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Copyright "N?- / i f^'L^^ 
 
 GQEmiGHT DSPOSm 
 
The 
 
 Marriage of the 
 
 Dawn 
 
 AN IDYL OF EDEN 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER VERSE 
 
 / 
 
 R. Mf DOWNIE 
 
 BEAVER FALLS, PA. 
 

 •j^X 
 
 Copyright, 1922, by 
 
 R. M. DOWNIE 
 Printed in the U.S.A. 
 
 ©C1A690 939 
 
 OB 21 '22 
 
 -«Vrr' 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Marriage of the Dawn 1 
 
 Aunt Rosanna's 67 
 
 "The Little Brick Church" 76 
 
 The Maine 81 
 
 The Pennsylvania Brooks High License Law. ... 83 
 
 The Riddle 86 
 
 Krupp or Christ 89 
 
 The Red Cross Ship 93 
 
 "The Spacious Firmament on High" 99 
 
 Trotsky 103 
 
 "Versailles" 105 
 
 A Toast to Old Glory 107 
 
 The Beauty of Perfection 109 
 
 "America the Beautiful" Ill 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 The Old Magee Clock Facing p. 67 
 
 Regina M. Downie, M.D " 9^ 
 
 The Gold Stah Flag " 107 
 
PROEM 
 
 In this nether world of chronic gloom. 
 Where each path presumes at last a tomb, 
 Where all pleasures, though like summer clouds. 
 Soon dissolve in tears or turn to shrouds. 
 There be upland vistas here and there 
 Which beguile away, for moments rare. 
 To enchanted mountain peaks that gleam 
 With the radiance of joy supreme. 
 
 And, forgetting the forbidding past 
 
 As an evil spell dispelled at last. 
 
 Like a pris'ner from his dungeon free. 
 
 Or a bird uncaged to liberty. 
 
 The enraptured spirit steals away 
 
 To its native realms of cloudless day. 
 
 And as though to Paradise reborn 
 
 Breathes afresh the fragrance of its morn. 
 
 Though these heights may be of earth below, 
 And are cloaked with mists or cap'd with snow 
 Lest the dazzling brightness glowing there 
 But consume or blind those who it dare. 
 In their warmth we may redream the time 
 Ere the race had dipt its wings in slime 
 And let fancy ply untrammeled fliglit 
 O'er the lost domains of pure delight. 
 
 For a longing which outbounds Despair, 
 That is quenchless as a midnight star. 
 That of even every pain endured 
 Makes a prophet of a heaven restored, 
 
 1 
 
Finds among the ruins of the Fall 
 And an Eden wrecked beyond recall 
 The impledgments that a happier one 
 Will arise where fell that which is gone. 
 
 For a beacon burns beyond the stars 
 Which was kindled there for all God's years 
 That no accidents of time can wrench 
 From its pedestal, nor evil quench; 
 And above all moiling of all floods, 
 Like a light enlatticed in the clouds, 
 A Shekinah beckons through the night 
 From the cloudless Dwelling Place of Light. 
 
 And as phantom ships like wraiths arise 
 Through the flotsam where their wreckage lies. 
 And their destined haven still betray 
 By the course their intuitions lay. 
 So among the yearnings of the race. 
 Voicing hopes which nothing can efface. 
 We may catch some echoes from that shore 
 Where no sea nor sin can trouble more. 
 
 Thus in diorama we may rear 
 
 From the traces left both there and here 
 
 Some recrudence of yon halcyon 
 
 Where the heart of God and Man were one; 
 
 Some previstas of that Harbor-home 
 
 To the which at last all joys shall come. 
 
 Some forewistings of those realms above 
 
 Where the theme of every thought is love. 
 
THE MARRIAGE OF THE DAWN 
 
 Part 1 
 
 Adam's soliloquy 
 
 "Ah what is this whose comeliness contests my 
 
 path 
 As if to blind as well as bind me with its charms ? 
 Some new-made toy, or luring joy set here, I ween, 
 To win my thoughts once more from these my 
 
 empty arms. 
 
 "In pink and gold it would me hold a fettered thrall 
 While breathing forth its toxic fragrance on the 
 
 air. 
 Ah, would that He who fashioned me had not 
 
 forgot 
 To make for me, instead of this, a mate as fair. 
 
 "This flower is wondrous fair and from its petaled 
 heart 
 It speaks to me of chastity of lip and touch. 
 Yet these but fire a wild desire it cannot slake, — 
 And must my spirit always stoop to only such ? 
 
 "And though from off its lips the limpid sunlight 
 drips. 
 By Beauty's mystic alchemy transfused to gold, 
 Yet in my soul this burning coal and quenchless 
 
 fire 
 Makes yonder sun its very self seem icy cold. 
 
 3 
 
"Of other sentient things He formed two of a kind. 
 That complement of each might in a mate be 
 
 found ; 
 But I am left of kin bereft, — save but Himself, 
 — Perhaps that we the closer be together bound. 
 
 "But let me flee this reverie, for it but lures 
 My thoughts to yonder tree and its forbidden 
 
 fruit. 
 How strange that when I question forth they seem 
 
 to rise 
 Ubiquitous to warn my will from its pursuit. 
 
 "How strange must be the taste of what untasted 
 
 tempts ! 
 Makes wise to good and evil both, impartially; 
 And stranger still that good and ill should thus 
 
 arise 
 From out the selfsame source of soil and sap and 
 
 tree! 
 
 "But what is evil, and from whence does it proceed? 
 In what way differs it from good in kind or sign? 
 Does it pertain to things, a quality that clings 
 To trees, or beasts, — or only to a soul like mine? 
 
 "And what is good ? Why is it good ? What makes 
 it so? 
 Is it of evil but resulting counterpart? 
 Can it in trees inhere, in that they are or bear ? 
 Or is it also only said of soul and heart? 
 
 4 
 
*'And why should such a tree be found within these 
 
 gates ? 
 Is there no good apart from evil, as its foil? 
 Is each of these innate ; or do they but create, 
 Each light its shade? each good its mead of ill 
 
 or toil? 
 
 "Must ev'ry joy be wrought from pain of equal 
 
 weight ? 
 Is death but life obversed; a name for endless 
 
 sleep ? 
 Do love and hate but correlate as hemispheres ? 
 Does every zenith have its nadir just as deep? 
 
 "Am I the differentiation of their sums? 
 My soul the field whereon their fight is won or 
 
 lost? 
 Between all good and all that would with good 
 
 contend, 
 — A chip upon the tide by their contentions tost? 
 
 "Oh God, I know not nor would ask aught but 
 
 Thy wiU, 
 Yet I seem launched between eternal enmities, 
 — Myself the neutral field of war 'twixt good and 
 
 ill, 
 — Though knowing neither, yet of both the final 
 
 prize. 
 
 "I've questioned near, I've wandered far. Thy plan 
 to learn; 
 And while I trust the love behind yon threatened 
 
 curse. 
 Must there not be somewhere a One more fit than I 
 To solve the paradoxes of this universe? 
 
 6 
 
" — Some One at once divine, and yet of human 
 
 kin, 
 With power to love or not at will a man or moth, 
 — So lowly as to want the touch of hands like 
 
 mine, 
 — A finite yet an Infinite, with heart of both? 
 
 "In yon bright sky so pure and high I see impledged 
 A better place and holier than Eden, even. 
 With no such baleful tree or its antipathy 
 To lure from thence to hell, or fence the path to 
 heaven. 
 
 "Perhaps when thy great final Plan stands forth 
 complete 
 These seeming contradictions will articulate 
 A Cosmos so celestial, a Garden walled so well 
 That sin and evil cannot mate within its gate. 
 
 "Mayhap thy handiwork is not as yet complete ; 
 — May lack its heart, its counterpart, its synthesis : 
 Or may it be that all this vast complexity 
 Is but a school to teach the soul love's genesis ? 
 
 "Hast Thou not one, one other boon awaiting yet? 
 
 A last or best to crown the rest in matchlessness ? 
 
 But how ? or what ? If Thou wert not Omnipotence 
 
 I might not thus suspect, might not the query 
 
 press. 
 
 "But is it good that thus I brood upon my lack? 
 Shall I not rather trust Thy wise and loving 
 care? 
 
 6 
 
If so. Thy will be done ! My burning thirst 
 
 begone ! 
 But oh, my God, companionship! Oh God, my 
 
 prayer." 
 
 * * * * * -x- * 
 
 And thus mused he whom God in His own image 
 
 made. 
 As in the Garden leisurely alone he strolled. 
 Or with his Great Creator walked and talked 
 
 of what 
 The unblown flowers of Eden's bowers might yet 
 
 unfold. 
 
 And wand'ring far afield he sought a couch and 
 
 sleep 
 Upon the velvet moss by Gihon's placid stream, — 
 The while the setting sun made of the western sky 
 A gorgeous portal whence might come some an- 
 swering dream. 
 
 ******* 
 
 Now far and wide a perfect world to stillness 
 
 falls. 
 And for its vesper benediction turns aloft its face. 
 While God's good will, which all may feel but 
 
 fathom none. 
 Lulls every creature of the day to perfect peace. 
 
 Lest ill betide that which was made so good and 
 
 fair 
 The stars their sentry keep in far-flung serried 
 
 ranks, 
 
 7 
 
And all the sleeping world resigns to Him its will. 
 Save only he who dreams his plea on Gihon's 
 banks. 
 
 Across his face the shadow of a shadow flits, 
 As if some albatross, home winging from her quest. 
 Had cleft unconsciously a starbeam in her flight. 
 Or shed toward his couch a feather from her 
 breast. 
 
 Or did the shadow but enshroud that Mystery 
 Which o'er all depths of sea and soul is brooding 
 
 still? 
 — Begetting there, unconscious of their prior 
 
 source, 
 Intuitive desires through which God works His 
 
 will.? 
 
 Was there beside the placid tide of Eden's stream 
 An unforbidden tree of life whose toxic wine 
 Unconsciously begot a will to seek beyond 
 For some exceeding ultimate of joy divine? 
 
 Within the soul there is emplaced a dial true 
 Where half the truth is light, the other half its 
 
 shade. 
 Where Sorrow prints an added prophecy of Joy 
 Which Happiness alone can neither write nor read. 
 
 Oh Sleeper, sleep! and so forget this boon you 
 
 crave. 
 Such gift may be too nobly fair of soul and face ; 
 
 8 
 
A Havvah ! and fit mother for a race of gods 
 — And yet not charm thy soul away from God's 
 embrace ? 
 
 Yes, Sleeper, sleep! or wake to weep, if He but 
 
 grant 
 The half you wish. For with the gift you may 
 
 acquire 
 That knowledge which, to know, is but to question 
 
 why 
 The sun a shadow casts, or light is born of fire. 
 
 ******* 
 
 THE NATIVITY OF EVE 
 
 What retrospective eye may pierce the mists that 
 
 shroud 
 The crowning act of God's creative skill and 
 
 power ? 
 When by a threefold matchless artistry He 
 
 wrought 
 The miracles of Motherhood, its Charm and 
 
 Dower? 
 
 A million miracles enwombed in one, and each 
 Alike the source perennial of millions more. 
 Not all the ages past nor aeons yet to come 
 Can dim the glory of the deed that marked that 
 hour. 
 
 And what the setting meet for such supreme event ? 
 Came all the perfect creatures that creation held, 
 
 9 
 
At His behest, that all their best might be outdone ? 
 — ^All Grace and Beauty, that their sum might be 
 excelled ? 
 
 What wonder if that host, twelve legions strong 
 or more. 
 
 Which hovered o'er Gethsemane in after years. 
 
 And all the Shining Ones from farthest firma- 
 ments 
 
 Should hither bring on trembling wing their hopes 
 and fears? 
 
 For here was born the parent of a Christ-to-be, 
 And mother of the mothers of a coming race. 
 The living chalice of that searchless mystery 
 Whereby the Son of God in flesh found fitting 
 place. 
 
 Were those to whom the miracle of Motherhood 
 
 Was strange and new, on special summons there 
 to greet 
 
 God's first-born daughter with angelic min- 
 istries ? 
 
 — To swaddle with seraphic love the stranger 
 sweet ? 
 
 Were they perchance aware of yonder sleeper's 
 
 prayer ? 
 And came they with a joy that heaven's courts 
 
 denied, 
 — With unseen hands to strew a bridal path with 
 
 flowers 
 And ring from mystic bells a paean for his bride? 
 
 10 
 
Is there somewhere among the fonts of heav nly 
 bliss 
 
 A spring at which no seraph may his craving 
 
 slake ? 
 — Reserved for only those of closest kin to God? 
 — Those who the Sole Creator's closer image take? 
 
 Was there anigh the guileful eye of Jealousy 
 With all the sullen secrecy of hate and fraud ? 
 Intent that he might have no rival for the heart 
 Of yonder guarded sleeper, yonder son of God ? 
 
 Through pregnant stillness, fraught with mighty 
 
 destinies. 
 Like some tense cloud surcharged with bolts unlit, 
 
 unthrown. 
 The silent steps of God's preplanned event passed 
 
 by 
 And left new-born to greet the morn, a rival dawn. 
 
 * * 
 
 11 
 
Part 2 
 
 eve's awakening 
 
 **Now morn, her rosy steps in the eastern clime 
 Advancing, sow'd the earth with Orient pearl 
 When Adam wak'd, so customed: for his sleep 
 Was aery light, from pure digestion bred, — 
 
 — Hung over her enamor*d and beheld 
 Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep. 
 Shot forth peculiar graces." 
 
 — Milton. 
 
 "Awake! Awake? Am I awake? 
 Or do I only think in dreams ? 
 Or from their phantasies provise 
 A consciousness that merely seems ? 
 
 "Awake? From sleep? or nothingness? 
 Or are my lips but echoing 
 Some dream-caught word so faintly heard 
 It scarce disturbed my slumbering? 
 
 "Awake? Alone? Whom do I ask? 
 Of what may I expect reply ? 
 — Some other chancing waif, like me ? 
 — Some other dreamer dreaming by? 
 
 "How can I certify myself 
 That I do not of naught consist? 
 
 13 
 
— Nor am the transient counterpart 
 Of yon attenuating mist? 
 
 "How much of all I seem to see 
 Is part of me, or of my dream? 
 — This moss-grown stone I rest upon, 
 — This tree, these flow'rs, this placid stream? 
 
 *'0r are these things distinct from me, 
 — Firm fixities that do not move. 
 To which my fitful reason clings 
 Its own reality to prove? 
 
 **These hands ! They move ! Now thus, now so. 
 As though adventuring in quest 
 Of some uncertain certainty. 
 Which, finding not, they come to rest. 
 
 "Are they as new to life as I ? 
 — Like me afever with its flame? 
 Or do they fear its charm and zest 
 May vanish whence and as they came? 
 
 "To move ! What joy ! To follow far 
 From what is new to newer still! 
 Can such a range of choice and change 
 Accrue to me? — Await my will? 
 
 "If I be weighted to this spot 
 As is this stone on which I sit 
 I might assume myself the spume 
 Of tide or chance, borne here with it. 
 
 i 
 14 i 
 
"'But roving free, if that I may, 
 Will prove me sprung of nobler race, 
 — The child of some free Volant Force, 
 Not circumstanced by place or space. 
 
 *'0f two joint worlds I seem a part — 
 Not matter all, nor spirit quite. 
 Yet kin to both, — a double growth 
 In which these apposites unite. 
 
 **Thus I perceive that I may be. 
 While yet unconscious of the fact, 
 Likewise a dual entity 
 — Two natures merged, yet each intact. 
 
 "The one seems numb or dead or dumb, 
 — This soil-bound rock, this listless earth: 
 The other moves and, moving, proves 
 Its finer worth, its spirit birth. 
 
 "And yet this brook its life and song 
 From its opposing banks receives : 
 Their very deadness dam and spur 
 To fuller life the thing that lives. 
 
 "Are these unspirit things but foils 
 Or dykes to give my spirit bent ? 
 — But quarries whence the mind may fetch 
 New wealth of truth, and nourishment? 
 
 "To move ! The thought itself gives wings, 
 Inspires the will to mastery 
 
 15 
 
Of all that place or far-flung space 
 May hide or hold of liberty. 
 
 "These hands again ! Why now inert ? 
 Have they through labor found some joy, 
 — Some amplitude of greater good 
 Which further searching might destroy? 
 
 "Aha! again they move abroad. 
 Yet now because I willed it so. 
 And though the wish was scarcely born 
 My instant will they know and do. 
 
 "What prompts them thus to what I would? 
 I having uttered no command : 
 This mystery — each mystery. 
 Another breeds on every hand. 
 
 "If set on purpose of their own 
 What warped them to my foreign will? 
 Or would they claim that serving mine 
 Proves theirs the greater wit and skill? 
 
 "From such adductions it might seem 
 That serving unto honor leads, 
 And that a scepter waits the hand 
 That makes its own another's needs. 
 
 "Perchance some other truth is writ 
 Upon their palms and fingers ten, 
 — Some fact so deep that only shape 
 Or deed can make its meaning plain. 
 
 16 
 
"For in their way they say to me. 
 While making of my wish commands, 
 'You must in turn yourself discern 
 The arms of some Great Will, and hands.* 
 
 "And this recalls that in my dream. 
 Ere yet it formed a concept clear. 
 Through every quick'ning nerve I felt 
 That some Great Presence hovered near. 
 
 "Some One beyond my utmost reach. 
 And yet too near to sense aright. 
 Whose glory touched my torch aflame 
 Before it melted into light. 
 
 "Some One whose will gave birth to mine 
 Just as these hands do mine receive. 
 Who called to me, almightily, 
 'Awake ! Come forth ! Awake and live.*^ 
 
 "How sweet and free this pulsing glee 
 At sight and sense of all around ! 
 Are these for me, or I for them? 
 Is that my sky? Is this my ground? 
 
 "But where is He so lately here. 
 So scarcely gone before the morn? 
 Or is He still at hand concealed 
 Within each gladness to me borne? 
 
 "Yes, where is He? for I would know 
 From whence I am and why am here, 
 
 17 
 
— For expectation of some guest 
 With fragrance lades the very air. 
 
 "Sprang I from naught, to nothing doomed, 
 — An evanescent idolon ? 
 Then why this fevered ecstasy, 
 — This hope of living on and on? 
 
 *'If I but span a space of time 
 Now here, now hence, ephemeral. 
 How could I even apprehend 
 A life that has no terminal ? 
 
 "Beyond my knowing seems to brood 
 Some reason why I shall exist, 
 — The pledge that if my grasp should fail 
 I will not vanish like yon mist. 
 
 "And being conscious that I am. 
 Who am but yet some moments old. 
 Will not each lapsing hour increase 
 This tenure I now vaguely hold? 
 
 "Until some stronger force oppose 
 Shall not life's current flow amain? 
 And, with each reason why it should, 
 An added width and depth attain ? 
 
 "But now I live! Stupendous fact! 
 — Yet less of import than to know 
 If while the mind has sustenance 
 It will not cease or cease to grow. 
 
 18 
 
"Perhaps this endless endlessness 
 Of forms and things in such array 
 Is but a hoard wherein is stored 
 Its food for an eternity. 
 
 "Or have I happened here to find 
 The banquet hall of some great One 
 Where, from a dateless past, he spread 
 A table where we may commune ? 
 
 "For out of ev'ry shape and hue 
 And every use and quality 
 My mind distils a cup that fills 
 Me with a new vitality. 
 
 "From all these things and all implied 
 My reason hastens to affirm 
 That neither space nor time can place 
 On life a boundary or term." 
 
 And down a vine-clad vista 
 O'er which the dew clouds lay 
 She sat and gazed, enraptured, 
 Till lost in reverie. 
 
 Before her hung an iris 
 Which arched from hill to hill. 
 Its beauty all enfocused 
 On something fairer still. 
 
 Like some responsive spirit 
 It seemed to flash reply 
 To her suspended questions 
 Through an all-seeing eye, 
 
 19 
 
And formed a cloud-wrought symbol 
 That spanned all things below, 
 — Herself the focal emblem 
 Round which it seemed to grow. 
 
 And thought with thought was blended 
 Until unconsciously 
 She and God's bow of promise 
 Exchanged identity 
 
 — Till of the glorious archway 
 She dreamed herself the key, 
 Upheld by what it symboled, 
 Its symboled substance she. 
 
 For of the long adventures 
 Which all the ages hold, 
 Here was the victor's guerdon, 
 Her heart and soul its mold. 
 
 And here the moat and fortress 
 Which evil must subdue 
 Or wage a hopeless battle 
 With all that God holds true : 
 
 And here the earth-built fountain. 
 But channel of God's grace, 
 Whence Love and Life might issue 
 For all of Adam's race. 
 
 This knew the guileful Serpent 
 As from> some vantage seat 
 He watched and weighed with choler 
 God's answer to his hate. 
 
 20 
 
So here was joined the warfare 
 Between all good and ill ; 
 The war 'twixt Love and Hatred 
 Was on, and rages still. 
 
 ■"In every nook, on every hand 
 The world with wonderments is rife, 
 The greatest of them all to me 
 This constant present rhythm of life. 
 
 ^'Each pulsing moment leads a next 
 As though from an exhaustless store. 
 And like the wavelets of this brook 
 Leaves me born new upon the shore. 
 
 ^'Leaves me impassive, yet enriched 
 By each with all the wealth it bore, 
 — Its gift made richer by its pledge 
 To come again with more and more. 
 
 ""And though but moments old I feel, 
 — And though I cease as many hence, 
 The tenure that I hold holds me 
 Wrapped in its own continuance. 
 
 ""Yes, now I live, o'ermast'ring thought. 
 Yet less outbounding than to feel 
 That in my grasp I meet a clasp 
 That will not break though mine should fail. 
 
 ''These flying things ! They sing their joy; 
 Ah ! who would not if they could fly ? 
 
 21 
 
From tree to tree they float at will, 
 
 — Shall powers like these belong to me? 
 
 "Or are these feet my only mode 
 If hence or thence I wish to go? 
 And why but two ? and which one first ? 
 And why these toes all forward so? 
 
 "But why this eager questioning 
 While what I see is much too much? 
 Will adding more to what runs o'er 
 My cup enlarge? or break my clutch? 
 
 "Yet how can I restrain my quest 
 E'en though I forfeit all its gains? 
 Perhaps joy's font is infinite. 
 The more 'tis drained the more contains. 
 
 ******* 
 
 "But hark ! those notes that find my ear ! 
 — Words like my own they seem to be_, 
 Or are they echoes of my hopes 
 Returned from utter vacancy ? 
 
 "Or if I speak will they reply? 
 Will some one come if I invite ? 
 — As do these birds which at my words 
 Come flutt'ring down, without af right? 
 
 "Ah see ! The trees seem filled with them. 
 And coveys come from far and near. 
 Are you the answer to my thought? 
 Do each of you some message bear? 
 
 22 
 
"And ye are all with feathers clad. 
 While I these flowing tresses wear: 
 Your garb is passing beautiful, 
 But mine is more, — beyond compare. 
 
 "With lilting grace you flit about. 
 Excelling me in many things. 
 Yet if I may not have them both 
 I'd rather have these hands than wings. 
 
 " — These hands than wings like yours I mean. 
 But I may boast another kind. 
 The pinions of a wingless flight 
 — For realms traversed alone by mind. 
 
 "Am I to you as comely quite 
 As you to me, that ye are drawn? 
 Or do you make of me a shrine? 
 — As I might make of yonder dawn? 
 
 "Or are you angels in disguise? 
 To illustrate the magic pow'r 
 That beauty wields when fitly worn, 
 — At once a covering and dower? 
 
 "And do you chance to come from Him 
 Who only lately went His way? 
 — The bearers of some mystic truth 
 Which only words will not convey? 
 
 "What tongue is that in which you speak ? 
 You blankly stare, and answer not. 
 Do diff'ring dialects deny 
 Communion in a common thought? 
 
 23 
 
*Terchance you only think in things 
 And therefore miss these melodies 
 Which float to me from hidden harps 
 In ceaseless silent rhapsodies. 
 
 "Or do you hail from Beauty's school. 
 At His behest, to train my soul 
 In precepts foreign to all words ? 
 — To know and feel the beautiful. 
 
 "Or was this world of Beauty born 
 Its Parent's glory to reveal? 
 — While He Himself remains unseen 
 In all I see and hear or feel. 
 
 ******* 
 
 ""But there ! Once more I hear that voice. 
 Can it be His? or are there two? 
 And why does it awake in me 
 What other voices do not do? 
 
 "'Shall I make bold with a reply? 
 And if I may what shall I say? 
 What word expresses what I would, 
 Yet less or more will not convey? 
 
 "Can I take counsel of these trees. 
 Or of these flowers make request ? 
 Can they assess the gladsomeness 
 Those tones have kindled in my breast ? 
 
 "What word condenses what I feel 
 Or half my meaning can transmit? 
 And does there wait somewhere an ear 
 That can translate and answer it? 
 
 24 
 
"And yet those words seem shadowlings 
 — But syllables of commonplace 
 Adventured forth fatuitous 
 On chancing winds or vacant space. 
 
 "What unseen zephyrs winged them hence 
 Or charged them with the mystic power 
 To light this flame of nameless name 
 In tinder not found there before? 
 
 "Or do I have a further sense 
 Than these that touch and hear and see^ 
 — A sense that seeks compani«onship 
 And matehood in some other me? 
 
 " — A sense that gathers from all things 
 The meanings that exist beneath 
 — A sense with eyes through which it spies 
 A world born new with every breath. 
 
 ■X- ^f * * * * * 
 
 "Again it calls, and is it His 
 Whose lips breathed into mine my soul? 
 Or comes it from some such as I, 
 Whose thirst, like mine, brooks no control ? 
 
 " — He touched my ears, and lo I hear, — 
 My eyelids raised, and thus I see. 
 My lips He parted and I speak — 
 How passing great such One must be! 
 
 "Ah! What a pleasant world this is. 
 But would that He who formed my heart 
 Might come again and let these lips 
 Return His love, — at least in part. 
 
 25 
 
"But whence that word, — that mystic word? 
 What intuition at a bound 
 The concept coined and moved my tongue 
 To mold that miracle of sound? 
 
 "It names for me that inner world 
 Whose sweet delight to this one drips 
 Unconsciously, like this that fell 
 The now from my unguided lips. 
 
 "If so, oh that some guiding hand 
 Might pilot me within its gate. 
 Perchance the source of yonder voice 
 Will prove at once both guide and mate. 
 
 ******* 
 
 "In likeness what must such one be. 
 In manner, color, or in shape: 
 A fowl? or reptile? or a beast 
 That climbs and chatters like yon ape? 
 
 "Mayhap I question futilely. 
 But something tells me none of these 
 Can answer to my soul's desire, 
 — Its homage hold, its thirst appease. 
 
 "Or will He prove some wond'rous one 
 The sum of grace and dignity, 
 — Some one whose worth my worship earns, 
 — Whose honoring but honors me ? 
 
 "At this I smile, yet smiling feel 
 An answering sense, a pulsing glee 
 
 26 
 
That doubles all the joy I felt 
 Before this concept came to me. 
 
 ******* 
 
 "But are these castles that I rear 
 Of notions built, to nothings bent? 
 Can fancy out of nothing frame 
 The world I mold, such joys invent? 
 
 "Or is there back of this my mind 
 Unseen a greater wiser One 
 Who predevises what I would 
 And seeks expression through my own? 
 
 "And is His pleasure but fulfilled 
 When from these coarser finite reals 
 My spirit at volition builds 
 Its finer, infinite ideals? 
 
 "And is it but one guerdon more 
 That I from passing trifles gain 
 The power to conjure palaces 
 Which may eternally remain? 
 
 "Can hopes like these false counsel give. 
 Or has this image in the brook 
 In smiling its reply to me 
 Mine for yon other's face mistook? 
 
 ****** 
 
 "How beautiful that image is; 
 — Till now ignored, but now so fair, 
 — Does what yon voice betrays to me 
 This added comeliness inspire? 
 
 27 
 
"Or does such hope that mates its kind 
 Bring forth a grace more passing fair? 
 Perhaps yon miracle of sound 
 But names the child of such a pair." 
 
 And now all questions are forgot 
 Save that which glimmers through the haze 
 From out the stream's mysterious depths 
 And thralls her fascinated gaze. 
 
 To her the pool becomes a sea 
 Of unplumbed depth, without a shore. 
 From which ten thousand shapes arise. 
 Each fairer than the ones before. 
 
 They come, they go, they reappear 
 On pinions gilt with flameless fire. 
 Until her soul they dream away 
 To realms of ultimate desire. 
 
 And was it fact or fantasy, 
 — That glamour, — that elusive gleam 
 That played about, above, within 
 That dancing phantasm in the stream? 
 
 Or some divine telepathy 
 That drew two souls subconsciously 
 Within each other's mystic sway, 
 Like planets at the syzygy? 
 
 Or but a tryst, and not the last. 
 To which unwittingly were led 
 
 28 
 
From two unknowns of time and place 
 Two spirits for each other made? 
 
 In Eden's morning innocence 
 There was a mirror yet unbroke — 
 So void of smirch that from its depths 
 The soul a consort might invoke. 
 
 A mystic mirror deep and clear 
 Where face to face the soul might view 
 With vision pure, in miniature 
 God's choicest work — His image true. 
 
 What deeps of soul! What sweep of mind! 
 What vistas for their free deploy! 
 What depths and height of pure delight 
 And measureless ecstatic joy! 
 
 For in that lucid morning air 
 No mote or mist or rime or ruth 
 Could mar the symphony which played 
 'Twixt spirits tuned alone to truth. 
 
 And in its vibrant atmosphere 
 No note of dissonance could warp 
 Love's universal harmony 
 Nor falsify its heav'n-strung Harp. 
 
 For sin had not as yet befouled 
 The face of Virtue to deceive, 
 And shame had not invented sham 
 To gild its guilt with make-believe. 
 
 29 
 
And there a wordless signless way 
 From soul to soul lay straight and broad 
 On which all joys with all were joined — 
 'Twixt spirits and 'twixt them and God. 
 
 And when the cycles of the years 
 Bring forth a new-made universe, 
 — ^When sin and pain no longer reign 
 For lack of ob j ects they can curse ; 
 
 When Death has claimed all that can die 
 And has in turn itself been slain. 
 That Harp, that symphony, once more 
 Will raise an even sweeter strain. 
 
 And in yon mirror souls will see 
 New graces gained in their rebirth 
 — Themselves the love-born harmony 
 Of God's great recreated earth. 
 
 30 
 
Part 3 
 
 the tryst 
 
 In bridal veil, opaque to all 
 
 That evil would, or might have thought, 
 
 Translucent to the pure alone. 
 
 By heaven designed, by seraphs wrought. 
 
 From silken tresses rippling down, 
 And dawnlight meshed with morning mist. 
 The bride-to-be went forth to keep 
 Unwitting tryst with one unwist. 
 
 Above her alabastine brow 
 
 The seeming of a halo hung 
 
 That cast a sheen o'er Beauty's Queen 
 
 Which to her sex has ever clung. 
 
 Upon her face there lay no trace 
 Of griefs that came in after years. 
 No portent of the scars which sin 
 To furrows turned for flowing tears. 
 
 Hard by her way the Tempter lay 
 As he has lain by every road. 
 From then till now, by every path 
 Where innocence has fared abroad. 
 
 But 'round her rose and with her moved 
 Invisible a citadel, 
 
 31 
 
With guarding moat as deep and wide 
 As is the gulf 'twixt heaven and hell. 
 
 For round her soul her guilelessness 
 Built high invincible defense; — 
 God's watchers wield no cov'ring shield 
 So potently as innocence. 
 
 And from her eyes a spirit shone 
 
 Too pure to even see her foe, 
 
 — So much alert to things aloft 
 
 She saw nor sensed what lurked below. 
 
 If Purity could have a font 
 Its self emitting ceaselessly — 
 If Goodness an enteleche 
 Its self recausing endlessly; 
 
 — If from within a soul might build 
 Its body like a palace fit, 
 — If Virtue sculpturing at the heart 
 Might grave a face that mirrored it, 
 
 Methinks that she whose form we see 
 Both Font and Palace might express, 
 — A silhouette of what might well 
 Interpret God in loveliness. 
 
 Beyond a fell of tropic ferns 
 Whose fronds dipped low, as in salute, 
 — Beyond a coppice where the vines 
 Hung laden low with purpling fruit 
 
 32 
 
A grove of stately trees upreared 
 Their serried trunks, and screened the sky 
 With vaulting branches interlaced 
 In one great pillared canopy. 
 
 Far vistas were in dimness lost, 
 As when the gloaming waits the day. 
 And hushed in holy stillness vast 
 God's great primeval Temple lay. 
 
 With littered leaves and trailing flowers 
 The spacious nave was thickly strewed, 
 And aisles converging from afar 
 Met where an altar might have stood. 
 
 And on such carpets mottled deep 
 The glintings from some filt'ring rays 
 Wrought golden shadows on the paths 
 Of two who came from diff'ring ways. 
 
 The one, God's noblest work, was crowned 
 With honor and with dignity. 
 Who trod with regal mein an earth 
 Whose farthest limits owned his sway. 
 
 The other, cast in finer mold, 
 Ensembled all that inward grace 
 May visualize in outward build 
 Or carriage, color, form or face. 
 
 And on her brow a coronet 
 Unseen, the token of that sway 
 That rules in realms where Force finds naught 
 That owns its coarser potency. 
 
 33 
 
The glory of the one was strength, 
 — Not moral less than physical, 
 That sovereignty might have the right 
 To make its love imperial. 
 
 The other bore that diadem 
 That rules supreme by giving way, 
 And through submission gains the throne, 
 — The paradox of Calvary. 
 
 Without a care, immune to fear, 
 — As light of foot as roe or fawn, 
 — As soft of gaze as yon gazelle, 
 — As graceful as yon swimming swan, 
 
 — Unconscious of all cynosure 
 
 She loitered in her glad advance 
 
 To trip a measure to the rhythm 
 
 That ruled the shim'ring shadow dance. 
 
 And every step some new delight 
 
 But chased a fairer just beyond. 
 
 Until her fleet and flying feet 
 
 In their pursuit scarce touched the ground. 
 
 And like the undulating waves 
 That stir the bosom of the ocean 
 A rhythmic gladness made of hers 
 A pulsing deep of pure emotion, 
 
 The while the rapture pent within. 
 Unhampered by the art of words. 
 Intoned the gladness of her soul 
 In chansons stolen from the birds : — 
 
 34 
 
Till, glancing up, two visions met 
 Each other, dazed with like surprise, 
 While questionings too deep for words 
 Met deeper questions for replies: 
 
 — Ten thousand questions merged in one. 
 Whose answer palsied thought and speech. 
 Until a light that God let fall 
 On each, for each replied to each. 
 
 And in the silence that ensued 
 An Unseen Spirit seemed to place 
 An unseen circle 'round them twain 
 That drew their spirits face to face. 
 
 85 
 
Part 4 
 the meeting 
 
 Adam. — "Do I see a dream, 
 Or dream I see 
 What can only seem 
 So fair to be? 
 — Like the gems agleam 
 In morning dew ; 
 Or is this my dream 
 Now falling true? 
 —Or fallen true?" 
 
 Eye, — "If my presence here 
 Sheds such delight, 
 May I claim my share 
 — By common right? 
 And your questions seem 
 Quite fit for two. 
 For I've dreamed a dream. 
 As dreamed have you, 
 — Which falls as true. 
 
 Adam.— "If the joy I feel 
 Were cleft in two. 
 And if I might deal 
 Its half to you. 
 Then the rest would more 
 Than double be 
 Of the whole before 
 37 
 
I met with thee, 
 
 Or shared with thee." 
 
 Eve. — "Then I thus perceive, 
 If this be true, 
 Should I likewise give 
 Half mine to you. 
 We would each give more. 
 Yet more retain, 
 Than we had before 
 Between us twain. 
 Let's swap again." 
 
 ******* 
 
 Until now too straught to bend to mirth. 
 In a laugh they joined, the first on earth. 
 First the one, then both, then both again 
 To their new-found pleasure lost the rein. 
 
 And as fledgelings tremble with delight 
 When they first find wing aloft in flight. 
 Or as eaglets from their eyries blown 
 Make the spirit of the storm their own. 
 They from fancy fled to fancies new 
 As emotion led or drove or drew. 
 Till Companionship of nothings wove 
 From their filaments the web of love. 
 
 And as answering shout to shout accords 
 They at length abandon use of words. 
 And with eyes enmist with pleasure tears 
 Each a rainbow o'er the other rears; — 
 Each a bow that arched that spot on earth 
 Where the miracle of love had birth. 
 
 38 
 
Neither they nor those who since have had 
 Such communion knew why they were glad. 
 Yet they found as millions since have done 
 That when Love survenes on Reason's throne 
 All the laws that hold the mind in fee 
 For the nonce become a nullity, — 
 For that some of heaven's toxic air 
 Has o'erflowed to earth and settled there : 
 — And that Love and Gladness are forever 
 Wed with bonds which none may ever sever. 
 
 In an honest laugh, unmarred by art, 
 Hear the native lingo of the heart; 
 And in smiles that haunt an infant's eyes 
 Read the dialects of Paradise. 
 What is said or done a loan may be 
 To be paid again with usury. 
 But a laugh or smile spends all its all, 
 Like to incense burned beyond recall. 
 
 And as blossoms are but prophecies 
 Of the worth that later lades their trees. 
 Or as bubbles blown upon the air 
 May the vision lure to worlds afar. 
 Or as kites adventured to the skies 
 May return to tell God's mysteries, 
 So may pleasure's idle vagaries 
 Guide to heaven's eternal verities: 
 And the flippancies of wit be seers 
 Of the reasoned truths of riper years. 
 For by sense of humor God designed 
 To divide the brute from human kind. 
 
 39 
 
At a whim some such again they laughed 
 While their dripping pleasure cup they quaffed 
 And the echoes, bounding back from far. 
 With their vibrant cadence cleft the air. 
 Setting wide agape the gates of bliss 
 For their sinless world, and also this. 
 
 And the nesting songsters 'mong the boughs 
 Had their twitt'ring eased, to sense the cause. 
 There they learned by rote that chansonette 
 Which, though wordless then and wordless yet, 
 Is the choral lay they sing today 
 As they call that scene to memory. 
 
 * * * * -se- * * 
 
 But, their rapture having spent its force. 
 They resumed the drift of their discourse. 
 
 ******* 
 
 Adam. — "How it mazes me 
 That meeting thus 
 This amenity 
 Forewaited us: 
 And how mind with mind 
 Can barter hold. 
 And a profit find 
 Worth more than gold. 
 And, as though designed. 
 Bring merchandise 
 And from stores of kind 
 Weigh ready price." 
 
 Eve. — "This amazement cleaves 
 To me as well, 
 40 
 
Yet a greater weaves 
 'Round me its spell. 
 
 "Can a mind invent 
 And straightway build 
 Of its own intent 
 What is not willed? 
 Though your words express 
 Their meaning clear 
 What you say is less 
 Than what I hear, 
 For about you wafts 
 A glowing light 
 Like those slanting shafts. 
 But yet more bright — 
 — Like a diaphane 
 Of mystic mist 
 Which my eyes make plain, 
 Does not exist. 
 And about your face 
 Beseems to shine 
 An enhaloed grace 
 Aventurine. 
 
 *'Or, is what I see 
 But make-believe. 
 Like a phantasy 
 Insubstantive ? 
 
 "Though I interpose 
 With all my will 
 And my eyes I close 
 I see it still. 
 
 41 
 
"Is the sheen that plays 
 About us twain 
 But a phantom haze 
 To fade again? 
 Or does sense of near 
 Companionship 
 Clothe the light and air 
 With eye and lip? 
 
 "Yet this thought abrupt 
 I must forbear 
 Lest I interrupt 
 What I would hear." 
 
 Adam. — " 'Tis a strange event 
 That we have met 
 As by accident ; 
 But stranger yet 
 That a common thought 
 And common speech 
 And a common lot 
 Pertains to each. 
 
 "Can it be indeed 
 That selfish ends 
 And a common need 
 Ordain us friends? 
 For I seem to read 
 That Friendships rise 
 From the springs where need 
 Its thirst allays." 
 42 
 
Eve. — "Should it thus surprise that dream-shod 
 
 feet 
 Should have chosen ways they knew 
 
 would meet ? 
 Do not hopes aflame with right desire 
 Have the right to frame what they 
 
 require ? 
 
 "Can a right intent lack right of way? 
 Or can Hope invent and then betray ? 
 Yet perchance I weave with threads too 
 
 few, 
 Or myself deceive with half that's true." 
 
 Adam. — "While we may admit our threads are few. 
 How can thoughts so fit be less than true ? 
 How may we believe nonentities 
 Have the skill to weave such tapestries ? 
 
 "What your fancy paints so prettily 
 May be some occluded verity 
 Which was limned within it ere it left 
 Its Designer's Loom, your waiting weft, 
 
 "Which your wit beyond your wot betrays. 
 For the truth without our will finds ways 
 To convey itself from mind to mind 
 And a welcome or unwelcome find ; 
 
 " — Yet attaches worth and wings and feet 
 When it questions forth from lips so 
 sweet. 
 
 43 
 
And the pleasing thoughts which you 
 
 suggest 
 Seem with others fraught that lend them 
 
 zest. 
 
 "While my hopes assert that we are kin. 
 And your eyes alert are lures to mine. 
 May I ask, Fair One, from whence you 
 
 came } 
 And an added boon would be your name." 
 
 Eve. — "While my pleasure is what pleases thee 
 And its measure my ability. 
 You should be advised without delay 
 That I have as yet no yesterday. 
 
 "While the morning star was still in view — 
 As the dawn drew near, — as fell the 
 
 dew — 
 I became aware that I was born. 
 As if timed to share the thrill of morn. 
 
 "Yes, awoke while raged a gallant fight 
 'Twixt the Prince of Day and that of 
 
 Night, 
 And if name I had it must have flown 
 As the shadows fled before the dawn. 
 
 "Through a mist that hung, half black, 
 half white. 
 O'er my grotto and its cataract. 
 Seven swiftlings came, each one bedight 
 In a seventh hue the others lacked. 
 44 
 
"In a prismic circle mounting high. 
 And but half above the mirk revealed. 
 They with seven arches, ply on ply. 
 Built a battlement above the field. 
 
 "And with speed outvying sight or thought 
 From this archway an aurora sped 
 Into every fortress and redoubt 
 Where the darkness still resistance made. 
 
 "And their opalescent uniform 
 With such terror smote the ranks of Night 
 That they fled like clouds before a storm 
 From the steadway of my Prince of 
 Light. 
 
 "As my chosen knights, victorious, strove 
 With the wights of Night and through 
 
 them drove 
 Burnished spears of light with havoc fell 
 They at last took flight, — my name as 
 
 well. 
 
 "For while vict'ry this or that way bent 
 I was so enwrapt and so engrossed 
 — Lest my Prince should lose in the 
 
 event, 
 — That my mem'ry half its records lost. 
 
 "But since Dawn as my knight-errant came 
 I may properly preempt the name: 
 For the thought is lent that consorts we 
 Are of like descent and ministry. 
 
 ih ***** * 
 
 45 
 
**So I've no remembrance less or more 
 As to where or what I was before; 
 Whether some Aralu was my home 
 With a Nergal warder o'er my tomb, 
 Or if yon Aurora on its way 
 Bore me hence to you, I cannot say. 
 
 "In an instant what was blank before 
 Like a curtain fell, and lo, a door. 
 Which beseemed to open every way 
 Like a blackness breaking into day. 
 
 *'To myself I seemed, while of the night. 
 On the instant turned to noon-day light; 
 For before I woke I must have been, 
 Since I seemed to waken from within 
 In response to some o'ermast'ring power 
 Which commanded me to burst the door. 
 
 ******* 
 
 "As I thus was conjured from my sleep 
 Lo a voice seemed calling from the deep, 
 — And but that I paused to view yon 
 
 strife 
 And to taste the thrilling fact of life. 
 It I followed here with blank intent. 
 Nor with meaning clear of this event: 
 But my steps me led as lead they might 
 With no other guide than pure delight. 
 
 "But if I may ask it I would know, 
 — That my story may the smoother 
 
 flow, — 
 Was yon hand which dealt my life to me 
 — ^Which I feel I felt, but could not see, 
 46 
 
— Which yon curtain drew, its darkness 
 
 burst, 
 And that thrilled me with life's toxic 
 
 thirst, 
 — Which these lips unlocked that question 
 
 you — 
 — Which these eyelids raised as it 
 
 withdrew, — 
 — ^Was it thine or not? or be there three 
 In this deep'ning plot and mystery?" 
 
 ******* 
 
 Adam. — "What you say I add to what I knew 
 
 And it makes me glad that from the two 
 I can frame the answer you request, 
 — While this mossy mound supplies a 
 rest. 
 
 "It was not my hand that yonder broke 
 The eternal sleep from which you woke. 
 Nor was mine the torch that lit the fire 
 Or supernal light and fond desire 
 That is shining from your comely face 
 And illuming all this pleasant place. 
 But the hand of Him who fashioned me, 
 The Creator Great of all we see. 
 The Almighty One whose love we share 
 And whose spirit-form we jointly bear. 
 
 "But the voice you heard was mine alone. 
 'Twas a prayer in word, at heart a groan. 
 For this Garden good and matchless fair 
 With its fruits and flowers everywhere — 
 
 47 
 
With its sweeping rivers, sands of gold. 
 With its jeweled ledges fold on fold. 
 Was devoid of that which adds all worth 
 To the things upon or in the earth; 
 For without Companionship to share 
 All my heritage was sere and bare. 
 So, although and if devoid of dower. 
 You have brought the sum of wealth twice 
 o'er. 
 
 "I had dreamed such face by day and 
 
 night. 
 And had limned each grace in every light ; 
 But my dreams though fain were futile all 
 And my visions vain because so small; 
 Yet my dreams though false, as now I 
 
 see. 
 And although they libeled you to me. 
 They beguiled me as with bogus gold 
 To a hope now filled a thousandfold. 
 
 "And in this my dreams but symbolize 
 How His gifts loom ever in disguise 
 In my path to tempt me with the small 
 To the store where He awaits with all. 
 Thus I've come to know that in a less 
 He is wont to coil the ampleness 
 Of a gift so tow'ring in its size 
 That I ne'er might grasp it otherwise. 
 
 "And I've learned the lesson now once 
 more 
 That the more I trust Him and adore 
 4S 
 
All the more His love outruns my prayer 
 With the boon I crave and waits me 
 
 there. 
 Since the sun has risen in my heart 
 I may bid these rush-light dreams depart ; 
 For your story in the telling seems 
 To displace my bright with brighter 
 
 dreams." 
 
 Eve. — "Should I now presume to think of you, 
 
 And perforce assume your reasoning true, 
 Then it follows like the light the sun 
 That a double drama draws to one. 
 
 "You have dreamed, you say, and dream- 
 ing lost, 
 But your dreaming now seems but the 
 
 cost 
 Of a casket fair enough and fit 
 For some jewel rare awaiting it. 
 
 "Lest in flouting this your estimate 
 I but doom my own to share its fate, 
 I will make a mirror of your eyes 
 And appraise myself by your assize. 
 
 "You are pleased to praise my comeliness. 
 And I dare not hope the sum is less. 
 For assessing worth wherever shown 
 By the scales in which we weigh our own, 
 And appreciating what we see. 
 Is the half of life, it seems to me; 
 And the other half in balance fair 
 Is in being prized for what we are. 
 49 
 
"And I see in this how one and one 
 If they stand aloof, each one alone. 
 By degrees might shrink away to naught 
 In their own and in all other thought; 
 So in praising thus my comeliness 
 You but prove your own as none the less ; 
 For the more of honor each may give 
 All the more in turn each can receive; 
 And, since honor is of mutual growth, 
 All the gain of one accrues to both. 
 
 "So in handing back what you bestowed 
 I but strew with joy our common road. 
 But before I join my narrative 
 Will you not inform me where you live.^ 
 May I turn your question half way round. 
 As to name and place, and whither 
 
 bound ? 
 Or your story tell, as runs your choice, 
 For 'tis music just to hear your voice." 
 
 Adam. — "While my pleasure is what pleases you 
 And its measure is what I can do. 
 Let us cull the best the moment brings 
 And to leisure leave all lesser things. 
 
 "Hear those happy songsters in that tree, 
 Every note a lissome melody ; 
 Every passing moment and its glee 
 To the next bequeaths more ecstasy; 
 And withal observe that each alone 
 Seems the half of two, not all of one. 
 And that half the joy and all the zest 
 50 
 
Is the comradeship that plans each nest. 
 Thus they mean, methinks, to intimate 
 That their watchers might them imitate. 
 
 "When the sun goes down and night has 
 
 come 
 All the world will shrink within that 
 
 home. 
 And, in shrinking, make each moss-made 
 
 purse 
 The inclosure of a universe 
 
 "Shall we find a nook as they have found? 
 But with rocks for walls uprising round, 
 — Where the fragrant turf awaits our 
 
 feet 
 And where overarching branches meet 
 In a canopy, to sift the dew 
 From the starlight, as it filters through? 
 
 "Shall we search for such a spot and rear 
 What in miniature our mentors there 
 Have provided for the days to come — 
 A Paladium of joy, a home? 
 
 "And if thus you will it seems most fit 
 That a pledge be laid betokening it. 
 Shall we then this purple cluster take 
 And a cov'nant in its juices make? 
 
 "As its blood I press a ruddy stream 
 To the chalice of your willing palm 
 Shall it signify the warmth that pours 
 61 
 
From my heart a living tide to yours ? 
 Shall this nectar by its sweet appeal 
 Be the symbol of our bond — and seal? 
 
 "For I think with you our wisting feet 
 Have inclined our paths that they should 
 
 meet; 
 And on meeting feel, and feeling know 
 That the Hand that made us planned 
 
 it so. 
 
 "Will you place your hand in that which 
 grasped 
 At your dream-born phantom as it passed, 
 As a sign that evermore your life 
 Shall be clasped in mine, my heaven- 
 sent wife? 
 Will you give your pledge as I give mine 
 And for answer touch my lips with thine ? 
 
 "For this scarlet scar athwart my breast 
 There's a balm in thine if to it pressed, 
 For I can but feel that you are lent 
 Both to hide and heal my discontent. 
 Shall we kneel as one where late alone 
 I an altar made of yonder stone 
 And a benediction there invoke 
 From the Unseen Hand of which you 
 spoke?" 
 
 ******* 
 
 As entranced she hearkened to that hymn 
 Which has swept the lute strings of all 
 time; 
 
— Heard the echoes sweet if faint and 
 
 low. 
 Of that symphony those spirits know 
 Who forever in yon courts above 
 With abandon bask in perfect love. 
 
 Though that pristine passion of the race 
 Has been driven from its holy place, — 
 Though concupicent with sin and 
 
 shame 
 Since the day it fled the sword of flame, — 
 — Though suspicion with its doubts 
 
 attaints 
 E'en the honest blush that Virtue 
 
 paints, — 
 — Though as if ashamed it courts the 
 
 night 
 Like those flowers that shrink away from 
 
 light. 
 Yet it still survives like some lost chord 
 Of a symphony yet unrestored. 
 And it hearkens back and mourns the day 
 When its sanctity was sinned away. 
 
 But the charm o'erbrimmed her holy cup 
 As a flood exceeds a single sup, — 
 — Left her flaming cheek and eye ablaze 
 To the candor of his hungry gaze, — 
 — Left her trembling soul its way to find 
 Through a joy so bright it made her 
 
 blind. 
 And her heart recoiling from the bliss 
 Led her lips to coin a ruse like this : — 
 
 53 
 
Eve. — "Since the lieu is less than I might choose 
 All the pleas you press I now refuse ; 
 For you ask for more than I may give 
 From my little store and yet survive. 
 
 "Then you ask as boons some items three^ 
 For the meager ones you proffer me! 
 Yet with pious mein you seemingly 
 Would assume your gain no robbery. 
 
 "Do your greater might and greater age 
 Give to you the right of sabotage? 
 Or can I expect when thus bereft 
 To retain respect for all then left? 
 
 "Is it meet withal to grant your claim 
 To the things which win me your esteem ? 
 Is it wise or fair to ask from me 
 What may leave me bare of charm for 
 thee? 
 
 " 'Tis in kindness then that I refuse 
 An exchange so lean that both may lose. 
 When you bring the price that you should 
 
 pay 
 
 I may change my choice, — some other 
 day." 
 
 ******* 
 
 And as if to cover her pretence 
 With a mask of leaguered impotence. 
 And as though to foil his threatened 
 
 might 
 She must needs betake herself to flighty. 
 54 
 
With a naive alacrity she leapt 
 
 From his reach apart and, pausing, wept. 
 
 Yet the tears she shed from seeming grief 
 Were but overflowing joy's relief. 
 And, designed or not, her impulse won 
 To the Altar Stone she feigned to shun. 
 
 Was there there or near some Hand 
 
 Divine 
 Her emotive movements to incline 
 To the sacrosanct that God there placed 
 As a refuge from the storm she faced .^ 
 
 r 
 
 Thus she toyed with things that mattered 
 
 naught 
 While her heart its furious battle fought. 
 And with outward circumstances played 
 While the ponderment of life she weighed. 
 
 Oft the storm-stressed mariner discerns 
 When the tempest on itself returns 
 That the whirlwind's heart a haven forms 
 From the balanced strifes of twisting 
 storms. 
 
 Thus her soul in storm-bound silence 
 
 moved 
 While she whispered it, "I'm loved, I'm 
 
 loved," 
 And her fictions their enchantments wove 
 O'er the scene where love first fenced 
 
 with love. 
 55 
 
From the labored mine of hardest flint 
 There are brought the gems of rarest 
 
 glint; 
 — And if pearls were common as the sand 
 They would lack the lure they now 
 
 command. 
 Or if sapphires studded every stone. 
 Who would seek to set them in a crown? 
 — If the gold were light as is the dust 
 'Twould a victim be of every gust. 
 So its weight, the warder of its worth. 
 Sinks it deep to hiding in the earth. 
 
 But were these things true in yonder 
 
 world 
 While rebellion's flag was yet unfurled? 
 Was the measure of all values set 
 By their metered cost in toil and sweat ? 
 Or was not the curse that smote the earth 
 But a sin-false estimate of worth ? 
 Be it thus or not, we value most 
 What is won or bought at greatest cost. 
 E'en the Son of God by sacrifice 
 Gained the prize He sought at its full 
 
 price — 
 — Won His matchless crown through pain 
 
 and strife 
 And His priceless kingdom with His life. 
 
 All the heat and stress of high pursuit 
 Add but sweeter sweetness to the fruit. 
 In the endless race the planets run, 
 In the ceaseless speeding of the sun, 
 56 
 
In the restless surging of the tide, 
 And a hundred things like these beside, 
 Read the teaching of the universe 
 That in toil itself there is no curse. 
 It is when our empty bubbles burst 
 That the toil that chased them seems 
 
 accurst. 
 'Tis the futile chase that stings our feet 
 With the thorns and nettles of defeat. 
 
 •x- * * * ^ * * 
 
 But we left the twain in vergent mood 
 While they each the other half con- 
 strued, — 
 Having not as yet acquired the art 
 Of assessing each the other's part. 
 Or of weighing on the selfsame beam 
 Whether bought or sold, with weights 
 the same. 
 
 Though that each was swayed by fond 
 
 desire, 
 'Twas a feeling rather to acquire, 
 — All ignoring in their innocence 
 The compellant law of recompense. 
 For exchange without equivalent 
 Makes possession but a fictionment; 
 And enfeoffment with no equal fee 
 Wins a title lacking warranty. 
 
 All the planets with precision ply 
 Their appointed tasks eternally, 
 And the universe its shuttle twines 
 67 
 
Through an endless weft of fixed designs, 
 — All its forces balanced to events 
 Through this statute of equivalents. 
 'Tis a law that holds throughout all space 
 Save the sacred realm of Sov'reign Grace. 
 
 There, with Him, whose store forever 
 
 grows 
 With each gift that from His coffer flows, 
 — And whose passion for recipients 
 Makes a womb of all the continents. 
 Whose creative love no law restrains 
 While an unfilled void or need remains, 
 — ^Who creates a world of hungry need 
 For the joy of blessing it with bread, — 
 There exists no right more self -supreme 
 Than the right to give, relieve, redeem; 
 — No puissance more divinely high 
 Than the right of sovereign charity, 
 — Nor a majesty that ranks above 
 The bestowal of requiteless love. 
 
 Though he scarce her sudden movement 
 
 sensed 
 And as scarce from instant chase 
 
 refrained. 
 His discretion held him where he stood 
 Till her further acts her words explained. 
 
 Then those Peris who outwing our wills 
 To decide, revise, or to restrain, 
 
 58 
 
In the stillness which the while ensued 
 Held a wordless parley 'twixt the 
 twain : — 
 
 Held a parliament of reticence 
 
 Which perhaps the birds and flowers 
 
 joined — 
 For they still supply when hearts are 
 
 dumb 
 The appeal for which no words are 
 
 coined. 
 
 "Shall I go or stay?" at length he mused. 
 
 As her mood he failed to analyze, — 
 "If I go, then where? Where find the 
 price 
 Of such priceless brand of merchandise? 
 What is this which builds a citadel 
 From the fragrance of its own pure 
 
 breath. 
 And surmounts it with artillery 
 That outranges life and even death ? 
 Do I find myself a thrall bound fast 
 With the shackles of a prisoner. 
 And from sovereign choice my captive 
 
 soul 
 Bound with fetters forged from gos- 
 samer ? 
 Shall I go or stay?'* at length he called, 
 As he caught a question in her eyes; 
 "Does the world contain what you demand 
 As the price of wifehood's sacrifice?" 
 59 
 
And with downcast face he slowly cast 
 The exhausted cluster on the moss. 
 For its emptiness now seemed to say 
 That his golden dream had turned to 
 dross. 
 
 As a blazonry of citrine light 
 Wrought a shim'ring halo of her hair; 
 And transfused her tears to twinkling 
 
 gems. 
 She appeared the peer of all that's fair. 
 
 And a shapely hand which hither till 
 Had not touched or been of touch aware 
 In its groping now unconsciously 
 Found the Altar Stone, and rested there. 
 
 But its very stillness seemed to call 
 From beyond the space that lay between 
 To the king within him, for it bore 
 The imperial mandate of a queen. 
 
 What a little thing, that shapely hand, 
 As it waited on the Altar's crest! 
 But how great the kingdom that it rules ! 
 How imperative in its behest! 
 
 From the selfsame fountain rise and flow 
 To the selfsame surfless sea above 
 By the selfsame channels, — God or- 
 dained. 
 Both the tide of Life and that of Love. 
 60 
 
And the voyager whose barque is borne 
 By the one is carried by the other. 
 And the chart and pilot of them both 
 Are the hand and heart that make the 
 mother. 
 
 ******* 
 
 Eve. — "What you seek may not be found abroad 
 Nor acquired from any mine or mart. 
 And it has no valence till exchanged 
 For its like in kind and counterpart. 
 
 "What unbars the chaliced paranath 
 Of the lily at the sun's behest.^ 
 Or unlocks the sanctum of the rose 
 To the wooing winds at their request? 
 
 "Go inquire what lures the lark aloft 
 In the choral morn with votive prayer 
 And which seems itself to rise the while 
 On the worship of its worshiper. 
 
 "Go inquire what fills yon votary 
 With aversion for its native heath, — 
 What mysterious nimbic of the dawn 
 Smites it deaf and dumb to all beneath. 
 
 "May I teach you where to find the grail ? 
 That exhausted cluster will suffice. 
 For 'tis found alone where self expires 
 On the altar of its sacrifice. 
 
 "You have summed the things which you 
 would give. 
 And have offered all except the whole. 
 61 
 
Yet you ask for more than love may sell 
 In exchange for less than its own soul. 
 
 'It is not Desire, — for such will fail 
 When it meets with others more supreme. 
 Nor of passion born, for passions pass 
 Like the froth afloat upon a stream. 
 
 'At the moment of our meeting there 
 I was dreaming of yon fantasy 
 In the glassy pool and from the part 
 I was painting what the whole might be ; 
 
 'But there seemed to flit beyond my grasp 
 An uncertain searching discontent. 
 Like the spirit of a spirit lost 
 In its quest for fit embodiment. 
 
 'Then I saw your form, — ^yet saw beyond, 
 And my soul awoke as from a trance 
 To a vision of a world so fair 
 That the sunlight smirched its radiance. 
 
 * — Saw a world within a world within 
 Having neither length nor width nor 
 
 wall — 
 Which had neither height nor depth and 
 
 yet 
 Held dominion in and over all: 
 
 "Saw a mystic garden so abloom 
 That its beauty seemed to sing aloud, 
 62 
 
And from censers pendant from each 
 
 flower 
 Saw an incense rising like a cloud; 
 
 *' — Saw the seeming of a placid stream, 
 Like a brimming river winding by, 
 In whose rainbow depths was mirrored 
 
 deep 
 All the seeming of a nether sky ; 
 
 *' — Saw among its glowing phantasies 
 As it were two keepers of the whole, 
 The ensemblance they, of all its grace. 
 It their domicile, and they its soul. 
 
 *' — Saw them lave at will in limpid fonts, 
 — Pluck their toxic fruits from tree and 
 
 vine, 
 And with endless art each moment mold 
 To some future joy yet more divine. 
 
 *' — Saw them strive to conquer each its 
 mate. 
 Or of each to make the others prey 
 By a warfare waged with arrows winged 
 With the worship of its enemy. 
 
 ^'Saw their radiant bodies all suffused 
 As with phosphorescent blush and glow 
 From the warmth and rapture of their 
 
 Or some light within which filtered 
 through. 
 63 
 
"Like two opposites yet apposites. 
 Or two striving storms, till both outdone 
 They enfolded each the other's form 
 And the twain were wedded into one." 
 
 » * * -x- * * * 
 
 While her fancy thus the picture drew 
 There was woven round his heart anew 
 That mysterious net which Heaven forms 
 From the tendrils of a maiden's arms. 
 
 Then they knelt beside the Altar Stone, 
 Where their dreams, like they, were 
 
 merged in one ; 
 For the vision that their love had seen 
 Made of him her king, of her his queen. 
 
 ******* 
 
 Oh, the noblest honor men may claim 
 Is the crown such love bestows on them, 
 And the greatest in a woman's life 
 Is the kiss that makes a maid a wife, — 
 — Save that kindred honor both may 
 
 claim 
 At the Marriage Supper of the Lamb. 
 He who guards with care such earthly 
 
 crown 
 Is presumptive heir to yonder one. 
 But who drags its whiteness in the dust 
 Deeds his soul to moths, his heart to rust. 
 
 ******* 
 
 Only He who made it knows the deeps 
 Of the soul, or that which in it sleeps; 
 64 
 
Only he who tuned it to His own 
 Knows the harp He made, its sweetest 
 
 tone; 
 Only He can, therefore, sound or measure 
 Its capacity for joy and pleasure. 
 It was love of love and being loved 
 That to form it God by love was moved, 
 And for neither is there treasure trove 
 Like the power to wake and answer Love. 
 
 * 
 
 From his tree near by the Tempter hung, 
 The observer keen of all that passed. 
 And, ascintillate with jealous hate 
 He abode his time ; — which came at last. 
 
 Through his glittering scales of orange 
 
 green 
 All the colors of the iris shone. 
 And an angel of the light he seemed 
 Till his deadly work was doubly done. 
 
 — Till his plot Satanic brought the curse 
 And to exile drove the love-linked pair; 
 — But in this he failed, — in that their love 
 They from Eden brought, — its souvenir. 
 
 And although the sword of flame abides, 
 
 'Tis a prophet of a day to come 
 
 When the light which yonder blinded 
 
 them 
 Shall a beacon prove to light them home. 
 65 
 
For the Tempter's head shall yet be 
 
 crushed 
 By the Heel of her that brought to birth 
 The ensemble of that Sov'reign Grace 
 Which gives Life and Light and Love to 
 
 Earth. 
 
 66 
 
AUNT ROSANNA'S 
 January First — 1906 
 
 In ye olden times when anything was done in 
 verse it was customary to print an introduction 
 in plain prose for the evident purpose of explain- 
 ing what it was all about. 
 
 We are no poet and bring nothing worthy of the 
 name of a poem. However, we have prepared a 
 few rambling verses on a subject which is well 
 worthy of a Lowell or a Scott. We attempt to 
 picture the old Magee Homestead as seen through 
 the eyes of a boy a few years after the date of 
 the wedding whose fiftieth anniversary we here 
 celebrate. At the date referred to my grandparents 
 had been dead some years and my mother and her 
 three orphaned sisters, with their only brother, 
 "Uncle Ren," constituted the family. 
 
 We have understood that until our mother left 
 this place for a home of her own, there never was 
 any worth-while question as to who directed things 
 hereabout, but upon leaving, her mantle fell upon 
 her next younger sister. So during the days of 
 which we write the place was called after the name 
 of its reigning queen and leading spirit, "Aunt 
 Rosanna's." 
 
 In those days it was our joy and custom to 
 spend a month or two every summer visiting here, 
 and there was scarcely a nook or cranny about the 
 
 67 
 
farm or its old log buildings with which we were 
 not familiar. 
 
 The old house stood on the spot where this new 
 one now stands, and we remember very distinctly 
 the shock we got here when we found that the old 
 house had been taken down. Near the place where 
 the present barn now stands stood a great log one 
 in which we had many and many a time hunted 
 eggs with Aunt Lizzie, and stoned hornet nests 
 with our almost inseparable companions during 
 those visits, Cousins Allison and Lorena Douthett. 
 They are here today, and many of our days and 
 nights as well were spent at their home just across 
 two fields. 
 
 We offer this description to-day because it car- 
 ries us back to the place where fifty years ago were 
 solemnized the weddings we are here to commem- 
 orate, and the few years intervening between the 
 date of those weddings and the time of which we 
 write could not have made very much change. 
 
 So it was among such scenes that Aunts Lucinda 
 and Tillie were wedded, and from such scenes that 
 they went joyfully away to homes of their own. 
 
 If you've lived long enough and care to remember 
 The days when Aunt Rosanna reigned here — 
 If our pencil could paint you correctly the picture 
 As memory holds it in vision most clear, — 
 If we could but make you a barefooted urchin 
 And drop you right down in the midst of the j oy, 
 We are sure you would think you were not far from 
 
 heaven — 
 — The sort of a heaven that's made for a boy. 
 
 68 
 
It is forenoon in June and the family buggy 
 With Pigeon hitched in it is crossing the ridge 
 Of the Evansburg hill, with mother for driver, 
 Just ayont Fox's Ford and the Amberson Bridge. 
 It is four miles away, yet the boy in the buggy 
 Can anymost see through the tops of the trees 
 The moss-grown roofs of the old log buildings. 
 Where wonderful echoes resided those days. 
 
 At the end of the lane was a gate, you remember ? 
 Counterbalanced with rocks on a great pivot post, 
 And a deep, solemn squeak it gave forth as you 
 
 turned it, 
 A greeting to you while forewarning your host. 
 Old Pigeon stops short at the gate without telling. 
 She's as blind as a bat but she knows it is there ; 
 As a colt she had borne one glad day from this 
 
 gateway 
 Her mistress a bride, — so it's homecoming to her. 
 
 The squeak has already awakened old Lion, 
 And his welcoming bowwow resounds through the 
 
 trees. 
 For of course, he's expecting and waiting our 
 
 coming — 
 Just as everyone there did those halcyon days. 
 To the forks of the lane we hasten old Pigeon, 
 And here meet the question of which way to go — 
 Shall we first make for Douthett's — Aunt Lu- 
 
 cinda's, more proper, 
 Or keep to the left, — Aunt Rosanna's, you know.^ 
 
 Old Pigeon has mem'ries that promptly decide it, 
 And soon we have rounded the barn into view 
 
 69 
 
Of the old log house, overlooking the garden 
 And the watering trough 'neath the shellbark tree. 
 From the vine-clad porch comes Aunt Lizzie 
 
 a-racing. 
 With curls in the air and cheeks rosy red. 
 Uncle Ren at her heels. Aunt Rosanna, Aunt 
 
 Susan — 
 Each trying to reach us a little ahead. 
 
 And lastly Abe Shontz (he of stories and jack- 
 knives. 
 And willow-bark whistles, and popguns galore) — 
 All laughing a welcome whose sweetness outrivaled 
 The billows of roses abloom by the door. 
 Then the first thing was dinner; but you won't 
 
 understand us 
 Unless you have sat in a split-bottomed chair 
 At the great cherry table that stood in the kitchen 
 And tasted the toothsomeness always found there. 
 
 From the pot on the crane in the great stone 
 
 chimney 
 Great dishes of chicken were brought without stint. 
 And sweet cakes and tarts from the three-cornered 
 
 cupboard. 
 And butter as yellow as gold from the mint. 
 And dried-apple pies ! Now spare your contempt 
 Till you've dined on the old original brand; 
 — Like to puddings they were with a cinnamon 
 
 flavor. 
 And cuts which resembled quarter-sections of land. 
 
 And lettuce and radishes right from the garden; 
 — Such radishes, friends, we have never since met, 
 
 70 
 
And cheese that was pressed out there by the 
 
 woodshed, — 
 — I tell you, dear friends, our mouth waters yet. 
 Over there are the "hackles" and "swifts" in the 
 
 corner. 
 And the loom, and the reel with the wonderful 
 
 crack. 
 The "reeds" and the "heddles," the shuttles and 
 
 "bobbins," 
 And thrums without end, red and green, white and 
 
 black. 
 
 From the wool and the flax which willing hands 
 
 gathered 
 Full many a web that old loom wove; 
 With a warp of good will and with kindness for 
 
 filling. 
 The weft that came forth was the product of love. 
 And many a longing and fond recollection 
 Were often, no doubt, treadled into the twill. 
 For the hands that had fashioned that loom from 
 
 the forest 
 And that first threw its shuttles were all now still. 
 
 'Twas a wonderful loom and a wonderful kitchen. 
 Conducted by three just as wonderful aunts. 
 For by them were here spun and wove and sus- 
 
 pendered. 
 Of linsy-woolsy our first pair of pants. 
 Over back was the springhouse — the dog churn 
 
 close by it 
 Which old Lion, when hungry, would mount and 
 
 run, 
 
 71 
 
Unless it was locked, for thus he earned buttermilk, 
 And always got paid when the churning was done. 
 
 Thence the lane led away up the hill to the pasture. 
 And we were the cowboy when folks were all busy. 
 But mostly we tarried so long at the berries 
 That we got a ride home on the back of Aunt 
 
 Lizzie. 
 Next the kitchen a hallway, with stairway aloft 
 And a nook up there where the dinner bell swung, 
 With its rope running down through a crack in 
 
 the flooring 
 To the porch underneath, and by which it was rung. 
 
 Oh, how often we've waited up there till Aunt 
 
 Susan 
 At dinnertime came to tug at the cord. 
 When we'd suddenly jerk up the rope, just to fool 
 
 her, 
 — And then get spanked, — ^but not very hard. 
 From the nook we could see 'cross two fields and 
 
 their fences 
 Where Allison lived and Lorena likewise. 
 And Uncle James, also, — who had gimlets and 
 
 bee-hats 
 And worked among bees just as if they were flies. 
 
 And the parlor! But where are the words to 
 
 describe it.^ 
 Its walls of hewn logs, with a knot here and there. 
 And the chinks mortared up, its joists of rough 
 
 timbers. 
 All whitewashed each spring with particular care. 
 
 72 
 
On the floor a rag carpet, puffed up like a bedtick 
 On billows of straw till it felt to the tread 
 As if wading a haymow, and gave forth a perfume 
 Like harvested clover in windrow half dried. 
 
 Over there 'gainst the wall and next to the window 
 Stood the tall, old clock, whose face always frowned 
 In dignified silence on all youthful follies. 
 And always ticked loudest when bedtime came 
 
 'round. 
 Its weights were constructed of little tin buckets 
 Filled with pebbles and buttons and pieces of brick ; 
 If it didn't keep up with the sun Aunt Rosanna 
 Just dropped in more buttons to hasten its tick. 
 
 We knew it not then but learned of it later. 
 That this solemn old clock with the thoughtful face 
 Had looked down upon scenes and on far-reaching 
 
 changes 
 Which here in its presence had oft taken place. 
 It had measured the moments for slackening pulses, 
 And days of despair and voiceless grief; 
 And again tolled the hours for sorrows, assuaging 
 Declaring that these, like life, are brief. 
 
 But again it had tallied the footfalls of pleasure, 
 
 — Had listened to vows again and again 
 
 That had wedded true hearts, and ticked out a 
 
 blessing 
 On those going hence to new homes of their own. 
 And we've gathered today with our fondest well 
 
 wishes 
 On the spot where the old clock ticked away 
 
 73 
 
While Uncle John Sproull married our Aunt Tillie 
 Just fifty long years ago this day. 
 
 And beside them right there was Uncle James 
 
 Douthett, 
 Aunt Lucinda beside him, hand in hand, 
 Each confessing to each and to Pastor Galbraith 
 A love that naught but death could end. 
 The vows of that day were recorded in Heaven, 
 And Mr. Galbraith often joked us true 
 That he never had failed to make the knot solid 
 If folks but stood still till he got through. 
 
 And now, dear friends, we are glad that the 
 
 blessings 
 Invoked on your lives on your wedding day 
 Have all been received, and that goodness and 
 
 mercy 
 Have followed you constantly all the way. 
 Faith makes of the past a pledge for the future, 
 And your morning so fair, and this noonday bright. 
 Bespeak you a day that is perfect, and endless. 
 And instead of an evening, increasing light. 
 
 74 
 
"THE LITTLE BRICK CHURCH" 
 
 Keep back the swift years ere they cover forever 
 
 That dear old spot, and, if you will, 
 Let us gather once more, while in fancy we may. 
 
 At the Little Brick Church on the side of the hill. 
 Come from lands far remote and from over the seas ; 
 
 For the worshipers there learned a faith world- 
 wide 
 Which has borne its bearers to many a clime 
 
 And scattered its seeds upon many a tide. 
 
 'Twas a trysting place for the Covenant Cause, 
 
 A rallying place of the old Blue Banner ; 
 And the moss-grown slabs in the thicket near by 
 Hold the names that enlisted — a long roll of 
 honor — 
 The McKinneys, the Dodds, the Douthetts and 
 Crows, 
 The Forsythes and the Loves, the Sproulls and 
 Magees, 
 And the dates when the sleepers received their 
 promotion — 
 Take us back to those sturdy old pioneer days. 
 
 You remember the many and devious trails 
 
 Winding up to the place through the great forest 
 trees } 
 And their chuck holes and ruts which sometimes 
 upset 
 
 75 
 
In the summer the wagons, in winter the sleighs ? 
 
 For the people who worshiped there came not for 
 
 pleasure. 
 
 Religion and roads ! who so bold as to mix them? 
 
 On Sabbath 'twere wrong e'en to notice such things. 
 
 And no one was there through the week for to 
 
 fix them. 
 
 And the tethering trees, where the ponies kept lent 
 Fifty-two times per year through two faithful 
 discourses. 
 Each in view of a pew, so the owner need not 
 Lose the thread of the sermon through care for 
 his horses. 
 You recall how the horses, in lieu of a dinner. 
 Of the bark of the trees would feign their 
 repasts, 
 And perchance you have wondered if somewhere 
 there's not 
 An Elysium waiting those patient old beasts. 
 
 Some place where their tribe, which for ten 
 generations 
 Had faithfully borne under saddle and rein 
 O'er those wilderness trails, through snowstorms 
 and mire. 
 The forebears of their owners, might gather 
 again, 
 And greet with a whinny, subdued as of yore. 
 When on Sabbath they met 'neath the chestnut 
 and oak. 
 Oh, if beast and the trees praise the Lord, there 
 was praise 
 In the forest-born echoes their neighing awoke. 
 
 76 
 
You recall the high pulpit. 'Twas paneled and 
 white. 
 Like a large lidless box at the end of the aisle. 
 'Twas the only thing 'bout the place, I believe. 
 Ever guilty of paint or suspected of style. 
 From a cushionless pew ere the service began 
 Have you not often feared there was no preacher 
 in it? 
 Later on^ from within, to the desk rose the Book, 
 And you knew that a head would come up in a 
 minute. 
 
 Just before it they stood, who "precented" the 
 Psalm, 
 Two lines at a time ; you remember the tone ? 
 And the roll of that rhythmic inflec-shi-un. 
 
 Whose set emphasis added a thrill of its own. 
 For it carried one back to "the killing times" 
 When our forefathers sang them, by stealth in 
 the night. 
 In the glens and the caverns of Scotland's hills, 
 With their mem'ry for books and the stars for 
 their light. 
 
 You recall the large stoves which preempted the 
 aisle. 
 Which were fueled at will by those who sat near. 
 Till the heat or the homily deadened all sense 
 Of the freezing disgust from the seats in the 
 rear. 
 And how their removing each spring in itself 
 Was a service preparing the people of Union 
 
 77 
 
To hear from the pulpit that "next Lord's Day 
 Has been fixed by the Session for holding 
 communion." 
 
 You remember the Sabbath the ceiling took fire ? 
 
 How Pastor Galbraith, of deliberate ways. 
 For a time pressed the text, and then paused 
 between heads. 
 While we boys carried snowballs and pelted the 
 blaze. 
 And well you remember those "sacrament times"? 
 
 The solemnity sweet, which fell like dew. 
 As the people were slowly and cautiously led 
 "Up the sides of the mount" — "to the Pizgah 
 view." 
 
 You remember the Sabbath the dove flew in. 
 
 As if drawn by the charm of that hallowed spot ? 
 On a door, set wide to the June wood's breath, 
 
 At the minister's left, it perched and sat. 
 It took no fright at the minister's voice. 
 
 So gentle, and calm, and kind was he — 
 Oh, many a dovelike spirit plumed 
 
 Its flight in the spell of that ministry. 
 
 Were you there when the Cov'nant was solemnly 
 sworn. 
 With heads bowed down for promised grace. 
 And with hands upraised, all filled with awe 
 At a Presence which seemed to fill the place? 
 Were you there that glad day when the minister's 
 son 
 Brought home his bride? — our "Renwick" Gal- 
 braith — 
 
 78 
 
Or again, when the sorrowful tidings came 
 From Palestine to tell of his death? 
 
 Oh, a place more fit could nowhere be 
 
 To meet with Jehovah, or learn His will. 
 Than beneath the trees which He planted there 
 
 'Round the Little Brick Church on the side of the 
 hill. 
 'Twas the third that was built on the fitting spot; 
 
 But the trees are gone, the ground is bare. 
 And nothing remains to mark the place 
 
 Save the memories sweet which wander there. 
 
 The oil-well brine has spoiled the spring 
 
 Where in summer we ate our lunch at noon. 
 And the blackberry bushes, and the shellbarks, too, 
 
 With all their temptations are gone, are gone ! 
 E'en the dust of the five generations dead 
 
 To a place near the town they are moving away ! 
 Think they might have allowed them to wait for 
 the morn 
 
 Near the spot which on earth they deemed 
 nearest the sky. 
 
 Come from lands far and near and from over the 
 seas 
 
 Ye few that remain who knew "Old Union." 
 Oh, it won't be long till there may be held 
 
 In the one sweeter place a grand reunion. 
 And stay the swift years while we gather again 
 
 At the dear old place, and, if you will. 
 Let us worship once more, while in fancy we may, 
 
 At the Little Brick Church on the side of the hill. 
 
 79 
 
THE MAINE 
 
 1898 — On Anniversary of Sinking of the 
 Maine in Havana Harbor 
 
 From the depths of the sea through the darkness 
 broke 
 
 A mighty tongue of lurid flame, 
 And a voice like the voice of Jehovah woke 
 
 A callous world to Cuba's shame. 
 E'en the waves, as if guilty, in terror fled. 
 
 When spoke the God of freedom there. 
 For they held, like humanity, tears unshed. 
 
 While wails of woe filled all the air. 
 
 And they stood abashed, as when of yore 
 
 God lit a pathway through the sea 
 With a pillar of fire and went before 
 
 To cleave the way to liberty. 
 From whence that flash and that terrible bolt? 
 
 The world's best wisdom asks in vain. 
 But the Presence which planned his people's revolt 
 
 At the burning bush is making it plain. 
 
 The pride of a nation which could not hear 
 In Cuba's cry "His still small voice" 
 
 Heard His thunder-tones in the whirlwind of fire 
 That claimed that awful sacrifice. 
 
 81 
 
And^ smarting beneath the Unseen Hand, 
 
 The nation leapt from lethargy 
 To the task which God gave her at birth, to stand 
 
 Between the tyrant and his prey. 
 
 Write the names of the men that were claimed by 
 death 
 
 On high upon the martyrs' scroll. 
 For their lives fed the light which illumined the path 
 
 Toward the nation's baptismal goal. 
 
 Long ago it was writ of our merciful God, 
 
 "He smites in love his chosen one," 
 And the favor it pledges is well worth the rod 
 
 That points a nation to its crown. 
 And invisible armor has sheltered our ships, 
 
 Our guns were trained by an Unseen Eye, 
 And the tempered steel from their livid lips 
 
 Proclaimed God's will to tyranny. 
 
 Far above the intentions of nations or men. 
 
 Above their knowing or consent. 
 There's a purpose that sov'reigns — an ultimate plan. 
 
 To which their good and ill are bent. 
 That purpose means freedom the whole world 
 'round 
 
 — The way to pave for brotherhood. 
 And in the attainment of these to found 
 
 Fraternal fealty to God. 
 
 82 
 
THE PENNSYLVANIA BROOKS HIGH 
 
 LICENSE LAW 
 
 1895 
 
 Some five and twenty years ago 
 Some legislators, just elect. 
 Convened at Harrisburg and swore, 
 With hands upraised, to this effect: 
 "We each of us most solemnly 
 Do swear before Almighty God 
 That for this Commonwealth we'll make 
 Laws only for the common good"; 
 "So help us, God." 
 
 Then presently they passed a law 
 Which authorizes or compels 
 The judge of every country court 
 To institute as many hells 
 As needed "to accommodate 
 The Traveling Public"; as it were. 
 Directs each court to privilege men 
 To stoke the fires — at so much per, 
 "So help him, God." 
 
 These legislators knew quite well 
 That that T. P. was but a ruse; 
 The real purpose was to damn 
 The State by law with legal booze. 
 So they bethought them that "hotels" 
 
 83 
 
(As patronized by this T. P.) 
 Might be a better word than "hells" 
 And lend respectability, 
 "So help them, God." 
 
 And so they slightly changed this word 
 Enough to make it spell "hotel" 
 And make it more euphonious 
 And constitutional as well. 
 And thus we have a law, begot 
 Of perjury and broken faith, 
 By which the thousands it has damned 
 Drag other thousands down to death. 
 "So help us, God." 
 
 This "covenant with Death" should now 
 Be broken, don't you think .^ 
 Too long it has besmirched this State 
 And made our very courts to stink. 
 It prompts our courts to legalize 
 That which they know to be a crime. 
 And by pretense and subterfuge 
 To dip their ermine in the slime. 
 "Oh, help us, God!" 
 
 But there are courts which will not stoop 
 To this co-partnership with wrong, 
 Which take instructions from that Court 
 To whom all courts on earth belong; 
 Courts which now hold that "any law" 
 Which controvenes the law of God 
 Is by that very fact repealed 
 And made forever null and void 
 "For which, thank God." 
 84 
 
THE RIDDLE 
 
 August 13, 1894. 
 
 Guess what occurred at our house, 
 The cause of all this great ado. 
 And turned our plans all upside down 
 And put us into such a reg'lar stew. 
 
 Guess what it was that made the fuss 
 And brought the neighbors on a run 
 And made them smile as if to earth 
 A little touch of heaven had drop't down. 
 
 Guess how it comes that counting up 
 The chairs that 'round the table rank, 
 We plan to move them up a wee 
 And lengthen out our board another plank. 
 
 Say how it comes on washing day 
 
 That down the chute and through the suds 
 
 Besides the common laundry stuff 
 
 Go now some other weenty dainty duds. 
 
 And how it comes that when we pray 
 And tell them over name by name. 
 One more request is added now 
 And for another pensioner make claim. 
 
 86 
 
How comes it now when taking up 
 The greater toil^ the seeming task. 
 The burden to a blessing turns 
 And proves itself to be in fact a mask. 
 
 Guess far and near or you may miss — 
 
 For angels, often unawares. 
 
 Bring first the answer down to us 
 
 And then await already answered prayers. 
 
 And when a-guessing don't forget 
 The sun shines sweetest through the rifts 
 Sometimes, and heaven deeds in pain 
 Possession of its best and purest gifts. 
 
 You may the answer partly find, 
 But not the riddle's full solution 
 Unless your fancy mounts the wheels 
 Of time and notes their every revolution. 
 
 And so 'tis not so wonderful 
 
 The neighbors came upon the run, 
 
 Mayhap they heard the angel's wings 
 
 That brought to us the precious bundle down. 
 
 And now they camp beside the cot 
 — God's guardians the readiest. 
 For angels ever pitch their tents 
 In bivouac nearest to earth's neediest. 
 
 And when you're guessing say it low. 
 For they may still be lurking near 
 To see if earth will find a name 
 To fit the royal little voyager. 
 
 86 
 
Perhaps they wait to learn if earth 
 
 Will spare the room for heaven's blessing, 
 
 Before they fly away and leave 
 
 With us the wonder box that beat their guessing. 
 
 87 
 
KRUPP OR CHRIST 
 1915 
 
 This may or may not be that war of wars foretold 
 
 of yore 
 To which all kings of earth march forth their hosts 
 
 at the behest 
 Of three unclean and froglike spirits, vomited from 
 
 out 
 The mouths of "the False Prophet" and "the 
 
 Dragon" and "the Beast." 
 
 But be it this or be it not, a feud is interwaged 
 Between a trinity of mortal foes, alike malign; 
 — Three monstrous Juggernauts, — a Statecraft 
 
 which unhonors Christ, 
 A false and sensual Faith, and Despotism by 
 
 "right Divine." 
 
 These three unholy spirits, or the "Kultures" they 
 
 have spawned 
 Upon the earth, are met to challenge each the 
 
 other's claims, 
 — As if before a Court of Last Resort, where Death 
 
 presides 
 To crown as victor that which most abets what 
 
 God condemns. 
 
 89 
 
Hard by the Dardanelles, where Orient and Occi- 
 dent 
 
 Have often measured swords and molded racial 
 destinies, — 
 
 Hard by the Hellespont, where meet all Creeds 
 and Cults 
 
 And highways of the world, "the Valley of 
 Decision" lies. 
 
 Here each is marsh'ling millions of impassioned 
 
 votaries 
 To vindicate or validate its sovereign right to 
 
 rule : 
 And hence this Carnival of Death, and an Inferno 
 
 such 
 As Dante's pen could ne'er depict upon the Stygian 
 
 pool. 
 
 So now or later here will come the vampires of the 
 
 world, 
 With tooth and talon to devour each other's flesh 
 
 and blood. 
 And in the Armageddon of all time blood-lust 
 
 unrein. 
 Until God's earth is quit at last of all this hellish 
 
 brood. 
 
 This Court regards it right to dung the earth with 
 
 murdered men, 
 — To turn to seething holocausts their cities, 
 
 homes and hearths, 
 90 
 
— To fill all lands with mateless maids and wailing 
 
 widowhood. 
 And stamp the costs of orphanhood on babes before 
 
 their births. 
 
 It likewise holds it just to fill the seas with scuttled 
 
 fleets ; 
 — To strew the waves with bloated carcasses of 
 
 beasts and men. 
 — To make the very clouds an ambuscade of death, 
 
 and holds 
 That men may justly make a hell of heaven their 
 
 ends to gain. 
 
 But far above all heights, beyond the reach of 
 
 wrack and wrong — 
 Beyond the range of submarine or soaring 
 
 Zeppelin — 
 Above the stench and putrid reek of slaughtered 
 
 humanhood, — 
 (Yet not beyond the wails that rise from out the 
 
 horrid din) 
 
 Serene sits ONE who waits while hate on hate 
 
 wreaks full revenge. 
 And thirst for Power and Titled Pride suck up 
 
 each other's blood; — 
 — Till bastard faiths bring forth the fruits of 
 
 their own blasphemies. 
 And men perceive that Man has no defense from 
 
 Man save God. 
 
 91 
 
And while these frenzied vassals of this baneful 
 trinity 
 
 Each other kill and crush as if in one vast slaughter- 
 pen. 
 
 Their blinding rage unvrittingly subtends the ends 
 of Him 
 
 Whose power outbounds, while it permits the 
 utmost wrath of men. 
 
 But why should men, with souls made in the image 
 
 of their God, 
 Like galley slaves forever give to Force a sov'reign 
 
 place ? 
 The only hand that's fit to hold a scepter over men 
 Is His who paid the price and proved His right as 
 
 Prince of Peace. 
 
 And thus, in final sequela, the issue does not lie 
 Between those nations striving now to keep yon 
 
 bloody tryst, — 
 But 'twixt this great Triumvirate of federated hates 
 And Love Omnipotent that bides His hour, — 'twixt 
 
 "Krupp" and Christ. 
 
 92 
 
THE RED CROSS SHIP 
 
 (Dedicated to my daughter Regina, upon the 
 occasion of her sailing for France in the service of 
 the American Red Cross^ February 9, 1918.) 
 
 I dreamed I woke in Flanders, 
 
 Behind that far-flung line. 
 Where walls of fire embarrage 
 
 The gateways of the Rhine. 
 
 A crimson dawn foreboded 
 
 Another crimson day 
 While men in helmets waited 
 
 The opening of the fray. 
 
 Beyond the reeking dead-line 
 
 Which from the Vosges runs 
 A hundred leagues to seaward 
 
 Are massed two million Huns. 
 
 This side of it as many 
 
 Have barred the Vandal's way. 
 
 At every cost and hazard 
 
 To hold their hordes at bay. 
 
 The flower of England's yeomen 
 With Gaul and Belgian stand. 
 
 With all the aids that Genius 
 Can place at Death's command* 
 93 
 
Beside them in their trenches 
 Are men from every zone. 
 
 For Earth's remotest peoples 
 
 Have made this cause their own. 
 
 And all men pause in horror 
 
 At the Satanic sight 
 Of Wrong its gauntlet hurling 
 
 Full in the face of Right. 
 
 The question here at issue. 
 
 Brought forth at Hist'ry's birth, 
 
 Is whether Force or Justice 
 Shall dominate God's earth. 
 
 'Twas asked beside the altar 
 Which stood at Eden's gate, 
 
 As Abel's blood was offered 
 In sacrifice to Hate. 
 
 This question, yet unanswered. 
 Comes reeking down from Cain, 
 
 Across an earth made putrid 
 With blood streams of the slain 
 
 And now, as though in ferment 
 
 Outbursing through earth's crust. 
 
 The festered wrongs of Ages 
 Ooze forth for vengeance just. 
 
 So here have camped those nations 
 Which bear the mark of Cain, 
 
 To give to his curst spirit 
 Earth's Eminent Domain. 
 94b 
 
— To keep Truth on the scaffold 
 While Wrong upon the throne 
 
 Brands Righteousness a fiction 
 And Freedom's God a clown. 
 
 And while the blood of millions 
 Is red'ning land and sea, 
 
 The whole world asks in horror 
 What shall the ending be. 
 
 Is this that bloody drama 
 
 Foretold in Holy Writ? 
 — The field of Armageddon, 
 
 With issue like to it.^ 
 
 Is there no Eye above it 
 
 That guides the wrath of men 
 
 To its own deep destruction 
 
 That Love and Truth may reign.'' 
 
 But lo ! From o'er an ocean 
 
 Which to the sunset lies 
 A troop of ships is hast'ning 
 
 O'er which Old Glory flies. 
 
 And on those ships a Knighthood 
 Whose sword both keen and clean 
 
 Is flashing through the sunlight 
 Its right to intervene : 
 
 — ^A sword yet never lifted 
 
 Except to cleave a way 
 Toward the world's releasement 
 
 From tyrants and their sway; 
 95 
 
— A sword yet never lifted 
 
 Except to deal dismay 
 Among the foes of Justice, 
 
 Of Right and Liberty ; 
 
 — ^A sword whose righteous anger 
 God willing shall not rest 
 
 Until this hell-born "Kultur" 
 Has drained the cup it pressed. 
 
 And lo! above the others 
 A phantom ship appears 
 
 — Their Pilot Ship, whose masthead 
 The Red-Cross Emblem bears. 
 
 About it plays God's watch lights, 
 — A guard, Shekinah-like, 
 
 Through which no foes of Heaven 
 His messengers can strike. 
 
 For in its holy mission 
 
 Is wrapped the love of Him 
 
 Who thrones Himself in Mercy 
 Between the Cherubim, 
 
 And neither air nor ocean 
 Nor human hate can cast 
 
 A shaft against His purpose 
 Which does not turn at last 
 
 To break the arm that aimed it 
 
 And blast the turpitude 
 That dares withstand the progress 
 
 Of Human Brotherhood. 
 96 
 
Yon ship is His own prophet 
 
 Proclaiming to all men 
 That Justice, Love and Mercy 
 
 Shall find their throne again; 
 
 And that these cruel ages 
 Shall then forgotten be 
 
 Beneath that only Scepter 
 That makes all nations free. 
 
 See ! over it a rainbow 
 
 That spans this deluged earth. 
 With pledges that its travail 
 
 A New Age brings to birth. 
 
 And, though the black clouds hover 
 Above a war-drenched race. 
 
 Yon Bow of Promise heralds 
 Its coming Prince of Peace. 
 
 Sail on, oh ship seraphic. 
 Your cause is Heaven's own. 
 
 And what you carry, jewels 
 For His Eternal Crown. 
 
 97 
 
"THE SPACIOUS FIRMAMENT ON HIGH'* 
 
 Joseph Addison in his immortal lines, quoted 
 below, stops short of a sublimity for which his 
 thought beautifully paves the way. This material 
 universe was not an end in itself nor is it the 
 highest expression of the Creator's creative power. 
 There is a greater Firmament of which this ma- 
 terial one is but an analogy. 
 
 "The spacious firmament on high, 
 With all the blue ethereal sky. 
 And spangled heavens, a shining frame, 
 Their great Original proclaim. 
 The unwearied sun, from day to day. 
 Does his Creator's power display. 
 And publishes to every land 
 The work of an Almighty Hand. 
 
 "Soon as the evening shades prevail. 
 The moon takes up the wondrous tale. 
 And nightly to the listening earth 
 Repeats the story of her birth; 
 Whilst all the stars that round her burn. 
 And all the planets in their turn. 
 Confirm the tidings as they roll. 
 And spread the truth from pole to pole. 
 
 "What though in solemn silence all 
 Move 'round this dark terrestrial ball.^ 
 99 
 
What though no real voice nor sound 
 Amid their radiant orbs be found? 
 In reason's ear they all rejoice, 
 And utter forth a glorious voice. 
 Forever singing as they shine, 
 *The hand that made us is divine.' " 
 
 ******* 
 
 Yet all are but the scenery. 
 The staging vast, and panoply 
 That garniture that higher field 
 On which there yet will be revealed 
 A glory greater many fold 
 Than singing planets ever told. 
 This grand arena's but the tent 
 For Sceptered Love's supreme event. 
 
 Those mazing orbs inscribe in flame 
 The letters of a royal name 
 Excelling that of Maker far 
 As zenith is 'bove highest star. 
 The story of their birth is told 
 And by obedience they unfold 
 A greater one, — which make of them 
 But brilliants for His diadem. 
 
 The thorn-crowned Christ here yet will prove 
 The matchless sweep of Regal Love, 
 — Controlling motives harder far 
 To reach, than any truant star, 
 — Controlling Life's mysterious light 
 — Elusive more than comet's flight, 
 — Compelling, even, by his skill 
 The Prince of Darkness to His will. 
 100 
 
And when those orbs have spent their light. 
 Or turned to ashes in their flight, 
 — ^When they have fled to hide in shame 
 From that which keeps His soul aflame, 
 That Love that shines from Calvary 
 With ever-waxing brilliancy 
 Will bask in an allegiance leal 
 That blazing suns can never feel. 
 
 And He who is the "Light of Men" 
 
 — Who governs all their love to gain, 
 
 — Who scaled the Cross that Sovereign Grace 
 
 Might light its kind in every face. 
 
 Will mount His universal throne 
 
 And from it rule, by love alone. 
 
 In light which nothing can transcend 
 
 A Kingdom that shall never end. 
 
 101 
 
TROTSKY 
 1918 
 
 Come all ye brother Bolsheviks 
 And wisdom hear from Comrade Trotsky, 
 I'll show you how to stop this row 
 And put all troubles in one potsky. 
 
 Those Prussians are our brethren all 
 And must not any more be f oughtsky. 
 So drop your guns and tell the Huns 
 To help themselves to all you've gotsky. 
 
 Down with all rulers and all laws 
 (Except of course your Sovereign Trotsky), 
 Then all can freeze to what they please 
 No matter if it's theirs or notsky. 
 
 And if a man some rubles has 
 
 (Of course excepting your friend Trotsky) 
 
 He's certainly an enemy 
 
 To all who hain't got such a lotsky. 
 
 So he must cough those rubles up 
 Or else he must be quickly shotsky; 
 No man has got a right to what 
 Another wants, bygotsky. 
 
 103 
 
Then ev'ry man will get a farm 
 And have a nice big house and lotsky. 
 There'll be no bums when that time comes 
 Nor work nor bosses nor what notsky. 
 
 My Soviets will do it all 
 
 And send the Bourgeoise where its hotsky. 
 
 For anarchy. Great ANARCHY 
 
 Is yet to take the earth for Trotsky. 
 
 104 
 
"VERSAILLES" 
 1919 
 
 And who will compose this great Council of State 
 While they bind up the wounds of a crucified race ? 
 And who will preside, and who will decide, 
 And who underwrite this World's Treaty of Peace? 
 
 Will the Belgae be there in their rags soaked with 
 
 blood. 
 Crying out for revenge in the name of their slain? 
 And who will engage their hot tears to assuage. 
 Or an anodyne bring that will banish the pain ? 
 
 And will Italy come from her countless graves. 
 Demanding amends for the lives she poured forth 
 In defending her coasts from the blood-blind hosts 
 Which the breed of Atilla spewed out of the North ? 
 
 Will the Britons be there from the ends of the earth 
 With a million indictments against the Hun, 
 Setting forth in their brief that "a life for a life" 
 Alone can atone for the deeds that were done ? 
 
 Will America come from beyond the wide sea 
 With the scroll of her Martyrs, nor plead in vain 
 That her heroes who fell in that German-made hell 
 Shall have their revenge on the helots of Cain? 
 
 And who will appear for that numberless host 
 Lying dumb with despair in the whirlwind's track? 
 
 105 
 
The maimed and the blind, by legions consigned 
 To a death-in-life keener than that of the rack. 
 
 Will there come to this Conclave some angel from 
 
 Heaven 
 On behalf of the widowed, the orphaned, or worse ? 
 Who can wipe out the wrongs of those voiceless 
 
 throngs 
 Of mateless maids, or cancel their curse? 
 
 Oh, where shall we turn for the solvent we seek? 
 And where is the wisdom that equals the hour ? 
 Does the world hold the art that can smother the 
 
 smart 
 Or a pledge that the spoilers shall spoil no more? 
 
 Can the Statesmen who come from the wake of the 
 
 storm 
 Resurrect from the Civilization that fell — 
 — From the cinders and tears of those terrible years 
 A world that is safe from another such hell? 
 
 Will the Council defer to that "Counselor" great 
 Who alone can engage for all peoples and tongues ? 
 Whose nail-riven palms alone hold the balms 
 For all wounds of the world, — that can right all 
 its wrongs? 
 
 Will they do in His name what without it will fail ? 
 Will they make Him a party to all that is done ? 
 Will they grant Him his place in this Treaty of 
 
 Peace 
 And thus anchor the weal of the world to His 
 
 throne ? 
 
 (From the 1919 Year Book of Geneva College, 
 
 Beaver Falls, Pa.) 
 
 106 
 
' -^- ^^ ^ ^ i 
 
A TOAST TO OLD GLORY 
 1922 
 
 (Some lines of the first three stanzas belong to an 
 unknown author.) 
 
 Here's to the Red of it. 
 And there's not a thread of it. 
 In all the wide spread of it. 
 
 From foot to head. 
 But heroes have bled for it — 
 Faced Steel and Lead for it 
 
 Bathing it Red. 
 
 Here's to the White of it. 
 
 And who knows the right of it 
 
 That feels not the might of it. 
 
 Through day and night? 
 And who wouldn't dare for it 
 Or offer a prayer for it 
 
 Keeping it White? 
 
 Here's to the Blue of it. 
 Star-spangled hue of it. 
 Heavenly view of it. 
 
 Constant and true. 
 Here's to the Whole of it. 
 Stars, Stripes and Pole of it. 
 Here's to the Soul of it, 
 
 Red, White and Blue. 
 107 
 
But there bursts on our view of it, 
 An irradiance new of it — 
 
 The light of a Star, 
 That makes truer what's true of it. 
 And holy each hue of it. 
 
 In Stripe and Bar; 
 Till we see in each hue of it, 
 All its lovers hold true of it. 
 
 And more by far. 
 
 Then here's to the Gold of it. 
 What the Prophets foretold of it. 
 
 In symbol expressed. 
 How it lends to the Old of it. 
 New luster untold of it. 
 
 Each beauty increased 
 As all of the old of it 
 Reflects in each fold of it. 
 
 The Star of the East. 
 
 Oh, here's to the grace of it. 
 Baptized, in each trace of it. 
 
 To a destiny new; 
 While the world-wide esteem of it 
 'Neath the heaven-lit gleam of it, 
 
 Gives its Sovereign His due. 
 Let the earth and each race of it. 
 By the light of that grace of it. 
 
 Bring its peace dream true. 
 
 108 
 
"THE BEAUTY OF PERFECTION" 
 1895 
 
 The rainbow is a circle. 
 
 Could we see its full girth. 
 One half set in the heavens 
 
 The other in the earth. 
 
 Some day will be completed 
 
 The beautiful colure, 
 God's holy purpose mating 
 
 With one from earth as pure. 
 
 No pot of gold is hidden 
 
 Where seem its feet to rest. 
 But something far more priceless 
 
 Earth's ne plus ultra quest. 
 
 The covenant it betokens. 
 Proposed from heav'n above. 
 
 Awaits a consummation 
 In earth's replying love. 
 
 Creation lacks completion. 
 
 And Beauty full renown, 
 Till that full iris circle 
 
 Links earth to heav'n in one. 
 
 A Golden Age is coming 
 When Christ incarnate man 
 109 
 
Will build the half yet hidden 
 Of God's eternal plan: 
 
 — ^A plan that underreaches 
 
 Man's fall and far descent. 
 And crowns, through sin's athwartment, 
 
 Supremest Love's intent: 
 
 — ^A plan that circum-arches 
 
 A throne-filled Mercy-seat, 
 And Beauty's crowning chaplet 
 
 A race irradiate. 
 
 110 
 
"AMERICA THE BEAUTIFUL" 
 1922 
 
 We quote one stanza from the beautiful hymn 
 written by Katharine Lee Bates for the purpose of 
 continuing the inspiring thought and theme in two 
 others : 
 
 "Oh beautiful for patriot dream 
 That sees beyond the years. 
 Thine Alabaster cities gleam 
 Undimmed by human tears. 
 America ! America ! 
 God shed his grace on thee 
 And crown thy good 
 With Brotherhood 
 From sea to shining sea." 
 
 How beautiful the goal that waits 
 Beyond thine upward climb. 
 Ideals new that ever grow 
 Still more and more sublime. 
 America ! America ! 
 Thy coast may be the sea, 
 But no such line can e'er confine 
 The spirit moving thee. 
 Ill 
 
Oh beautiful for visions caught 
 
 Of that supreme event, 
 
 When through thy will God rules until 
 
 The two in one are blent. 
 
 America ! America ! 
 Arise and claim the crown 
 That waits the race that first shall place 
 The Christ upon its throne. 
 
 THE END 
 
 312 
 
HADDON PRESS. INC. 
 CAMDEN. N. J. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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