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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
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Old Friends and 
 Old Times 
 
 By 
 
 Floyd D. Raze 
 
 IHLING BROS. EVERARD CO, 
 Kalamazoo, Michigan 
 
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 .K^',^1*^ 
 
 Copyright, 1914, 
 By FLOYD D. RAZE. 
 
 NOV 27 1914 
 
 C!,Ar{87731 
 

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 'Hail every ship and anszuer bark- 
 To every .s7n'/> that hai/s." 
 
To Major A. W. Clancy, my friend and 
 
 counsellor, this little volume is 
 
 affectionately inscribed. 
 
 VOYAGERS 
 
 Dear voyager upon the sea 
 
 That lies untried before you, hail 
 
 Each passing ship, though she may be 
 A battered ship and frail. 
 
 She may have left the port you seek, 
 Know all the shoals and bars, 
 
 And variations, week by week. 
 Of compass, wind, and stars. 
 
 Hail every ship, and answer back 
 
 To every ship that hails; 
 She may have need to know your track; 
 
 And you, from whence she sails. 
 
 Thus, be we many days or few 
 
 Upon time's ebbing sea, 
 I shall be glad for hailing you, 
 
 And you, for answ'ring me. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 The verses contained in this little volume 
 have been selected from the more numerous 
 rhymes and poems of the author and have, with 
 few exceptions, previously appeared in print. 
 The poems pertaining to nature have been 
 chosen because of the author's preference for 
 them, while the dialect verses are embodied 
 here in the hope that they may tend somewhat 
 away from any monotony of thought or expres- 
 sion that may characterize the nature poems. 
 
 For the illustrations in this volume the au- 
 thor is greatly indebted to Miss Luella B. 
 Ames. 
 
 Floyd D. Raze. 
 
OLD TIMES 
 
 As brooks meander much at times 
 
 And wind uncertain as they flow there, 
 
 So I meander on through rhymes 
 
 And take a long road getting nowhere. 
 
 I try to tell sweet things and terse, 
 And still in Sanford's ink I dabble, 
 
 But through the whole run of my verse 
 You hear the shallow streamlet babble — 
 
 And as some toad goes plumping in 
 With sudden splash to roil the water, 
 
 So doth my muse keep dumping in 
 The similes, not as she'd orter. 
 
 But I love rhyme too much to drone 
 Out life and time on things prosaic; 
 
 Vm happiest when I sit alone 
 
 With thoughts didactic or trochaic. 
 
 I love the masters one and all, 
 
 But longest dwell on Burns and Byron, 
 
 And oft at evening I recall 
 
 The songs of Cupid and the Siren 
 
Which lead youth on to, Ggd knows what, 
 Through rosy paths and summer glory 
 
 That fade before w^e reach the spot 
 
 Of which we dream — thus ends the story. 
 
 But even this is better far 
 
 Than never to have known such dreaming- 
 There is some joy to know the star 
 
 Had e'en a transitory gleaming ; 
 
 And there fs, too, a happy thought 
 Left by the summer rose in fading; 
 
 And there is still some pleasure caught 
 From folly's well-deserved upbraiding. 
 
 Thus do I linger o'er the past 
 
 To rhyme of pleasures I remember. 
 
 The summer bloom, the wintry blast, 
 Gay June and ghostly white December. 
 
 And thus I wind from scene to scene 
 And dream the fading years all over. 
 
 And thumb, as 'twere, each leaf between 
 Life's frontispiece and its back cover. 
 
 Not mine, the sage's wider view ; 
 
 Not mine, the prophet's clearer vision ; 
 The old, worn paths are mine — the new 
 
 But lead me into that derision 
 
 To which fools tend and know it not ; 
 
 So let me go, as I have started. 
 Back to the fading scenes still fraught 
 
 With memories of friends departed. 
 
 8 
 
OLD FRIENDS 
 
 Old friends of long ago, 
 Scattered where the four winds blow, 
 Come from far and come from near, 
 Gather 'round your old chum here. 
 Let us talk of other days, 
 Let us laugh at other ways — 
 What like wrinkled age can know 
 All the joys of long ago? 
 
 Olden times when we were young — 
 Often have they since been sung — 
 Let us live them o'er tonight, 
 Gathered in the ruddy light. 
 Though our heads are gray and bowed, 
 Let us form the beardless crowd, 
 Let us mingle here our joys. 
 Noisy, thoughtless, village boys. 
 
 Once again let's gather 'round 
 Listlessly upon the ground, 
 Gather 'neath the maple's shade 
 Where of old we oft delayed 
 Through the noontide of the day. 
 Chatting all our cares away. 
 There again let's meekly lie 
 While the bees go humming by. 
 
Though the truant's way$ are wrong, 
 Let the school-bell sing its song; 
 Who is left can truly say 
 Why we are not there today? 
 None — the years have laid them low 
 'Neath the flowers and neath the snow, 
 And the west winds, sighing, creep 
 Where the master lies asleep. 
 
 Little's left to us old men 
 Of life's threescore years and ten. 
 Few, if any, of the joys 
 That we knew as village boys 
 Beckon from a future day — 
 We are plodding on the way, 
 Looking lingeringly back 
 Down the dim, receding track. 
 
 Old friends of long ago. 
 Scattered where the four winds blow, 
 Fifty years have passed between 
 Winter's snow and summer's green; 
 Yet, these years of life apart 
 Have not severed heart from heart — 
 You are as of old to me, 
 Friends deep carved in memory. 
 
 10 
 
DREAMS 
 
 Last night I slept and dreamed of them, 
 The friends I knew in years gone by, 
 
 Youth let me touch her garment's hem 
 And look again into her eye. 
 
 Sweet youth that in those far-off years 
 Retook the joys thou gav'st to me, 
 
 E'en in my dreams I give my tears. 
 Dear buried youth, to thee. 
 
 The light of love is dimmer now, 
 
 The sounds of love are fainter grown, 
 
 And time has taught my feet to go 
 The silent path alone — 
 
 Yet, as I pass upon the way 
 
 That all the world before has gone. 
 
 Fond mem'ry follows day by day, 
 
 And night by night the heart dreams on. 
 
 Dreams on of days that come no more. 
 Of lights that fill no more the skies. 
 
 Brings back from out time's buried store 
 The love that never dies. 
 
 11 
 
THE SAME OLD TOWN 
 
 Like a lonesome stork, I have come of late 
 To the same old town in the same old State, 
 Where I used* to walk when the day was bright, 
 Where I used to stroll in the pale starlight. 
 I say I've come to the same old town, 
 With its way-up folk and its folk way down. 
 And stand once more in the same old street, 
 And walk again on the same old beat 
 That leads away to a quiet dell 
 And a grassy bank I once knew well. 
 
 'Tis the same old town, but older grown. 
 And sights and sounds at first unknown 
 Return again to their wonted track, 
 And all seem glad that I've come back. 
 The same old trees fling out their shade; 
 The same old man and the same old maid, 
 The first too blind and the last too shy 
 To speak to me as I pass by, 
 Still worry on, but still they stay, 
 The same as when I went away. 
 
 The same old fountains bathe the lawn. 
 The same old whistles wake at dawn. 
 The same old train goes whizzing through, 
 The deacon holds the same old pew; 
 
 12 
 
The same old preacher, unperplexed, 
 
 Gives out anew the same old text. 
 
 The same old soldiers sit astride 
 
 The soap box on the grocery side, 
 
 Where, 'mid the wreaths and rings of smoke 
 
 One hears again the same old joke. 
 
 And thus I find the town once more, 
 And make my way to the same old door, 
 In the same old house, on the same old spot, 
 In the same old street, on the same old lot. 
 My heart leaps up with the same old bound ; 
 The door bell rings with the same old sound 
 The door swings wide and a careworn face 
 Appears once more in the same old place; 
 An old-time smile is the smile I see. 
 While the same old mother kisses me. 
 
 13 
 
WINTAH 
 
 De woodchuck's in his burrow 
 
 An' de wintah it am come, 
 De sno^ am in de furrow 
 
 An' de brook am frozen dumb, 
 De robin dat by summah 
 
 War so sassy an' so lippy. 
 Am now de lates' comah 
 
 To de State ob Mississippi. 
 
 E'en de flowers dat smelled so sweetly. 
 
 All de mignonettes an' roses, 
 Dey hab vanished, too, completely 
 
 From the vision ob ouh noses ; 
 An' dar's nufifin lef to cheer me 
 
 Ob de summah's golden glory 
 'Cept to ax you all to heah me 
 
 Tell de sad. lamenshus story. 
 
 Dough de jay am still aroun' us. 
 
 He mus' take de consequences 
 Fer dar's snow enuff to drown us 
 
 On de top ob all de fences, 
 While de chimbly 'sports a mitah 
 
 High enuff fer ol' Saint Petah, 
 An' de co'n shocks all am whitah 
 
 Dan de ghos' ob Julius Csesah. 
 
 14 
 
De bluebird, how ah miss him 
 
 Wif his summah time hosanna! 
 An' de oriole, Lor' bless him, 
 
 Way down dar in Loosiana, 
 He am happy now as evah 
 
 'Scapin' all de win's dat vex us. 
 While de wil' goose haunts de rivah 
 
 Rio Grande down in Texas. 
 
 Dar's de snowbird in de pasture, 
 
 Dar's de rabbit in de bushes, 
 But ah doan pahceive de laughter 
 
 Ob de happy, long-tailed thrushes, 
 An' ah doan pahceive de brightness 
 
 Ner de sweetness ob de clovah, 
 Fer dis robe ob wintah whiteness 
 
 Done hab made de whole worl' ovah. 
 
 15 
 
SUMMAH 
 
 De bes' t'ings ob de summah 
 
 Am de t'ings yo' of'nest see, 
 De ^reen upon de hillside, 
 
 De green upon de tree; 
 De blue tint ob de ribber 
 
 An' de blue tint ob de sky 
 A-blendin' wif de cullah 
 
 Ob de bluebird flittin' by. 
 
 How sweet de variashuns 
 
 Ob de robin an' de thrush, 
 De one upon de rail fence, 
 
 De odder on de bush, 
 A-winkin' at yo' wif de wings, 
 
 A-noddin' wif de tail, 
 De one upon de sassafras, 
 
 De odder on de rail. 
 
 Beneaf dem am de wil' rose 
 
 A-blushin' pink an' red. 
 An' roun' her laughs de wil' bee 
 
 At suppin' dat he's said ; 
 An' dar's de lily red as blood, 
 
 Away across de lot — 
 Dat bee hab been a-whisperin' 
 
 To her as like as not. 
 
 16 
 
Dar's de sunshine an' de breezes 
 
 Wakin' frum de rosy mo'n, 
 Wen de dew am on de meadow 
 
 An' de dew am on de co'n; 
 Dar's de yellow ha'ves' apple 
 
 An' de cherry black an' sweet, 
 Wif de striped watermillion 
 
 Gittin' misfhty fit to eat. 
 
 '&' 
 
 Oh, 'tis dese t'ings am de bes' t'ings, 
 
 But yo' sees dem ebery day, 
 An' yo' doan know how yo' miss 'em 
 
 Till dey's done gone went away- 
 Like de li'l piccaninny, 
 
 Plavin' careless roun' de doo', 
 Yo' can't 'preciate his prattle 
 
 Till he doan play dar no mo'. 
 
 17 
 
THE DYING YEAR 
 
 Now comes chill Winter with her snowy tread 
 Across the landscape — ^Tis as if she sought 
 
 With pitying hands to wrap the voiceless dead 
 
 Within a decent shroud. The wind has caught 
 
 Her mournful spirit, and, with requiem low, 
 
 Voices the dying year and speaks her buried woe. 
 
 I do not care to hear the dirge again ; 
 
 It vibrates in my heart too solemnly. 
 With each returning year a sadder strain 
 
 Gives unto life a serious mockery — 
 Perhaps 'tis that my year is growing old 
 
 And in my veins the life blood's slow and cold. 
 
 I once did love this music ; from its tone 
 
 Of solemn import, came an ecstacy, 
 A vision of the hoary winter, gone. 
 
 When the reviving spring should smile on me 
 And blooming roses with a fragrant breath 
 
 Draw life's elixir from an ashen death — 
 
 I have not faith to lift me to this now — 
 Would that I had ! — nor bring myself to feel 
 
 That life to pallid death is linked somehow. - 
 I try in vain but, somehow, can not steel 
 
 My heart against the atheist's harsher cry, 
 "Man does not die to live — He lives to die." 
 
 18 
 
THE WAYSIDE FLOWER 
 
 O'er the long, long road, as a passer-by, 
 
 Through the rust-red sand of a shrubless plain, 
 
 Weary, alone, where the sand troughs lie. 
 Dumb mouths, agape for the cooling rain, 
 
 It is there I walk, and the wind-blown files 
 Of sand stretch on in the noonday sun; 
 
 But still I plod o'er the long, long miles 
 And mark and count them one by one. 
 
 A weary road is a road like this. 
 
 With the day grown late and the miles gone by. 
 For the rust-red sand is merciless, 
 
 'Neath the glare and blaze of the desert sky. 
 
 But, even here is a boon, I ween, 
 
 A moment of joy for each weary hour, 
 
 For here in the sand is a patch of green. 
 And here is the smile of a wayside flower. 
 
 Like a buried star in the trackless sea 
 
 That smiles to the mariner, anon, 
 This gem of the desert smiles to me 
 
 And my heart revives and my feet press on. 
 
 19 
 
And so I travel the desert road 
 
 That winds rust-red o'er the barren plain, 
 And pause at the wayside flower's abode, 
 
 Then turn, rejoiced, on my way again. 
 
 Thus on and on, through the glaring day. 
 
 Toward the storied palms I set my face; 
 For I'm cheered, anon, through the long, long 
 way, 
 
 By the smile of the flower in the desert place. 
 
 # 
 
 20 
 
THE DESERT PATCH 
 
 In a garden of roses I wandered, 
 
 Allured by the crimson and white — 
 
 Ah, this was a world I had pondered, 
 A world of untrammeled delight; 
 
 And so I went straying among them, 
 Those roses so crimson and white. 
 
 It was morning with sunrise and splendor, 
 And the scintillant sparkle of dew 
 
 That lay on those petals so tender 
 And bathed them in colors anew ; 
 
 It was morning with sunrise and purple. 
 And the roses were jeweled with dew. 
 
 Oh, sweet was the welcome they offered, 
 Their myriad smiles greeted mine ; 
 
 It was love, purest love, that they proffered, 
 And why should my spirit repine — > 
 
 And so I went straying among them 
 
 And touched them and said, "These are mine.' 
 
 The morn wore apace and departed, 
 And then came the pilfering bee, 
 
 But why should I linger down-hearted? 
 Their sweetness was not all for me; 
 
 21 
 
I would finish the walk I had started, 
 Nor envy the pilfering bee. 
 
 The twilight came on, and the shadows 
 Stretched darkly and long o'er the place 
 
 The gloaming lay far o'er the meadows 
 As I turned in my course to retrace 
 
 My round through the garden of roses 
 And fragrance that scented the place. 
 
 And lo, 'twas a desert before me — 
 
 The myriad roses were gone, 
 Their fragrance departed, and o'er me 
 
 The chill of the evening was drawn; 
 And I sat down and wept by that desert, 
 
 For my garden of roses was gone. 
 
 22 
 
THE LITTLE SCHOOL 
 
 I well remember long ago 
 
 The little school that stood 
 Just where the roadway bends around 
 
 A little patch of wood; 
 And I remember, too, the bench 
 
 Along the inner wall 
 By which we used to stand to read 
 
 ''Leaves have their time to fall." 
 
 There oft I've stood with open book 
 
 And half -abated breath, 
 To gallop with the "Light Brigade" 
 
 "Into the jaws of death" — 
 Or surging on o'er hill and dale 
 
 With pendulum-like sway 
 I took the road with Sheridan 
 
 Full "twenty miles away." 
 
 E'en now through all this lapse of time 
 
 I still remember well 
 The sound of Freedom's dying shriek 
 
 "As Koscuisco fell." 
 And pause again to wipe away 
 
 The sympathetic tears 
 For "the soldier of the legion" 
 
 That "lay dying in Algiers.*' 
 
I still can see, just as of old, 
 
 The sights at ''Watkin's Glen" 
 Tho' thirty years of wandering life 
 
 Have passed and gone since then — 
 Ah, can it be so long ago? 
 
 How swift the years have sped 
 Since, "In his dark, carved, oaken chair 
 
 Old Rudiger sat dead!" 
 
 From that old bench I've wandered through 
 
 ''Sweet Auburn" many a time 
 And heard those far-off "Shandon bells" 
 
 Fling out their joyous chime; 
 There oft I've paused beside the spring 
 
 To drink, then ride away. 
 While sweet "Maud Muller" mused and sighed 
 
 Till rain fell on the hay. 
 
 These joys it gave, yet from that place 
 
 I've searched the wide world o'er 
 For some secluded "spot on earth 
 
 Where mortals weep no more; 
 Some lone and pleasant dell. 
 
 Some valley in the west 
 Where free from toil and pain 
 
 The weary soul may rest." 
 
 Aye, many a weary day since then. 
 
 Through varying heat and frost, 
 I've held my "solitary way. 
 
 Lone, wandering but not lost," 
 For I have still in memory 
 
 The little school that stood 
 Just where the roadway bends around 
 
 A little patch of wood. 
 
 24 
 
THE SPELLING CLASS 
 
 We toed the mark along the wall, 
 
 A dozen lubbers there, 
 Another dozen girls, and all 
 
 Were buxom girls and fair; 
 We toed the line at ten to four, 
 
 Our other classes done, 
 Two dozen spellers, good and poor, 
 
 And I was number one. 
 
 Along the line the quick words ran 
 
 Like hailstones on a roof; 
 From me clear down to Mary-Ann 
 
 Each speller stood as proof — 
 And as the words rolled on with ease 
 
 I peered back down the line 
 When lo! I saw Dave Andrews squeeze 
 
 A hand I claimed as mine. 
 
 Too much, too much ! It must not be — 
 
 My thoughts ran hard and fast — 
 How could I get sweet Nell by me? 
 
 'Twas settled but not passed. 
 On went the words with hurried sound, 
 
 Some three or maybe four, 
 And then began the second round, 
 
 My turn to spell once more. 
 
 25 
 
''Thou silent woodland stream, 
 Wrapped in thy winter garments and asleep." 
 
TO A FROZEN WATERFALL 
 
 Thou silent woodland stream 
 
 Wrapped in thy winter garments and asleep, 
 Perchance thou bid'st thy time in pleasant dream 
 
 Of future joy when thou again shalt leap 
 Free as the sunshine down thy sunlit steep — 
 
 Perchance thou dream'st of flowers that wait to peep 
 From out their winter hiding, and unfold 
 
 Their glorious banners while with chalice deep 
 They welcome back thy music as of old 
 
 Ere thou lay dumb, enthralled by winter's cold. 
 
 Perchance thou dream'st not of a time to be 
 But of some happy, golden day gone by 
 
 When sweet the robin sang her song to thee 
 
 Or taught her fledglings 'long thy course to fly — 
 
 Yea, God perchance has made thee, e'en as I, 
 With memory endowed and hope imbued, 
 
 Or winter, mayhap, is thy time to die 
 
 And spring thy resurrection — life renewed — 
 And this thy grave in which no dreams intrude. 
 
 But let that be; I pause in vain to hear 
 
 The ripply plash that I have known of yore; 
 
 I find no traces of the bygone year — 
 
 But silence and a barren, ice-bound shore. 
 
 Yet I shall come, dear, silent stream, once more 
 When time has loosed thy fetters, and the bee 
 
 Sips honey from thy bank-embroid'ring flower, 
 Then I shall come, an old-time friend, to thee 
 And thou with wonted voice shalt welcome me. 
 
 27 
 
DE BIG FIEL' BY DE TOWN 
 
 De clovah bloom am fadin' 
 
 Frum de big fiel' by de town; 
 De purple am a-shadin' 
 
 Into suffin' ob a brown, 
 De summah win's am shiftin' 
 
 From de regions ob de souf, 
 An' de bumble bee am drawin' 
 
 Down de co'ners ob his mouf. 
 
 He knows de fros' am comin' 
 
 Wen de honey days am pas', 
 Dat de murmur ob his hummin' 
 
 Soon wall vanish on de bias', 
 An' he wo'ks a leetle ha'der 
 
 Roun' de blossoms gittin' brown, 
 An' he stays a leetle later 
 
 In de big fiel' by de town. 
 
 Oh, I'se sorry fer to see it. 
 
 Win' a-shiftin' to de wes', 
 Sorry dat de snow am comin', 
 
 But de bee am needin' res' — 
 Foh de toil ob makin' honey 
 
 Ain' de easies', doan you know — 
 Lak de wo'k ob makin' money, 
 
 It am drefful ha'd an' slow. 
 
 28 
 
So, goodby, sweet clovah blossom, 
 
 An' goodby, ol' bumble bee! 
 You hab made de breaf ob summah 
 
 So't o' musical to me — 
 I shall t'ink ob you wif kindness 
 
 Wen de snow am comin' down 
 On de dead an' faded purple 
 
 Ob de big fiel' by de town. 
 
 29 
 
OVER THE HILL 
 
 Over the hill the road runs 
 
 Dusty and bare and long, 
 Over the^hill the loaded wain 
 
 Chatters its merry song, 
 And back to the hill and the highway 
 
 The vision of memory steals, 
 Back to the dust of the byway 
 
 Under the passing wheels. 
 
 Back to the thorn in the fence-row, 
 
 The robin's nest in the thorn 
 That sifts its summer snow around 
 
 The sweet wild rose new born. 
 Back to the greensward fallow 
 
 Aslope to the glassy pond 
 That mirrors the skimming swallow 
 
 And great green wood beyond. 
 
 There to walk in the noonday, 
 
 To bask in the summer heat 
 And bathe in the smoky dust cloud 
 
 That 'rose 'neath my shuffling feet 
 To hear the bee's low droning, 
 
 The locust's noonday shrill. 
 Back where the dusty road runs 
 
 Over the memoried hill. 
 
 30 
 
'Over the hill the road runs 
 Dusty and bare and lonii.'' 
 
There, where the twilight lingered 
 
 Long when the day was done, 
 There, where the stars of heaven 
 
 Smiled to me one by one, 
 Back to the golden glory 
 
 That streamed from the silent moon, 
 Gone like a mythic story 
 
 Told in a mother's croon. 
 
 Now all too heedful of duty, 
 
 Now all to pregnant with care, 
 Now all too mindless of beauty. 
 
 Passing it by unaware, 
 So I have grown, so am growing — 
 
 While farther and farther still 
 There lies in the dim of the distance 
 
 The road that led over the hill. 
 
 31 
 
SUNSET IN AUTUMN 
 
 He is lost in the hills — oh, the round, yellow sun 
 
 That dallied so long on the crest 
 Of the highlands afar — oh, the pale, yellow sun, 
 
 He is lost in the hills of the west. 
 # 
 All the day he has been tinting forest and field 
 
 With his hues of vermilion and gold; 
 All the day he has shone thru the rich autumn haze 
 
 With the same mellow light as of old. 
 
 He has gilded the stream with a rainbow of tints. 
 He has burdened the landscape with blue. 
 
 And with purple adorned the dull gray of the hills 
 Ere his last feeble ray glimmered through. 
 
 All the day he has painted the elm by the road, 
 
 And emblazoned the maple afar ; 
 And sumach and alder that border the slope 
 
 Are brighter than night's reddest star. 
 
 He has left half his gold on the brush fallow there, 
 And adorned with rich crimson the dell ; 
 
 He has painted the oak by the edge of the marsh, 
 And the ferns on the brow of the hill. 
 
 And I look on the scene as the twilight descends 
 
 Over woodland and valley and crest, 
 And exult in the glory of autumn that hangs 
 
 Afar o'er the hills of the west. 
 
 32 
 
I'LL THINK OF YOU 
 
 A wand'rer far from scenes of home 
 
 Past wid ning plain or mountain view, 
 Where green woods smile or lakes lie dumb, 
 I'll think of you. 
 
 When leaps the brook adown the glen 
 
 And smiles the blue vault of the sky, 
 In dreams I'll walk such scenes again, 
 You, love, and I. 
 
 Or if I mingle with the throng 
 
 Of loving hearts and faces fair, 
 I'll search fond memory's throng among 
 And find you there. 
 
 And when with toil I close the day. 
 
 When life is hard and joys are few 
 And clouds arise, I'll turn away 
 And think of you ; 
 
 For in such retrospect I find 
 
 A joy the present can not give, 
 For love has ever been designed 
 With love to live. 
 
 And tho' my path lead far away 
 
 I'll hold you still as dear and true; 
 Twill be my joy from day to day 
 To think of you. 
 
 33 
 
EBB-TIDE 
 
 Gone are the olden days 
 
 With their olden, golden fancies, 
 And the jjght of mem'ry plays 
 
 On the wreck of love's romances — 
 Gone are the painted boats 
 
 With the fortune they promised me 
 And only the wreckage floats 
 
 On the tide that is out to sea. 
 
 But I have seen this shore 
 
 When the joyous tide was on 
 And the bright waves danced before 
 
 In the light of the morning sun, 
 And I have enjoyed the play 
 
 Of the waves in their gentle glee 
 But the shore is bare to-day 
 
 And the tide is out to sea. 
 
 Yet why should I grieve o'er this, 
 
 The wreckage along the strand, 
 For the boats that have gone amiss 
 
 And the pearls that are lost in the sand 
 They never were mine, I trow, 
 
 Although they were promised me. 
 But this was long ago — 
 
 And the tide is out to sea. 
 
 34 
 
So I will go out to-day 
 
 Along the shore afar 
 And I will make my way 
 
 Out over the wreck-strewn bar, 
 One pearl I shall surely find 
 
 Awaiting somewhere for me. 
 One gem that was left behind 
 
 When the tide ebbed out to sea. 
 
 35 
 
THE ADMIRAL'S SHIP 
 
 Three ships upon the ocean sailed 
 
 Where never a ship had been, 
 Where never a human voice had hailed 
 
 And nevef a sail been seen, 
 One on the left, one on the right, 
 
 With the Admiral's ship between. 
 
 And the bellying sails took up the wind 
 And the cordage took the strain 
 
 While league on league sank down, behind, 
 The rock-ribbed hills of Spain, 
 
 And the Admiral, grown danger-blind, 
 Stood out to the open main. 
 
 Above the waves the clouds rolled fast. 
 
 The thunder bellowed free, 
 A blue light played upon the mast 
 
 And the lightning lit the sea, 
 But away into the stormy west 
 
 Still sailed the dauntless three. 
 
 Then darkness came, and the ocean-world 
 
 Grew wilder in its might, 
 And madly 'gainst the ships were hurled 
 
 The green waves, crested white; 
 But still they drove, with sails unfurled, 
 
 On, on into the night. 
 
 36 
 
For the Admiral was deaf and blind 
 To the night and the ocean's roar — 
 
 He had forgotten the world behind 
 Enroute to the world before; 
 
 And he heard in the shriek of the giant wind 
 The call of an unknown shore. 
 
 And thus the three ships sailed by day, 
 And the three ships sailed by night 
 
 When even the stars had lost their way 
 And the moon showed misty white, 
 
 And the angry billows drove their spray 
 To the shrouds in their giant might. 
 
 But the tattered sails still took the wind 
 
 And the cordage took the strain 
 Till lay a thousand leagues behind 
 
 The rock-ribbed hills of Spain, 
 And the Admiral, grown danger-blind, 
 
 Sailed out of the open main. 
 
 Then the light of the dawn returned once more, 
 And the stars shrank back in sleep, 
 
 And the blood-red sun peered gaily o'er 
 The rim of the eastern steep — 
 
 And lo ! in the west the new^-world shore 
 Rose out of the misty deep. 
 
 And mirrored there in the waters bright, 
 
 Where never a sail was seen. 
 The three ships stood in the morning light 
 
 Where never a ship had been. 
 One on the left, one on the right. 
 
 With the Admiral's ship between. 
 
 37 
 
LIFE 
 
 We measure life too much in days and years 
 Through whi(Ji, existent here, we know and see, 
 
 Too much in hours of pleasure and of tears 
 Through which we pass toward our eternity. 
 
 He has lived long, we say, who, bent and slow, 
 Winds through the changing mazes of four score, 
 
 Whose hoary locks bespeak their years of snow, 
 Whose memory cons the long-gone seasons o'er. 
 
 We measure life — so many rounds of earth 
 In its vast orbit; time is all we crave. 
 
 And count too oft, in summing up life's worth, 
 Its two extremes — the cradle and the grave. 
 
 One laden ship drives on before the gale 
 
 Straight toward the port beneath its guiding star, 
 
 A thousand others drift with idle sail 
 From day to day, yet never journey far. 
 
 One river winds through leagues its shallow way 
 
 In all the pomp of mediocrity. 
 Another in its course of one brief day 
 
 Conveys a thousand vessels to the sea. 
 
 38 
 
We measure life, but not by what is wrought 
 
 In its existence. Our chronology 
 Deals but with years, and we are all untaught 
 
 To sum up life by its intensity. 
 
 Not by the hours we breathe, the paths we wind, 
 The seasons counted ere the race be run, 
 
 Not these make life — the milestones left behind 
 Are truly numbered in the work we've done. 
 
 39 
 
THE STORM 
 
 Well roars the storm for those that hear 
 A deeper voice across the storm. 
 
 — Tennyson. 
 
 The storm i^ abroad in the land tonight, 
 
 The wind and the flying snow, 
 Blind, blind rage and a maddened flight 
 
 And darkness all below. 
 
 I hear it sweep in its headlong rout 
 
 Across the frozen plain, 
 And I hear it howl its mad rage out 
 
 In a moan at my window-pane. 
 
 And ever and ever it wilder beats 
 
 At gable and shutter and door 
 Till the driven snow, like folded sheets 
 
 Lies ridged on my chamber floor. 
 
 But the storm sweeps on, and the giant wood. 
 
 Bare-armed in a serried host. 
 The onslaught meets, like ocean's flood 
 
 Piled high on a rock-ribbed coast ; 
 
 And I listen long the embattled swarm 
 
 Of foes in their wintry fight 
 Till "a deeper voice across the storm" 
 
 Brings sleep with the waning night. 
 
 40 
 
; : 
 
 
 
 
 
 'T/u' storm is abroad in flic land tonight." 
 
And I dream of the thousand nights Hke this 
 That have gone with the centuries past, 
 
 And the myriad bright-day witnesses 
 That a night, but a night, can last. 
 
 And I dream of the myriad, unblown flowers, 
 
 Sweet summer's rosary, 
 And I dream of the summer's golden hours — 
 
 'The storm roars well" for me. 
 
 41 
 
A DREAM OF VANISHED BOYHOOD 
 
 There's a scene I remember, an oft chosen by-way 
 Where the grass in mid-summer was wavy and long, 
 
 And where in its joy was a bright Httle river 
 
 That rippled and babbled and murmured its song — 
 
 A clear little, bright little mite of a river 
 
 That sparkled and chattered and murmured along. 
 
 And there on the high, grassy bank was the beechwood, 
 
 The far-reaching elm cast its shadow around; 
 Twas there, too, the silver-leaved maple was growing 
 
 And bright fiery tassels of sumach were found — 
 While on thru the patches of shade and of sunshine, 
 
 In ripple and eddy still dancing away. 
 That dear little, clear little mite of a river 
 
 Kept murm'ring and singing the whole summer day. 
 
 And there, too, the red-breasted robin was singing, 
 
 The bluebird once swayed in the branches on high 
 As if undecided which charms to be seeking, 
 
 The green of the earth or the blue of the sky. 
 While still thru the depth of the shadiest places, 
 
 With ripple and song, never ceasing to run. 
 That dear little, bright little mite of a river 
 
 Whirled merrily into the light of the sun. 
 
 42 
 
And there leaped the trout thru the rapids and shal- 
 lows, 
 
 Mid-stream 'neath the dead, whitened bough of the 
 tree 
 Where oft in his glory the bold feathered fisher 
 
 Swooped down for the prize 'twas intended for me ; 
 While I, youthful angler, expectantly waited 
 
 The impulse conveyed by the twinge of the line 
 That hung in that clear little mite of a river 
 
 Whose bright, finny treasure no more may be mine. 
 
 E'en now the gay butterfly flits o'er the water, 
 
 The wild bee returns to the sweet-scented flowxrs, 
 
 The summer-born locust flings out of the treetops 
 His shrill whistled praise of the bright sunny hours ; 
 
 E'en now I imagine the maple invites me 
 • To come back and lounge in the depth of the glen. 
 
 That the dear little, clear little mite of a river 
 Is calling me back to the meadow again. 
 
 No more by the bend where the water is deepest 
 
 I pile the few garments a boy needs must wear, 
 No more may I plunge in the pure gurgling water 
 
 To sport with its ripples their coolness to share; 
 For I'm far, far away from that green grassy meadow. 
 
 While time into years passes slowly along, 
 But still in the distance that mite of a river 
 
 Is calling me back with the voice of its song. 
 
 43 
 
THE SECOND MILE 
 
 Who goes with me a weary mile 
 
 Is kind to me indeed; 
 He is my very friend the while 
 
 He shares with me my need — 
 Who doth my toilsome hour beguile 
 
 Lives the apostles' creed. 
 
 I love him, for I know how few 
 Possess such kindly heart — 
 
 I linger long to say adieu 
 
 And dry the tears that start; 
 
 I linger long to say adieu, 
 I would not from him part. 
 
 But who the second mile doth go. 
 Who does so much for me, 
 
 He is an angel sent below 
 From God's eternity; 
 
 What may I do to partly show 
 My love for such as he? 
 
 O, if within the time that gives 
 
 To life its interim 
 Such spirit with thy spirit grieves 
 
 To make thy path less dim — 
 Love thou him for the Christ that lives, 
 
 And love the Christ for him. 
 
ALONE 
 
 The roses are faded and gone; 
 
 Their fragrance has waned to decay; 
 The bird that sang matins has flown, 
 
 And the Old Year stands grizzled and gray. 
 
 I loved them, these summer-born friends, 
 
 So lovely to know and to see, 
 I loved and I lost, and thus ends 
 
 The beauty that flourished for me. 
 
 They are dead; yet I linger along 
 
 The wind-swept ravine where they sleep — 
 I grieve for the fragrance and song; 
 
 But 'tis not o'er these that I weep. 
 
 Tis o'er eyes I have known, now grown dim, 
 And o'er lips I have kissed, now grown still — 
 
 For a mound that has never been green 
 Lies buried in snow on the hill. 
 
 45 
 
DRY SHOD 
 
 Dry shod they stood, where erst since time began 
 No man had stood, upon the Red Sea floor; 
 
 Stern Moses all undaunted led the van, 
 
 The cloud-gloom strewn behind, the light of Heaven 
 before. 
 
 Dry shod they passed — the waters rolled amain 
 Mighty and high till motionless they hung 
 
 To right and left above sad Israel's train, 
 
 The gray-beard long enslaved, the wond'ring, help- 
 less young. 
 
 Dry shod — their wavering fears and doubts all gone ; 
 
 Their faith in God established firm and fast — 
 The stern one leads, the multitudes press on — 
 
 Dry shod, they reach the distant shore at last. 
 
 O Thou whose hand has in far times controlled 
 And shaped thy chosen people's destiny. 
 
 Guide Thou my way when I, like those of old. 
 Shall stand afraid beside the raging sea ; 
 
 And grant that I may trust thy guiding hand — 
 The surging waters parting on before — 
 
 Till with a purer, worthier faith I stand 
 
 Dry shod with Thee upon the distant shore. 
 
 46 
 
LEETLE ELISE 
 
 *'Leetle Elise" — I lak dat nam' — 
 She was de girl wit' de fonny eye, 
 
 Green was de color, but jus' de sam' 
 Leetle Elise, she was purty an' shy. 
 
 Wan feller say dat de black eye is bes', 
 'Noder wan say, he was lak bes' de blue; 
 
 But geev me de green eye, an' all of de res', 
 Fm leave all dem color, my frien', wit' you. 
 
 Why I was lak me dis leetle Elise, 
 
 I doan know maself — she doan lak me. 
 
 For wan tam w'en I was geev her de squeeze 
 She's slap me lak netting you never see ; 
 
 An' den she was say, "Jus' kip by your place. 
 Or you was be learnin' somet'ing, I bet!" 
 
 Den bus' out w4t' laugh w'en I mak' wry face — 
 Dis leetle Elise, she was some coquette! 
 
 I dunno, mebbe she's try for find 
 
 How foolish I was — somet'ing lak dis — 
 
 Wan tam she's treat me so unkind ! 
 
 An' nex' tam she's actin' lak, "Come, let's kees. 
 
 47 
 
An' so she was leadin' me roun' an' roun', 
 Dis leetle Elise wit' de fonny'eye; 
 
 Some tarn I'm t'ink, "I was jus' go drown" — 
 An' den I was glad dat I am not die. 
 
 But some tam I'm capture her jus' de sam' — 
 I'm catch dis EHse w'en she can't fight back, 
 
 An' den I was kees her 'bout honderd tam, 
 An' she can holler jus' all she lak. 
 
 48 
 
SHE 
 
 She has blue eyes like summer skies 
 
 With hair like autumn's golden brown, 
 
 And cheeks so pink they make you think 
 Some artist painted them in town. 
 
 She is not slim, but short and prim 
 And has a stubby little walk, 
 
 A hint of style that makes you smile — 
 And then, you ought to hear her talk! 
 
 I love her, too, indeed I do, 
 
 More than a page like this can tell; 
 So I forget she's sometimes wet 
 
 And has a bread-and-butter smell. 
 
 She's only "free" years old, you see — 
 
 A happy, busy, little elf ; 
 As pretty, she, as child can be — 
 
 In fact, she looks much like myself ; 
 
 Except, of course, I look much worse — 
 She has her mother's eyes and hair — 
 
 But I must state, she has my gait 
 
 And bread-and-butter smell — so there. 
 
 And so I guess we might be less. 
 Much less alike than what we are; 
 
 At any rate, I'm free to state 
 
 I'm heart and soul wrapped up in her. 
 
 49 
 
JEAN ROUSSEAU 
 
 (Written after reading his Confessions) 
 Twas but last night I sat alone, 
 
 Head bowed upon my hands in thought, 
 The while the flickering firelight shone 
 Across the room, and the low moan 
 
 Of winds their message brought. 
 
 Half conscious in the waning night. 
 
 The dying embers burning low, 
 The while outside the earth waxed white, 
 I saw within the fading light 
 
 The form of Jean Rousseau — 
 
 Rousseau, the pessimist, the sage, 
 The slave, the master, and the seer. 
 
 The more than king, the less than page. 
 
 The greatest spirit of the age — 
 He stood beside me there. 
 
 He stood, and in his face I read 
 
 The message that the world once heard — 
 A voice-like whisper from the dead 
 Crept through the room, and then 'twas sped — 
 
 He neither spoke nor stirred. 
 
 50 
 
There was a nation's scroll unrolled, 
 
 The archives of an age of woe, 
 An empire buried in its mould — ■ 
 And, blazoned 'cross the page in gold, 
 I read the name, "Rousseau." 
 
 A tyrant gone, and his the sling 
 
 That hurled afar th' unerring stone — 
 Himself, a gentle, friendless thing, 
 He smote the might and power of king 
 And crushed the tyrant's throne. 
 
 The sword had fallen 'neath the pen; 
 
 The sceptre tipped the bloody spear. 
 And o'er the ruined homes of men 
 Peace spread her mantle once again 
 
 And Freedom hovered there. 
 
 The rocks lay broken on the shore 
 
 And calm the waters round them lay. 
 The tumult and the tempest roar 
 Receded and was heard no more — 
 Far stretched the dawn of day. 
 
 it: H^ H^ ^ jji ^ ^ 
 
 The spirit passed into the night 
 
 And, startled from my waking dream, 
 I saw afar the morning light 
 Purple along the hill-tops white 
 And sweep the frozen stream. 
 
 The fire burned out, the spirit gone. 
 The dream erased, the shadows fled 
 
 Into the west before the dawn, 
 
 I woke to find myself alone 
 Holding the book Fd read. 
 
 51 
 
THE OASIS 
 
 A little brook, only, 'twas born in the heart of the 
 desert, 
 A carpet of grass extending a rood o'er the land, 
 Three palms that draw beauty and life from the flow 
 of the water — 
 This is all the oasis commands. 
 
 But the little brook laughs and sparkles and murmurs 
 so sweetly, 
 And goes to its dark, desert grave with a gay, 
 cheery song, 
 And the palms wave aloft their banners and plumes 
 as they welcome 
 The breeze that is wafted along; 
 
 For they, too, are glad with the spot and the life they 
 are living, 
 Tho' 'yond the green border of herbage that smiles 
 at their feet 
 There is death, ashen death, and a desert through dis- 
 tance far-reaching, 
 A desert and merciless heat. 
 
 Thus remote and obscure, unpretentious, yet gracious 
 and grateful, 
 
 52 
 
t'8'ft-- 
 
 Thrcc palms tiiat dra-u' beauty and life 
 from the t^ozv of the zvater." 
 
They glean from the desert around them a beauty 
 
 and bloom, 
 And rise, e'en as Lazarus rose, through the grace of 
 
 the Master, 
 Glad, forth from the tomb. 
 
 And I, though surrounded by all that is joyous in 
 nature, 
 Look out o'er the sunshine and flowers that are 
 smiling to me. 
 And search out the cloud in the sky, and look long for 
 the cypress 
 That somewhere has shadowed the lea. 
 
 But man is ungrateful for life, and, grown blind with 
 far-seeing, 
 He tramples to earth the sweet flowers that around 
 him are sown ; 
 For the spirit of joy and contentment that haunts the 
 oasis 
 Abides in the desert alone. 
 
 53 
 
DE SAILAH 
 
 Wen de win's blow ha'd pon de roughened sea 
 
 An' de waves spring up fer to meet de gale, 
 Wen de white-cap breakers roar a-lee 
 
 An' he heahs de snap ob de win'-split sail, 
 Say, whut's de sailah gwine ter do 
 
 Wen he haf ter face de giant tide? 
 An' say, whut ob de trem'lin' crew 
 
 Wen de ocean foam up fah an' wide? 
 
 Dah's de hold way down whah de engines beat, 
 
 Way down, de win's an' de waves below — 
 Am dat de sailah's best retreat 
 
 Wen de ocean's mad wif de sto'ms dat blow? 
 Down dah yo' kin but hide yo' eye 
 
 An' close yo' ear to de fearful soun', 
 But de waves, dey roll up jest as high 
 
 An' de win', he screeches roun' an' roun'. 
 
 No, dat am not de safes' place 
 
 Foh de sailah lad wen de sto'm am on ; 
 Dah ain't no use to hide yo' face 
 
 An' t'ink de ragin' sto'm am gone — 
 But go up dah on de uppah deck 
 
 Whah de ropes an' de rafts an' de life-boats stay, 
 An' wen yo' ship drives a sinkin' wreck. 
 
 Let de life-boat down, push away, push away ! 
 
 54 
 
An' so it am on life's big sea, 
 
 Dah am sto'ms an' sto'ms dat blow an' blow ; 
 An' dey comes to yo' an' dey comes to me, 
 An' twis' us roun' an' sway us so — 
 But it aint no use f er to go an' hide ; 
 
 Jest climb up dah whah de life-boats stay, 
 An' turn head in to de rolling' tide — 
 
 Let de ol' wreck go, push away, push away! 
 
 55 
 
AN EVENING WALK 
 
 Where shall we walk when the sun goes down? 
 
 Somewhere away from the noisy street — 
 Somewhere away from the busy town 
 With its fickle laugh and its careworn frown 
 
 And the curious eyes we always meet. 
 
 Out where the little river flows 
 
 With a mellow gush on the pebbled shore, 
 Out where the purple violet grows 
 And the dew lies soft on the budding rose — 
 
 There we will walk when the day is o'er. 
 
 Out where the elms are broad and green 
 
 And the evening air is cool and sweet — 
 There in the shadow of night, unseen 
 We'll sit entranced by the river's sheen 
 With the drowned stars at our feet. 
 
 'Tis there we will go again to-night 
 
 To live an hour with the whip-poor-will 
 When the eddying stream with foam is white 
 In the crystal ray of the fair moonlight, 
 And the earth is cool and still. 
 
 And there you will tell me your love once more 
 With a voice that is soft and sweet and low; 
 Though passed, the years we have known of yore, 
 Tonight we will live love's sweetness o'er, 
 A night of the long ago. 
 
 56 
 
'Out zvlicrc the little river Hows. 
 
PLUCK 
 
 Full seventy times the sun arose 
 And seventy times went down 
 
 Between the shore 
 
 Of Salvador 
 And famous Palos town — 
 
 Full seventy times with longing eyes 
 The western sea was scanned, 
 
 Nor water line 
 
 Nor bird nor sign 
 Proclaimed the looked- for land. 
 
 Yet Hope cried, Westward Westward ! 
 And westward still they bore, 
 
 By night and day. 
 
 Away, away, 
 Still onward as before. 
 
 Fierce storm-clouds frowned upon them, 
 The ocean waves dashed high, 
 
 Yet through it all 
 
 Hope dared to call, 
 "Onward, brave heart, or die!" 
 
 57 
 
Thus day by day they drifted, 
 And ere the storm had passed, 
 
 The restless sea 
 
 In savage glee 
 Rolled half-way up the mast. 
 
 Still onward, onward, onward, 
 Till ten long weeks had gone, 
 
 When lo, the shore 
 
 Of Salvador 
 Rose from the sea at dawn. 
 ****** 
 
 Now you, in your endeavor, 
 'Gainst what have you to fight? 
 What storms by day 
 Have crossed your way — 
 What threat'ning clouds by night? 
 
 And is your course still westward? 
 
 Ah, pledge your word once more 
 That you will brave 
 Both storm and wave 
 
 'Twixt you and Salvador. 
 
 58 
 
AUTUMN MEDITATIONS 
 
 A hazy light hangs on the hills at noon, 
 
 The distant woodland wears a smoky hue; 
 
 Veiled o'er with brown is now the green of June, 
 And darker skies are mingled with the blue. 
 
 The sun stoops low along the southern zone ; 
 
 The days grow briefer while the year, grown gray, 
 Seems fading in the distance like a lone 
 
 And weary wanderer at the close of day. 
 
 Not sorrowful, but with a saddened thought 
 I walk the path that I have walked before; 
 
 I seek in vain the flowers that, all unsought 
 
 Have smiled upon me; but they smile no more. 
 
 And one there was that bloomed beside the stream 
 And mirrored in the water her sweet face — 
 
 Alas, she, too, is gone e'en as a dream 
 Of joy which, passing, leaves no trace 
 
 Of its reality. The barren stem 
 
 Sways in the wind along the riverside 
 
 Sad e'en as I. Alas, the petaled gem 
 Was borne into oblivion on the tide. 
 
 59 
 
Not sorrowful — Yet contemplations hold 
 A mastery o'er my thoughts, and I review 
 
 Brief youth and smiling summer, both grown old 
 And fading fast into a somb'rer hue. 
 
 And in my contemplation thus I say, 
 
 Youth, like the flower along the river-side, 
 
 Blossoms and blooms and then 'tis borne away 
 Into oblivion on the rolling tide 
 
 Of time. E'on as the autumn leaves 
 
 Ride the swift river outward to the sea. 
 
 So pass our days, and who so glad but grieves 
 To think on autumn and eternity? 
 
 60 
 
THE LORELEI 
 
 (From the German of Heine) 
 I know not the cause of my sadness 
 
 Unless such a sorrow can be 
 Pent up in a misty old legend 
 
 That years have not taken from me. 
 I wander along- in the twilight 
 
 And list to the flow of the Rhine, 
 While up on the peak of the mountain 
 
 Is the glow of the evening sunshine. 
 
 Arid there sits a beautiful maiden, 
 
 A maiden so radiant and rare, 
 The setting sun smiles on her features 
 
 And tangles his gold in her hair ; 
 And there she sits combing her tresses 
 
 And singing at close of the day. 
 While the sweetest of music is wafted 
 
 Away, o'er the waters away. 
 
 A boat on the river once floated, 
 
 The boatman was carried along; 
 He saw not the rocks in the water, 
 
 And listened to naught but the song. 
 Heard naught but the exquisite music 
 
 Till, hurled on the rocks of the stream. 
 Night silenced the Lorelei's singing 
 
 And death put an end to the dream. 
 
 61 
 
THE LONG AGO 
 
 A summer night in the long ago, 
 
 A song of the whip-poor-will, 
 A brook ihat sang in a muffled flow 
 
 At the foot of a sloping hill; 
 A heaven of blue bedecked with gold, 
 
 A plain where the dewdrops shone 
 A wood whose shadowy outline told 
 
 Of the beams of the misty moon — 
 Such were the scenes in an olden time, 
 
 A time when I was young; 
 Such were the sounds, a sweeter chime 
 
 Than ever bells have rung. 
 I see them and I know them, 
 
 The blue vault and the star — 
 I listen where below them 
 
 The babbling waters are. 
 
 A summer night in the long ago, 
 
 A checkered lovers' lane, 
 Its deeper shade, its brighter glow. 
 
 Its glen, its moon-lit plain; 
 The rustling oak, the whispering pine 
 
 With friendly boughs outspread. 
 The soft, warm hand that lay in mine, 
 
 The twinkling stars o'erhead; 
 
 62 
 
The eyes that sparkling sought my own, 
 
 The smile I scarce could see — 
 Ah, that those moments should have flown 
 
 So very rapidly ! 
 I'll search them out— I'll find them 
 
 Where the babbling waters flow, 
 And in my mem'ry bind them 
 
 With the joys of long ago. 
 
 63 
 
THANKFULNESS 
 
 O Thou that bidst the world rejoice, 
 That bade the sun on Eden rise, 
 That set the stars within the skies, 
 
 O Father, hear my thankful voice! 
 
 To Thee I bow with suppliant knee 
 And from a contrite heart I pray — 
 Thy mercies for another day, 
 
 Dear Father, I would ask of Thee. 
 
 Not ever has my heart been Thine ; 
 
 Ungracious words my lips have said; 
 
 Time was I would not bow my head- 
 The world's ingratitude was mine. 
 
 Time was I scorned thy precepts, all, 
 And mocked thy throne of majesty; 
 I sped the way that leads from Thee 
 
 And steeled my heart against thy call; 
 
 And far I drifted from the shore 
 
 Into the ocean of unrest 
 
 Where darkness lingers, and the quest 
 Of vanity allures no more. 
 64 
 
But, Lord, thine eye doth fathom us; 
 
 How frail's the dust from whence we've sprung ! 
 
 Thou knowest, too, the boastful tongue 
 And heart as dark as Erebus. 
 
 Thou knowest all ; and from thy throne 
 
 Invisible thy love is sent, 
 
 An arrow from thy battlement 
 To pierce the heart thou'dst make thine own. 
 
 E'en to the barren wilderness 
 
 Of deep despond and atheist creed 
 Thou followedst me and, in my need 
 
 And in my total wretchedness 
 
 And grief and woe and utter loss, 
 Compassionate Thou camest to me! 
 Dear Lord, today I bow to Thee 
 
 That I may kiss the holy cross. 
 
 65 
 
ONCE AG'IN 
 
 When de cotton wah a-bloomin' 'roun' de cabin 
 An' de ribber wah a-sparklin' in de mo'n, 
 When de ol' folks sot togedder 
 Busy gabbin' 'bout de wedder, 
 An' de breezes went a-whisperin' frough de co'n, 
 Dah wah nuffin lef fob me to do 'cept steaHn' 
 Frum de doo'way whah de sun come creepin' in; 
 Dah wah no wish 'cept a-wishin' 
 To be by de ribber fishin' — 
 To be by de ribber fishin' once ag'in. 
 
 In de happy, happy times aroun' de cabin, 
 
 When de darkies wah all gaddered at de doo', 
 
 When de daylight wah declinin' 
 
 An' de eb'nin' stah wah shinin' 
 An' de singin' echoed to de ribber sho', 
 Dah wah nuffin lef fob me to do 'cept stealin' 
 To de doo'way whah de moon went creepin' in, 
 
 Jus' to steal back to de cabin 
 
 Whah I lef de ol' folks gabbin', 
 An' to jine de happy chorus once ag'in. 
 
 Now no mo' de cotton blooms aroun' de cabin, 
 'Cept de bloomin' dat am ebber in mah dream; 
 
 66 
 
An' no mo' de darkies singin' 
 
 Sets de eb'nin' air a-ringin' 
 Frum de doo'vvay ob de cabin to de stream. 
 An' dah's nuffin 'cept to dream dat I am stealin' 
 Frum de doo'way whah de sun comes creepin' in, 
 
 An' no wish lef 'cept a-wishin' 
 
 To be by de ribber fishin', 
 To be by de cabin singin' once ag'in. 
 
 67 
 
THE MILL STREAM 
 
 Beside the stream the old mill stands, 
 Beside the mill the miller lies; 
 'Tis crumbling mill and idle hands, 
 For time has sundered former ties. 
 
 The stream alone its youth has kept, 
 Scarce older by one fleeting day, 
 
 Tho' to its verge the years have crept 
 And turned the green to sombre gray. 
 
 The sycamore has ceased to bloom, 
 Its shattered trunk in twain is cleft ; 
 
 White as the miller's marble tomb, 
 It stands to witness what is left. 
 
 So much of all I loved is gone ! 
 
 Yet, there is left enough to show 
 How little of our youth lives on 
 
 Surviving winter's storm and snow. 
 
 Here, life is gone; here, hearts are cold, 
 And death and ruin round are cast. 
 
 But love reigns even as of old — 
 And memory revives the past 
 
 68 
 
"Beside the stream the old mill stands, 
 Beside the mill the miller lies." 
 
With more than ghosts of vanished forms — 
 The heart re-peoples scenes Hke this; 
 
 These ruins are not such as storms 
 Spread o'er the murky wilderness ; 
 
 For life and love were mingled here, 
 Things temporal with things divine, 
 
 And eyes that dropped for me the tear, 
 And hopes that rose and sank with mine. 
 
 Here have been mingled kindred creeds ; 
 
 Here faults and failings have been spared 
 Here have been succored many needs, 
 
 Here has good fortune oft been shared. 
 
 Here now the heart alone is still. 
 But not, oh not the love it bore — 
 
 I see through tears the fallen mill 
 And the gray barren shore. 
 
 But even as the sparkling stream 
 
 Has met through years so little change. 
 
 So in my heart of hearts I dream 
 Of memories time cannot estrange. 
 
 69 
 
IN THE GLOAMING 
 
 Sweet are the thoughts that remain 
 
 When the heart's Httle flurry is over; 
 Fondly we hve o'er again 
 
 Those moments made bright by another — 
 Sweet is the face we recall 
 
 From the past when the twilight, descending, 
 Darkens the day; this is all 
 
 Of life that's worth while. In the blending 
 Of shadow and shine, man is ever 
 
 A leaf in the wind; ever turning 
 His face to the sunshine, yet never 
 
 O'ercoming his infinite yearning 
 For that which is gone. As the embers 
 
 Of fires glow from ashes, half-hidden, 
 So, linked with the past, one remembers 
 
 Too keenly the rose 'twas forbidden. 
 Thus I am recalling the flower 
 
 That beckoned yet bloomed for another — 
 Thus passes at twilight an hour, 
 
 And the gloaming and dreaming are over. 
 
 70 
 
THE MAN OF GALILEE 
 
 From a fisherman's boat on Galilee 
 Two fishermen cast their nets below, 
 
 And Jesus walked on the shore of the sea, 
 Long time ago, long time ago. 
 
 And He paused on the shore where the ripples played 
 On the shells that lay in the Orient sun, 
 
 And the light of his sun-browned face portrayed 
 The love that his heart was set upon. 
 
 And He looked out over the little lake 
 
 To the fishermen there on Galilee, 
 And He beckoned to them and gently spake: 
 
 "Fishermen, fishermen, follow me." 
 
 Then Peter and Andrew saw and heard, 
 
 And straightway out of the deep were drawn 
 
 Their empty nets, while without a word 
 The fishermen followed the Master on. 
 
 For He, Himself, was a fisherman then, 
 And life, the ocean wherein was cast 
 
 His surer net for the souls of men — 
 
 'Twas the meshes of love that held them fast, 
 
 71 
 
Think not that the Master caHs no more — 
 We are fishermen, all, on Galilee, 
 
 And He stands today on the near-by shore 
 And He calls to you and He calls to me. 
 
 And He says: "I will make you fishers of men." 
 We hear, but we leave not the nets below ; 
 
 And He grieves, for his heart is as kind as when 
 He called to Peter long time ago. 
 
 72 
 
INGRATITUDE 
 
 At the dead of night in the judgment hall 
 
 Of old Jerusalem, 
 The progeny of Adam's fall 
 
 Sat weaving a diadem. 
 
 The priest in his tinseled robe was there, 
 And the scribe in his silken gown, 
 
 All grim they sat in the ghostly glare, 
 They were weaving the Lord a crown. 
 
 With cruel hearts and fingers deft, 
 And a smile that kindness scorns, 
 
 Each braided his withe, now right, now left- 
 They were weaving a crown of thorns. 
 
 Apart from the rest, on the cold, gray stone. 
 
 In that awful interim, 
 The Lord sat silent and alone — 
 
 They were weaving that crown for him. 
 
 He knew the world and its thirst for blood. 
 The world with its heartless stare. 
 
 But out of his heart for the vampire brood 
 He offered to God a prayer. 
 
 73 
 
And while he prayed from -his heart deep wrung, 
 
 In that awful interim, 
 A voice ! and it hissed and pierced and stung — 
 
 'Twas Peter denying him. 
 
 And straightway out of the solemn night 
 
 The cock crew unto the morn, 
 While deftly still, now left, now right, 
 
 Was plaited the cruel thorn. 
 
 And the faster paused in his silent prayer, 
 
 Apart by the cold, gray wall. 
 And turned and gazed on Peter there 
 
 In the glare of the judgment hall. 
 
 Then this one's eyes met the Master's own, 
 
 And tears to his lashes crept ; 
 And he went out into the night alone 
 
 And bitterly, bitterly wept; 
 
 For he thought of the Master's words again, 
 And his gaze when their eyes had met, 
 
 But the only boon he could offer then 
 Were tears, and remorse, and regret. 
 
 j|c >;: Hj ;!s :jc 5|c 
 
 O cruel crown ! O cruel cross ! 
 
 With torture and groan and blood ! 
 But the thorn and the piercing nail sting less 
 
 Than man's ingratitude. 
 
 74 
 
'The moon hangs low in the cast toniiiht." 
 
THE RETURN 
 
 The moon hangs low in the east tonight 
 With a star at her nether horn — 
 
 The wind has ceased, and the dewdrops bright 
 Are hung on the tasselled corn. 
 
 From the old stone fence, 'neath the ivy hid, 
 
 The cricket chirps to me. 
 And the doleful plaint of the katydid 
 
 Comes out of the maple tree. 
 
 Tis beautifully dark, the night, 
 
 Just parted from the day, 
 And the winds of the dusty road show white 
 
 'Neath the winds of the milky way. 
 
 And out of the woods, from the deep, dark pond, 
 Comes the old frog's clear bassoon. 
 
 And echoing over the hill beyond 
 'S the weird cry of the loon. 
 
 The orchard trees stand tall and black 
 
 To hide the once plain view 
 Of the little house at the orchard's back, 
 
 And the grape-vine trellis, too. 
 
 75 
 
And here is a spot I shall liot forget, 
 Tho' the old rail fence is gone — 
 
 'Tis here the cedar posts were set 
 That the old gate swung upon. 
 
 'Twas a time and an hour and a night like this. 
 
 And the moon in the east hung low, 
 'Twas here I stole my first love kiss 
 
 Many a year ago — 
 
 And my thoughts go back while my feet press on 
 Till the scene has passed from sight, 
 
 And only a girlish face alone 
 
 Smiles out of the deep'ning night. 
 
 76 
 
A SUMMER EVENING 
 
 Sweet is the breath of evening 
 
 After the heated day, 
 Sweet, the twinkHng starlight 
 
 Shedding its feeble ray 
 Over the dusky fallow. 
 
 Over the drops of dew. 
 But sweeter, the thought that comes to me 
 
 Of a night gone by, and you. 
 
 I hear in the dusky distance, 
 
 Along the wooded hill, 
 The whisper of the katydid. 
 
 The call of the whip-poor-will ; 
 And out of the deeper shadow 
 
 The song of the fallow stream, 
 And out of the past, the faded past. 
 
 The memory of a dream. 
 
 Sweet is the lush of water 
 
 Over the buried stone, 
 Sweet the far-off curfew 
 
 Sounds in a muffled tone. 
 But sweeter is the merry laugh 
 
 That memory brings to me. 
 And dearer far the absent form 
 
 That fancy bids me see. 
 
Oh, for the dear companion 
 
 That made these shadows bright ! 
 Oh, for the fond enchantment 
 
 That fancy brings tonight — 
 Sweet is the twinkling starlight 
 
 Over the fields of dew, 
 But sweetest of all is the memory 
 
 Of a night gone by, and you. 
 
 78 
 
THE ISLE OF DREAMS 
 
 The Isle of Dreams is green and fair, 
 
 A sunny clime where clouds are few, 
 A nameless fragrance fills the air — 
 My summer home is builded there 
 O'erspread with skies of blue. 
 
 From weary cares of joyless day, 
 
 From faded hopes that come no more, 
 I turn upon the brighter way 
 That beckons 'cross the dreamy bay 
 Where lies my dreamland shore. 
 
 My haven, this, whose magic spell 
 
 Can silver o'er life's dark despond — 
 Here in serenity I dwell, 
 Nor ever hear the doleful knell 
 That wakes the world beyond. 
 
 Not mine alone, this Isle of Dreams — 
 Its shores and by-ways all may trace. 
 E'en as for all the sunlight gleams, 
 Or as the moon in heaven beams, 
 'Twas made to bless the human race. 
 
 79 
 
E'en on its shore Columbus stood, 
 Enraptured with a calm delight, 
 And peopled earth's vast solitude 
 Nor heard wild ocean's mountain-flood. 
 Nor the wild thunder sweep the night. 
 
 'Twas from this Isle of Dreams that first 
 
 He framed the glory of that shore 
 Where human freedom still is nursed 
 And tyranny has walked accursed, 
 Thtf Isle of Salvador. 
 
 80 
 
T'ANKSGEEVIN 
 
 De snow was fall on de fores' tree 
 
 An' kiver de brush where de rabbit hide, 
 
 An' pile up high on de ol' chimblee 
 An' bank up deep on de riviere side ; 
 
 .But we doan know dis till de morn was dere 
 An' we git up queek from de trun'le-bed 
 
 An' fin' dat de cabin was leak somewhere, 
 For de snow was pile up roun' our head. 
 
 But what keer we for de pile of snow ! 
 
 We laugh for see how de worl' was white — 
 Dis tarn mon pere can't say, "You're slow," 
 
 For de pants was go on queek, all right, 
 
 An' de stockin' too an' de mocassin 
 
 Dat moder make wit' de stout new sack — 
 
 Den "Whoop" an' out lak wil' In'ian, 
 
 Jus' lak, "Goodbye, we was not come back." 
 
 Dere was leetle Joe an' beeg Maxime 
 An' nodder wan, why dat was me — 
 
 'Tis long tam gone, but dat doan seem 
 For de year was go lak wan, two, t'ree. 
 
 81 
 
'Twas day dat folks call ''T'anksgeevin' 
 Wen folks in states mus' eat by law ; 
 
 But dis doan need in Sanct Stephen — 
 Folks eat for fun in Canadaw. 
 
 Well, beeg Maxime an' me an' Joe, 
 
 We Ian' right out where dreef was deep, 
 
 An' wan by t'oder t'rough de snow 
 We march out where de turkey sleep ; 
 
 An' Maxime say, "Good mornin', sir!" 
 Den shut de hen-coop door up soon — 
 
 He's say, **I geev you warnin', sir, 
 I hope we meet dis af'ernoon." 
 
 We scare de snow-bird from de weed 
 An' watch heem fly so queek away, 
 
 An' wonder if he's foun' de seed 
 
 Dat's mak' for heem T'anksgeevin' day. 
 
 An' so we chase roun' t'rough de snow 
 Till fros' commence for bite de feet. 
 
 Den Maxime say, ''I guess we go 
 For see what 'tis we git for eat." 
 
 T'anksgeevin' day — Our moder have 
 De floor all scrub an' stove all shine ; 
 
 Dere ain't no moder lak dat wan — ■ 
 Dat moder, long tam dead, was mine. 
 
 De ol' stove blaze an' roar an' puff, 
 An' tam'rack snap lak Fourt' July, 
 
 While up de stovepipe go de draft 
 An' all de spark go shootin' high. 
 
 82 
 
De kettle she was steam an' sing, 
 
 De ol' black cat was sing some, too. 
 
 An' in de el'vate oven dere 
 De turkey roast an' sing also. 
 
 Our fadder sit an' smoke de pipe, 
 
 Jus' lak you's see me smoke on mine, 
 
 While moder work an' hum de tune 
 
 Dat's call in English, "Auld Lang Sine." 
 
 Den what keer we, for fros' an' col'! 
 
 Let snow fly roun' so much he will ; 
 De fire was sputter warm an' bright. 
 
 An' turkey she was simmer still. 
 
 But leetle Joe an' beeg Maxime, 
 It doan seem dey can wait at all. 
 
 So dey was go walk roun' de room 
 For read de paper on de wall. 
 
 'Twas "English News" from Sanct Stephen- 
 Our moder, she doan read dat kin'. 
 
 So she was paste it on de wall 
 
 For mak' it clean an' stop de win'. 
 
 So dey was read, all tam, dis news — 
 He's read de right side up, Maxime, 
 
 But leetle Joe was read it all, 
 
 De upside down, no dif to heem. 
 
 An' all dis tam de sauce was make 
 Of cranberrie, I t'ink you say. 
 
 An' all dis tam de cornbread bake 
 An' still de turkey roast away. 
 
 83 
 
An' so was come dat T'anksgeevin', 
 An' so dat T'anksgeevin' was go, 
 
 An' all de inside worl' was warm 
 An' all de outside worl' was snow. 
 
 An' now, w'en t'irty year was gone 
 An' cabin home no more was seen, 
 
 I'm sit in great, grand, beeg hotel 
 
 Lak king, on floor called ''mezzinine." 
 
 De chanddier was burn below, 
 
 De whole plac' light lak sunset sky — 
 
 I'm hear de soft, sweet music play 
 Till tear was gadder roun' my eye. 
 
 An' still I'm sit on beeg settee. 
 
 An' look long tam below me dere 
 
 Where I was read de fine, beeg sign, 
 'T'anksgeevin' Dinner, Wan Dollaire." 
 
 Den I was wipe my eye an go 
 
 For walk me 'cross dat Brussels floor, 
 
 An' push dat button dat was ring 
 Wan up-down cage call' ''el'vator." 
 
 Den all de servant, dey was come; 
 
 Wan tak' my coat, wan say, ''Come here," 
 An' I was follow t'rough de room 
 
 Dat's only mak' me stop an' stare. 
 
 Mos' fines' sight I never see — 
 
 All color flower an' rosy light, 
 An' bonder' table all aroun' 
 
 A-shinin' dere in green an' white. 
 
 84 
 
Dat darkee set me by wan tab' 
 
 Alone, an' leave me dere for dine, 
 
 Wen dat music was start out soon 
 
 For play dat tune call', ''Auld Lang Sine." 
 
 I'm hear de strain an' leesten still — 
 
 More sweet its soun' — den dat fine hall, 
 
 Dat rosy flower an' light was gone, 
 All gone — I was forgit dem all. 
 
 De cabin was come back again, 
 
 De leetle cabin long ago. 
 An' I was hear de roarin' fire 
 
 An' see Maxime an' leetle Joe — 
 
 An' moder, fadder, an' de res' — 
 Den I was git up from dat chair 
 
 An' pass me queek out t'rough de door 
 An' go for stay alone upstair. 
 
 8S 
 
GHREES'MAS EVE 
 
 'Twas Chrees'mas eve long tarn ago — 
 
 I leev me now sam' place as den — 
 Mon pere, he's have de four garcon 
 
 An' girl enough for mak' it ten ; 
 He was heemself too poor for buy 
 
 De leetle doll an' noder toy, 
 An' so de Chrees'mas she was come 
 
 An' not'ing bring for girl an' boy. 
 
 De win' blow col' dat Chrees'mas eve, 
 
 But beeg oak log, she's burn up bright, 
 An' all de boy an' girl was sit 
 
 Wit' long face roun' de ruddy light. 
 Our moder, she was sit dere, too, 
 
 An' look long tam' upon de floor. 
 Maybe she's try her to forget 
 
 'Twas Chrees'mas tam' an' we so poor. 
 
 Mon pere, he's sit on noder place 
 
 Jus' lak he's maybe dreamin' dere — 
 'Tis long, long tam, but still I see 
 
 How moche de gray was on hees hair. 
 He's maybe t'ink lak moder do. 
 
 An' tak' de pipe 'twas in hees mout' 
 An' hoi' it in hees han' so long 
 
 De pipe, she's by-an'-by go out. 
 
 86 
 
Long tarn we say no word at all, 
 
 But watch de fire an' hear de storm — ■ 
 De win'ow, she was pile wit' snow 
 
 But still de log, she's kip it warm. 
 Den by-an'-by we say, ''Good night," 
 
 An' wan by wan to bed we go — 
 We sleep up-stair jus' nex' de roof, 
 
 But leave de stockin' down below; 
 
 We tak' de pin an' mak' dem fas' 
 
 Along de back of two, t'ree chair, 
 Our moder wipe her eye de while 
 
 She's see us feex de stockin' dere. 
 She's tell us dis is mak' no use, 
 
 But all de sam', we lak to feel 
 Maybe some toy gits in de toe 
 
 Dough dere's de beeg hole in de heel. 
 
 An' so we all go on de bed — 
 
 Two leetle broder sleep w^it' me — 
 An' dere we lay long tam awake 
 
 For talk about de Chrees'mas tree. 
 My leetle broder, he was say 
 
 He's t'ink dat Santa Claus com' dere 
 An' if he's fin' too many hole 
 
 He's leave de present on de chair. 
 
 Den by-an'-by we go for sleep 
 
 An' dream 'bout all de purty toy 
 Dat's mak de happy Chrees'mas day 
 
 For leetle girl an' leetle boy; 
 But w'en we wak' up in de morn 
 
 Dere ain't no leetle toy at all; 
 De stockin', she is hang de sam'. 
 
 All empty up against de wall — 
 
 87 
 
But moder, she was kin' an' say 
 
 She's hope dat none Qf us will cry, 
 An' den she's turn de noder way 
 
 For wipe de teardrop from her eye. 
 'Tis many year is pass' since den 
 
 An' forty Chrees'mas smile on me, 
 An' I have travel all de worl' 
 
 An' seen for sure de Chrees'mas tree; 
 
 My frien's, dey's mak' for me beeg tam. 
 
 Jus' lak dey's t'ink I'm still be poor, 
 An' many present she was come 
 
 An' bring de Chrees'mas joy for sure; 
 But dat wan tam, I love it more 
 
 As all de oder forty year — 
 Mos' every Chrees'mas brings de toy, 
 
 But never wan brings back de tear. 
 
 Yaas, I have come back from de worl' 
 
 For leev me on sam' place as when 
 Mon pere, was have de four garcon 
 
 An' girl enough for mak' it ten; 
 Where he was jus' too poor for buy 
 
 De leetle doll or noder toy. 
 An' where de Chrees'mas, she was come 
 
 An' not'ing bring for girl or boy. 
 
THE PATH 
 
 Beside my path the daisies spring, 
 
 Along my way the robins sing 
 And, glad with song and blossoming, 
 
 I wind and wind 
 The path that years of wandering 
 
 Had left behind. 
 
 When last I paced it, long ago, 
 
 'Twas whitened with the winter snow, 
 
 And laden branches bending low 
 Hung 'round me there, 
 
 Bowed with their weight of winter woe, 
 In silent prayer. 
 
 Now I am old — so gray I've grown 
 With time, I seem to stand alone — 
 
 If any sadness, 'tis mine own 
 That strikes my ear — 
 
 There's youth and life in every tone 
 That greets me here. 
 
 With earth grown young, then what is death ? 
 
 A drift of snow, a rose beneath? 
 A mantle spread upon the heath? 
 
 Ah, death is vain — 
 Unconquered still the vital breath 
 
 Returns again. 
 
And if from leaf and song ^nd flower 
 Love builds again her summer bower, 
 
 And life is called back by an hour 
 Of sun and sky, 
 
 If these have shorn Death of his power, 
 Why may not I ? 
 
 90 
 
MARCH 
 
 For months the snow has piled abroad 
 
 On fallow land and field, 
 Till every bush is bowed to earth 
 
 And every twig concealed — 
 Knee-deep it lies along the stream 
 
 And ridges high the hill, 
 And all the world, in polar clime, 
 
 Lies frozen, stark and still. 
 
 For weeks I have not heard the brook 
 
 That only lived to sing ; 
 For weeks across my winter path 
 
 No bird has spread its wing; 
 No hum of bee, no scent of flower, 
 
 No sunshine warm and bright, 
 Naught but the cold north wind by day 
 
 And pale, cold stars by night. 
 
 Now March has come, wild, whistling March, 
 
 Broke from his frozen den; 
 Savage and shrill his fifes resound. 
 
 His war-drums beat again ; 
 And through the frost-king's wide domain, 
 
 Resistlessly and shrill. 
 He rushes down the woodland slope 
 
 And sweeps the mantled hill. 
 
 91 
 
Ah! welcome barbarous renegade — 
 
 Stern but not pitiless — 
 Sweep the broad highway where shall come 
 
 That troop of gentleness ; 
 Behind thee whirs the robin's wing 
 
 And sounds the oriole's song, 
 While on the frozen hills await 
 
 The flowers in motley throng. 
 
 The world will soon forget the weeks 
 
 And moriths of bitter cold, 
 And earth will learn to smile again 
 
 As lovely as of old ; 
 The brook will laugh, the roses bloom 
 
 'Neath skies of loveliness — 
 Thrice welcome, barbarous renegade, 
 
 Stern but not pitiless. 
 
 I 
 
 92 
 
ATTAINMENT 
 
 Some seer has said, of a truth, 
 
 That God in his wisdom ne'er planted 
 
 Any desire in the heart 
 
 That may not be brought to fruition — 
 
 That there is no longing that may not, 
 
 By diligent effort and patience, 
 
 Sometime be crowned with success. So says the sage, 
 
 l)Ut which of the sages has proved it? 
 
 :!: :k >■< ;•< ;■; ;|: >}: sjc 
 
 This is a hope that I've had, 
 
 A hope that I might in my lifetime 
 
 Some worthy endeavor succeed in 
 
 And something important accomplish. 
 
 I dreamed them all out in my youth, 
 
 The things I should do in my manhood, 
 
 Then dreamed them all over again 
 
 Until they were part of my being. 
 
 Not as a vision that comes 
 
 When the night has waned far toward the morning 
 
 And sleep in the silence comes o'er us 
 
 To soothe us away from our troubles, 
 
 Not like the transient desire 
 
 That flits through the mind for a moment 
 
 To leave us bewildered, scarce knowing 
 
 From whence 'twas derived. My own dreaming 
 
 Has, through all the years, never left me, 
 
 93 
 
But comes to me now when most darkly 
 
 The world frowns upon me. It has been 
 
 The unfailing star that I've followed. 
 
 And now that 'tis waning apace 
 
 And sinking beyond the horizon, 
 
 I grieve as I might for a friend 
 
 That had grown up with me from my childhood, 
 
 A friend that had been my companion 
 
 But now parted from me forever. 
 
 Happy is he wlrose desires 
 
 Keep pace with his power of attainment, 
 
 Who sees at the close of the day 
 
 The things he had hoped for, accomplished. 
 
 But sorrowful truly is he 
 
 Whose power is outstripped by ambition, 
 
 Who soars to the clouds but to find 
 
 The stars still so distant above him. 
 
 O, you who are free from such dreams, 
 
 Who never were led by ambition 
 
 Into the glow that precedes 
 
 The set of the sun and the twilight, 
 
 Fortunate are you, indeed. 
 
 And happy should be in your blessing, 
 
 For the kindliest boon of this life 
 
 Is the spirit of peace and contentment. 
 
 94 
 
 I 
 
NEARING PORT 
 
 Nearing port — the setting sun 
 Lingers o'er the dark'ning sea 
 
 And I hear the signal gun 
 Faintly calling me. 
 
 Many days the trip has led 
 
 O'er an unknown, trackless way, 
 
 Many hours of fear and dread 
 Lie behind today. 
 
 Looking from this vantage back, 
 All has faded from the sight ; 
 
 Viewless lies the uncertain track 
 In oblivion's night. 
 
 All to me was insecure, 
 
 All to me was dark and dim 
 
 But the Pilot's way was sure 
 And I trusted him. 
 
 Nearing port — the setting sun 
 Heralds to the sea the night, 
 
 But a brighter way leads on 
 Toward a beacon light. 
 
 And the sky, grown clear before, 
 Beckons from the darkening sea 
 
 While the signal from the shore 
 Faintlv reaches me. 
 
 95 
 
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