profusion? -! 
 
 He, nature's crown, doth yet appear j 
 
 To be her chief confusion. ] 
 
 Be this the lesson of the May, ; 
 
 With all its wealth of beauty, , 
 
 To live each hour of every day \ 
 
 In loveliness of duty. ! 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 j 
 
 A STORMY NIGHT ; 
 
 On such a night when the rain's rattle lashes 
 
 The roof and windows, and the scathing flashes, ' 
 
 Daggers of blue, stab thru the storm and sleet — 
 
 Then, home is sweet. ] 
 
 84 ' 
 
THE CHECKER-BOARD 
 
 JAY'S PICTURE 
 
 Little fair head, with the sunny curls shiny, 
 
 Snowy round forehead and mischievous eyes, 
 Queer little nose, and mouth equally ready 
 
 For pouts or for kisses, for smiles or for cries. 
 Chubby round cheeks, and chubby round fingers. 
 
 One foot tucked up in a comical way. 
 Little plaid dress, like a girl's, only shorter, 
 
 Such is the picture of four-year-old Jay. 
 
 What will he think of it, ten short years later. 
 
 When the first dreams of manhood have fired his brain, 
 And he looks with contempt at the baby's bright picture. 
 
 Whose wide world was bounded by grandfather's lane. 
 For at fourteen, real life in the distance looks pleasant — 
 
 All full of delight, and wonders, and joy, 
 And the walls of the home of his childhood grow narrow, 
 
 And he sigheth to think he is only a boy. 
 
 What will he think of it twenty years later? 
 
 When some golden-haired maiden stands close at his side, 
 And they look at the picture with heads bent together, 
 
 And he smiles at the words of his sunny-haired bride. 
 "A sweet little fellow" — his dark head bends lower. 
 
 Her blushing cheeks deepen their tinting of red. 
 For the picture has brought to them thoughts of the future. 
 
 Making solemn and tender the words that he said. 
 
 What will he think of it forty years later ? 
 
 When he liveth his life as a man among men, 
 And weary at night, his eyes fall on the picture. 
 
 Oh what will he think of his babyhood then? j 
 
 Perchance he will long for a kiss from his mother, j 
 
 His innocent joys, and the baby schemes wild, j 
 
 And sadly retracing the years of his manhood, i 
 
 Will wish he again was an innocent child. 
 
 85 ' 
 
THE CHECKER-BOARD 
 
 What will he think of it seventy years later? 
 
 For the frosts of old age lie white on his brow, 
 And he looks at the faded and old-fashioned picture 
 
 With eyes that are fast growing far-sighted now. 
 He rambles again on the farm of his father, 
 
 The meadow, the orchard, the forest, the fen. 
 So we leave the old man dreaming over the picture, 
 
 And finding in fancy his childhood again. 
 
 In fancy? Nay truly, he neareth the portal 
 
 Where all who would enter as children must come ; 
 They must leave the world's cares and ambitions behind th( 
 
 As little ones, tired at nightfall, come home. 
 In those mansions of rest, whose glory we dream of. 
 
 Where entereth nothing impure or defiled, ■ 
 
 Whose beauty can never be pictured by language. 
 
 Our Jay will again be a sweet little child. ' 
 
 Ohio, 1871 
 
 THE ROSE FESTIVAL ; 
 
 Beautiful roses ! wonderful sight ! ! 
 
 Flowers of passion, flowers of light ; I 
 
 Steeped are the senses, staggered they swoon, 
 Color and fragrance, summer's rich boon. ; 
 
 Beautiful roses, born but to die, i 
 
 Even tomorrow, wilted ye lie. j 
 
 Beauty of manhood, matron and maid, ! 
 
 Bloom like the roses, born but to fade. l 
 
 Banks of sweet roses, pensive we turn, \ 
 
 Leaving your beauty while our hearts yearn. 
 One thought most precious, closely doth lie — 
 Hearts that are holy, never can die. 
 
 Portland, 19 10 
 
 86 
 
THE CHECKER-BOARD 
 
 LETTERS 
 
 White gleams the lighthouse 'gainst the sky, 
 
 White rolls the harbor-bar, 
 And white the sails that float and fly 
 
 On the horizon far. 
 
 i 
 And white the missives that they bear j 
 
 From far-off other lands ; \ 
 
 With messages of joy or care i 
 
 They meet our waiting hands. : 
 
 Oh white dove-letters, whence your power, ; 
 
 And whence your magic art, .1 
 
 To change our mood in one short hour, ^ 
 
 To quicken pulse and heart? 
 
 Gleam on, white sails and harbor-bar, ■ 
 
 Bear on my white-winged dove, [ 
 
 The letter from my friend afar, ! 
 
 Whose words bring cheer and love. I 
 
 THE POSTMAN 
 
 The postman's coming over the hill. 
 
 Bringing a letter for me ; 
 The good Lord grant that naught of ill 
 
 May the tidings be ! 
 
 Now my hands unfold the sheet. 
 While my heart stands still : 
 
 Foolish heart, resume thy beat! 
 Thank God, all is well ! 
 
 87 
 
THE CHECKER-BOARD 
 
 MORNING 
 
 The sun has launched his great balloon of light 
 Above the bluffs for yet another clay; 
 
 Below the river flows, its breasted white 
 Touched with the shadow of the early gray. 
 
 The westward background is the tender green, 
 Touching the branch-tips of the graceful trees ; 
 
 A bird is in the bush, his blithesome song 
 
 Blends with the whisper of the morning breeze. 
 
 Oh why, upon this stillness and this peace, 
 
 Should break the city's dull, discordant jar — 
 
 Should trains come rushing on without surcease 
 And jargon of the traffic from afar? 
 
 A MOOD 
 
 A tender haze is o'er the sea, 
 Earth's cheek is near the skies ; 
 
 There's naught to stir the languid air, 
 Save yellow butterflies. 
 
 The palms lift up their stately fronds 
 
 Against the bending sky ; 
 Why strangely sad, my heart, today. 
 
 With wakened memory? 
 
THE CHECKER-BOARD 
 
 THE FLOWER ON THE WALL 
 
 A damp spot, on the cottage-wall, 
 Has waked a seed within the clay; 
 
 Its tiny bud doth feebly crawl 
 To seek and find the day. 
 
 And now at last, one leaf is seen 
 Athwart the window to unfold, 
 
 One little smiling whorl of green, 
 It spreadeth brave and bold. 
 
 And as the favored of its kind 
 Open at morn and close at night, 
 
 Its leaflets fold at eventide. 
 And wake to greet the light. 
 
 Thus struggling in a narrow place. 
 
 Some souls I've seen, who meet their lot 
 
 With that brave smile upon their face — 
 Heroes, who know it not. 
 
 So workman, stay thy trowel where 
 
 The struggling flower doth smile so brave 
 
 As those who bravely meet life's care 
 God's hand doth guard and save. 
 
 THE GUIDE-POST I 
 
 The wayside guide-post points three ways, 
 
 But life's points only two ; 
 The down-slope's hard as we go on, '■. 
 
 The steep doth easy grow. ■ 
 
THE CHECKER-BOARD 
 
 A QUAINT LITTLE GRAVEYARD 
 
 I came across the strangest thing today, 
 
 By pavement in a husthng inland town, close by a fire station. 
 
 Two small graves, marked by white wooden crosses, and railed in 
 
 By a neat fence of tiny pickets. 
 
 Within that narrow strip, not three feet wide, i 
 
 Was patch of green and rosebush planted, nothing more, j 
 
 Except inscription by the crosses, printed by unsophisticated hands, 
 
 Upon the wall of the adjacent building. 
 
 By one cross was written, "Maggie — killed" and then a date. 
 
 Beside the other 'Tuzz at rest," and then another date, later than 
 
 Maggie's. 
 The whole thing seemed so strange, pathetic and weird. 
 So out of keeping with its setting, the bustle of the bargain-making 
 
 city. 
 
 I stool as if enchained, and gazed upon it. 
 
 Then slowly pulled myself away at last, 
 
 But feel the impulse strong upon me j 
 
 To go again at no far distant day. 
 
 Who were these babes, whose tiny lengths can lie ' 
 
 In that small strip of grass-grown earth? 
 
 Why are they lying there by city pavement, ] 
 
 Not laid like proper babes in city of the dead? i 
 
 And how was Maggie killed, and little Fuzz? > 
 
 Was he a baby boy who came to comfort, j 
 
 After wee Maggie's loss? j 
 
 The thing's a puzzle and a mystery 1 
 
 That I shall ponder on tho may not ravel, ^ 
 
 In coming days when I have traveled far 
 
 To other scenes beside Pacific's sea. 
 
 i 
 
 90 
 
THE CHECKER-BOARD 
 
 MIRA'S PASSING 
 
 She woke, and tried to sing "Lead Kindly Light"; 
 Then, gathering her faiHng strength, she sang 
 About ''the land not far away." It rang. 
 That childish song, out on the waning night 
 To where the angels waited for her flight. 
 And next, the comfort chapter would repeat — 
 *'Let not your heart be troubled"; and more sweet 
 Those sweetest words will be, till earthly sight 
 Be lost in heavenly vision. Then she slept, 
 But woke again, and those who round her wept 
 Caught in her gaze, glory, death could not blur. 
 The ''kindly light" for which she prayed had come; 
 The "land not far away" had come to her. 
 
 Worcester, 1901 
 
 EXTRAVAGANCE 
 
 Nature's her beautiful self today, 
 Just as extravagant now as ever: 
 Wearing her pearls in the morning — never 
 
 Stopping to ask what the folks will say. 
 
 91 
 
THE CHECKER-BOARD 
 
 THE SLEEPER 
 
 The little white coffin, it looked so sweet, j 
 
 In where the dead child lay; \ 
 
 She seemed as one who had fallen asleep, ^ 
 
 Out in the flowers at play. j 
 
 To the little white coffin her playmates came, \ 
 
 And each one a tear-drop gave ; ■ 
 
 Then they carried the fair little sleeper away, ; 
 
 And her crib was a hill-side grave. I 
 
 THE PASSING 
 
 Another moon-white night ; 
 
 Another sun-bathed day ; ' 
 
 As one who telleth beads they pass, :i 
 
 Out from life's hand away. | 
 
 Full soon the prayer is said, 
 
 The last short breath is drawn ; ', 
 
 The neighbor saycth "He is dead," i 
 
 The angels "He is born." 
 
 92 
 
THE CHECKER-BOARD 
 
 THE ELEVATOR MAN 
 
 I note his strong and silent face, deep lined with stamp of pain, 
 
 As daily, in his iron car, I rise or fall again. 
 
 The settled melancholy there, doth never lesser grow, 
 
 The sad expression alters not, as the days come and go. 
 
 1 know him not, but understand as well as though 'twere told ; 
 
 It seems to him malignant power, his life enchained doth hold. 
 
 His hand was made for other things than pressing iron bar, 
 
 For freer lives to come and go within that stifling car. 
 
 Oh heart that longs for liberty ! Oh face that yearns for light ! 
 
 Oh lives enchained to hateful tasks from morning until night ! 
 
 Oh mystery of suffering, that some should ever be 
 
 But stepping stones, that other lives be happy and be free. 
 
 Omaha, 1910 
 
 TO A SEA-GULL ON SALT LAKE 
 
 Bird of the boundless ocean's storm and swell, 
 
 What dost thou here upon this waveless brine? 
 
 Cut from thine element, as I from mine, — 
 The wherefore neither you nor I can tell. 
 Yet this your little heart and mine know well : 
 
 We've found not yet our home, nor mine, nor thine, 
 But both are chained by unseen power or spell. 
 Your wings move freely o'er this vapid tide. 
 
 So dift'erent from that strong exultant swing 
 
 Of those blest birds that rise with dripping wing 
 From mighty billows on the ocean side ! 
 So, home-sick bird, my longing heart doth go 
 
 Forth with a great companionship for thee, 
 Pining for curling caps of crested snow. 
 
 As I for Fatherland, where lives are free. 
 
 93 
 
THE CHECKER-BOARD 
 
 THE UNIVERSAL ORATORIO 
 
 When doth exist affinity 'twixt souls, 
 It hath its basis in the common key. 
 In which their Hves are rendered. 
 They have a corresponding part in that great Sym- 
 phony 
 That sounds in Ears Divine, 
 In which each Hfe doth strike its own appropriate 
 note, 
 And nature everywhere fills in the harmony. 
 
 No cricket's chirp, or bee's low drone, is lost — 
 
 Rustle of leaves or the soft lap of waves ; 
 
 And all things visible, invisible, conjoin, 
 
 All discords blend in wondrous minor strain with 
 
 full effect. 
 The very spheres chime in, and angel choirs, 
 In one complete and glorious Unison. 
 
 THE TENDRIL i 
 
 As feels the tender tendril of the vine, ] 
 
 By some blind instinct, in the upper air, i 
 
 Seeking support for leaf and floweret fair, — j 
 
 So doth some instinct, in this heart of mine, * 
 Pushing beyond the present of despair, 
 
 Test whether circumstance its way prepare ■ 
 
 To find its own at last — this heart of mine. 
 
 Mark how the tendril, baffled not, tho blind, I 
 
 Pursues its quest, until at last is thrown, i 
 For its relief, some branch from lattice blown. 
 
 So shall kind Providence complete my quest. ■ 
 
 On page of time, fulfillment shall be shown : ■ 
 
 That day of days, that day of joy and rest, 1 
 
 The day my spirit cometh to her own. \ 
 
 94 i 
 
THE CHECKER-BOARD 
 
 THE HALL OF THOSE WHO NEVER DIE [ 
 
 I dreamed I waked to find that even I i 
 
 Had reached the Hall of Those Who Never Die. \ 
 
 The mighty faces there looked down on me \ 
 
 With mild and pitying benignity, 3 
 
 For well they knew by what sad door 
 I'd reached that tessellated floor. ^ 
 
 For there were knives across that portal grey j 
 
 That stabbed the hearts of all that passed that way, | 
 And left long scars of pain on cheek and brow ; 
 
 For them what laurel wreath could matter now? | 
 
 And as I looked beyond that threshold dread, ; 
 
 And marked the envy on some faces spread, ■ 
 
 'Mongst those who gazed upon me from without, I thought 
 How for their tranquil lives, with comfort fraught, 
 What glad exchange, if I might give, would I, 
 My place in Hall of Those Who Never Die. ; 
 
 ONE LITTLE YEAR 
 
 The heart's-blood grapes have deep been pressed. 
 
 Oh life, into thy cup ; 
 To very brim with passion's tears, 
 
 O'er-full they've filled it up. 
 
 By calendar one short, short year, 
 
 In strenuousness how long — 
 In heart-break and in bitter loss, 
 
 In love's deep current strong. 
 
 Our length of life is not in days 
 
 Or years, that come and go. 
 But in intensity of joy 
 
 Or sorrow that we know. 
 95 
 
THE CHECKER-BOARD i 
 
 THE BATTLEFIELD I 
 
 We sleep and wake, and sleep again, j 
 
 When the little task is done ; \ 
 
 What's done today repeated o'er ] 
 
 With morrow morning's sun. j 
 
 And what does it all accomplish, i 
 
 When the scanty tale is told ? ] 
 We eat and work, we live and die, 
 
 And turn again to mold. < 
 
 We see the dull and stale routine; 
 
 What is it God doth see? 
 Each living soul a battle's ground. 
 
 Waged for eternity. 
 The war that had beginning 
 
 When self-willed spirits fell, 
 Brought down to earth and waged in hearts, 
 
 Betwixt God's throne and hell. 
 
 And when a soul doth choose the right, 
 
 God hath a victory more ; 
 And when the wrong, the demons say 
 
 ''We've won another score." 
 We wake and sleep, and wake again. 
 
 And soon forgotten die, 
 But crowned or vanquished we are read 
 
 In records of the sky. 
 
 96 
 
PART IV 
 THE UNDERTONE 
 
THE UNDERTONE 
 
 THE LORD'S PRAYER j 
 
 Teach us, O Lord, to pray ; ] 
 
 It is our urgent need — j 
 
 In contact, intimate and close, ] 
 
 To learn with Thee to plead. ■ 
 
 i 
 
 Our Father, sweetest name j 
 
 Given to us below, j 
 
 Help us, in all our life's details, j 
 
 Thy fatherhood to know. ! 
 
 Hallowed be Thy name, \ 
 
 And let Thy kingdom come, 1 
 
 And in our hearts, as in Thy heaven, .; 
 
 Thy blessed will be done. : 
 
 Give us our daily bread, j 
 
 'Tis by Thy hand we live; i 
 
 Since we forgive our fellow men, . ; 
 
 Dear Lord, our sins forgive. j 
 
 Keep thou our straying feet \ 
 
 From fierce temptations free, J 
 
 And Thine the kingdom, glory, power, j 
 
 Forevermore shall be. j 
 
 Amen I 
 i 
 
 \ 
 
 99 
 
THE UNDERTONE 
 
 INFINITE FATHER 
 
 Infinite Father of the whole creation, 
 
 Fining all the earth, and sky, and sea, 
 With the beauty that's but emanation 
 
 Of the fulness that is found in Thee: 
 When we stand beside the mighty ocean, 
 
 Hear the solemn dirges as they roll. 
 Booming of the waves in wild commotion, 
 
 Tis a voice from Thee that fills the soul. 
 
 When our waking eyes behold the morning, 
 
 Gold and crimson of the eastern skies. 
 Nature decked with dewy pearls' adorning, 
 
 'Tis Thy loveliness that meets our eyes. 
 When the evening purple tinge is flinging 
 
 Over valley, meadow, stream and hill, 
 And the bird her homeward way is winging, 
 
 'Tis Thy gentleness that meets us still. 
 
 When we view each shining constellation. 
 
 Musing o'er the mystery of night, 
 Planets wheeling without deviation, 
 
 While the centuries have taken flight — 
 Then our souls are filled with heartfelt praises 
 
 For the great Creator and His plan — 
 Tale of love, in music, stars and daisies. 
 
 Of our God for wayward, sinful man. 
 
 New York, 19 io 
 
 100 j 
 
THE UNDERTONE 
 
 WE PRAISE THEE j 
 
 For every spire whose finger points above, ! 
 
 Calling the soul its God to serve and love, j 
 
 For every shrine of worship and of prayer, | 
 
 We praise the God who waits to meet us there. j 
 
 For every soul that's borne the toil and strife, \ 
 
 And passed victorious thru the gates of life, ; 
 
 For every soul that's in the narrow way, \ 
 
 We praise the Giver of all grace each day. ■ 
 
 For wealth of beauty over hill and plain, ^ \ 
 
 For every flower that drinks the sun and rain, ; 
 
 Splendor of clouds and stars upon their course, \ 
 
 We praise the Being who is beauty's source. \ 
 
 For strains of music that the soul doth thrill, ■ 
 
 Instrument, voice, and bird and bee and rill, i 
 
 Giving expression to the deepest heart, ■ 
 
 We praise the One who music doth impart. I 
 
 For all that calls us from the quest of gain, \ 
 
 For Christ's compassion in the hour of pain, i 
 
 For faithful pleadings of our Spirit Guide, i 
 
 We praise the Friend who's ever at our side. i 
 
 For better days, when partings are no more,' j 
 
 For rest remaining on a happier shore, ^ I 
 
 Hope of re-union there of friend with friend, j 
 
 We'll praise our God in worlds that have no end. j 
 
 Maryland, 191 i ; 
 
 101 
 
THE UNDERTONE 
 
 A THANKSGIVING 
 
 Thank God for birds ! Earth were so sore bereft 
 Of how much happiness and Hlting song, 
 
 If we should miss them, flashing in and out, 
 With pipe and carol all the summer long. 
 
 Thank God for clouds ! Oh what a lack would be, 
 If in the dazzling blue we could not trace, 
 
 In changing loveliness of form and hue, 
 
 The floating garments of their fleeting grace. 
 
 Thank God for trees ! Almost like friends they seem, 
 So human-like their great shafts upward rise ; 
 
 With subtle sense of their companionship 
 
 We nestle 'neath them, stretching toward the skies. 
 
 Thank God for flowers! Oh darlings of the vale, 
 
 Oh kisses of the angels on the sod, 
 With fair illumined text ye write the tale 
 
 That speaks the beauty and the love of God. 
 
 OH AFRICA 
 
 Oh Africa, ringed round by light 
 
 Of truth, as fringed with ocean spray, 
 
 Within thee reigns earth's deepest night, 
 But on thy shores doth break the day. 
 
 Thy fringe of light shall wider grow ; 
 
 Before its face shall wrong retire ; 
 These darkened hearts and homes of woe 
 
 Shall brightened be with heavenly fire. 
 
 W^e yet may live to see the day 
 
 When from this weary sin-stained sod, 
 
 From shore to shore shall nations pray. 
 And lift their hands and hearts to God. 
 
 102 
 
THE UNDERTONE 
 
 AFRICA'S AWAKENING 
 
 Ring out, swing out, sweet bells of light, 
 
 Upon this sin-stained land, 1 
 
 This old dark continent, where right j 
 
 Must make its final stand. | 
 
 In the morning calling, calling, 
 As ye softly sway, 
 
 ''With thy God begin the day. 
 
 Come to pray." j 
 
 i 
 
 To faces dark, and darker hearts, j 
 
 That start their prayerless day, | 
 
 Ring out the word God's grace imparts, \ 
 
 And let your message say — i 
 
 To them softly stealing, pealing, ; 
 
 In their dull despair, i 
 
 "Morning is the time for prayer ; i 
 
 Come to prayer." ^ 
 
 Chime on, ye bells, with joyful voice; 
 
 Your tongues one tale repeat. 
 
 At sound of you shall hearts rejoice ,] 
 
 To hear your message sweet. \ 
 
 In the evening, ringing, swinging, | 
 
 Incense on the air, i 
 
 "God doth care, why despair? j 
 
 Come to prayer." ] 
 
 103 
 
THE UNDERTONE 
 
 THE BOY OF NAZARETH 
 
 From o'er a close-shut garden wall, 
 
 One flower alone to us doth fall, | 
 
 Those few brief words, how sweet their breath, j 
 
 Of Thee, blest Boy of Nazareth. j 
 
 J 
 
 From that high hill above the town, j 
 
 How many times hast Thou looked down, ! 
 
 And seen afar, with eyes aglow, i 
 
 The distant sea and Hermon's snow. ; 
 
 Little to Thee of earthly lore, i 
 
 Yet Thine expanding mind before i 
 The three best books wide open lay — 
 God, nature and humanity. 
 
 We may not look that soul within, \ 
 
 For God's deep secret shut Thee in. ' 
 
 Thru what strange questions didst Thou see ; 
 
 Thy Being and Thy Destiny? j 
 
 That close-shut calyx folded fast 
 The flower that bloomed for earth at last ; 
 The bud slow-formed, thru prayers and tears, 
 In those long, silent thirty years. 
 
 ABRAHAM'S TRIAL 
 
 Doth God require still a test 
 
 So searching and supreme of shrinking man? 
 Aye, there are Isaacs still, and Mount Moriahs; 
 And at some point the question must be met. 
 
 Do we, in deed and truth, love God the best ? 
 104 
 
THE UNDERTONE 
 
 THE LAND 
 
 Hail thee, thou favored land of Palestine, 
 
 Whose hillsides once by holy feet were trod; 
 
 Where earnest souls now turn as to a shrine, 
 To trace the footprints of the Son of God. 
 
 Hail rural village, little Bethlehem, 
 
 Where in the manger lay that wondrous child! 
 Was honor e'er bestowed as this that came 
 
 Unsought to thee, and to that mother mild? 
 
 O Nazareth, deep nestling in the vale. 
 
 Where Jesus played a child beside the door: 
 
 How couldst thou spurn Him when He told the tale, 
 Gospel of love to broken-hearted poor? 
 
 Hail beauteous lake, thou smiling Galilee! 
 
 Once Jesus lay asleep upon thy breast. 
 And at His word thy raging angry sea 
 
 Obeyed His voice and hushed its waves to rest. 
 
 Bethany hail ! Thy hospitable door 
 
 Received the weary Savior to its peace ; 
 
 There wealth of tears and ointment did outpour. 
 With love and perfume that shall never cease. 
 
 Say, shall we hail thee, great Jerusalem, 
 
 Where Jesus died upon His cross of pain? 
 
 Yes, for we know hereafter thou shalt say, 
 Blest be the Christ who comes a King to reign. 
 
 Omaha, 1910 
 
 i 
 i 
 
 105 I 
 
THE UNDERTONE 
 
 WHO IS THIS ? 
 
 Who is this, among his brethren, 
 
 Unto whom the stars bow down ? 
 Verily a King He standeth. 
 
 But He wears a thorny crown. 
 Who is this, among his brethren, 
 
 At whose feet the sheaves are cast? 
 Yea, the Lord of all the harvest, 
 
 The Beginning and the Last. 
 
 Who is this, in time of famine. 
 
 Rescues loved ones from the grave? 
 He who once was by His brethren 
 
 Sold for price of meanest slave. 
 Who is this who knows the future, 
 
 Holds the keys of destiny? 
 He once scorned by His brethren — 
 
 Weeps, forgives and sets them free. 
 
 Who is this who cometh travelling, 
 
 With His garments crimson dyed? 
 This is He whose love outpoureth 
 
 With the life-blood from His side. 
 Who is this who at the judgment 
 
 Sits upon the highest throne? 
 This is He who shares His glory 
 
 With His brethren and His own. 
 
 106 
 
THE UNDERTONE j 
 
 '1 
 
 THE WOMAN OF CANAAN 
 
 ''Have mercy on me Lord." The cry 
 
 Smote on the Savior's ear, 
 But still He held upon His way, 
 
 As though He did not hear. 
 The twelve thought well they understood 
 
 The Master's reason why : 
 ''Now send this heathen stranger hence. 
 
 Who after us doth cry." 
 
 Still not repulsed, though plain she heard, 
 While pressing to His feet — 
 
 "To give the children's bread to dogs," 
 Said He, "It is not meet." 
 
 Her answer sounded quick and keen, 
 "Yea Lord, a dog am I, 
 
 Yet e'en the dogs may eat the crumbs 
 
 ' That 'neath the table lie." 
 
 "Oh woman, be it as thou wilt," \ 
 
 The gracious answer fell ; | 
 
 Her conquering faith had gained its way, j 
 
 She found her daughter well. j 
 
 Oh mother, praying for thy child ;| 
 
 Through weary, fruitless years, j 
 
 The Canaan mother speaks to thee, ] 
 
 "Faint not, the Master hears." | 
 
 107 
 
THE UNDERTONE 
 
 CHRISTMAS CAROL 
 
 Come Holy Spirit, bright Star of the East, 
 Guide us to Jesus, our haven of rest. 
 Hang as of old His pure cradle above, 
 Pointing us all to the shrine of His love. 
 
 At His low bed on our faces we fall. 
 Open our treasures and yield Him our all; 
 Happy if only undimmed on our way, 
 Shineth His presence, our Star of the Day. 
 
 Come Holy Spirit, to Christ Thou dost guide, 
 Bringing Him near us to walk at our side ; 
 To Him our Savior, Redeemer and Friend, 
 Joined in a union that never shall end. 
 
 UNPROFITABLE SERVANTS 
 
 As doth the weary hind, at close of day, 
 Think not at once to seek his ease or bed, 
 
 But first, he doth his master's table lay, 
 
 And sees his lord refreshed and served and fed 
 
 So when the love of ease assails the mind. 
 Let us remember we are servants too. 
 
 And gird ourselves for labor as the hind, 
 Till that is done which is our part to do. 
 
 Teach us to say when every task is done, 
 "Unprofitable servants," to the end, 
 
 While that sweet word awaits each faithful one, 
 "I call thee not a servant, but a friend." 
 108 
 
THE UNDERTONE 
 
 JOB'S QUESTION 
 
 Job asked, Is man a sea or whale, 
 That God doth visit him each morn, 
 
 And set his heart on him, and try 
 
 His ways from e'en the day he's born? 
 
 Nay, not a sea, and not a whale. 
 
 But frailest of God's creatures, man, 
 
 Who yet doth steer in teeth of storm 
 His ship with courage and with plan. 
 
 Danger and courage end in faith. 
 
 God moulds and trains for other spheres 
 This wondrous being, more than dust. 
 
 Who is to share His endless years. 
 
 THY CROSS 
 
 God never meant thy cross to crush thee down, 
 
 He never meant that thou shouldst bear alone. 
 
 What heavy is, if Christ bear half its weight? 
 
 Thou hast thy cross — whether it prove to thee 
 
 A bane or blessing, resteth on thyself. 
 
 Say, wilt thou drag it low, a baleful thing, 
 
 That crusheth down thy life? 
 
 Nay, meet thy fate half way, lift up thy cross. 
 
 And lift meanwhile thine earnest eyes in prayer, 
 
 And Christ's own arms shall under thee be placed. 
 
 So, through thy weakness, shalt thou find thy strength. 
 
 So shalt thou trample Satan under-foot; 
 
 So shalt thou make thy cross a blessed joy; 
 
 So shalt thou, through the long eternity. 
 
 Look back with thankfulness to even this. 
 
 Bridge WATER, 1875 
 109 
 
THE UNDERTONE i 
 
 MAHANAIM ; 
 
 Gen. 32 : 2 ■ 
 
 Still let Thine angels meet us on our way, i 
 
 The road of life, so wearisome and long; . 
 
 Angels of Thy sweet ministering love ] 
 
 Shall change our heavy sighs to praise and song. i 
 
 The hosts of God are close about our path, j 
 
 Had we but opened eyes to see them near; \ 
 
 How short would seem the way, and light the load, i 
 Could we perceive that heaven's about us here ! 
 
 Dost Thou not call them ministering ones, ■ 
 
 Servants of us. Thy chosen and Thine own, . 
 
 Who though the sons of God and glory's heirs, j 
 
 Now walk the world with breaking hearts and lone ? i 
 
 Brush from our eyes the film of earthly doubt, ■ 
 
 That we our strong attendants clearly see, \ 
 
 The angel hosts, who never go away, 
 
 And never will, till we are safe with Thee. 
 
 Omaha, 1910 I 
 
 ORISON 
 
 As lifts the lily's chalice to the light. 
 
 So Hfts my soul to be embraced and blessed: 
 
 Thou Great Companion of the morning bright, 
 Thou Great Consoler of the evening's rest. 
 
 The morning breathes Thy sweet and lingering kiss. 
 Where lacy webs the glistening dew-drops keep; 
 
 And then to toil until in evening's peace, 
 
 I say ''Goodnight dear Lord," and sink to sleep. 
 
 110 
 
THE UNDERTONE 
 
 TRUE RICHES j 
 
 Rich is the man, though poor in earthly store, \ 
 
 Who hath his portion in creation's King. • 
 
 Famine may come ; when others pine for more, 
 
 God's trusting child shall want no needful thing. j 
 
 Simple his meal, but garnished with the grace j 
 
 Contentment lends, while gratitude o'erflows; i 
 
 Presence of angels sanctifies the place; j 
 
 Unseen, the Christ His blessing there bestows. ! 
 
 Scornful the world may pass him rudely by, j 
 
 Seek to defraud him, oftentimes oppress ; j 
 
 He hath an Advocate who watcheth nigh, i 
 
 Pleading his cause, and gaining him redress. j 
 
 He hath a feast in presence of his foes, I 
 
 Unbroken walk with Christ he doth enjoy; \ 
 
 On toward a world of blessedness he goes, ; 
 
 Bliss without ending, love without alloy. | 
 
 A PRAYER FOR SLEEP 
 
 Lord, thou hast promised to supply my need, 
 Thy faithful promise is my only plea; 
 
 Do I not need a night of quiet sleep? 
 Look on my weariness, my God, and see. 
 
 Thou seest how I toss and toss about, 
 
 Too far fatigued, too overwrought, for rest 
 
 Lord, as we mothers lull our restless babes. 
 Gather me now upon Thy tender breast. 
 Ill 
 
i. 
 
 1 
 I 
 
 THE UNDERTONE | 
 
 ) 
 
 As the musician oft doth try the strings, ] 
 
 Tuning their jangHng notes to sweet accord, i 
 
 So Thou, who knowest the harp-strings of the soul, i 
 Tune me to harmony within, O Lord. 
 
 Gently, as falls the mantle of the snow, j 
 
 Feather on feather piling soft and light, ; 
 
 So let the benediction of Thy slumber fall ; ; 
 
 For Jesus' sake. Lord, give me sleep tonight. \ 
 
 TWILIGHT 
 
 Rest me. Savior, I am weary, • 
 
 And the shadows round me close; 
 
 Toil is hard and life is dreary, ^ 
 
 In thine arms I seek repose. " 
 
 O'er my head a bird belated | 
 
 Wings her way to home and rest; i 
 
 Fain I too, would now be flying _ j 
 
 To my tender Savior's breast. i 
 
 As the lonely bird finds comfort i 
 
 Swinging in its sheltering tree, ] 
 
 So my soul from perturbation, j 
 
 Consolation finds in Thee. ] 
 
 Trembles forth the star of evening, ^ 
 
 Christ, my Evening Star Thou art ; \ 
 
 Let thy beams dispel my darkness, \ 
 
 Chase the shadows from my heart. j 
 
 112 
 
THE UNDERTONE 
 
 QUIETNESS 
 
 Take thy life quietly, oh hard-pressed soul. 
 These storms of doubt and fear that o'er thee roll, 
 In one brief year shall quite have passed from sight. 
 Leaving serene and clear thy pathway bright. 
 
 Take thy life quietly ; let faith's calm ray 
 Point thru the midnight drear, to breaking day. 
 Hold fast the Hand of Love that thee doth guide ; 
 Thy way leads straight above, whate'er betide. 
 
 Take thy life quietly, for God doth reign, 
 He knows the reason why of all our pain. 
 Some day we'll see and own, in worlds of light, 
 That all life's weary way God led us right. 
 
 Omaha^ 1910 
 
 MIDNIGHT 
 
 Speak, oh. voice of God within me, 
 In the solemn midnight hour; 
 
 Face to face with Thee and conscience. 
 Let me know^ Thy Spirit's power. 
 
 Bring before my heart the record 
 Of the morn, the noon, the night ; 
 
 Let Thy hand of truth, unerring. 
 Point the thing that was not right. 
 
 Give me deep, sincere repentance 
 For each failure and each sin; 
 
 Let me seek Thy sweet forgiveness, 
 Seek a heart that's pure within. 
 
 Let me know that I am pardoned. 
 
 That Thy peace my heart doth keep ; 
 Folded in Thine arms of mercy. 
 Let me sink in tranquil sleep. 
 
 Omaha, 1910 
 113 
 
THE UNDERTONE 
 
 SAVIOR, TO THEE I BRING 
 
 Savior, to Thee I bring j 
 
 My little cup ; 
 With love from Thy pure spring \ 
 
 Fill Thou it up. 
 I bring today my need, : 
 
 As oft to Thee before, j 
 
 My emptiness to plead, • 
 
 And Thy full store. ■ 
 
 Thou art not limited, 
 
 Nor bounded art; ' 
 
 Thy only bound instead. 
 
 My trembling heart. ; 
 
 Still sounds Thy word the same: ■ 
 
 "Only in me believe; 
 All thou hast faith to claim i 
 
 Thou shalt receive." .^ 
 
 "One cupful from the sea i 
 
 No loss doth make; : 
 
 Bring then thy need to me, ; 
 
 Take, freely take." '. 
 
 Dear Lord, I answer "yes," 
 
 On Thee my way I roll; • 
 
 Thou wilt sustain and bless ; 
 
 My trusting soul. i 
 
 114 
 
THE UNDERTONE 
 
 OUR FELLOWSHIP 
 I John i : 3 
 
 Sweet is Thy fellowship, O mighty Savior, 
 When in the freshness of the morn I come ; 
 
 At fervid noon, or in the solemn midnight, 
 Thou never leav'st me to myself alone. 
 
 What were the world and all it hath without Thee? 
 
 Stripped were the beauty of each flower and tree, 
 Brazen the skies, bereft of all their glory, 
 
 Barren the hills, did they not tell of Thee. 
 
 What were this life, with its bewildering tangles, 
 Were not Thy hand and purpose in it all? 
 
 Our hearts would sicken with its disappointment. 
 Its care and sorrow would our souls enthrall. 
 
 Thy shoulder strong this weary world would carry, 
 Change to a paradise its gloom and night; 
 
 Thy open arms our whole lost race would welcome, 
 Thy yoke is easy and Thy burden light. 
 
 Lord, I have come and easy I have found it, 
 Have learned the secret, words can ne'er define ; 
 
 But understood by such, and by these only. 
 
 Who've learned it down at those dear feet of Thine. 
 
 Alone with Thee, O Jesus, I am walking, 
 
 Toward the long vistas of eternity ; 
 My heavenly home and me Thou art preparing. 
 
 Meanwhile I live upon Thy legacy. 
 
 In Thy last will and testament Thou saidst it — 
 "My peace I leave, I give it unto you." 
 
 On that deep peace my soul today is resting; 
 I go on trusting, and I find Thee true. 
 
 115 
 
THE UNDERTONE 
 
 A NEW CREATION 
 
 Where is the burden of sin that lay 
 
 So heavily on my breast, 
 Wearily pressing by night and day, 
 
 Giving my heart no rest? 
 
 Gone, gone, it sank from sight 
 In God's sea of forgetfulness. 
 
 I cannot find it, my heart is light. 
 No more doth its weight oppress. 
 
 Where is the stubborn arrogant will 
 That would not yield or bend. 
 
 Resting never, but restless till 
 It carried its wayward end? 
 
 Gone, gone, broken its sway, 
 
 Conquered and crushed and dead; 
 
 My stony heart is taken away 
 And a soft one's mine instead. 
 
 Where is the temper that made me fail 
 In spite of my prayers and tears. 
 
 Struggling and wrestling without avail, 
 Down through the fruitless years? 
 
 Gone, gone, what hath God wrought! 
 
 He did the work for me. 
 His was the gentleness I sought, 
 
 And His is the victory. 
 
 Where are the moods that over me cast 
 Their lowering shadows down. 
 
 Hurried and driven by every blast. 
 Chilled by a word or frown ? 
 
 116 
 
THE UNDERTONE 
 
 Gone, gone, blessed release, 
 
 Vanished my clouds and gloom ; 
 
 He's filled my heart, my Prince of Peace. 
 And moodiness hath no room. 
 
 Christ, how precious, how real Thou art 
 
 What a salvation Thine ! 
 New songs of praise are in my heart, 
 
 New heavens and earth are mine. 
 
 EVEN MY HAIRS 
 
 Even my hairs are counted by my God, 
 
 Wonderful truth my Savior's words declare ; 
 
 Were it not written in His blessed Word, 
 Faith scarce could claim so intimate a care. 
 
 One falling sparrow's precious in His sight. 
 
 Whose mighty hand rolls on the shining spheres ; 
 
 Who from His throne of everlasting light 
 
 Guideth His people through their changeful years. 
 
 Shall I not rest my all within His hand ? 
 
 Shall I not trust so marvellous a love? 
 Freed from anxiety's enthralling bands, 
 
 O'er things of time, shall I not soar above ? 
 
 Praise be to Him by whose kind care Vm led, 
 Whose listening ear attends my feeblest cry; 
 
 Since He doth count the hairs upon my head, 
 How shall He not my every need supply? 
 
 117 
 
THE UNDERTONE 
 
 THE CHURCH MILITANT 
 
 Lo, the battle clash of darkness 
 
 With the legions of the light, 
 For the prince of evil rallies 
 
 For the finish of the fight ; 
 And the final conflict pendeth, 
 
 Ere the triumph of the right: 
 That Day is drawing on. 
 
 We are watching while Creation, 
 
 From her night of weeping sore, 
 Lifts her head, for her Deliverer 
 
 Hath His hand upon the door. 
 Dawn shall rise wherein the sorrow 
 
 Is remembered nevermore: 
 That Day is drawing on. 
 
 We are watching till Oppression 
 
 Slacks the iron of his grasp. 
 Till in grime and tears and bloodshed 
 
 Weary lands no more shall gasp ; 
 Till the menace of the nations 
 
 Changeth to a brother's clasp : 
 
 That Day is drawing on. ^ 
 
 We are watching until Conscience j 
 
 Sifts the chaff from out the wheat, 
 Till the Stone cut from the Mountain ! 
 
 Smites the image on the feet ; I 
 
 Till the King's returning footsteps 
 Echo down the ages' beat : 
 That Day is drawing on. 
 
 118 
 
THE UNDERTONE 
 
 Praise the Lord, O little planet, 
 
 That the Lord of glory trod ; 
 Praise Him with your vales and mountains, 
 
 Praise Him, seas and earthly sod; 
 Praise the Lord, ye men and angels. 
 
 Armies of the living God! 
 His Day is drawing on. 
 
 BACK TO THY BOSOM j 
 
 Back to Thy bosom, everlasting God, 
 
 As infant to its mother's breast, I come; 
 
 A pilgrim I, upon this weary sod, 
 Find in Thee ever, sanctuary, home. 
 
 Thy grace flows rippling thru my quiet heart. 
 Constant as brook within the forest glade; 
 
 With God so near, to ever bear my part. 
 How shall I hesitate or be dismayed? 
 
 There is no power in all this universe 
 
 That's not subservient to Thy mighty will; 
 
 So when opposed by circumstance adverse, 
 I wait to see Thee triumph, and am still. 
 
 So on Thy bosom, everlasting God, 
 
 My measured breaths count out their little span ; 
 In wonder, joy, to know that Thou the Lord 
 
 Dost also rest Thee in the heart of man. 
 
 Omaha, 1910 
 
 119 
 
INDEX 
 
 Page 
 
 Foreword -- 7 
 
 PART I. LONG, LONG AGO 
 
 Childhood on the Farm, Long, Long Ago - - - 11 
 
 The Old Home - - 11 
 
 The Moss Play House 12 
 
 The Well 13 
 
 The Orchards 14 
 
 Blueberries .------._ 15 
 
 Little Shaker Bonnets 15 
 
 The Pumpkin Vine 16 
 
 Lilacs 17 
 
 The Garret 18 
 
 The Cellar 19 
 
 The Crooked Apple Tree 20 
 
 A Memory Walk 21 
 
 The Toy Closet - - 22 
 
 The Dolls' Housekeeping 24 
 
 Nippennickett .25 
 
 Blackberries ---------26 
 
 The Market Wagon 27 
 
 A Visit to Aunt Carrie's 28 
 
 The Sand-Bank Hill 29 
 
 Driving Home the Cows 30 
 
 Our Next Door Neighbor ------ 31 
 
 I Remember a Voice ----.--32 
 
 Her Shrine 32 
 
 Her Flower 33 
 
 Their Gentle Answer 33 
 
 Childhood's Sunday Night 34 
 
 120 
 
INDEX 
 
 PART II. GRANDMA'S ROCKING CHAIR 
 
 Page 
 
 The White-Gowned Baby and the Rocking Chair - 37 
 
 Metasina's Lullaby 38 
 
 Oriole Lullaby 39 
 
 Carol's By-By - - 39 
 
 Cradle Time --. 40 
 
 The Mother's Reverie 41 
 
 Edith's Objection 41 
 
 Barge Lullaby 42 
 
 Childie, Cherub 42 
 
 The Shadow Baby 43 
 
 How Many 43 
 
 Baby's Rainy Day 44 
 
 Baby's Plum 44 
 
 Baby's Foot 45 
 
 Our Baby Rose 45 
 
 What For 46 
 
 Asleep 46 
 
 Her First Word 47 
 
 Tell Us 47 
 
 Kenneth's By-By 48 
 
 A Puzzler - 48 
 
 Kenneth's Trip to Mission Meeting ... - 49 
 
 Kenneth's Day at Durban Beach 49 
 
 Kenneth's Journey Home 51 
 
 Dado's Dinner 52 
 
 Dado's Squirrel 52 
 
 A Little Girl's Journey 53 
 
 The Friendly Squirrel 54 
 
 Dollies at the Window 55 
 
 The Birds' Carnival 56 
 
 En Route to California 57 
 
 A Strange Combination 57 
 
 Snow Birds 58 
 
 The Frets 58 
 
 The Little Jap Mother 59 
 
 Our Little Men 59 
 
 121 
 
INDEX 
 
 Page 
 
 Beatrice 60 
 
 A White Fleur-De-Lis 61 
 
 Little Gray Street Revisited 61 
 
 Durban Back Beach Revisited 62 
 
 PART III. THE CHECKER-BOARD 
 
 Life's Bargain Sale 65 
 
 Father of His Country 66 
 
 Washington 67 
 
 Lincoln 68 
 
 The Aryans 69 
 
 The Wild Love Lies Bleeding 70 
 
 The River Reeds 70 
 
 The Snow Angel 71 
 
 The Middle Ages 72 
 
 A Wish 73 
 
 Interlude 73 
 
 Autumn Hues 74 
 
 On the Beach - 74 
 
 Swallows in the Rain 75 
 
 A Long Breath - - 75 
 
 The Winds 76 
 
 Sleep 77 
 
 Inanda Waterfall Ferns 77 
 
 Arbutus 78 
 
 The Bonfire 78 
 
 In Wintry Days 79 
 
 Was It? 79 
 
 Dirge for the Trees - 80 
 
 Pleasantry 80 
 
 Man's Craving Heart 81 
 
 Daisies 81 
 
 The First Kiss 82 
 
 Give Me a Thicket 82 
 
 The Violet 83 
 
 Daffodils 83 
 
 May 84 
 
 A Stormy Night 84 
 
 122 
 
INDEX 
 
 Page 
 
 Jay's Picture 85 
 
 The Rose Festival 86 
 
 Letters 87 
 
 The Postman 87 
 
 Morning 88 
 
 A Mood 88 
 
 The Flower on the Wall ------- 89 
 
 The Guide- Post - - 89 
 
 A Quaint Little Graveyard 90 
 
 Mira's Passing - - 91 
 
 Extravagance 91 
 
 The Sleeper 92 
 
 The Passing 92 
 
 The Elevator Man 93 
 
 To a Sea-Gull on Salt Lake 93 
 
 The Universal Oratorio 94 
 
 The Tendril ... - 94 
 
 The Hall of Those Who Never Die - - - - 95 
 
 One Little Year 95 
 
 The Battlefield ^^ 
 
 PART IV. THE UNDERTONE 
 
 The Lord's Prayer - ^^ 
 
 Infinite Father ^^^ 
 
 We Praise Thee ^^^ 
 
 A Thanksgiving ^^^ 
 
 Oh, Africa ^^^ 
 
 Africa's Awakening ^^^ 
 
 The Boy of Nazareth 104 
 
 Abraham's Trial - ^^^ 
 
 The Land ^f 
 
 Who is This? ]^^ 
 
 The Woman of Canaan ------- 107 
 
 Christmas Carol - - 108 
 
 Unprofitable Servants 108 
 
 Job's Question 1^^ 
 
 Thy Cross ^^ 
 
 123 
 
INDEX 
 
 Mahanaim ?fn 
 
 110 
 110 
 
 Orison 
 
 True Riches m 
 
 A Prayer for Sleep HI 
 
 Twilight 112 
 
 Quietness 113 
 
 Midnight 113 
 
 Savior, to Thee I Bring 114 
 
 Our Fellowship 115 
 
 A New Creation Hg 
 
 Even My Hairs 117 
 
 The Church Militant Hg 
 
 Back to Thy Bosom 119 
 
 124 
 
PRESS OF 
 
 PHOENIX PRINTING COMPANY 
 
 BATTLE CREEK, MICH. 
 
MAR 6 1912 
 
m/\n Q \^\z 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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 015 973 735 4 f