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FROM 
 GRAY TO GOLD 
 
 ISABEL SINCLAIR 
 
 RICHARD G. BADGER 
 
 THE GORHAM PRESS 
 BOSTON 
 
 m: 
 
 B 
 
Copyright 1913, by Isabel Sinclair 
 All rights reserved 
 
 
 The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 
 
To my dear brother, 
 ALEXANDER GRANT SINCLAIR, 
 
 this little volume is lovingly 
 dedicated. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 From Gray to Gold 7 
 
 Self-Consecration 8 
 
 Farewell to Egypt 10 
 
 Canoe Song 11 
 
 To "Father Time" 12 
 
 The Evening Story 14 
 
 The Laying of the Corner Stone 15 
 
 Contrition 18 
 
 There's But One Road That Leads to God. . . 20 
 
 The Children's Woe 21 
 
 The Sign 22 
 
 The Song of the Wind Harp 23 
 
 Evening in the Northwest 24 
 
 Morning in the Northwest 25 
 
 The Call of the West 26 
 
 The Answer 28 
 
 Convalescence 29 
 
 A Dream 30 
 
 A Vision of Death 33 
 
 The Land of Grab 35 
 
 A Western Idyl 37 
 
 How The Apples Got Their Color 39 
 
 Mother and Son 41 
 
 The Battle of the Apples 42 
 
 The Brownie Man 43 
 
 The Common Lot 44 
 
 The Reflected Cross 46 
 
FROM GRAY TO GOLD 
 
 Gray was the sky in the morning 
 
 And drearily all the day, 
 The mountain mists came dowTi and down 
 
 Till all the earth was gray. 
 
 I looked from my fair south window, 
 Where the sunbeams love to play, 
 
 But never a gleam had lingered there, 
 The south, as the north was gray. 
 
 And into my heart came stealing 
 
 The spell of that cheerless day. 
 Till it seemed that the whole long round of life 
 
 Like the earth and sky was gray. 
 
 But all the while from the eastward. 
 
 Your letter was on its way 
 And its coming scattered the mountain mist 
 
 And brightened my skies of gray. 
 
 I know not what wonderful magic 
 
 You hid in each dainty fold. 
 I only know that the letter you sent, 
 
 Turned all my gray to gold. 
 
SELF-CONSECRATION 
 
 Lord ! before Thine altar now, 
 I kneel in reverential prayer; 
 
 The sacred chrism is on my brow, 
 The consecrating seal is there. 
 
 1 bring no offering rich and rare. 
 No glittering of the mine. 
 
 No wreathen crown of flowerets fair, 
 I lay in homage at thy shrine. 
 
 I bring the life Thyself hast given — 
 My swiftly passing span of years; 
 
 I here devote them all to heaven, 
 And consecrate the gift with tears. 
 
 I bring Thee this poor stammering tongue, 
 That scarce can lisp Thy love divine; 
 
 My harp all tuneless and unstrung — 
 Yea, all I am and have are Thine. 
 
 Renouncing all this world's vain show, 
 
 Content to share a lowly lot: 
 Content, Lord, if Thou will'st so. 
 
 To live unknown and die forgot. 
 
 I only ask that I may be 
 
 In love, and faith, and duty, strong; 
 May walk the narrow way with Thee, 
 
 Nor think the toilsome journey long. 
 
I only ask, when I must fall — 
 
 Cut down by death's relentless power, 
 
 Or long forewarned, or swift the call. 
 Be with me in the solemn hour. 
 
 Thy gentle voice is in mine ears, 
 And all my spirit's pulses thrill; 
 
 Speak, Lord, Thy willing servant hears. 
 And waits to know and do Thy will. 
 
 I hear the voice of solemn psalm, 
 I see the clouds of incense rise. 
 
 My faith is fixed — my heart is calm. 
 For God accepts the sacrifice. 
 
FAREWELL TO EGYPT 
 
 Beautiful land of the lotus, 
 
 Land where the skies ever smile, 
 
 Land of the palm-tree and myrtle, 
 Land of the swift-flowing Nile. 
 
 Chorus : 
 Beautiful land of the lotus 
 
 Cast o'er my spirit, your spell, 
 Forgetfulness, peace, while I wander, 
 
 Dear land of my fathers, farewell. 
 
 Beautiful land of the lotus 
 
 Homeland of love and of light, 
 
 I am looking my last on your hill-tops 
 Dear land of my fathers, good-night. 
 Chorus — Beautiful land, etc. 
 
 Afar in the desert at sunset, 
 
 I shall look with unsatisfied eyes. 
 
 To the plains where alone in their grandeur 
 The mystical pyramids rise. 
 Chorus — Beautiful land, etc. 
 
 I shall hark for the music of Memnon, 
 I shall list for the far-sounding bell 
 
 But no more shall I hear its soft swelling 
 O Egypt, dear Egypt, farewell. 
 Chorus — Beautiful land, etc. 
 
 10 
 
CANOE SONG 
 
 Speed, my little light canoe, 
 Speed across the waters blue 
 Sunset islands far away, 
 Call us to their shores today. 
 
 C HORUS : 
 
 Cleaving keel and paddle dipping. 
 Paddle with the salt spray dripping. 
 Cross we thus the waters blue, 
 You and I, my light canoe. 
 
 Gray against the summer sky. 
 Faint as cloudlets floating by. 
 Built of mist and edged with gold, 
 Tell me what these islands hold. 
 Chorus — Cleaving keel, etc. 
 
 Pillared homes of old romance .^^ 
 Grassy knolls where fairies dance? 
 Rivers broadening into bays? 
 Woods and hills and winding ways? 
 Chorus — Cleaving keel, etc. 
 
 So, my little light canoe. 
 We are going, I and you. 
 And these isles no more shall be 
 Isles of mystery to me. 
 
 Chorus — Cleaving keel, etc. 
 
 11 
 
TO "FATHER TIME" 
 
 Thy hand is on the lock; the rusty key 
 Hangs at thy girdle, gray old Father Time. 
 Thine are the world's deep secrets; 'neath thy 
 
 seal, 
 Dim with the dust of ages, mysteries lie 
 Which man has sought, but ever vainly sought 
 To fathom. Jealously, as miser guards 
 His glittering treasures deep in murky vault. 
 Where never ray of blessed sunlight comes 
 To light the darkness, or the breath of heaven 
 To stir the noisome vapors; so, O Time! 
 Hast thou thy treasures guarded — Now relent. 
 We wait expectant — ^nay, our eager hearts 
 Bum for the story of the vanished years. 
 The history of these flower-bespangled plains 
 That smile their sunny gladness back to heaven. 
 Whose were the hands that tilled those boundless 
 
 fields 
 So long ago? that reared those strange old mounds? 
 And wherefore did they with such patient toil 
 Heap earth on earth, till, dark against the sky 
 Their rounded tops like distant mountains showed? 
 Oh, tales of love and hate and grief and wrong. 
 Still cluster thick around those sloping sides; 
 And the grim sounds of battle echo yet 
 From mound to mound, where our dull modem 
 
 ears 
 Hear but the sighing of the evening breeze. 
 Do stately cities and the skilful hands 
 That built them He together 'neath the sod, 
 
 12 
 
One with the common dust from which they 
 
 came? 
 Did temples rise in graceful beauty where 
 The gopher burrows and the prairie fowl 
 Rears her wild brood, secure from all alarms? 
 Whose were the feet that trod these grassy plains? 
 Whose were the lips that, touched by fire divine, 
 In patriotic eloquence waked thunder in 
 Those halls of shade? and who, as we do now, 
 Amid those haunts of long-forgotten days. 
 Dwelt peacefully and called those ruins "Home"? 
 Canst thou not tell? perchance from thy dim 
 
 page 
 Their diary has faded, nevermore 
 The eyes of man to greet, till comes the hour 
 When thou shalt render up thy long account; 
 When light eternal falling on the scroll 
 Shall trace the tale in living lines again. 
 Then guard thy treasures. Leave thy royal seal 
 Upon the sepulchre. There let them lie 
 Till that great day when, from the mount of God, 
 The trumpet that shall wake the dead to life 
 Proclaims thy mission ended and thyself no more. 
 
 13 
 
THE EVENING STORY 
 
 "Tell me a story, mamma," 
 And the golden head drooped low. 
 
 And the baby eyes grew heavy 
 Under their lids of snow. 
 
 And with loving hps, low bending 
 
 Over the locks of gold. 
 Like dews in the night distilling, 
 
 The sweet old story was told. 
 
 The story she'd heard so often 
 Of the Babe of Bethlehem, 
 
 Of the oxen and the manger 
 And the thorny diadem. 
 
 Of the joy among the angels 
 On the night that He was bom. 
 
 Of the Cross with all its sorrows 
 And the resurrection mom. 
 
 And I thought of the little children, 
 (Alas! that such should be,) 
 
 Who never gather at night fall 
 Around a mother's knee. 
 
 Who hear no evening story. 
 Held close to a mother's breast. 
 
 O Httle orphan children, 
 God's pity on you rest. 
 
 14 
 
THE LAYING OF THE CORNER 
 STONE 
 
 The work was finished — well and truly laid 
 The comer stone. By touch of hammer light 
 And silver trowel, with its mimic work 
 And prayer and hymn of praise, 'twas set apart 
 For its high purpose. Yet I questioned much 
 What on this strong foundation stone, should rise. 
 
 Said one: "A temple fair, a sacred fane 
 
 To learning consecrated. Pillared halls, 
 
 Whose soft dim light thro' many windowed walls 
 
 Influxed, shall tempt the mighty shades that erst 
 
 In Helicon and old Olympus thronged. 
 
 To leave their mouldy mountains for our plains — 
 
 Their wrinkled East for our young, vigorous 
 
 West— 
 Our golden land of hope and promise, and 
 The fairest daughter of the hale old world. 
 Column and cornice, base and capital. 
 Shall grow, in rhythmic beauty, till, at last, 
 A point of light against the azure sky. 
 We see the cope-stone of the college stand." 
 "Fair is your dream," another said, "most fair, 
 But I, with eyes imsealed of God, have seen 
 Another temple standing on this stone. 
 Its architects were men, true men, who wrought 
 With hand and heart and soul and brain, and that 
 Which, with rare grace, they fashioned, day by 
 
 day. 
 Was other minds and souls. With earnest eyes 
 Fixed on the Great Ideal, Christ, the God 
 
 15 
 
In man, they wrought unwearied, striving hard 
 
 To make each plastic nature hke to His, 
 
 To fit it for its rightful place in wall 
 
 Or lowly base, or pinnacle or tower. 
 
 Inwove with all their being was the love 
 
 Of God and love of human-kind, and faith 
 
 And hope that never failed gave strength to work. 
 
 The building grew. Its stones were cultured 
 
 souls; 
 Its decorations were the earnest lives 
 Laid on its altar at the feet of God; 
 Its broad annexes reached from where the waves 
 Of blue Pacific wash the rocky shores 
 Of far Vancouver, to the historic tide 
 Of our slow-moving Red — ^the river of 
 The plains; its cope-stone was the Christ, 
 And its great Master-builder God Himself. 
 This was my vision." And the seer passed on. 
 
 Friends of the College, standing here, with heads 
 
 Uncovered, and with song and prayer 
 
 Upon your lips and in your hearts, do ye not hear 
 
 A whisper break the silence? " Both are true. 
 
 The visions are not twain, but one," it says. 
 
 "Upon this consecrated spot shall rise 
 
 A strong material structure, fair to see. 
 
 Yet but the outward shape and semblance of 
 
 A fairer spiritual temple, even as 
 
 These earthly bodies, fair or foul, but give 
 
 Expression to the soul that dwells within." 
 
 God bless our College! Give its builders grace 
 That so their work may stand, on that great day 
 
 16 
 
When that all that men have done, or yet shall do, 
 Shall stand in strength or perish, "tried by fire,'* 
 God give them courage, make them strong in 
 
 heart. 
 And wise and true and faithful to their God. 
 Yea, we would pray, "May Christ be all in all, 
 From turret high to strong foundation stone." 
 
 17 
 
CONTRITION 
 
 Lord, I am he ! the unprofitable one, 
 The servant that has failed Thy will to do. 
 With low-bowed head and contrite heart I stand 
 In Thy dread presence. Master, while I pour 
 My penitence and prayer from lips sincere. 
 The harp, Thy gift unvalued, low it lies 
 In dust and darkness, broken, rusted o'er 
 By years of sad neglect. Not livelong prayers 
 Can mend the broken strings; not briny tears 
 Can wash the rust away. Could I but hear again 
 The olden music from those unstrung wires 
 I'd ask no more. But vain are wish and prayer 
 And agony of pleading. All is past 
 Beyond recall. No Joshua hither comes 
 To bid the sun stand still at noon^ — No hand 
 Omnipotent to check the tide of years 
 And give to wayward men the priceless boon 
 Of winning back lost opportunities. 
 Heart cries go up to God for power to do 
 Some deed of good neglected, or t' undo 
 Some wilful or some thoughtless action done. 
 But ah! "The knell of our departed years" 
 Low echoing through the corridors of time, 
 Is all our answer. "Never, never more," 
 It seems to say, and "Never, never more!" 
 Our hearts respond. So broken lies the harp 
 And must remain so; All its music stilled 
 Forever; All its mission unfulfilled. 
 O God ! Forgive us for our wasted lives. 
 Forgive and be Thine ear attent to hear 
 The "miserere" of repentant souls. 
 
 18 
 
Forgive us for His sake who bore our sins 
 And cover with the perfect righteousness 
 Of His true Hfe the failures found in ours. 
 
THERE'S BUT ONE ROAD THAT LEADS 
 TO GOD 
 
 There's but one road that leads to God, 
 There's only one unerring way. 
 Be sure all others lead astray 
 
 But this, the road that Jesus trod. 
 
 To cleanse his soul from sinful stain 
 The Parsee builds his altar fire, 
 The Hindu lights his funeral pyre; 
 
 The fires die out, the stains remain. 
 
 The cloistered recluse, bead by bead. 
 Tells out his soul in ceaseless prayer 
 To saint and sacred sign. Beware! 
 
 Lest far away from God they lead. 
 
 Not mystic rite nor magic sign. 
 Nor deep research in pedant lore. 
 Can ope for us the Heavenly door. 
 
 Can lead us to the life divine. 
 
 There's only one right road to God, 
 And Jesus says, "I am the Way. 
 If, following Me, ye would not stray, 
 
 Your feet must tread where Mine have 
 trod." 
 
 A hundred flowery by-ways broad 
 Lead careless feet to wilds afar. 
 Where gleams at night no guiding star. 
 
 There's but one road that leads to God. 
 20 
 
THE CHILDREN'S WOE 
 
 Whither so fast, Httle shoeless feet, 
 Little shoeless feet, so blue and cold? 
 Pause in your flying and hark, my child. 
 What is it you seek, wide-eyed and wild, 
 In sodden rags and with shoeless feet 
 That leave their mark on the miry street; 
 Little one tell me; I fain would know? 
 The small feet paused in their flight " I go, 
 To seek a voice that shall tell and tell 
 Till the whole world knows and knows it well; 
 A tale that the whole world ought to know, 
 The pitiful tale of the Children's Woe. 
 "And what is the Woe, little child?" I said, 
 And whose is the voice that you go to seek?" 
 "The voice is yours if you will but speak. 
 And the "Children's Woe" is the bar-room's till. 
 Look into its pitiless depths, there lie 
 All the best and brightest our small lives knew. 
 All the light and gladness that were our due. 
 The roses that bloomed in our cheeks, the bread 
 That nourished our frail little bodies, the care 
 That was ours by the holiest birthright claim, 
 The home and the mother-love, dear and true 
 The fathers who wrought for us, all are there, 
 In the dark, dark depths of that pit of shame. 
 O! the world is cold. Its drizzle and sleet 
 Have chilled us through, and Heaven seems far 
 From the child whose home is in the miry street, 
 Whose life is shadowed by bottle and bar. 
 For love of the little ones, will you go 
 And tell the tale of the "Children's Woe"? 
 
 21 
 
THE SIGN 
 
 "I bind thee with a spell,'* she said, 
 "I sign thee with a sign.'* 
 In weal or woe, in life or death 
 I claim thee, thou art mine. 
 
 God made thee in His image, I 
 
 Will change it line by line, 
 Till none can see His handwork in 
 
 The sodden slave of wine. 
 
 I'll strike thee from thy place of pride, 
 
 I'll cover thee with scorn. 
 O better, hapless castaway 
 
 Thou never hadst been bom. 
 
 O better that thy cradle bed 
 Had given thee to thy tomb 
 
 Than spell of mine with fateful power 
 Had wrought and sealed thy doom. 
 
 Then follow at my chariot wheels. 
 
 Bent low beneath the sign 
 That marks thee thrall and slave to me. 
 
 The Spirit of the Vine. 
 
 22 
 
THE SONG OF THE WIND 
 HARP 
 
 In the land where the roses fade, I heard 
 The sound of a wind-harp's fitful playing. 
 
 As its quivering strings were thrilled and stirred 
 By the breezes over it straying. 
 
 At dawn of the morning a zephyr came, 
 Soft as a sigh and perfume laden. 
 
 It had kissed the sweet wild flowers as it flew 
 Till it seemed like a breath from Eden. 
 
 It touched the wind-harp's slender strings 
 And I heard, oh I heard the angels singing. 
 
 And I heard the rush of their glancing wings. 
 In the harp's low fitful ringing. 
 
 Then a rushing wind from the west swept by, 
 A child of the air and the stormy ocean, 
 
 And the song of the harp rose clear and high, 
 As it swayed to the wind's wild motion. 
 
 I felt the north's winds icy breath, 
 
 And the harp strings wailed like an orphan's 
 crying. 
 As they told of a grief that was dark as death 
 
 And a pain that was worse than dying. 
 
 And I know when the winds of the loved home 
 land 
 On those living strings are playing. 
 The angels shall hush their songs to hear 
 What the harp is singing and saying. 
 23 
 
EVENING IN THE NORTHWEST 
 
 All day the prairie's wide expanse had lain 
 In dreamy stillness. Morning's perfumed breeze 
 Had died beneath the potent rays, far flung 
 From the great sun-god's hand. O'er all the land 
 No glancing wing, no carol sweet of bird 
 Stirred the hot, quivering air. And the great 
 
 horde 
 Of tiny things, four-footed, bright of eye 
 And quick of motion, all had felt the touch 
 Of the hot noontide rays, and gave no sign. 
 But now 'tis evenmg. Grass and shrub and tree 
 Responsive to the zephyr's light caress, 
 Sway softly. And in many-tinted throngs 
 The prairie flowers upraise their drooping heads. 
 Far in the western sky, the sunset glow — 
 A symphony of splendors, lures the eye 
 From the slow-creeping shadows of the night. 
 'Tis even as if, on earthward mission bent. 
 Some angel from the land of light beyond 
 Had passed the gates of pearl and swung them 
 
 wide 
 That mortal eyes, for one brief space, might catch 
 A vision of the glories unrevealed 
 By tongue or pen, undreamt of by man's brain 
 Or world-encumbered heart. Bright world be- 
 yond! 
 Bright home of all things beautiful! May we. 
 Whose eyes rest on this radiance, find at last 
 The portal inward swung, when with tired feet 
 We seek it — seek the light -encircled bourne 
 From which no traveller willingly returned. 
 
 24 
 
MORNING IN THE NORTHWEST 
 
 Silence, and night, twin sisters, in whose arms 
 The world lay cradled thro' the hours of rest, 
 Fold back your ebon curtains, guardian pair. 
 Your task is done, your starlit vigil past 
 The far, faint glow that gilds the eastern sky. 
 The first low chirp of wakening song bird tells 
 That morning in her robe of gold and pearls 
 Her wind-blown robe of shimmering mists is here 
 A zephyr, winging from the darkling west 
 Bends low to kiss the prairie's rough brown face, 
 Till shy as from a lover's first caress, 
 It reddens with the glow of opening flowers, 
 Then o'er the hill-tops edged with rose and gold 
 A flood of sunlit glory comes — a glad 
 O'er flow of blessing from the throne of God 
 Fair is the world as on that wondrous day 
 When first He made it and pronounced it " good " 
 From the broad landscape's centre to its rim 
 The birds wild chorus swells. The odorous air 
 Is vibrant with the hum of wakening life, 
 Sunshine and Song, twin sisters from the skies 
 The world is yours in this enchanted hour 
 Silence and Night, farewell, the dawn is here. 
 
 i5 
 
THE CALL OF THE WEST 
 
 With beckoning hands outstretched to lands afar. 
 With eyes that saw beyond the sea's broad curve. 
 With heart of pity and with pride of power 
 On her own rugged mountain heights she stood. 
 The Spirit of the mystic unknown West. 
 Her form, in all its strong young beauty lined 
 In light against the Western sky, Her face 
 Illumed with light prophetic, eastward turned. 
 Beneath her feet, the treasures of the earth, 
 For long, long ages held in fee for those 
 Whose worthy names were written on her scroll. 
 Boundless extent of fertile fields, unscarred 
 By plough lay all around; while from her lips 
 Went ringing forth the long clear call 
 The world had waited for thro weary years. 
 The nations heard it and a great unrest 
 Came o'er them. Crowded Cities paused 
 In their mad rush to listen; hamlets rude 
 And peaceful villages gave ear. The Slav 
 Oppressed for ages heard the magic voice 
 Of Freedom in the cry. Where Hecla's fires 
 Bum fierce beneath her snows, by Norrlands 
 
 fjords , 
 In English homes and even in far Cathay 
 The call was echoed and re-echoed. "Come 
 Ye people, come where sunny skies look down 
 On happy homes, where healthful breezes sweep 
 Flower laden fields, where honest toil gives wealth 
 Where law protects and lawless get their due. 
 Where each in his own way may worship God 
 And none shall say him nay, where youth may find 
 
 26 
 
A field of enterprise; and failing age 
 
 A peaceful resting place. Ye people come 
 
 And find a welcome in the great wide West. " 
 
 OT 
 
THE ANSWER 
 
 A painter, kneeling by his canvas, prayed 
 For power to limn in living lines, the face 
 Of Christ, the Lord. "Grant me, with eyes un- 
 sealed," 
 He cried, "to see Him as they must have seen 
 Who walked with him Judea's rugged ways 
 Or rested by His side on Olivet, 
 When cool and soft the evening shadows fell, 
 Grant me to see Him how and as thou wilt, 
 
 So shall I teach the world to see Him, too." 
 The answer came, " Wouldst thou see Jesus ? Look 
 Along the lowly by-ways of the world 
 Where hide the poor and sick and wounded. There 
 He walks unseen, unheeded by the crowd 
 Of blind world- worshippers. It may be from 
 The eyes of crippled child or work-bound slave 
 Thy Lord will look on thee. Perchance His hand 
 Will take thy proffered gift. " " His hand.? "" Thine 
 
 eyes 
 May only see a beggar's, but beware 
 Thou pass not by disdainful. Surely He 
 Thou pray est to meet, will somewhere meet thee. 
 
 Go". 
 Back from his quest at eve the painter came 
 Light like a glory in his face, the wine 
 Of a new gladness in his heart. He said 
 This only as he laid his canvas by, 
 "My prayer is answered, I have seen the Lord." 
 
 28 
 
CONVALESCENCE 
 
 Back from the land of shadows - -that strange land 
 
 Which none call home. On its mysterious shore 
 
 The waves of death's dark river beat and fret 
 
 Or pass in soundless flow and leave no trace. 
 
 The light upon its desolate vales and hills 
 
 Is not the light of earth. The breeze that sighs 
 
 Among its cypress trees is damp and chill, 
 
 And they that walk its dark and hidden ways 
 
 Look longingly this way and that — across 
 
 The heaving river-tide to where the minarets 
 
 Of the Eternal City gleam afar 
 
 Or backward to the old familiar scenes 
 
 Of this fair earth. Some one way go and some 
 
 The other. For awhile I paused in doubt. 
 
 "Come to us" sang the Choir Invisible, 
 
 That with veiled faces stand before the throne, 
 
 But dearer voices pleaded "stay" and then 
 
 Life, potent force, returning, filled my veins. 
 
 And thrilled through all my being. All was 
 
 changed 
 Again. Now dim as some remembered dream 
 I see the "visions splendid" of the other world 
 For, ever while I look, the things of earth 
 Pass like a fair but blinding cloud between. 
 So I have left the land of shadows, left 
 The river-shores and sought again the fields 
 Whose simlight never seemed so dear as now, 
 Because they speak of those far other fields 
 That in their sunless radiance wait for me. 
 
 29 
 
A DREAM 
 
 The labor of the busy day was done, 
 
 And in the twihght's deepening shade I sat 
 
 With folded hands, my heart and thoughts at 
 
 rest. 
 Like some old half-remembered cradle song 
 The night breeze murmured, and its slow sweet 
 
 notes. 
 Lulled my tired soul to stillness. And the stars. 
 Those tireless watchers of the fitful night. 
 Laid one by one their filmy veils aside, 
 And bent above me with their holy eyes 
 That seemed to question and reprove, and yet 
 Withal, to look sweet messages of hope 
 And heavenly trust and comfort into mine. 
 Thus sat I in the twilight. And methought 
 I heard, borne faintly on the passing breeze, 
 A low, sweet strain of song. So low it was 
 And soft, I scarcely heard it, yet so sweet 
 You might have thought heaven's pearly gates 
 
 were left 
 Ajar, ^nd those soul-thrilling notes had floated 
 
 out. 
 And while I listened wondering, suddenly 
 One stood beside me. White her vesture was 
 And clasped with bands of gold. Upon her brow 
 Of wondrous whiteness gleamed a starry crown. 
 And in her hand a glittering gem she bore. 
 "Mortal," she said, "commissioned by my King, 
 Heaven's King, thy sovereign Lord, I come to 
 
 thee. 
 This hath He sent thee." And upon my brow 
 
 30 
 
The lustrous gem she placed. Behold how fair! 
 Its shining depths are founts of light. 
 And brighter and more beautiful 'twill glow 
 While thou dost wear it. Lay it not aside 
 Lest all its lustre fade, and thou deplore 
 Its vanished loveliness with unavailing tears 
 Thus spake my visitant, and bending low 
 Laid her light lips upon my forehead. Then 
 With pinion spread she rose thro' parted cloud 
 And starlit ether, while around her clung, 
 Like silver drapery, heaven's own starlight fair. 
 And fainter grew the music, till no more 
 Its soft vibrations thrilled me. All was still, 
 And I alone again. But on my brow 
 The gem remained. Day after day went by 
 And still I wore it, $till rejoiced to wear 
 For His dear sake who gave the gift to me. 
 But once, when worn and wearied with the way 
 And trembling 'neath the weight of grief and care, 
 I cried, impatient, "I will lay it by; 
 Its weight oppresses me, I am so tired. 
 I care not for its beauty. Coronets 
 Of gems as beautiful on other brows 
 I see, and I have only one. Its light 
 Will not be missed." Then carefully 
 I hid my jewel in the velvet depths 
 Of a rare casket. There it lay concealed. 
 Forgotten, almost, as the years rolled by. 
 But once again, in idle mood I drew 
 Forth from its hiding place the priceless gem. 
 Saying, "I will wear it as in other days." 
 When, lo! only a rayless stone was there, 
 A dark, unlovely thing. Its lustrous light 
 
 31 
 
Was quenched forever, and the rust of years 
 
 Lay thick upon it. Mournfully I gazed 
 
 On my lost treasure. In my heart regret 
 
 Struck deep her poisoned arrows. I too well 
 
 Remembered from whose royal hand had come 
 
 The gift, and who had brought it, and the charge 
 
 She gave; and I remembering, wept. 
 
 "Nay, weep not, child of earth," a pitying voice 
 
 Beside me murmured. And I, turning, saw 
 
 The heaven-sent messenger of other days." 
 
 "What thou hast seen, " she said, "is but a dream. 
 
 Yet on thy heart in living lines be engraved 
 
 Its hidden import. In thy waking hours 
 
 Recall and read the lesson. It is this: 
 
 " The gem is thy one talent, use it well. 
 
 And in so using it shalt thou be blest. 
 
 But, if thou murmur, if within thy heart 
 
 An envious longing rise for brighter gift 
 
 Bestowed on others and to thee denied, 
 
 xAad thou forgetful of thy trust shalt fail 
 
 To use thy one gift wisely. Then beware! 
 
 Lest coming suddenly, thy Lord require 
 
 That which thou canst not give. Once more 
 
 farewell." 
 Then from my sight she vanished. I awoke, 
 And, lo! 'twas all a dream. 
 
 32 
 
A VISION OF DEATH 
 
 I trod the paths of life with fearless step 
 Flowers, strangely beautiful adorned the way. 
 The air was balmy with their odorous breath, 
 And wild-bird warblings filled the air with song 
 Thro' every vein the bounding tide of health 
 Exultant coursed and tinged my glowing cheek, 
 While Hope the Charmer, sunlight of our life 
 Lit up my eyes with visions brighter than 
 The dreams of houris soft-reclined amid 
 The bowers of Moslem paradise. 'Twas joy 
 To live, to move, to breathe. I passed along 
 With glad quick tread, when lo! upon my path 
 By flowers half-hidden, half-revealed to view 
 As ready to entrap my careless feet. 
 I saw the grave, the charnel house of death. 
 I looked into its hollow cavern — all 
 Was darkness there. I stood apalled. To seek 
 Those depths of gloom when life looked all so fair 
 Was terrible indeed. I called aloud for aid 
 And from the dismal depths my answer came 
 A lonely echo. Once again I looked 
 And then, methought I saw far down the gloom 
 A glimmering light. I, wondering, gazed and still 
 It brighter grew: And as from eastern skies 
 The daylight comes and with her silent hand 
 Lifts, gradual from the glowing landscape, all 
 The trailing drapery of the dreamy night. 
 So, as I looked and wondered, in that light 
 That brighter grew and brighter, visions rose 
 Of wondrous lovliness. Amid the bowers 
 That dotted all the landscape o'er I saw 
 
 88 
 
Fair palaces arise, with golden towers 
 
 That glittered in the light, and thro' the midst 
 
 A river flowed, and in its crystal tide 
 
 All who would enter that bright land must bathe 
 
 And wash away the stains of earth and sin. 
 
 While over all an aw^ul Presence reigned, 
 
 Awful in majesty and boundless power 
 
 And yet the fountain-head of joy and peace. 
 
 Then from ten thousand harps such music rose 
 
 As mortal ear had never heard before 
 
 Or mortal heart had dreamed of. Loud it swelled 
 
 And seemed to fill the concave of the skies 
 
 Then in soft cadence died the air. 
 
 And still, methought, the burden of the song 
 
 Was, "Fear not; I am with thee. Enter in." 
 
 With eager steps I hastened to obey 
 
 The summons ringing from those rapturous choirs 
 
 Life, once so valued, was forgotten now 
 
 Forgotten, too, the grave that lay between. 
 
 It was no longer dark. The light of faith 
 
 Had brightened all the gloom. *Twas welcome 
 
 now. 
 But while I sought to enter, with my feet 
 Upon the threshold and my hands outstretched 
 The gladsome morning broke. The light of day 
 Was streaming o'er my pillow, and the breath 
 Of morning, incense laden, from the east 
 Came thro' the open casement. So it passed. 
 
 34 
 
THE LAND OF GRAB 
 
 In your nightly dreams did never Queen Mab 
 Convey you away to the Land of Grab? 
 If not, tonight you must come with me. 
 For strange are the sights we there shall see. 
 'Tis a land renowned in the halls of Fame 
 And America was its ancient name. 
 A King they have in that wondrous land, 
 Who rules them all with a golden wand. 
 'Tho strong as a giant, he's no taller 
 Than, (patdon the simile) your best collar — 
 And his name, they say, is the Mighty Dollar. 
 An ugly old premier stands by his side, 
 So ugly he ought to do nothing but hide. 
 And so old you would say it was time he died; 
 Yet he lives as the centuries hurry by 
 And I've heard it said he never will die 
 Till the last man breathes his last faint sigh. 
 When woman reigns in the world alone 
 His name will never be heard or known. 
 For the visiting cards of this horrid elf 
 Are all engraved with the name of "Self." 
 The King and his minister sit in state 
 While multitudes throng at their castle gate. 
 The rich and the poor, the old ard the young- 
 All sizes, all nations and every tongue; 
 With hands outstretched and with eyes aglow. 
 They wait till it pleases the King to throw 
 His shining favors, then oh ! Queen Mab ! 
 Did you ever see such a game of Grab.^^ 
 Rehgion once to this monarch came — 
 How saintly he looked when she told her name 
 
 85 
 
How softly he smiled as her plaint she made 
 
 And for perishing mortals implored his aid! 
 
 How gentle his tone as he said he was willing 
 
 And placed in her hand a coimterfeit shilling. 
 
 A thousand terrible tales are told 
 
 Of this King and his minister grim and old. 
 
 Tales of ruin and tales of wrong, 
 
 And prayers go up, "How long, how long 
 
 Till they both he under the church yard slab 
 
 And our land is no longer the Land of Grab.?** 
 
 36 
 
A WESTERN IDYL 
 
 Behind the prairie's western rim, 
 The sun in glowing splendors sank, 
 And shadows long and deep and dank, 
 Came creeping o'er the landscape dim. 
 
 The river in its silent flow, 
 
 The wayside pond, the hill-top gray. 
 
 My cabin windows far away 
 
 Gave back the lingering after-glow. 
 
 The night-birds dipped their wings in dew, 
 And shrieked their weird and timeless cry. 
 The merry breeze became a sigh. 
 And lengthening shadows longer grew. 
 
 With careless steps I wandered on 
 Across the field where wind-flowers blow 
 And marked the shadows longer grow, 
 Till day's last gleam of light was gone. 
 
 But what to me if gleam or gloom 
 Reflected from those changing skies. 
 My light was there, my paradise. 
 My prairie heaven, my cabin home. 
 
 Its outer walls were brown and bare. 
 Its wooden floor gave back my tread, 
 'Twas music in her ears," she said. 
 My pearls of pearls, my wind-flower fair. 
 
 87 
 
Oh years have passed and I have gold, 
 A princely home and acres broad, 
 But she, alas, went back to God 
 And all the world is bleak and cold. 
 
 Again the prairie's western rim 
 With siuiset tints is all aglow. 
 Again the shadows overflow. 
 Like covering robes, the landscape dim. 
 
 But what is gleam or gloom to me 
 Or midnight shade or trembling star, 
 I dwell with her and she is far 
 Beyond the azure's twinkling sea. 
 
 38 
 
HOW THE APPLES GOT THEIR 
 COLOR 
 
 Little Fairy Featherwings 
 Don't you hear me call? 
 
 Oho I know you're hiding 
 In the rushes tall. 
 
 I'm your fairy mother 
 
 And I've this to say 
 All good fairy children 
 
 Listen and obey. 
 
 Time is fast a-flying 
 And there's much to do 
 
 Little Fairy Featherwings 
 Here's a task for you. 
 
 Down among the orchards, 
 Where the apples grow, 
 
 Something is a-wanting 
 As we fairies know. 
 
 Apples load the branches 
 
 Shiny leaves between 
 But you scarce can see them 
 
 In their coats of green. 
 
 Children will not eat them 
 
 Old folk will not buy 
 And none of all the people 
 
 Have guessed the reason why. 
 
 39 
 
Little Fairy Featherwings 
 While they're still abed 
 
 Gather up a suii-brush 
 
 And paint those apples red. 
 
 Little Fairy Featherwings 
 
 Did as she was told 
 And to the red she added 
 
 A touch of fairy gold. 
 
 And now these famous apples 
 Are known from shore to shore 
 
 And people buy and buy them 
 Till they can buy no more. 
 
 And never dream the people 
 That thus they get their gold 
 
 For neither Fairy Featherwings 
 Nor I have ever told. 
 
 40 
 
MOTHER AND SON 
 
 Little Jack Tar came home one day, 
 
 (Where, O where have you been, my son?) 
 
 "SaiHng a ship on Kelowna Bay, 
 
 Where the waters of Mission Creek into it run," 
 
 (And what saw you there, my Httle son?) 
 
 "I saw the mountains old and brown. 
 
 That stand like sentinels night and day, 
 
 Keeping watch and ward o'er Kelowna town." 
 
 (And saw you nought but the mountains, son?) 
 
 **I saw the blue waves, hand in hand, 
 
 Come racing up to the waiting strand. 
 
 Kiss it and leave it and run away, 
 
 Back to the depths where the little waves play 
 
 As children do when their tasks are done.*' 
 
 (And saw you nought else, my little son?) 
 
 " Where the current nms swift and deep and strong 
 
 And the waves hold back and forget their song, 
 
 A little white flower went drifting on. 
 
 I saw it and saved it and fresh and sweet, 
 
 I lay it here at my mother's feet." 
 
 (Its fragrance shall be your reward, my son. 
 
 For a kindly thought and a good deed done.) 
 
 41 
 
THE BATTLE OF THE APPLES 
 
 Apple John and Apple Jack 
 
 (So the gossips say,) 
 Olice met in good old London town, 
 
 All on a rainy day. 
 
 Said Apple John to Apple Jack 
 
 "I like you not a bit." 
 Said Apple Jack to Apple John, 
 
 "My sentiments you hit." 
 
 Then flew the mud from hand to hand 
 
 Till all the air grew black. 
 And Apple John was out of breath, 
 
 And so was Apple Jack. 
 
 And when they stopped to rest, and each 
 
 Beheld the other's plight. 
 They said with simultaneous grin, 
 "What fools we were to fight," 
 
 And nations of the world today, 
 
 Act on this silly plan; 
 War with each other for a day. 
 
 Then end where they began. 
 
 4i 
 
THE BROWNIE MAN 
 
 Out of the dusk of the "Long Ago" 
 A queer Httle, dear Httle Brownie man 
 
 Came skipping into the world of "Today" 
 And smihng as only a Brownie can. 
 
 His big round eyes were merry and brown, 
 His feet were light for his heart was gay. 
 
 His queue was tied with an odd brown bow 
 And his coat was an old-fashioned cut away. 
 
 The wonder grew in his big round eyes 
 As he looked around, (he had been away 
 
 From this busy and changeful world of men 
 For a hundred years and an hour and a 
 day.) 
 
 Telephones, telegraphs, railroads, trams 
 Over and under and on the street, 
 
 Aeros circling above his head. 
 
 And motors whizzing about his feet. 
 
 His dear little heart went thump, thump, 
 thump, 
 
 As only the heart of a Brownie can. 
 Then with one wild shriek he turned and fled 
 
 And back to the Brownie world he ran. 
 
 43 
 
THE COMMON LOT 
 
 By pick and shovel rudely piled, 
 A little mound of yellow clay, 
 
 A shapeless and unlovely thing 
 Lay close beside the trodden way. 
 
 Once, passing on my townward way, 
 
 I saw with unbelieving eyes 
 The little mound had taken shape, 
 
 A statuette in homely guise. 
 
 And kneeling by its formless feet, 
 A little artist wrought with care 
 
 To bring from that unlovely clay. 
 The Uving figure hidden there. 
 
 I watched him, as with loving hand 
 He moulded every separate part 
 
 To make one perfect whole — ^his dream 
 Of beauty in the plastic art. 
 
 And day by day the statue grew 
 And touch by touch he gave it life 
 
 Till there was nothing more to do 
 For hand or pointed stick or knife. 
 
 The little artist's work was done 
 
 Then gathered all his playmates round 
 
 And looked and looked with critic eyes 
 And praised with no uncertain sound. 
 
 44 
 
His cup was full; but in the west 
 None saw a gloomy portent rise; 
 
 A mighty cloud whose rainy depths 
 O'ershadowed half the summer skies. 
 
 The flood came down; the playmates fled 
 Like hares to cover in the wild. 
 
 None faced its furious onset but 
 The statue and the artist-child. 
 
 O little lad, the common lot 
 
 Befell you in that shower of rain. 
 
 A crumbled heap beneath your hands, 
 Your statue was but clay again. 
 
 45 
 
THE REFLECTED CROSS 
 
 The rugged hills of Judah, circling round 
 The Sacred City, like a royal guard 
 Looked forth one day, o'er dome and minaret 
 And saw the central Act of history. 
 The tragedy of Calvary. With groans 
 And great upheavals they, as if in wrath 
 Broke forth and threw their misty veils across 
 The aw^ul scene, while God's ovm mighty hand 
 A curtain of great darkness lowered and hid 
 From mortal eyes, the Victim and the Cross. 
 
 n 
 
 'Twas midnight in the hospital. The lamps 
 
 Were burning low. Soft-footed nurses came 
 
 And went on errands of sweet mercy for 
 
 The stricken throng that close around them lay. 
 
 As if in answer to a soundless call 
 
 I saw them gather round a cot where lay 
 
 A boyish form in battle sore with death. 
 
 Unseen by them, a radiance filled the room 
 
 And centered o'er the pillows where the lad 
 
 Unconscious lay — a cross of hght whose rays 
 
 Li scintillating beauty, line for line. 
 
 Far over land and sea and time and space, 
 
 Reflected Calvary's cross. One spirit His 
 
 WTio gave His life, that day, for all, and his 
 
 WTio died in that far western hospital 
 
 For one whose face he never saw. For this 
 
 I thank Thee, Father, that the Cross of Christ 
 
 46 
 
Still shines in reflex radiance here and there. 
 Revealing to an unbelieving world 
 This truth that human nature still can rise 
 To royal kinship with the life of God. 
 
 47 
 
NOV 8 13^^