Class 
 Book, 
 
 '^5 3D I (5 
 
 
 Goi!yiiglitN°._- 
 
 CfiFntlGHT DEPOSm 
 
HOMESPUN 
 
HOMESPUN 
 
 BY 
 
 GRACE E. HALL 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 
 
 1922 
 

 COPYBIGHT, 1922, 
 
 By DODD, mead AND COMPANY, Inc. 
 
 PRINTED IN U. S. A. 
 
 >CI.A688962 
 
 VAIL-BALLOU COMPANY 
 BINQHAMTON AND NCW VORK 
 
 NOV ' I 1922 
 
 eVlC 
 
TO 
 MILDRED 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Tenacity 1 
 
 When He Has Tried 2 
 
 The Twain 4 
 
 The Mechanic 6 
 
 The Question 7 
 
 When I Shall Die 9 
 
 A Man to His Pipe 11 
 
 Defiance 14 
 
 Builders 16 
 
 A Prayer 17 
 
 A Wasted Day 19 
 
 The Game 20 
 
 Take Time 21 
 
 Goals 22 
 
 Unforgotten 23 
 
 Boys 25 
 
 To A Grouch 26 
 
 Good-Bye 27 
 
 Lost: A Friend 28 
 
 Clouds 30 
 
 You 32 
 
 Justice 33 
 
 Popularity 35 
 
 Goodnight 37 
 
 Woods in Autumn 38 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Difference 39 
 
 Forget It 40 
 
 In the Nature of Things 42 
 
 Dreams 43 
 
 The Price 45 
 
 Mothers of Men 46 
 
 The Touch of Love 47 
 
 Quarrels 49 
 
 I've Wanted You 51 
 
 Loneliness 52 
 
 The Little Oak Chair 53 
 
 Broken Dream? 55 
 
 The Lonely 57 
 
 Misunderstanding 58 
 
 School Days 59 
 
 Your Eyes 61 
 
 Silence 63 
 
 An Inconsistency 64 
 
 I've Prayed for You 66 
 
 Farewell 68 
 
 The Mountains 69 
 
 Confidence 71 
 
 Death 73 
 
 We Were not Satisfied 74 
 
 A Stranger then Am I 76 
 
 I Never Knew 79 
 
 Silent Places 80 
 
 Renunciation 82 
 
 He Paints in Gray 83 
 
 Design 84 
 
 The Drouth 86 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Night 88 
 
 The Phantom 89 
 
 In Nature's Theatre 90 
 
 He Brooks no Loss 92 
 
 An Ode to Nature 94 
 
 The Talisman 96 
 
 Sunset 98 
 
 The Unsought 100 
 
 Art 101 
 
 The Man-Land 103 
 
 Dread 105 
 
 If I Might Ask 106 
 
 Perfect Days Always . 107 
 
 A Friend of Mine 109 
 
 My Unknown Friends Ill 
 
 Little Girl 113 
 
 A Little Way With Me 115 
 
 To THE Song Birds 116 
 
 Two Truths I Own 117 
 
 Unselfishness 119 
 
 In Parting 121 
 
 Just Human First 122 
 
 Down on the Farm 124 
 
 Mother 126 
 
 Why Should Man Die? 128 
 
HOMESPUN 
 
TENACITY 
 
 So long as mind holds fast you shall not fail, 
 Though great the task and seemingly hard-pressed 
 You stagger 'neath the weight; but once you quail 
 In thought, and all your strength can never wrest 
 A victory from the struggle, for your force 
 Comes through your mental grip — ^no other source. 
 
 This simple fact explains why some men win 
 While others lag and lose at last the game ; 
 One draws the final ounce of power within, 
 Through dogged perseverance, and his fame 
 Is not so much a gift above the rest, 
 As 'tis the drive of faculties possessed. 
 
 Hold! Though the storms of life may madly surge. 
 Though thunders crash and all about you fall 
 The victims of the gale; still firmly urge 
 To use your mental force, and over all 
 You shall prevail; that is your secret power. 
 And destinies are shaped by it each hour. 
 
 <1> 
 
WHEN HE HAS TRIED 
 
 Blame not the man who has done his best 
 
 In the thing he has tried to do. 
 
 Who has given his strength and measured his length, 
 
 However it looks to you, 
 
 For his best is all that a man can give — 
 
 A fair mind holds this true. 
 
 Oh, hail not alone the one who wins, 
 
 Ignoring the ones who lose. 
 
 For they may gain a lap o'er a handicap 
 
 That no one would ever choose ; 
 
 Then if with the rest they have done their best. 
 
 How dare we praise refuse? 
 
 Though he crosses the line a bit too late. 
 
 Give the racer plaudits loud, 
 
 Withhold your sneer — ^he has earned a cheer 
 
 By facing the scoffing crowd ; 
 
 For it takes more courage to bear defeat 
 
 Than to carry laurels proud. 
 
 <2> 
 
If he does his best, then the one who wins 
 
 Has given no more than he, 
 
 The best is the limit of each man's worth, 
 
 Whatever that limit be; 
 
 And the man who goes to his utmost goal 
 
 Wins too — though the world won't see. 
 
 <S> 
 
THE TWAIN 
 
 He saw the masonry tier on tier 
 
 That fashioned the bridge they crossed, 
 
 She saw the mind with Jts vision clear, 
 
 That never a detail lost; 
 
 He figured the cash it had cost to build — 
 
 The power of each massive span. 
 
 She glimpsed the spirit that first had thrilled 
 
 And given birth to the plan. 
 
 He viewed the cathedral and said 'twas fine. 
 The labor, he guessed, was great; 
 She was blinded by grandeur of art divine. 
 And worshipped beside the gate; 
 He listened to music by artists rare — 
 And wondered what they were paid — 
 She heard God's voice in the sacred air — 
 Was humbled and half afraid. 
 
 The twain returned from the spaces afar 
 Where marvelous sights accrue. 
 He told of the gains and she of the brains, 
 
 <4.> 
 
And both of the tales were true; 
 
 He measured the greatness by cost in gold, 
 
 And that was his only zest; 
 
 Her measures were those that are never told — 
 
 Rich gems in her memory-chest. 
 
 'Tis said that " the twain shall be one flesh," 
 
 That no one shall break the tie, 
 
 That a man and his mate are thus through fate 
 
 And the Power that rules on high; 
 
 They call it a sin when love has ceased, 
 
 And maybe that idea's best. 
 
 But the West cannot go to the East, you know, 
 
 And East cannot come to the West. 
 
 <5> 
 
THE MECHANIC 
 
 Oh, patient toiler, your unclaimed praise 
 
 I would my halting pen might here express! 
 
 We owe to you the ease of all our ways. 
 
 In countless spheres your excellence confess; 
 
 Your roughened hands, your garments crude and coarse, 
 
 Your whole appearance speaking naught of ease — 
 
 I trace in speculation to their source, 
 
 And find a history in all of these. 
 
 You slave and build and fashion for us all. 
 
 Bring others' plans to form — as they could not; 
 
 In pleasant or in loathsome place, each call 
 
 You answer with your skill and strength and thought; 
 
 Yours is no path that roses bloom beside. 
 
 And scarred forevermore your hands must be, 
 
 Yet but for you had progress long since died, 
 
 And dreamers visioned castles — uselessly. 
 
 <6> 
 
THE QUESTION 
 
 A woman walked alone one night 
 
 Within the silent park, 
 
 The moon thrust gleaming blades of light 
 
 Across the pathway dark; 
 
 Each wild thing in its sheltered home 
 
 Was motionless and still, 
 
 A pine tree in the skyline zone 
 
 Was the guardsman of the hill. 
 
 The woman walked with measured tread, 
 
 Unmindful of the way, 
 
 A weight of sorrow bowed her head, 
 
 And every path seemed gray; 
 
 The stars were like a million beads 
 
 Upon a velvet gown, 
 
 But when the heart in silence bleeds. 
 
 The eyes of man look down. 
 
 She viewed in retrospect the years 
 That, like the falling leaves, 
 
 <7> 
 
Had flitted by, damp with her tears, 
 
 A harvest stripped of sheaves ; 
 
 "What have I gained from life?" she cried, 
 
 With scornful glance towards heaven. 
 
 When lo! she seemed to see inscribed 
 
 The words, "What have you given?" 
 
 <S> 
 
WHEN I SHALL DIE 
 
 Oh, make me not an ugly thing in death! 
 
 Let me be beautiful in that last sleep; 
 
 Place 'round my head red roses, that their breath 
 
 May give perfume; and let my firm lips keep 
 
 Their color, though a stranger's hand apply 
 
 The carmine — and I'll bless him for the lie! 
 
 Oh, make me not an ugly thing that day. 
 For I have worshipped beauty, and have wept 
 In silence, many a time, along life's way 
 When beauty's spell has swiftly o'er me swept: 
 A baby's dimpled hand — a curl of hair — 
 A woman's face — a sunset in the West — 
 
 The lithe form of a man — a painting rare — 
 
 Each woke a keen response within my breast; 
 
 Flowers — and stars — and dawn — and river's flow — 
 
 Music — and e'en old age that was benign — 
 
 All — all — have yielded joy and warmth and glow, 
 
 And made impressions on this soul of mine. 
 
 <9y 
 
God, let me not remain to fade and die, 
 A withered, ugly thing among the flowers, 
 But catch my breath away, in passing by, 
 And halt me e'er I lose my splendid powers; 
 And you who wait, bring roses for my hair. 
 And let sweet music banish every tear. 
 For I have worshipped beauty everywhere. 
 And I would have it present at my bier. 
 
 -ClO^ 
 
A MAN TO HIS PIPE 
 
 'Tis shadow-hour again, old pal of mine, 
 And somehow it is grayer than before; 
 The mantel clock has beaten out the time. 
 And moonbeams lie aslant the open door; 
 Your odor drifts like incense on the air, 
 My nostrils take your breath with keen delight, 
 'Til in your aura glints a woman's hair, 
 Soft spreading on the breeze that stirs the night. 
 
 A woman's hair! Pal, can I not forget? 
 Why do you tease and tantalize me now? 
 You share my every confidence, and yet 
 You slyly weave a nimbus for her brow; 
 Well, make a golden halo if you will. 
 While we go back along the trail of years. 
 And linger o'er the story and its thrill — 
 Yea, and the sad finale and the tears. 
 
 I never asked if there were vital powers 
 Behind that face so beautiful and fair. 
 
To meet life in its darker, sterner hours — 
 In truth I did not even pause to care; 
 With passion's fever burning in the brain, 
 With youth and love and Springtime all about, 
 Why ask what attributes are truly gain? 
 Why fret the heart with questioning and doubt? 
 
 And so I brought her here. You must recall 
 How seldom then I sought your silent balm; 
 How, when the twilight mist began to fall, 
 I found in her my soul's long-needed calm; 
 And then one night — ah, you remember too! — 
 A tiny babe lay cold upon her breast. 
 Her white lids hid those merry eyes of blue. 
 Her tender little hands lay still, at rest. 
 
 I never had a pal like her before. 
 
 Who seemed to always rouse the best in me; 
 
 I never tired of striving, o'er and o'er. 
 
 To climb to heights she somehow seemed to see; 
 
 And if they both had lived — But why go on? 
 
 You know the rest; it's only life's queer way — 
 
 A little patch of sunshine, just at dawn, 
 
 That often turns by noontime into gray. 
 
 Old pal, my lips caress you as of old. 
 
 For you have never failed to soothe and cheer; 
 
You know ten thousand things I've never told, 
 Have comforted when no one else was near; 
 And with your vapor drifting on the air, 
 You bring me tender memory of her grace, 
 You weave a magic glory of her hair. 
 And paint tonight cloud-pictures of her face. 
 
 -C13> 
 
DEFIANCE 
 
 Let no man say to you that you shall fail — 
 Fling back his words and prove they are but lies! 
 Although your spirit falter — aye, and quail — 
 You shall not lose unless your courage dies; 
 So long as you are brave enough to try, 
 The flame of strength within you shall not die. 
 
 If sometimes you shall feel the fatal urge 
 To let your grip grow loose upon life's reins, 
 Lash every energy with scorn, and merge 
 Your forces in a drive against your pains; 
 Let no one have the chance to pass and say 
 You are a weakling, wrecked along the way. 
 
 Let no man smile and say you've lost your hold — 
 You're judged by what you seem in actual view; 
 Within his heart he too may be less bold 
 A thousand times than he may seem to you; 
 
The one who takes the upper sphere, is he 
 Who fights each day a stronger man to be. 
 
 Whatever be the place that now is his, 
 Be sure he fought to be the man he is. 
 
 -CIS^ 
 
BUILDERS 
 
 One builds foundations with a careful hand, 
 Each stone square set with accuracy and skill; 
 Another builds great temples, wisely planned — 
 One rears a school house on a barren hill. 
 
 A mansion is the fancy brought to earth 
 Through someone's clever handiwork and brain; 
 So do men blend their dreams in forms of worth, 
 That, fashioned, blend in dreams of men again. 
 
 Then, since all work of man is viewed by man, 
 To stir and wake and urge endeavors new. 
 How careful should he be in every plan — 
 Painstaking in the task that he shall do! 
 
 -{:i6> 
 
A PRAYER 
 
 Lord, I have drunk from strange and varied founts, 
 And still a thirst is dry upon my tongue; 
 I am not satisfied; the fever mounts 
 Within my veins; my nerves are harshly strung; 
 No substance have I garnered that has filled 
 The emptiness of soul that still is mine, 
 Though mortal joy for fleeting hour has thrilled, 
 It palled at last, like vapid, tasteless wine. 
 
 Lay Thou upon my lips some potion sweet. 
 
 For I have tasted aloes — aye, and gall! 
 
 'Tis but in fairness I should have complete 
 
 In final years, exemption from it all; 
 
 Assuage this thirst! Some fountain there must be 
 
 Where others have been blessed, to long no more: 
 
 Give one full draught of happiness to me. 
 
 That Life, long loitering, has failed to pour. 
 
 There is a sedative within Thy grace — 
 I've seen its power transform a human heart; 
 
It leaves a nameless calm upon the face, 
 Gives strength to live and play a nobler part; 
 The founts of life are bubbling full and free, 
 But sediment encrusts each brimming cup — 
 Hold Thou against my lips eternally 
 Thy living truth — and let me humbly sup. 
 
 -C18> 
 
A WASTED DAY 
 
 I kept a dream for you, a splendid dream, 
 And in it life and hope were very sweet; 
 We drifted in the sunshine down a stream 
 Where fringing pine-tops lean across and greet; 
 And o'er the heart peace lingered like a mist. 
 And tender as the lips you one-time kissed; 
 You left the dream untold ; its meaning lies, 
 A darkening shadow ever, in my eyes. 
 
 I kept a day for you, a gladsome day. 
 With all it held of mirth and joy and thought; 
 Its spirit with the throb of life was gay, 
 It held rare promises that Love had brought 
 From out the treasure-house of sacred things — 
 And words to thread like pearls on silver strings — 
 Words that were just for you — and songs unsung; 
 You left the heart-strings silent, the pearls unstrung. 
 
 -CIQ^ 
 
THE GAME 
 
 Fate deals the cards — the spades, the clubs and hearts, 
 The diamonds — counting out the legal hand ; 
 None may exchange, though, seeing, there departs 
 All hope of what we hoped to play — and planned. 
 Some hold but scattered suit, while others smile 
 O'er richer draw, which means that they shall win; 
 But Fate, unheeding, shuffles all the while. 
 Since every moment new games must begin. 
 
 The players take the cards that have been dealt. 
 Count carefully the points they may secure, 
 Bid up, ofttimes, though serious doubt be felt — 
 For in this game of chance no bet is sure; 
 Unnumbered souls are sickening day by day. 
 Because of tricks caught up by those expert. 
 Because another, through a mere chance play, 
 Won what they crave with never-ceasing hurt. 
 
 -C20> 
 
TAKE TIME 
 
 Take time to do a kindly deed — 
 You may not know the crying need 
 Within another's heart, 
 Sometimes, for just a pleasant tone. 
 When he's discouraged and alone — 
 And smiles will soothe a smart. 
 
 Take time to say a word or two 
 
 To those who walk perchance by you 
 
 In lowly, humble ways; 
 
 They are the fruits of circumstance. 
 
 And handicapped beyond advance 
 
 Throughout their plodding days. 
 
 Take time to touch the empty hand 
 Of loneliness; few understand 
 The untold griefs they bear; 
 There is no sorrow like to this: 
 The craving just for happiness. 
 The wasted thoughts none share. 
 
GOALS 
 
 It isn't so much what a man has done, 
 
 As what he has tried to do; 
 
 It isn't the victories that he has won, 
 
 But the storms he has weathered through 
 
 With courage and faith and a cheery smile. 
 
 That make him a person so well worth while. 
 
 The man who has fallen has had his dream, 
 
 And maybe he saw a star 
 
 So high and so bright that his mortal scheme 
 
 Fell short of the gleam afar; 
 
 But if he has climbed 'til his strength is spent, 
 
 Then give him full credit for his intent. 
 
 It isn't the goal that a man may win 
 That counts the most in the score: 
 But the blows that have proven the worth of him. 
 In a million tests and more; 
 For it isn't always the man who leads 
 Who possesses the strength that the old world needs. 
 
 -C22> 
 
UNFORGOTTEN 
 
 Do you think of me sometimes, you who went 
 
 On an alien path ere our love grew cold? 
 
 Out in the spaces where you have won 
 
 To the heights that you dreamed of, have you done 
 
 Such deeds as have made you more content 
 
 Than you were in our love of old? 
 
 Do you think of me sometimes, where you are, 
 And wish you had held to the other way? 
 Those high-flung trails — ^are they all you crave? 
 Do they yield the sweetness our young love gave? 
 You fastened your wagon to a star — 
 Does it brighten your every day? 
 
 Oh! I warm my heart by that youth-time fire 
 When the breath of the years grows chill; 
 And always I wonder if you recall 
 That white-hot flame, when the shadows fall — 
 Do the heights suffice for your soul's desire? 
 Do they warm like our first love's thrill? 
 
Do you think of me sometimes, dear, out there, 
 Where the trails lead high and you longed to go? 
 I could not forget if I tried! I keep 
 My faith with you ever, awake, asleep; 
 And sometimes I call, and it is a prayer — 
 Do you hear my voice on the warm night air 
 Ever, when soft winds blow? 
 
 -{:24:}- 
 
BOYS 
 
 0, how they scatter and toss things about — 
 
 Their books and their clothes and their toys! 
 
 From basement to garret you put them to rout, 
 
 Denouncing disorder and noise; 
 
 You "don't" them in one breath and "do" them the 
 
 next, 
 They never elude you for long. 
 And you frequently say you will welcome the day 
 When they grow to be men — but you're wrong. 
 
 The time is approaching on wings swift and free 
 
 When you'll miss all this worry and care, 
 
 When on back closet hook you will take a fond look 
 
 At the old cap and coat hanging there; 
 
 You will fondle the strap that once circled his books. 
 
 And the hot tears will hastily start; 
 
 Don't nag him today — he will soon go away. 
 
 And the silence will 'most break your heart. 
 
 -{:25> 
 
TO A GROUCH 
 
 Oh! little boy blue, you're a wonderful boy, 
 
 If only you'd learn how to play. 
 
 If you would be pleasant and kindly and true. 
 
 Forgetting yourself for a day. 
 
 And if when the game is against you, you'd smile. 
 
 And not take your toys and run home, the while — 
 
 Why, little boy blue, you could win over Fate, 
 
 If you'd learn how to smile — while you wait! 
 
 You snatch at the prize ere the race is begun, 
 
 You haven't the patience to see 
 
 That no man can have what he never has won. 
 
 Whatever his merits may be; 
 
 There isn't a thing that is worthy of him, 
 
 That a real man can't get, if he tries with a vim ; 
 
 Lay your grievance aside — other boys aren't to blame — 
 
 Grow a smile — and get into the game! 
 
 -{:26> 
 
GOOD-BYE 
 
 We meet and pass and speak one word unheeding, 
 Though any hour may rob us of our friend; 
 The voice that now in merry tones is speeding, 
 With the eternal echoes soon may blend; 
 We clasp today a hand that's warm and living, 
 And gaze in eyes that hold a merry gleam; 
 Tomorrow, the farewell look we may be giving. 
 And hear a blithe "good-bye" as in a dream. 
 
 We hope and plan and play, and part with laughter, 
 
 Unthinkingly, we use one word always ; 
 
 And give no thought to what may follow after. 
 
 As though we were assured of endless days; 
 
 Too oft we part when hearts are sad and aching. 
 
 And speak in tones that cause a smothered sigh; 
 
 0, let us but remember we are taking 
 
 What, anytime, may be our last good-bye! 
 
 <21> 
 
LOST: A FRIEND 
 
 I loved you well. You seemed so very near 
 I fancied, oftentimes, you read my mind, 
 So much alike we were, so close and dear. 
 Finding our ideals always of one kind; 
 Seeking the self-same channels in our thought. 
 Our ideas just a little odd, maybe, 
 Our mental paths by others left unsought, 
 Though dearly cherished both by you and me. 
 
 Years merged like links within a chain and we 
 
 Seemed destined still to tread life's paths together; 
 
 Neither had thought of what might sometime be 
 
 Sufficient cause our loyal faith to sever; 
 
 Then came a test that tortured mind and soul — 
 
 I watched and waited while the acid burned. 
 
 Nor had one doubt 'twould leave you true and 
 
 whole. 
 Though others laughed and all my trusting spurned. 
 
 -C28> 
 
Within one hour a life-time friendship died, 
 The ideals you had voiced all slipped away; 
 I found a stranger standing by my side, 
 And you meet one when I pass by each day; 
 There is no sadder notice on life's road. 
 Posted by travelers journeying towards its end, 
 Than that which bears — adding to each grim load- 
 The simple wording only: "Lost; A Friend." 
 
 -C29> 
 
CLOUDS 
 
 Beneath the tree-boughs, interlaced and green, 
 I've lain in full abandonment to thought. 
 Watching the gray clouds drifting in between 
 The outstretched arms above; and deftly wrought 
 As on fine canvases, great pictures grew 
 There on the mammoth roof of curving skies, 
 And moved majestically across the blue, 
 A thrilling revelation and surprise. 
 
 One picture was so wonderful and fine 
 I shrink from marring it with faulty pen. 
 But since the art was so completely mine, 
 I long to share it: It was sunset then. 
 And in a bank of gray an altar stood, 
 A perfect thing with every line complete, 
 And kneeling there, as vestal virgins would. 
 Three angels bowed before the mercy-seat. 
 
 Far from the West the sun cast one last ray 
 Across the space, and sank to its repose; 
 
And from that matchless altar done in gray 
 
 The three forms gently, reverently arose; 
 
 And then, their evenings prayers so sweetly said. 
 
 The altar, broken, drifted slowly o'er. 
 
 The sunset turned the virgins' robes to red — 
 
 I looked — and lo ! the angels were no more. 
 
 -CSl^ 
 
YOU 
 
 You came from the shadowy Somewhere one morn, 
 
 To dwell near the gate of my heart; 
 
 I felt a delight that was suddenly bom, 
 
 And strange, tender impulses start. 
 
 You gave a new tint to the blossoms that swayed 
 On the trellis, that morning in Spring; 
 The pansies in far deeper hues were arrayed. 
 The birds found a new song to sing. 
 
 You came — and the world was a garden of bloom, 
 Each day was a rose, sweet and red; 
 You went — and the world is a garden of gloom. 
 And the roses are withered and dead. 
 
 <S2> 
 
JUSTICE 
 
 A teen blade makes an open wound, 
 
 And crimson stains are bright, 
 
 And laws are made for blade and blood, 
 
 To keep man's conduct right; 
 
 But what of those who stab and slay 
 
 A human heart — and go away? 
 
 An open wound is red and raw, 
 
 And everyone may see, 
 
 And those who use a knife, the law 
 
 Will punish lawfully; 
 
 But those who only stab the heart 
 
 May strike in safety and depart. 
 
 A keen blade makes an open wound, 
 A cruel wound and red, 
 And every man will cry that law 
 Upon its course be sped; 
 But souls are murdered everywhere. 
 And men but smile and call it fair. 
 -C33> 
 
A keen blade strikes — and it is done, 
 
 And all the world may know. 
 
 But through the years a poison gnaws 
 
 With deadly pain and slow; 
 
 But laws and men heed but the blade, 
 
 Or ragged holes by bullets made. 
 
 ;-C34>^ 
 
POPULARITY 
 
 Whom all adore I cannot love — 
 Too often he is weak, 
 Pliant, adjusting to wish of those 
 Whose voices speak. 
 
 Give me the strong, who swiftly take 
 Their chosen way, alone; 
 Nor cringe nor fawn, but boldly make 
 The world their own. 
 
 Whom all adore I cannot love — 
 There is no real force there. 
 For he whose will is like a rod 
 Stoops not to share. 
 
 Give me the strong! The lonely tree 
 Upon the storm-swept mountain great, 
 Has twice the strength of those we plant 
 Inside our gate. 
 
Give me the strong! The plastic clay- 
 Is moulded by the hands 
 Of every one who pauses, passing by- 
 The marble stands. 
 
 -C36> 
 
GOOD-NIGHT 
 
 Good-night shall sometime mean good-bye forever, 
 The hour-glass is too far away to see; 
 The sands are running swiftly; and they sever 
 The dearest ties most unexpectedly. 
 
 Good-night! Who knows the import of the parting? 
 Perhaps at dawn the silence shall be all; 
 'Tis sad that memory brings pain and smarting 
 As we so oft a cold good-night recall. 
 
 Good-night may mean forever. We are going 
 As flows the rushing stream where it must flow, 
 And Destiny our fragile craft is rowing — 
 We answer when the signal comes to go. 
 
 Within the homing harbor, all unheeding, 
 We bid departing friend a blithe good-night, 
 Yet ere the sunrise he may be swift-speeding 
 Far out, while tear-mist blurs his sail from sight. 
 
WOODS IN AUTUMN 
 
 The woods in Autumn are a wordless song 
 That floods my heart with throbbing melody; 
 Colors of flame and bronze the notes prolong, 
 And russet and red complete the harmony. 
 
 The woods in Autumn are as paintings hung 
 Against the sky, with colors bold and bright; 
 The creeks are silver ribbons, deftly flung 
 Across the foreground, spreading left and right. 
 
 The woods in Autumn are an artist's store 
 Of treasures, laid upon a thousand hills; 
 October opens wide the magic door 
 Into the great salon, that charms and thrills. 
 
 And woods in Autumn are a sermon, too. 
 Teaching that death must come to everything; 
 But that when death and earth-decay are through, 
 We shall be called — to greet another Spring. 
 
THE DIFFERENCE 
 
 Another Spring shall come with buds and flowers, 
 And singing birds a-tilt on swinging bough; 
 Another Spring, with all its magic hours 
 That wake wild ecstasies within us now. 
 
 The dew upon the tender grass shall glisten. 
 Where now we linger in a strange delight; 
 But we, apart, shall sadly pause and listen 
 To love-birds cooing softly in the night. 
 
 Another Autumn, too, shall bring its treasures 
 Of color-flame to paint the wooded hill; 
 Another hour shall bring untasted pleasures, 
 And wines of life may sometimes warm and thrill. 
 
 Yet never shall a Spring be quite so glowing. 
 Nor Autumn lift such radiance to the sky. 
 Nor winds be so caressing in their blowing — 
 For we have loosened hands — and said good-bye. 
 
FORGET IT 
 
 Why live it twice? If once you fail and fall, 
 
 Forget it when the sun has set that night; 
 
 Close that account, and strive but to recall 
 
 Whatever in it left a ray of light; 
 
 When habit seeks to lure you to look back 
 
 And live again in memory that day, 
 
 You'll prove your growing strength or show its lack 
 
 As you press on — or loiter by the way. 
 
 Why live it o'er? If it were sad, forget! 
 Your memory is a torture you may kill; 
 The task is not an easy one, and yet 
 There is a remedy in force of will; 
 If wrong were done, and you the act must curse, 
 The sooner you forget, the best for you; 
 Why dally with it? That but makes it worse; 
 Not once, but many times, you live it through. 
 
 Why linger by the bier of those dead things 
 That nevermore can come again your way? 
 
If you regret, then conquer well the stings, 
 
 Nor let their poison spoil another day; 
 
 How clean and fresh the wondrous morning's dawn: 
 
 New hopes, new aims, and always one new chance 
 
 To try again, rebuilding what is gone. 
 
 With knowledge that shall present strength enchance. 
 
 '<4>l> 
 
IN THE NATURE OF THINGS 
 
 When the founts of endeavor seem empty and dry, 
 And the urge to press onward breaks down in a sigh, 
 When your ensign of hope like a bird furls its wings, 
 You are certain to fail — in the nature of things. 
 
 When you look on each day through the folds of a shroud, 
 You are likely to note all the gray in each cloud, 
 If you hear but a dirge when the feathered troupe sings — 
 Then you're certain to mourn — in the nature of things. 
 
 If you give up the race through a feeling of doubt. 
 You will never go far on the roads leading out; 
 But you'll pluck the ripe cluster wherever it swings. 
 If you hold to your faith — in the nature of things. 
 
 <^2> 
 
DREAMS 
 
 We weave of dreams the fabric of our lives, 
 For dreams we delve and do and labor long; 
 Not for the Thing, but for his dream, man strives. 
 Makes his brave fight, decides for right or wrong. 
 
 His struggles, hopes, ambitions — all he dares 
 Upon the field where battles daily rage. 
 All that he pleads for in his unsaid prayers, 
 All that he measures by his meager wage — 
 
 Are dreams. He may not look where you may look, 
 Nor hear the call that urges other men. 
 But his desires are like a singing brook 
 That keeps the verdure green within the glen. 
 
 For no man labors, if indeed he be a man, 
 Without some dream is urging on his plan; 
 For none would race unless there were a prize. 
 To speed him towards the goal, before his eyes. 
 
 <43> 
 
Some glimpse far lands that send insistent call; 
 Some sense a woman's lips 'gainst theirs warm-pressed; 
 Some hold, as dearest trophy far of all, 
 A baby's golden head upon their breast. 
 
 Perhaps at first God dreamed; and, dreaming, wrought — 
 
 A theme divine, a vision without flaw; 
 
 A perfect, true conception — glorious thought — 
 
 That's thrilled man through the ages — filled with awe 
 
 All races, lifting them to higher plane 
 
 Than mortal, left unthrilled, had sought to gain; 
 
 And so shall we, the creatures that He fashioned. 
 
 Create and build and plan, through dream impassioned; 
 
 And at life's close, hold up for His inspection. 
 Our little dream — each with its imperfection; 
 Nor be abashed at what He then shall see, 
 For He has said not one shall perfect be. 
 
 <M> 
 
THE PRICE 
 
 If you have passed among me, seeing naught, 
 Or if you've heard their voices drawing nigh 
 And looked upon their faces and have fought 
 With swift desire to crawl away and die; 
 If you have passed along the crowded street, 
 Have paused to shake a hand nor chatting spurned, 
 When all the while your brain could but repeat 
 Some agonizing thought that seared and burned; 
 
 If you've been sympathetic when your heart 
 
 Was aching 'til it almost smothered you. 
 
 Have manifested interest when the smart 
 
 Of self -hurt made you deathly sick all through; 
 
 If you have listened patiently the while 
 
 And let another tell his petty woe. 
 
 Have spoken words of cheering with a smile 
 
 When you were bearing griefs he could not know; 
 
 If you have stood alone when happy throngs 
 
 Beheld you, sensing naught of what you bore. 
 
 Then you have mastered self, and fairly earned 
 
 The strength that shall sustain you evermore. 
 
MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 Is there somewhere, a friend, a little gray-haired mother 
 
 Waiting days and weeks for just a word from you? 
 
 Will you honor claims of almost every other. 
 
 While she watches, uncomplainingly and true? 
 
 She'll excuse you for neglect — ah, more's the pity! — 
 
 She'll forgive the meanest act and make no moan; 
 
 But somewhere, sometime, some day, when she's gone the 
 
 lonely way. 
 You will wish you'd sent a line to that old home. 
 
 You are still a boy to her, though years have vanished. 
 You have changed — but she's the same in mind and heart; 
 Tenderness from out your heart perhaps you've banished. 
 Since you've met the world and played your bitter part; 
 But when other loves have failed, there'll still be falling, 
 Like a mist of incense sweet from heaven's own blue, 
 Mother's sacred tears, while softly she'll be calling 
 Through the darkness, love's forgiveness to you. 
 
 '<^6> 
 
THE TOUCH OF LOVE 
 
 When impulse moves, and mind, obeying, starts 
 
 Some new endeavor towards a worthy goal, 
 
 There is a noble longing that imparts 
 
 A sudden, swift elation to the soul; 
 
 From whence it comes there is no voice to tell, 
 
 Yet strongly moves the current, and we know 
 
 A force beyond our own is in the spell 
 
 That touches us with such a vital glow. 
 
 While this quick impetus impels, we move 
 With faces towards our destination, strong 
 To gain, to do, and all the while improve 
 The hours until the task be well along; 
 But when at length 'tis done, we need a hand 
 That comes to clasp our own, swift, unaware, 
 We need another soul to understand. 
 Some one simply to care for us — just care. 
 
 For, after all, the finest and the best 
 
 Of human effort needs a touch of love 
 
 To bring completion. Stronger than the rest 
 
Of Nature's calls is this one from above; 
 The lure of fame may urge us, or command 
 Our highest mental forces everywhere, 
 But still we need some one to understand — 
 Some one to simply care for us — just care. 
 
 <48> 
 
QUARRELS 
 
 You would not strike a loving face 
 
 Uplifted to your own, 
 
 Would think of that as deep disgrace. 
 
 Yet with a cruel tone 
 
 You'll lay across a loving heart 
 
 An ugly welt to pain and smart. 
 
 You would not strike a stranger's hand 
 
 That, pleading, sought your palm. 
 
 You'd try to feel, to understand, 
 
 And offer cheer and balm; 
 
 Yet gentler hands you'll thrust aside 
 
 And stalk away in stubborn pride. 
 
 Ah, no; you will not strike the face 
 
 Uplifted pleadingly; 
 
 A blow you could not quite erase 
 
 From off your memory; 
 
 But with a cutting word you'll score. 
 
 And leave a scar forevermore. 
 
A blow might only slightly sting 
 
 And soon forgotten be 
 
 If it were an impulsive thing 
 
 And given angrily; 
 
 But bitter words outlive the years, 
 
 And find no healing in our tears. 
 
 <S0> 
 
I'VE WANTED YOU 
 
 I've wanted you 'til all the earth seemed crying 
 In pleading, sobbing tenderness for you; 
 'Til every quivering leaf seemed grieving, sighing. 
 And asking for you all the long night through. 
 
 I've longed for you 'til every taut nerve, aching. 
 Was like a harp string struck by blundering hand, 
 Its deepest notes of melancholy waking. 
 And no one near to care or understand. 
 
 I've called to you 'til tones turned into dumbness 
 That somehow froze within my heart and brain; 
 I've called to you 'til tones turned into numbness 
 That throbbed on silently, a ceaseless pain. 
 
 I've prayed for you with prayers too wild for voicing, 
 Then prayed for answer, in a mood sublime; 
 The Springtime calls — the whole world is rejoicing, 
 But silence rests between your soul and mine. 
 
LONELINESS 
 
 No other hour is quite so lone and drear 
 
 In all the changing phases of this life, 
 
 As that in which, amid a crowd and cheer, 
 
 You are alone, despite the mirth that's rife; 
 
 With hundreds near, you still are far away, 
 
 In land of thought remote from boisterous throng, 
 
 And, though you seem to sing, yet are you still, 
 
 Unknowing single note or word of song! 
 
 For, though you mingle gaily in the zone 
 
 Where joy is king, yet are you quite alone. 
 
 Alone? How can that be? the thoughtless ask, 
 When thousands throng the street on festive days, 
 And you among the foremost shout aloud 
 When pageant with its trappings meets the gaze; 
 When fevered expectation bursts its bonds, 
 Can loneliness take up its vigil there. 
 Mocking the noisy, heedless human pawns 
 Who move upon life's chess-board, here and there? 
 Yea! crowds are but a picture soon gone by, 
 And souls from loneliness seek crowds — and die. 
 
 <52> 
 
THE LITTLE OAK CHAIR 
 
 There's a little black mound on the hillside today 
 
 That was not there a short year ago, 
 
 And a little oak chair in the closet must stay, 
 
 When the others are placed in a row; 
 
 And a little checked apron, that she used to wear, 
 
 Is hanging, all crumpled, beside of the chair. 
 
 In a little blue room that is empty and cold 
 
 There is standing a little white bed. 
 
 And a gay little mirror, with flowers of gold. 
 
 Seems waiting to frame a dark head; 
 
 In a low wicker cradle beside of the wall, 
 
 Untouched lies a treasure — her battered rag doll. 
 
 There's a twisted red Tam on a nail by the door, 
 
 And a coat that has buttons but three, 
 
 Though their owner will need them, alas! nevermore, 
 
 They hold their old place tenderly; 
 
 And a bit of a scarf, with the needles awry. 
 
 Is there in her basket of knitting, laid by. 
 
 <S3> 
 
Oh! the berries will glow on the holly, blood-red, 
 
 And prayers will be mumbled and fast 
 
 As little bare feet scamper swiftly to bed, 
 
 The waiting of weary months past; 
 
 The stockings will hang by the grate in a row — 
 
 But the little black mound will be under the snow; 
 
 And the seats will be placed by the board, Christmas day. 
 
 But the little oak chair in the closet must stay. 
 
 -C54>" 
 
BROKEN DREAMS 
 
 There's a little trunk in the attic, 
 And its key is red with rust, 
 There are cob-webs all around it, 
 And the top is gray with dust; 
 The spiders weave o'er the handles. 
 And swing from the strap of brown, 
 And no one's there who seems to care 
 When the lid was fastened down. 
 
 But oh, there was ne'er a treasure 
 
 More precious than that inside; 
 
 A wardrobe of tiny measure 
 
 For the little boy who died; 
 
 The dreams of a life are folded 
 
 In the raiment he did not use. 
 
 And the mother's tears flow through the years 
 
 For the baby she had to lose. 
 
 She fashioned each dainty garment 
 With love that was strong and deep; 
 
In the gown she had sensed the rapture 
 Of seeing her darling sleep; 
 Had glimpsed him in every wee thing, 
 And held him against her breast, 
 The soft pink form so sweet and warm, 
 That lovingly she caressed. 
 
 But he was a fragile blossom 
 
 That needed the higher air, 
 
 One almost fancied a halo 
 
 Lay soft on his silky hair; 
 
 He could not wait for the dresses — 
 
 God called, and he had to heed. 
 
 And the trunk shall hold, like bits of gold, 
 
 The garments he did not need. 
 
 <S6> 
 
THE LONELY 
 
 There are so many lonely! Perhaps you do not know, 
 Or maybe you have never thought, as on your way you go ; 
 Not all are gifted with the charm that wins your nod and 
 
 smile. 
 Though you might find a noble mind — if you but paused 
 
 a while. 
 
 Some grow by cultivation, but give no hint or glow. 
 Unless consideration some kindly friend shall show; 
 Then, like the leaves of some new book, fresh pages they 
 
 unfold. 
 And in surprise you analyze and find them purest gold. 
 
 There are so many lonely! You surely know a few 
 Whose lives might broaden greatly through kindness shown 
 
 by you; 
 It need not cost in dollars — ^not much in any line. 
 Mere cordial tone can hush a moan, like soothing anodyne. 
 
 -CST^ 
 
MISUNDERSTANDING 
 
 You're far away tonight, my dearie, dearie. 
 The sunshine has been mocking me all day; 
 I've strained my eyes 'til they are weary, weary, 
 Longing to see you passing by this way; 
 Within my heart a pain is growing, growing. 
 The truth insists that I shall heed and know 
 That further still you're ever going, going — 
 And oh, I love you dearie, love you so! 
 
 The world is very cold, my dearie, dearie. 
 Outside the magic circle of your arms; 
 My heart is pleading to be cheery, cheery, 
 Safe locked against your breast from all alarms; 
 The tears persist tonight in falling, falling. 
 The breezes whimper of an unknown woe, 
 And 'cross the silence I am calling, calling — 
 Come back to me, I love you, love you so! 
 
 -{:58> 
 
SCHOOL-DAYS 
 
 There's a land of level prairie 
 
 Where the bob-white's call is heard, 
 
 And the song birds hold high carnival each morn; 
 
 Where a zig-zag fence outlines the road, 
 
 Most rakish and absurd, 
 
 As it follows past the fields of waving corn; 
 
 There's a singer on the top-most rail 
 
 A thrilling out his lay 
 
 To his haughty, muffed-up lady sitting nigh; 
 
 Time on time I've paused to listen and to watch 
 
 his loving way. 
 And afar I'd catch a rival's raucous cry. 
 
 Trudging onward down the beaten road 
 
 Made hard by driving rain, 
 
 I have listened to those songsters o'er and o'er, 
 
 'Til I'd reach the old brown school-house 
 
 And be robbed of their refrain 
 
 When the teacher closed the clumsy, creaking door. 
 
 Now, the years have brought me many a tune, 
 
 -{:59> 
 
Sung in a thousand keys, 
 
 And I've tried to get the "cultured" view and sense, 
 
 But I vow I never yet have heard 
 
 Such music on the breeze 
 
 As the meadow-lark trilled from that old rail fence. 
 
 <60> 
 
YOUR EYES 
 
 Your eyes are sometimes calm and peaceful pools 
 
 Where warm light lingers with a mellow glow, 
 
 So very calm they are, their glance but cools 
 
 The fever of my admiration, though 
 
 In meeting them I straightway start to plan 
 
 How I may startle them from that repose, 
 
 Waken return of action, if I can. 
 
 In those soft depths where sunny laughter grows. 
 
 Sometimes your eyes are troubled seas that tell 
 
 Of warring elements at strife, though none may know, 
 
 A potent force controlled is in their spell. 
 
 And storms are sensed that presage awful woe; 
 
 A chill is in the air — I draw apart. 
 
 No gleam lights up the sullen, somber sea. 
 
 Until the tides surge back into your heart 
 
 Fresh with the tang that breathes of mastery. 
 
 And sometimes — ah, yes, often! — are your eyes 
 The brightest stars that ever yet have shone, 
 
 <6l> 
 
Gleaming to light my earthly paradise, 
 Beaming with tender love for me alone; 
 Then suddenly I study them and see 
 A soft reflection mirrored clear and true: 
 Beyond your love that's shining out at me 
 Is mine that's shining into them — for you! 
 
 -{:62> 
 
SILENCE 
 
 Somewhere is one whose praise I crave 
 
 More than the laurel crown, 
 
 A smile in the eyes so blue and grave, 
 
 Meeting my own of brown; 
 
 Clasp of a tender hand and strong, 
 
 Words in a mellow tone. 
 
 Vibrant note in my sweetest song. 
 
 Lilt that has waned, I own. 
 
 But silence across the space of years, 
 Though others in kindness come; 
 Silence across the waste of tears. 
 Silence! But just that one 
 Could waken the chords of a lost refrain 
 On the harp of my soul's desire; 
 But only an echo, dull with pain, 
 Drifts from that muted lyre. 
 
 <63> 
 
AN INCONSISTENCY 
 
 If a heaven there be in the after-time, 
 
 When souls from this life are free, 
 
 A wonderful place where the joy-bells chime 
 
 From the temples eternally; 
 
 Where memories fade, and the errors made 
 
 No longer their shadows throw — 
 
 Then why, oh why, the direful cry 
 
 When the summons comes to go? 
 
 If a heaven there be for the good and true 
 
 And ever you strive to win 
 
 The mastery over the soul of you 
 
 On paths that are dark with sin. 
 
 If your faith be real and you truly feel 
 
 That a Father awaits you there — 
 
 Then why the cry when your loved ones die? 
 
 Do you, then, distrust His care? 
 
 And if there be heaven, why do you seek 
 To know of the ones long dead? 
 
Why urge the question, or strive to speak 
 
 To spirits already fled? 
 
 With your mortal cry would you even try 
 
 Their heavenly bliss to mar? 
 
 Oh, leave them at rest! If your God knows best 
 
 He'll guard them where e'er they are. 
 
 >C65> 
 
I'VE PRAYED FOR YOU 
 
 Oh, I have prayed — yes, I have prayed for you! 
 
 Not long-drawn prayers as some might pray — 
 
 'Tis not my way; 
 
 Not words on words sent up to God 
 
 That He would please to do 
 
 My will towards you; 
 
 No words at all, because He knows 
 
 The current of each thought that flows, 
 
 And where it goes. 
 
 But I have prayed — oh, I have prayed for you! 
 
 In silent tensity of prayer 
 
 That you be given strength to bear. 
 
 That you be given sight to see. 
 
 That you be prospered bounteously; 
 
 That health might bless your daily round. 
 
 That peace within your heart abound; 
 
 No gift within His ample store 
 
 Have I withheld. Aye, even more: 
 
 '<66> 
 
I've prayed that e'en my love for you 
 Might fall as falls the crystal dew 
 Unnoticed on the flowers, to bless 
 And strengthen you in all distress, 
 When parching winds of life blow strong 
 And every hope seems born a-wrong; 
 That He might take this steady glow 
 And form a torch where e'er you go. 
 That, shining bright and pure and clear 
 Shall light your pathway far and near. 
 
 No long-drawn prayers for God to heed — 
 
 There is no need; 
 
 My very heart-throbs He can hear. 
 
 Knows all my longing, hope and fear; 
 
 Reads every impulse of my soul 
 
 That, swept in prayer, would upward roll. 
 
 Not long-drawn prayers, as some would pray- 
 
 'Tis not my way; 
 
 But with the love that's in my heart, 
 
 Too strong for utterance to impart, 
 
 I've urged my supplications through, 
 
 For you — for you. 
 
 <61> 
 
FAREWELL 
 
 The Spring shall come again and yet again, 
 With all its witchery of bud and bloom, 
 Its madrigals of song, its rhist of rain. 
 Its dank sweet odors in the woodland gloom; 
 Its wondrous tender love-notes in the dawn. 
 When feathered wings first cleave the waiting air, 
 But I shall wake to know that you are gone — 
 And hear but sounds of mourning everywhere. 
 
 The flowers shall yield their fragrance and their grace. 
 
 And luscious be the clusters on the vine, 
 
 But I shall feel your blown hair on my face. 
 
 Your tears upon my hands, like sacred wine; 
 
 When Autumn once again its magic weaves 
 
 In colors rivaling the Orient's art, 
 
 I'll hear a wordless threnody of leaves. 
 
 And sounds of sobbing deep within my heart. 
 
 •{:68> 
 
THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 God loved the mountains best, be very sure; 
 He kept the tallest, straightest trees to trim 
 The rugged brown fagades, and to secure 
 Immunity from trespassers within 
 The cool, deep-shadowed places, interlaced 
 Vine maples in a network strong and line; 
 Then side by side artistically He placed 
 The multitudinous shrub and clinging vine. 
 
 He built the mountains rough and very high. 
 And laid hewn rocks along the canyon walls; 
 Upon a green moss carpet soft and dry, 
 The oreads dance to music of the falls; 
 The sun's too-eager rays He screened away 
 With canopies of deeply tinted leaves; 
 And Zephyrus and Notus gently sway 
 The tesselated awning in the breeze. 
 
 God loved the mountains best. He made no road 
 In all that vast domain for man to tread; 
 
Here wild free creatures find a safe abode, 
 
 And luscious fruit is hanging ripe and red; 
 
 The ax-man's blows have cleft and cleared a way, 
 
 And noisome, shrieking things go hurrying through; 
 
 But God forgives, and in the twilight gray 
 
 This alien path He dampens down with dew. 
 
 But oh, that they might be as He had planned — 
 Untrodden save by those who seek repose! 
 His thaumaturgy few can understand; 
 The diallium on the banks where swiftly flows 
 The nectar of the gods in murmuring streams — 
 Ah, who in passing notes that it is there? 
 Yet God is patient, and His sunshine gleams 
 Across each new-made trail that men prepare. 
 
 -CTO 
 
CONFIDENCE 
 
 You cannot bring it back, that mystic thing 
 You tore to bits, as children rend a flower 
 Through lack of thought. Ah, no! the bitterest sting 
 Is that you had it once within your power 
 And crushed it! But that day is past and gone, 
 The bud despoiled by ruthless hand is left 
 With all its beauty wasted, pale and wan, 
 And even of its fragrance quite bereft. 
 
 And so this spirit-thing shall not unfold 
 In promised sweetness, nor its perfume live; 
 Despoiled and bruised, it now lies dead and cold 
 For lack of nurturing you failed to give. 
 
 You cannot bring it back! Each petal rare 
 Was fashioned and deep-tinted in my heart 
 Through years of conscious homage, rendered fair 
 And paid without a question, as your part; 
 But one by one you plucked and threw aside 
 
The tender blossoms that I freely gave; 
 Faith sadly grieves where that exotic died, 
 And Memory keeps lone vigil o'er its grave. 
 
 <12> 
 
DEATH 
 
 For long death never came quite close to me, 
 Though others found him lurking on the way 
 In early youth, with eyes fixed greedily 
 Upon a loved one whom he took, one day, 
 To that dim, silent place where mortals cry 
 In vain from earth for just one clear response, 
 But blindly he forever passed me by. 
 Nor even cast one shadow; but who vaunts 
 Such sweet consideration, soon must learn 
 That not for long does Death so kindly wait, 
 
 Nay, he but loiters oft to deeper burn 
 
 His sorrow on our hearts to compensate 
 
 For that brief respite, given to deceive 
 
 Into a fancied hope that we may hold 
 
 Our dear ones here; then, finding we believe 
 
 In this fond dream, he enters fierce and bold. 
 
 Nor spares that one for whom we longest plead. 
 
 Nor takes, as lesser toll from us, another; 
 
 Ah! trust him not, else then your heart shall bleed, 
 
 For when he came to me he took — my mother. 
 
WE WERE NOT SATISFIED 
 
 Can you forget the myriad things 
 That made the cycle of those years: 
 The witchery of tender Springs, 
 The Autumn leaves, the tears, 
 The gray mists blurring out the view. 
 The somber scenes across the way. 
 The unsaid things we sensed and knew 
 Each passing day? 
 
 Can you forget the mystic thread 
 We wove on Fancy's magic loom 
 Into those days that now are dead — 
 Dead as that first Spring's bloom? 
 We watched the gray doves come and go. 
 Stood at the window while the rain 
 Tapped with a ghost-touch soft and low 
 Against the pane. 
 
 The hours were commonplace, we said, 
 And wished for scenes some otherwhere, 
 
We saw the sunsets, gold and red, 
 Watched snow-clouds fill the air; 
 Heard song birds in the trees above, 
 Had all God's gifts, and yet 
 We were not satisfied with love — 
 And now — regret! 
 
 -C75> 
 
A STRANGER THEN AM I 
 
 Lord, I am waiting! Every day I scan 
 Thy universe for signs to point the way; 
 I strive but to believe, yet never can. 
 The contradictory things that mortals say 
 And charge to Thee, relying on the Book 
 To prove each idea right; and yet none brook 
 The inference that another may, perchance, 
 Be nearer truth than they; and since advance 
 Is never made in realm of thought or deed 
 By mere perplexity, each complex creed 
 I sadly lay aside, and trust to Thee 
 To understand just why I seem to be 
 An outcast from Thy fold. Lord, when I think 
 Of all Thy work so wonderful, I shrink 
 From offering e'en one tiny thought of mine — 
 One single doubt of power so all-divine. 
 
 I watch the crowded buds as they unfold 
 Their tinted petals slowly, never bold 
 To hurry into bloom, save as Thy will 
 
Decrees the time is fit. The earth stands still 
 And shivers 'neath its frosty shroud and waits 
 'Til Spring is sent to open up the gates 
 And bid adieu to that most frigid guest — 
 Grim Winter. And again, at Thy behest 
 The trees put on their leaves and murmuring wave 
 A greeting to the passing clouds; while grave- 
 Eyed violets, shivering in the cold 
 Press up most bravely through the earthen mold ; 
 The birds resume their tasks, nor questioning pause 
 To once deliberate upon the cause, 
 Nor speculate why seasons come and go — 
 They but obey a voice they love and know. 
 
 Unnumbered miracles by Thee each Spring 
 
 Proclaim Thy power in wondrous heralding; 
 
 I would not doubt Thy universal grace, 
 
 Thy wonder-working force; but oh, Thy face 
 
 I see not as a countenance like to ours — 
 
 But as the face of Nature! Birds and flowers 
 
 And bees and butterflies and sunny skies — 
 
 The face of Nature minus all disguise 
 
 Of creed and cult and tribe, of dogmas and of form, 
 
 And, seeing Thee as such, I e'er must scorn 
 
 To circumscribe Thy scope by e'en one thought 
 
 Of doubt — because of wonders Thou hast wrought. 
 
Nor will I fret my soul, nor hold aloof 
 
 My faith in Thee, beholding all Thy proof; 
 
 And yet, if man-made creeds be proven true, 
 
 I am a stranger, quite unknown to You, 
 
 One lost indeed, because I must refuse 
 
 The strange, conflicting creeds that others choose. 
 
 -CTS^ 
 
I NEVER KNEW 
 
 I never knew that tears could burn 
 
 Like acid, 'til they left a scar, 
 
 Nor that a heart might truly learn 
 
 To hide the deep and painful mar; 
 
 Nor that the sunshine sometimes turned 
 
 Into a fever fierce and hot, 
 
 But these at last I've learned, I've learned- 
 
 Since you forgot. 
 
 That life could seem a desert plain 
 Where cactus grew by crumbling wall. 
 The winds a breath hard-drawn in pain, 
 Were truths I never guessed at all; 
 But I've been taught by torture slow 
 That joy and pain and love are one. 
 And that the world must never know 
 What love has done. 
 
 '<19> 
 
SILENT PLACES 
 
 God, keep some silent places for us still, 
 
 Apart from those where man forever goes; 
 
 Some altars lit by sunset on the hill, 
 
 Or alcoves in the canyon wall, where glows 
 
 The crystal drop of moisture on the fern, 
 
 While ancient firs bend tenderly above, 
 
 For souls of men must sometimes deeply yearn 
 
 For silence such as this, to sense Thy love. 
 
 God, save them for us still, lest we forget — 
 These altars built eternities ago; 
 Mankind is prone to ruin, without regret, 
 Thy, handiwork — oh, let it not be so ! 
 The fret of all his petty self is seen 
 In masonry of towers and walls and piers. 
 But peace is in Thy murmuring forests green. 
 Thy peace, that shall abide throughout the years. 
 
 The clash and clang and roar of what he makes 
 Strikes to the nerves 'til man himself rebels; 
 
 -C8o:> 
 
But all Thy wooodland minstrelsy awakes 
 Our better thoughts, and worship true compels 
 Oh! may the towers of tall pines on the crest 
 Be temple signals, pointing out the way. 
 And in Thy silent places let us rest 
 A little while, sometimes, yea, rest and pray. 
 
 -C81> 
 
RENUNCIATION 
 
 Oh, lonely is the even-tide 
 
 When Thought alone is by my side, 
 
 And Thought is sad and weary; 
 
 I'd travel far to seek a store 
 
 Of gems upon a mystic shore — 
 
 But the night is dark and dreary. 
 
 There is a sobbing in the pines — 
 My soul repeats the dismal whines 
 In whimpers low; 
 There is a note of hidden pain 
 Where joy is wont to ring and reign- 
 The bleak winds blow. 
 
 There is a love-song in my heart. 
 
 But I must bid it to depart — 
 
 I dare not sing! 
 
 Oh, lonely is the even-tide 
 
 When Reason, a relentless guide, 
 
 Bids Hope take wing! 
 
HE PAINTS IN GRAY 
 
 God paints ofttimes in gray. 'Twould seem to be 
 A color scheme supremely liked by Him; 
 Its softened tones at close of day we see, 
 When twilight enters slowly, pale and dim; 
 The hills wear countless changes of this shade, 
 The clouds show varying tones against the sky; 
 The pigeon's wing of loveliest hues is made. 
 The willows in their gray garb bend and sigh. 
 
 The living creatures, too, this thought display 
 
 In priceless furry coats beyond compare; 
 
 Ah, yes! God truly loves to paint in gray — 
 
 We even find His lines upon our hair; 
 
 And often at the close of sorrowing day 
 
 We look deep in our hearts — and find it there. 
 
 <83> 
 
DESIGN 
 
 Two men strolled in a wood one morn in May, 
 The light of sunrise filtered through the trees 
 In glints of gold, fair promise of the day; 
 The air was music-laden: birds and bees 
 And things that crawl and creatures of the wood 
 Awoke and stirred; the pulse of life was strong — 
 And one man viewed the scene and called it good, 
 And caught the harmony of sound and song; 
 Another questioned why a plan so fair 
 Should tolerate man's misery everywhere. 
 
 They paused to pluck a bud, and tier on tier 
 
 The folded petals fitted in the cone; 
 
 They halted by the brook where, swift and clear. 
 
 The riffles sang in unison of tone; 
 
 They felt the spongy sod beneath their feet. 
 
 And noted that the grass was patterned, too; 
 
 They watched a winged flight, accurate and fleet. 
 
 Heard call and answer all the forest through; 
 
 -{:84> 
 
And one man walked serene and unafraid — 
 The other railed at errors men have made. 
 
 And he who carped was of a faith accepted, 
 
 While he who merely trusted had no creed; 
 
 The one had pondered long — and then rejected; 
 
 The other grasped a cult to meet his need; 
 
 They left the woodland, each with thoughts swift-teeming. 
 
 As Dawn, a-blush, swooned in the arms of Day, 
 
 The creedless one, his eyes with trust bright beaming: 
 
 "I am Design," he said, and turned away. 
 
 (Ah, splendid faith that sees one perfect plan! 
 
 No better creed is given any man.) 
 
 -CSS^ 
 
THE DROUTH 
 
 The hollyhocks are clinging to the trellis, most forlorn, 
 
 The fennel droops, dejected, by the road; 
 
 The ivy has a pallid tint as in the summer morn 
 
 It clambers weakly over its abode; 
 
 The pasture's seared to leather-brown, the trees are tense 
 
 and still. 
 The bushes and the shrubs wear ash-gray shrouds; 
 A burning sheen comes filtering down from scorched and 
 
 blistering hill, 
 To silent, smothering valley, in hot clouds. 
 
 The flies buzz on the screen door, going in and coming out, 
 
 The bees hum in a listless monotone; 
 
 The shepherd dog lies on the porch, his red tongue lolling 
 
 out. 
 And the cat, sprawled on the mat, is left alone; 
 A sort of coma seems to hold the parching earth in thrall, 
 The atmosphere itself is out of breath; 
 All voices are depressed and low that otherwise would call. 
 And joyfulness is fairly choked to death. 
 
 -{:86> 
 
And then the heavens don the veil of mist they long did 
 
 scorn, 
 The belching thunder crashes loud and high; 
 The lurid lightning darts and gleams and urges on the 
 
 storm, 
 As it flashes startling signals to the sky; 
 The rain descends in silver sheets that glisten in the space. 
 The trees send wig-wag messages broadcast; 
 And in the glorious after-hour, when God has bathed her 
 
 face. 
 We see sweet Nature smile, her illness past. 
 
 ^87> 
 
NIGHT 
 
 The mountains, folded over 'gainst the blue, 
 Lean to each other as the shadows fall; 
 The yellow sunshine threads a ribbon through 
 The eyelets made of boughs; the cypress tall 
 Its lacy gown adjusts with quivering sigh. 
 The cricket trills a melancholy note. 
 And one by one the sounds of day-time die, 
 As song-tones mute to silence in the throat. 
 
 Night slips along the curving canyon bed. 
 With mystic draperies of black and gray; 
 A toga made of moonbeams on her head, 
 A single star to light her darksome way; 
 She flings a veil of silver o'er the stream. 
 And bids the threnody of leaves to hush, 
 Paints on each hill the outline of a dream. 
 While Romance holds the palette and the brush. 
 
 -CSS^ 
 
THE PHANTOM 
 
 A thousand times I've said good-bye to you, 
 And turned away from every common thought 
 That formed the vital tie that once we knew, 
 With all the wondrous, joyous hours it brought. 
 
 A thousand times I've said a last farewell 
 To memories of laughter, moods and tone. 
 Have bade them lift their tantalizing spell 
 And leave my soul in stillness — though alone. 
 
 I close the door against the whispering night. 
 And bid my heart give o'er its drear refrain. 
 But lo! you stand between me and the light 
 And all those sad good-byes have been in vain. 
 
 -{:89> 
 
IN NATURE'S THEATER 
 
 The first scene is a gray and sullen sky, 
 With weeping willows bending in a gale, 
 Their ash-gray foliage sending forth a sigh 
 That has a whimper like a human wail; 
 A little creek is muttering along 
 Between its muddy banks; a meadow-lark 
 Darts o'er the trees without one note of song; 
 The lightning zig-zags once, a brilliant spark; 
 The clouds combine and form a bank of gray 
 Against the West; the thunder crashes near. 
 The rain comes splashing down, a chilling spray. 
 And all the earth is sodden, cold and drear. 
 
 Scene-shifters now a different landscape show: 
 The sunset god displays his rarest scroll, 
 The gulls dip in the brine before they go 
 Across the beach where peaceful combers roll; 
 The pungent winds come in across the bar. 
 And whip the red into each passing cheek; 
 The light-house sheds its beckoning light afar, 
 
A silent voice that needs no word to speak; 
 Upon the drying sand where lovers pace, 
 A mellow radiance falls with myriad gleams, 
 Lighting to sweeter beauty every face. 
 Adding a purer luster to their dreams. 
 
 Then once again the stage is dark. Night falls, 
 And for a time the audience may repose, 
 'Til Dawn appears to answer curtain-calls. 
 In draperies of dainty pearl and rose. 
 
 •C91> 
 
HE BROOKS NO LOSS 
 
 If this be all, what wanton waste 
 
 Of wares and worth and wage 
 
 Has been the price of this poor show 
 
 Upon life's changing stage! 
 
 If this, the play, be for a day, 
 
 And then the curtain fall, 
 
 What grotesque jokes the jester. Hoax, 
 
 Has played upon us all! 
 
 The scene is laid, and Birth and Death 
 
 March hand in hand always; 
 
 A fee is asked of Man and Maid, 
 
 While Pay, the piper, plays; 
 
 The aged go; the lights burn low. 
 
 There is no curtain call; 
 
 And in the aisle without a smile, 
 
 They pass the usher. Pall. 
 
 If this be all, what farce the plot. 
 The price, the pain, the play! 
 
Why such a plan for mortal man 
 
 For just a single day? 
 
 Oh, list ye well: God brooks no loss 
 
 In His eternal scheme: 
 
 He'll lose no note of what He wrote 
 
 In life's majestic theme. 
 
 -{:93> 
 
AN ODE TO NATURE 
 
 Call to me at day dawn, in glimmers gold and blue, 
 
 In jagged shafts of crimson the gray mist breaking through; 
 
 In pearly drops of incense clinging to the rose. 
 
 In amethyst illusions the rugged mountain shows; 
 
 In the glittering snow-foam bubbling from the falls — 
 
 Anywhere and everywhere, I will heed your calls! 
 
 Call to me in Springtime, in violets sweet and shy, 
 
 In rosebuds deeply blushing beneath the ardent sky; 
 
 In creamy waxen hyacinths, exuding subtle lure, 
 
 In bold carnations red as blood; in the white ones pure; 
 
 In modest yellow daisies, claiming much of praise, 
 
 In nodding piquant pansies, with their saucy gaze; 
 
 In shyly creeping clematis, clambering o'er the walls — 
 
 Nature, I am listening to all your beauty-calls! 
 
 Call to me in murmurs when the earth begins to wake, 
 In winds that tease the ripples upon the silver lake; 
 In bird songs that are wafted in music sweet and low, 
 In chuckling of the brooklet that seeks the river's flow, 
 
 -C94> 
 
In roaring of the swift stream that through the canyon 
 
 brawls — 
 Nature, I am hearkening to all your minstrel-calls! 
 
 <9S> 
 
THE TALISMAN 
 
 'Twas a little vine-wreathed cottage 
 Just within the edge of town, 
 Roses clung to eaves and trellis, 
 And their petals drifted down. 
 While a tragic scene was acted 
 Just inside the cosy room, 
 Where a man and woman labored, 
 Lost to morning cheer and bloom; 
 Gathered here and there the objects. 
 Dear mementoes — now forlorn — 
 Of the day they entered gaily 
 On their happy wedding mom. 
 
 From the wall he took a picture, 
 From a shelf she lifted books. 
 Silently they stripped the cottage, 
 Leaving bare its pleasant nooks; 
 Eyes and voices cold and lifeless, 
 Each avoided other's way. 
 Soon they cleared the little parlor 
 
Of the things they'd meant to stay; 
 When, from out a crowded trunk-till 
 Tumbled something small and white, 
 And a flood of burning tear-drops 
 Hid the object from their sight. 
 
 Just a baby's shoe, quite shapeless. 
 
 With a hole in one wee toe. 
 
 But it told a heart-break story 
 
 Of their dreams of long ago; 
 
 Each one stooped to grasp the token 
 
 That was lying on the floor. 
 
 And at last two hearts were broken 
 
 From their icy chill once more; 
 
 Sobbingly two voices mingled 
 
 In a name that came to mind, 
 
 While hands clasped o'er a baby's shoe 
 
 That Fate had chanced to find! 
 
 <91> 
 
SUNSET 
 
 The sun shed its last lingering rays across the vapored 
 
 space, 
 And sank from view; a bank of flame-fluff rose in billows 
 
 high; 
 The gulls furled wing and ceased their graceful race; 
 Torch-bearers flung deep hues on yonder shadowing 
 
 sky: 
 The shore, with all its brine-wet, sparkling gems 
 Of bright carnelian, agate, jasper, shells. 
 Dried quickly all the moisture on its hems. 
 Thrown there so heedlessly by passing swells. 
 
 Trails on the sands that myriad restless feet 
 Had trodden there so happily that day. 
 Were smoothed by silent waves that swiftly beat 
 Upon their destined, even-tempered way; 
 The far-out rocks that scatter and dismiss 
 The fury of the breakers that attack. 
 Remained impassive to the savage hiss 
 Of whirling spray, impotently hurled back. 
 
The haze, that none may quite describe, came in 
 From distant zone beyond this mortal reach; 
 The waves, in shimmering raiment pale and thin. 
 Flung out their brine-blue draperies on the beach; 
 A deeper gray; the gulls no longer dipped 
 To search the surf. The West had ceased to be; 
 Night drew her curtains down; the ocean's line 
 Co-mingled with the earth-line, mistily. 
 
 ^:99> 
 
THE UNSOUGHT 
 
 She sits alone beside a dying fire, 
 
 And sees her hopes to fleecy ashes go; 
 
 Bids sad farewell to feminine desire 
 
 For love and praise that other women know; 
 
 The baby head she visions on her breast 
 
 Is but a sickening phantom, like the rest; 
 
 The little home she one-time planned, is fled, 
 
 And mourned in silence, like the sacred dead. 
 
 She sees her idol as in years long past 
 
 She saw him, towering high among his kind; 
 
 In agony she sees him choose at last 
 
 A painted doll, with neither heart nor mind; 
 
 Beholds his home, where children are unknown, 
 
 And knows his hopes, like hers, have sadly flown. 
 
 In secret she has dared to call his name, 
 To clasp him to her breast with ardent word. 
 Has e'en expressed, without a blush of shame, 
 The burning love no other ears have heard; 
 Has kissed the lips that only smiled, one day. 
 And left her to her dreams — and ashes gray. 
 
 h:ioo> 
 
ART 
 
 Sly elves steal in and paint the flowers 
 With gorgeous hues in still night hours, 
 Their brushes wondrous fine; 
 The dew a crystal drop imparts 
 To linger prisoned in the hearts 
 Like magic wine. 
 
 The tints of mystic mountain haze, 
 The pastel tones of twilight rays 
 All re-appear — 
 
 The Autumn's bronze and yellow-gold 
 Within some flower's heart unfold, 
 When Spring is here. 
 
 We pause and quaff the incense rare 
 That blossoms toss upon the air, 
 Drink deep the gift. 
 Ere earth again receives her own, 
 As petals fall and lose their tone. 
 And in the soft winds drift. 
 
 -C101> 
 
But oh, the wonder of such art! 
 
 The mystery within the heart 
 
 Of each sweet flower! 
 
 The elfin artists paint with care — 
 
 We see their skilled touch everywhere 
 
 In blossoming woodland bower. 
 
 -{:i02> 
 
THE MAN-LAND 
 
 Would you hurry away to the Man-land, 
 
 Little boy with your eyes of blue, 
 
 Would you trade all your precious treasures, 
 
 Real wealth that is fine and true? 
 
 They have strange toys in the Man-land, 
 
 But of marbles they have not one. 
 
 Though they have queer games they are playing 
 
 From morn 'til the day is done; 
 
 They sail great kites in the Man-land, 
 
 So large that you'd be afraid. 
 
 And their trains go past so fast — so fast 
 
 That you can't see how they're made. 
 
 There's not much fun in the Man-land, 
 
 Little boy with your eyes of gray. 
 
 Though you think it is very pleasant 
 
 As you glimpse it from far away; 
 
 And there's scarcely a one in the Man-land, 
 
 With all of its seeming joy. 
 
 Who wouldn't turn backward gladly, 
 
 ^:io3> 
 
And be just a care-free boy; 
 
 But they do strange things in the Man-land, 
 
 That sensible lads would spurn: 
 
 They hide all their tears, their sorrows and fears, 
 
 And this you would have to learn. 
 
 They forget their prayers in the Man-land, 
 
 Little boy with your eyes of brown ; 
 
 They even forget their manners, 
 
 And answer with sneer or frown; 
 
 They tell many tales in the Man-land, 
 
 And often they're quite untrue. 
 
 But they aren't like the fairy stories 
 
 That are told to interest you; 
 
 They grow very cold in the Man-land, 
 
 And their laughter gets out of tune; 
 
 Oh, stay with your toys^ for all little boys 
 
 Go to Man-land too soon — too soon! 
 
 -C104> 
 
DREAD 
 
 Strip life of dread and half its terrors flee; 
 We then confront what IS, not what Might Be; 
 E'en pain itself is not so hard to bear, 
 Reduced to actual feeling, minus scare; 
 For naught that overtakes us ever means 
 As much in real occurrence as in dreams. 
 And a full half our energies we waste 
 In dreading griefs we never have to taste. 
 
 Strip life of dread, and what a change there'd be! 
 Hope then would reign, and doubt forever flee; 
 For doubt is dread, and timid ones are torn 
 By pain of things that never shall be born; 
 And minds that fear to try, are paralyzed — 
 Their richest treasures left unrealized; 
 While he who has fair courage, less the dread. 
 Thinks not of doubt — and takes his place — ahead. 
 
 -ClOS^ 
 
IF I MIGHT ASK 
 
 If I might ask of God one priceless gift 
 To bless my life and make it strong and fine, 
 To help me from the chaos ever sift 
 Those things which are immortal and divine; 
 If it were granted that one blessing fall 
 Upon my earthly path, my joy increasing, 
 I'd ask a broader charity towards all. 
 And in mankind a tender faith unceasing. 
 
 If I might plead a second time, and gain 
 
 The favor that I craved all else above, 
 
 I'd ask the power to soothe another's pain. 
 
 And warm some hopeless heart with human love; 
 
 Then, when these gifts had both been granted me. 
 
 And God the last and choicest one was sending, 
 
 I'd ask once more — still broader charity. 
 
 And in my fellow-men a faith unending. 
 
 -{:l06:^ 
 
PERFECT DAYS ALWAYS 
 
 There isn't a day in the whole round year 
 
 That isn't a perfect day; 
 
 Measured and trued and painted with gold, 
 
 It glides on its destined way; 
 
 It is one of the gems that is given you — 
 
 A pearl in life's necklace rare, 
 
 And it hasn't a scar and it hasn't a mar — 
 
 Unless you have made it there. 
 
 The sun cannot shine every day of your life. 
 
 But the soft clouds have their place; 
 
 If all of the hours were a glitter and shine. 
 
 You would weary in each day's race; 
 
 For the eyes must behold and the soul must feel 
 
 The peace of these quiet grays. 
 
 That soften the light and refresh our sight. 
 
 After the burning rays. 
 
 There is beauty abundant for every need 
 
 In every day of the year; 
 
 If you cannot see it, you're blind indeed. 
 
For beauty is ever near; 
 
 Whatever your lot, you may freely share 
 
 In the paintings of earth and sky; 
 
 They are wondrous in worth and there's never a dearth 
 
 Of charm — for the seeing eye. 
 
 -C108> 
 
A FRIEND OF MINE 
 
 III health has laid a blighting hand 
 
 Upon her splendid powers, 
 
 Has closed the door on liberty and space; 
 
 While all alone she fills the time 
 
 That makes the golden hours, 
 
 There is no frown nor cloud upon her face; 
 
 With gentleness both true and fine 
 
 She welcomes every one, 
 
 Her greeting is as sweet as a caress. 
 
 And her cheer is like a ray of warmth 
 
 Shed by the noon-day sun, 
 
 'Til of dreariness you would not even guess. 
 
 She has set herself a duty — 
 Or a little helpful task 
 
 That she means shall be accomplished every day, 
 "One kind thing, to bring a pleasure," 
 Is her answer when you ask 
 How she sows such seeds of joy along the way. 
 Shut in from the rush and hurry, 
 ^:l09> 
 
You may say she has more time — 
 
 Ah! but think of all the pain that she must bear! 
 
 And how few there are, with leisure, 
 
 Who have impulse so sublime — 
 
 And how few with hearts so willing just to share. 
 
 Every day some deed of kindness 
 
 For another — Can you guess 
 
 What a change would come, if we were all as good? 
 
 If each one would care for others more — 
 
 For self a little less — 
 
 And give out a bit of sunshine when we could? 
 
 Why, a million minds with helpful thoughts. 
 
 Each with a strong desire 
 
 To aid another climbing life's rough hill, 
 
 Would start a blaze of human warmth 
 
 To cheer with healing fire 
 
 Nine-tenths of those whose hearts are cold and ill. 
 
 -C110> 
 
MY UNKNOWN FRIENDS 
 
 I know that somewhere you exist, 
 
 And that you understand, 
 
 Though I may never see your face, 
 
 Nor grasp you by the hand; 
 
 Though you may never speak one word 
 
 In voicing thoughts we share. 
 
 Yet I shall know, where'er I go, 
 
 Your understanding rare. 
 
 I know, somehow, that you are touched 
 
 Through sense of ear and eye. 
 
 By plaintive, thrilling melody. 
 
 By gorgeous sunset sky; 
 
 That oft your heart is filled with pain 
 
 That still is ecstasy, 
 
 That, as by wine that's aged and fine. 
 
 You're thrilled by sky and sea. 
 
 I know, somehow, that in a crowd 
 You oft are lone and drear, 
 -Clll> 
 
That few there be who know and see 
 
 Life, as you iind it, here; 
 
 Not oft you meet with those whose souls 
 
 Are en rapport quite true, 
 
 And oh, the sting when others sing 
 
 So out of tune with you! 
 
 -C112> 
 
LITTLE GIRL 
 
 Eighteen! You are a woman now, 
 Life's outward paths are calling you; 
 June weaves a rose-wreath for your brow, 
 All set with diamond-drops of dew; 
 The birds are trilling of the Spring, 
 You pause a moment in delight, 
 Before you spread the fledgling wing 
 And from the home nest take your flight. 
 
 The greatest gift of life — you came 
 And twined your fingers 'round my heart. 
 You kindled that most sacred flame 
 The warmth of which shall not depart; 
 And when the way is lone and drear 
 And' shadows settle dark and low, 
 A whispered prayer shall calm your fear, 
 Breathed through the dusk of long ago. 
 
 Perhaps another winsome maid 
 Shall smile into your eyes some day. 
 
And you will speak of years that fade, 
 And how life gives — and takes away; 
 Perhaps her eyes shall sometimes hold 
 A look like mine, then you at last 
 Will compass all my love untold, 
 That speaks to you from out the past. 
 
 <IU> 
 
A LITTLE WAY WITH ME 
 
 Come walk a little way with me, 
 The sunlight lingers on the hill; 
 The winds are murmuring cheerily. 
 The pool is dark and still, 
 
 My hand in yours — oh, let us stroll 
 With hearts at rest, a little while ; 
 The daises bloom on yonder knoll. 
 The skies are fair — and smile. 
 
 Come, walk a little way with me: 
 The path has drear and somber grown; 
 The winds are whispering plaintively, 
 I fear to go alone. 
 
 Oh, walk a little way with me — 
 The lonely night draws on apace; 
 But still the sunshine I shall see 
 Forever — in your face. 
 
 h:ii5:> 
 
TO THE SONG BIRDS 
 
 Sing in sheer joy of the rapture that's swelling 
 Within your wee heart as you unfurl the wing; 
 In wild exultation voice bliss that is welling, 
 In gay, thrilling notes let it passionately ring. 
 
 Perch by the nest that your babies may hearken, 
 Fill their young minds with the tales you can tell; 
 Shriek of swift flight when the storm-clouds oft darken, 
 Lilt of your race with the blue ocean's swell. 
 
 Warble of sails you have made o'er the broad fields, 
 Visioning corn waving green blades to you; 
 Joy, full and free, is the treasure your life yields. 
 Give of your music — with notes full and true. 
 
 At twilight sail down, fold your wings in the gloaming, 
 Come, rest from your travels, the day has been long; 
 Alight on the bough that fore'er waits your homing. 
 And in the cool shadows trill lullaby song. 
 
 -cue:}- 
 
TWO TRUTHS I OWN 
 
 It saddens me to realize 
 That, long years hence, when I am gone, 
 The stars I view with eager eyes 
 Shall still shine peacefully at dawn; 
 The trees that murmur as I pass 
 Shall but grow taller; and, alas! 
 The secret never be betrayed 
 That I once rested in their shade. 
 
 It hurts me when I pause to think 
 That, when a bit of crumbling clay, 
 I rest in low, forgotten grave. 
 There shall pass, as in my day. 
 Fond sweethearts tender, loving, true. 
 Whispering of love — that once I knew; 
 Unheeding me, who lie so still, 
 Though once I felt the self-same thrill. 
 
 Ah! long years hence, when I am gone, 
 The paths we tread today together. 
 
Shall still be winding on their way 
 
 Through stormy and through pleasant weather; 
 
 A pain is beating in my heart 
 
 As down that narrow path we go — 
 
 Two truths I own: That we must part, 
 
 And oh, I love you — love you so! 
 
 ^:ii8> 
 
UNSELFISHNESS 
 
 I set myself a task: Never to ask 
 For what I did not just as freely give; 
 No kindness, sweet consideration; aught 
 In attitude, in gentleness, in thought — 
 Nothing, save what in full return from me 
 Another might expect as bounteously. 
 
 Then day by day my life began to prove 
 How selfish and how narrow was my groove, 
 For one by one the blessings I had known 
 Took wings, and to another realm had flown; 
 How little I had given through the days! 
 How much demanded in a thousand ways ! 
 
 So humbled by my own acknowledgment, 
 I set myself a task and to it bent; 
 I ceased to talk of faults by others shown, 
 Aware at last of greater ones — my own; 
 Asked not of sympathy and love a part 
 Unless I found the same within my heart. 
 
 •{:ii9:> 
 
And lo! there is a bluer sky o'er head, 
 The birds sing sweeter than they did before; 
 And each day kindly thoughts to me are sped, 
 And loving hands come knocking at my door. 
 
 -{:i20> 
 
IN PARTING 
 
 Let your last words be kind, whate'er the first; 
 
 To leave a bitter memory you'll find brings worst 
 
 Of grief. You shall not miss the sting 
 
 That you inflict on any human thing; 
 
 For memory will not die, though it may keep 
 
 Its silence through the years; but when shall creep 
 
 From out the silent tombs within the brain 
 
 Some keen, sarcastic fling that caused a pain 
 
 To stab a heart, though half a life-time's past. 
 
 To you shall come the suff'ering at last. 
 
 Let your last words be kind. Ere you depart 
 
 Leave look or act or word to cheer some heart; 
 
 Another dawn may never spread its blue 
 
 O'er them, perchance; and though a whole life through 
 
 You grieve in vain regret, you cannot blot 
 
 A stain from memory, nor heal the spot 
 
 Where, like a never-dying coal the burn endures, 
 
 Caused by remorse that even time ne'er cures. 
 
 Let never darkness spread its pall at night 
 
 'Til towards all men you've tuned your heart-strings right. 
 
 -{:i2i> 
 
JUST HUMAN FIRST 
 
 When effort, carried forward with a zest, 
 Has flattened into nothingness at last. 
 And life seems mocking, laughing at the best 
 That you have done in all the labor past; 
 When 'mid the tumbling ruins of your dream 
 You stand in dumb depression and defeat, 
 How many, then, shall seek you with that gleam 
 Of earnest sympathy you need to meet? 
 
 I would not urge upon you doubt of friend. 
 
 Nor yet distrust, nor whisper of their ways 
 
 When trouble falls; nor say it is the trend 
 
 Of human kind throughout our hurrying days; 
 
 But loyalty is something that we need 
 
 To cultivate and give to those we know. 
 
 For hours must come to all when hearts shall bleed, 
 
 And feet shall falter on the paths they go. 
 
 And in that hour there is no sweeter balm. 
 Or recompense for what life takes — or mars, 
 -{:i22> 
 
Than loyalty from some one true and calm, 
 Who soothes with tender sympathy our scars; 
 For, though a man be crowned a prince or king. 
 Whatever his experience, best and worst, 
 He is at all times this one certain thing: 
 Above and over all — ^just human first. 
 
 -C123> 
 
DOWN ON THE FARM 
 
 The sunset flames across the western rim 
 
 In hues that baffle all the art of man ; 
 
 A line of firs, tall silhouettes and slim, 
 
 Stand guard above the valleys that they scan; 
 
 The crow, with one lasting lingering caw, flies low, 
 
 The trees in unison sway restlessly. 
 
 And in the hush of twilight seems to grow 
 
 A sense of loss that holds one breathlessly. 
 
 The old folks go about the evening work 
 Upon the farm, their routine as of old, 
 No minor detail overlook, or shirk. 
 No voiced complaint to listening ear e'er told; 
 They plod the paths ambition first surveyed 
 When little children romped beside the door; 
 Alone, they face the twilight, bent and grayed, 
 Their plans fulfilled — and asking nothing more. 
 
 But oh! there is a heart-ache in the scene. 
 The empty house where youthful voices were, 
 
The verdant acres where the grain is green 
 Speak of stalwart sons; while night winds stir 
 The memory of a grave upon the hill; 
 The whispering of the evening is a prayer, 
 There is a tensity of silence; still 
 The voices of the past are in the air. 
 
 And in the distant city's rush and roar, 
 
 Caught by its tides and tangled in its net, 
 
 Are those who played beside that farm-house door, 
 
 And oh, the tragedy — when they forget! 
 
 ^125> 
 
MOTHER 
 
 It seems we scarcely knew her 
 In her many years on earth, 
 Nor realized, 'til she had gone, 
 Her wondrous woman's worth; 
 Too much she gave, too freely toiled 
 For others, all the while, 
 Too much we blindly let her give — 
 Forgetting thanks or smile. 
 
 Now, looking back across the years, 
 Our hearts are wrung with pain, 
 Remembering the price she paid 
 That we — her own — might gain; 
 She placed no price upon her deeds, 
 Love prompted every one; 
 We simply knew she filled our needs — 
 Until her work was done. 
 
 Those toil-worn hands had never meant 
 So much to us, until 
 
 -C126> 
 
Upon her quiet breast they lay, 
 So white and cold and still; 
 What service they had done for us 
 We never paused to say, 
 Until we missed their ministry — 
 When she had gone away. 
 
 The thin gray hair upon her brow 
 
 Was like a halo-light, 
 
 But we had never known it — 
 
 'Til she went away that night; 
 
 We longed to tell our love at last, 
 
 And how we held her dear. 
 
 But oh, the hour had glided past — 
 
 Our words she could not hear! 
 
 Heart-breaking tears! At last we saw 
 
 With vision clear and bright. 
 
 The beauties of that noble soul 
 
 Who went away that night; 
 
 With aching hearts we knew, too late. 
 
 There never was another 
 
 So fine and true the whole way through 
 
 As she whom we called — Mother. 
 
 -{:i27> 
 
WHY SHOULD MAN DIE? 
 
 Why think that man shall die and live no more? 
 There is no loss in God's gigantic plan. 
 Changes shall be; aye, everywhere the core, 
 The kernel, is the part that lives. In man 
 The mental, vital force, the center, as it were. 
 Is really all that matters; while the shell, 
 The husk, may wither, foul decay occur. 
 Yet while the brain endures, men still impel, 
 Are counted something. But when the mental spark 
 Is snuffed, and only breathing flesh remains. 
 They are the same as dead, 'til from the dark 
 There flashes back the light that rules and reigns. 
 
 God's will is law: He made no thing to die; 
 He brooks no loss; however much we try 
 We cannot find where aught is ever lost: 
 'Tis simply changed by being sometime tossed 
 Into the crucible where dross slow-burns. 
 And gold is salvaged. Nature ever spurns 
 
 •{:i28> 
 
A waste in her vast kingdom; yet some say 
 That death annihilates this mortal clay! 
 
 Man boasts his supreme place in God's great plot — 
 
 He was the apex of that first stupendous thought; 
 
 He towers above all living things in brain, 
 
 In reason, force, endowment; yet the grain 
 
 Dies not upon the earth ; the lovely flowers 
 
 Live, bloom and fade; but through the freezing 
 
 hours 
 Of winter we are never prone to cry 
 That ere the Spring the flowers must surely die! 
 'Tis known that in the chemistry of soil 
 Is wrought the resurrection, through God's toil; 
 And that, though leaves may fall, the days of Spring 
 Shall see a living plant its green arms fling 
 Into the sunlit air, its buds assume. 
 And in due time yield up its fragrant bloom. 
 
 Be very sure that man shall never die! 
 Since God has made him master of the field. 
 Endowed with brighter flame, made earth and sky 
 Bow to his will and of their forces yield, 
 Why reason that God would so wasteful grow 
 As then to cast aside, leave to decay. 
 The greatest force created here below? 
 Ah, no! Man, too, shall have his harvest day! 
 
 -C129> 
 
When God made him of all earth-things supreme, 
 He must have held man first in every scheme; 
 We need not doubt nor grieve when death shall call- 
 Man cannot die; he changes, that is all. 
 
 -C130> 
 
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