lii, 
 
 POEMS FOR LOYJ 
 
 
 
 
Class 
 Book 
 
 Goppghtl^"- 
 
 
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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
POEMS FOR LOYAL HEARTS 
 
POEMS FOR LOYAL HEARTS 
 
 REV. WILLIAM LIVINGSTON 
 
 5^ 
 
 t/ove beareth yet with all that stains the world. 
 
 Louise Imogen Guiney 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 P. J. KENEDY & SONS 
 1914 
 
-•;;, 
 
 2i 
 
 ft" 
 
 COPYRIGHT I 9 14 
 BY WILLIAM LIVINGSTON 
 
 SEP 29 1914 
 
 ©CI,a::S79752 
 
Many of the following verses, nozv given with some 
 alterations, were permitted to appear at various times 
 in the catholic world, the ave maria, the rosary, 
 the New York freehands journal, the Troy daily 
 
 press, the CHILDREN OF PROVIDENCE and OUR COLORED 
 
 MISSIONS, for which kindness grateful acknowledg- 
 ment is here rendered. Others saw the light in peri- 
 odicals which have ceased to exist, and a few are 
 printed for the first time. 
 
TO 
 
 JAMES LIVINGSTON 
 
 MY BROTHER 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 IN HOPE ASSURED page 
 
 When Visions Pass 1 
 
 A Crushed Rose 3 
 
 Wintry Hearts 4 
 
 Presumption 5 
 
 When Dewdrops Fall 6 
 
 In Advent 7 
 
 A Moonlit Frost 9 
 
 When Sunset Comes 11 
 
 Two Autumns 13 
 
 The Truest Love 14 
 
 In Cherry Lane IS 
 
 February Snow 17 
 
 To A March Bud 19 
 
 When Passion Dies 22 
 
 The Spectrum of Love 23 
 
 After the Rain 24 
 
 The Mariner's Compass 25 
 
 On the Shore 26 
 
 Perseverance 27 
 
 Hidden Light 28 
 
 St. Patrick's Cathedral 29 
 
 Unconquered 30 
 
IN LIVING FAITH page 
 
 Loyal Hearts 33 
 
 Fallen Angels 35 
 
 At Baltimore 1889 36 
 
 Where Passion Calls 39 
 
 A Winter Moon 41 
 
 False Prophets 43 
 
 The Christian Scholar 51 
 
 Valentine Hill 53 
 
 The Upper Room 55 
 
 Enshrined 62 
 
 IN LOVE DIVINE 
 
 The Shepherds' Watch 65 
 
 A Christmas Song 69 
 
 The Heart of God 71 
 
 Homeward Bound 73 
 
 Before a Crucifix 75 
 
 Eternal Rest 76 
 
 The Best Belo^^d 77 
 
 The Month of Mary 79 
 
 Da Vinci's Virgin of the Rocks 80 
 
 Our Lady Veiled 81 
 
 Virgin Mother Mary 83 
 
 Two Mothers in Heaven 85 
 
 My Wooden Idol 87 
 
 Expectation 90 
 
 A Bride of Christ 91 
 
 After Benediction 93 
 
 Rest in God 94 
 
IN FREEDOM'S NAME page 
 
 My Chosen Path 97 
 
 An Exile's Shamrock 99 
 
 Unbroken Vows 101 
 
 On the Roadside 103 
 
 This Irish Heart of Mine 105 
 
 A Rapparee Love Song 107 
 
 Where Beauty Dwells 110 
 
 St. Benedict the Moor HI 
 
 Still Enslaved 114 
 
 IN SIMPLE TRIBUTE 
 
 Cardinal McCloskey 119 
 
 A Rosary of Years 120 
 
 Cardinal Farley 123 
 
 A Jubilee Meditation 127 
 
 An Areopagite 129 
 
 An Albanian Ode 136 
 
 The First Decade 142 
 
 IN CONTEMPLATION 
 
 The Flight into Egypt 151 
 
 The Widow's Mite 157 
 
 Christ and the Children 162 
 
 Feed My Sheep 167 
 
IN HOPE ASSURED 
 
When Visions Pass 
 
 A BOY beside my mother's knee, 
 
 I dream.ed myself a name 
 
 That girt the land on wings of fame, 
 And crossed the throbbing sea. 
 Ah ! simple dream, 
 
 Than scenes of elfin land more fair! 
 The child passed by, the youth came on, 
 
 Yet roses warmed the air. 
 
 A student bending o'er the page 
 Where dwells the brilliant past. 
 Mine was the light illumed the vast. 
 
 The wondrous coming age. 
 
 Ah ! luring dream. 
 
 That taught my youthful mind to dare ! 
 
 The days stole by and manhood came, 
 Yet found my brow still bare. 
 
WHEN VISIONS PASS 
 
 A man endowed with pride alone, 
 
 I sought to pierce the skies; 
 
 To grasp what far beyond me lies. 
 And know as I am known. 
 Ah ! wild, wild dream, 
 
 That urged but failed to lead me there ! 
 The night has passed, the morning dawns, 
 
 And finds me here at prayer. 
 
 Gone with the song forever mute, 
 
 The lily's bloom that died. 
 
 Still as the soothing tones that hide 
 Within a voiceless lute. 
 Ah! buried dreams! 
 
 My soul is filled with fragrance rare 
 Of that which knows no fading hues, 
 
 God's love and tender care. 
 
A Crushed Rose 
 
 My fingers crushed a fresh cut rose 
 
 Nor told me in my heedless pride, 
 Until the perfumed air complained 
 
 My careless act to chide. 
 
 Ah! then too late I sighed 
 And mourned the evil done, 
 
 But all in vain, the petals died 
 One by one. 
 
 My rudeness pained a loving heart 
 
 Nor told me of her sharp surprise, 
 Until I saw the darkened light 
 
 In soft, reproaching eyes. 
 
 Ah! then repentant sighs 
 And tears were not in vain, 
 
 For smiles as dawn to waking skies 
 Came again. 
 
Wintry Hearts 
 
 Spring should come but Winter lingers ; 
 
 All the world is cold, 
 Waiting till the fairy fingers 
 
 Shall her robes unfold, 
 Waiting for her minnesingers 
 
 And their song of gold. 
 
 Buds that should be bursting flowers 
 
 Hang with folded lips, 
 TelHng of the sky that lowers 
 
 And the chill that nips. 
 Keeping back the honeyed bowers 
 
 And the bee that sips. 
 
 Thus our wintry hearts shall ever 
 
 Mourn in cold decay: 
 God with all His love can never 
 
 Bring the gladsome May, 
 While our want of true endeavor 
 
 Keeps the Spring away. 
 
Presumption 
 
 A DREAMY rosebud lost in thought 
 
 Was wondering why it grew, 
 And why the dusky evening brought 
 
 Such load of chilling dew. 
 "Ah me !" it sighed, ''how short the day ! 
 
 The dreary night how long! 
 Perchance 'tis just and wise, as they 
 With brows of wintry wisdom say, 
 
 And yet — Ah! well. 
 This young heart feels it wrong." 
 
 Ah ! thus our feeble minds would scan 
 
 The wherefore and the why. 
 Forgetful that to finite man 
 
 Some things must hidden lie. 
 Where brilliant souls have paused in awe, 
 
 We tear aside the veil, 
 The vast, the infinite to draw 
 Within the bounds of human law. 
 
 And yet — Ah! well, 
 God knov/s that man is frail. 
 
When Dewdrops Fall 
 
 The dewdrops trembling on the leaf, 
 When dawn unveils the morning sky, 
 
 Perceive their presence gives but grief 
 And breathe a soft good-bye. 
 
 Then red, pulsating sun-rays fold 
 In warm embrace the drooping flower. 
 
 And sombre tints are turned to gold 
 Beneath their subtle power. 
 
 How brief that hour of joyous pride 
 In garden close or wildwood glen. 
 
 Till shadows fall at even-tide 
 And dews return again. 
 
 Ah! night is longer far than day. 
 Clouds gather even in summer skies ; 
 
 The smiles of gladness pass away 
 But sorrow never dies. 
 
In Advent 
 
 The voiceless gloom of silent night 
 Lies gray along the pallid hills, 
 Where cold and ghostly terror fills 
 
 One heart that yearns for morning light. 
 
 A heart whose own half-stifled beat 
 Measures the passing time in fear, 
 And tells how sad the hour and drear 
 
 Before the night and morning meet. 
 
 Yet chill and sharp the night winds blow, 
 Robbed of the day's delicious balm, 
 Across a world that pale and calm 
 
 Awaits the morn in robes of snow. 
 
IN ADVENT 
 
 Robes that will shine as crystal strands 
 Of silvered pearl by angels wove, 
 Whose folds, in evidence of love. 
 
 Have floated from the Father's hands. 
 
 O coming love! with ashen cheek 
 We wait thy tender smile to see, 
 Yet tremble lest our souls should be 
 
 Too sin-bestained to hear thee speak. 
 
 Dear God! could we but live alway 
 In vesture clean as falling snow, 
 How softly would our faces glow 
 
 With rapturous joy to greet the day! 
 
A Moonlit Frost 
 
 To-night I stand on frost-baked snow, 
 And watch the full moon riding high 
 
 'Mid silver waves of cloud that flow 
 Across a cold blue sky. 
 
 The spectral trees are thin and bare 
 Beneath a heaven all mute the while; 
 
 The landscape lies serenely fair 
 And smiles a ghostly smile. 
 
 All colors warm and living things 
 Are lost to view and silence reigns, 
 
 As when the soul expands her wings 
 And shrouded clay remains. 
 
A MOONLIT FROST 
 
 Before my feet a slender stream 
 Slips through an archless icy cave 
 
 And shoots a timid, flickering beam 
 From many a trembling wave. 
 
 Yet still the halo-circled moon, 
 
 From out yon curving cold-blue sea, 
 
 Sends down her soothing, precious boon 
 Of light to earth and me. 
 
 While crystal snow and streamlet pale 
 Look up to her in meek amaze. 
 
 That night's fair queen should light the vale 
 With such resplendent rays. 
 
 And I that own a Queen divine 
 
 Who smiles on me from Heaven above, 
 
 Know not why such a gift is mine ; 
 Ah! clearly God is love. 
 
 10 
 
When Sunset Comes 
 
 How beautiful, though sad, 
 Are glimpses of the past 
 
 To hearts still young and glad 
 When years are flying fast! 
 
 For as they glance along 
 The vistas of the years, 
 
 Their lips break out in song 
 If eyes should melt in tears. 
 
 Such hearts can always find 
 The light in days gone by 
 
 Which stimulates the mind 
 To thoughts that glorify. 
 
 11 
 
WHEN SUNSET COMES 
 
 The sun at eve, grown old, 
 In love would still remain, 
 
 And gilds with warm, red gold 
 The mourning hill and plain. 
 
 Thus even their darkest days 
 Are touched with beamy light 
 
 That fills the soul and stays 
 To make the present bright. 
 
 12 
 
Two Autumns 
 
 Young leaves in Spring are tender. 
 
 But if the parent stem 
 Be rich and strong, what splendor 
 
 And strength it yields to them. 
 Then Autumn's wildest blowing 
 
 May surge around and roar, 
 Yet, tinged with red 
 Like heart's blood shed, 
 In warmer beauty glowing 
 
 They're lovelier than before. 
 
 Young love is rich in fragrance, 
 
 And if that love be true, 
 It glows with fire that vagrance 
 
 And time will not subdue. 
 Then pain or grief no longer 
 
 Can make such hearts grow cold, 
 For, tinged with red 
 From God's Heart shed, 
 The purest love is stronger 
 
 And sweeter still when old. 
 
 13 
 
The Truest Love 
 
 October winds blow sharp and rude 
 To mar our Autumn joys, 
 
 Yet well we know the power for good 
 In that which now destroys. 
 
 Strong, earnest men at times are wild 
 As stormiest winds that blow, 
 
 Whose inmost hearts are sweetly mild 
 With light and love aglow. 
 
 14 
 
In Cherry Lane 
 
 In Cherry Lane the blossoms blow 
 In wreaths of white around the trees, 
 
 And spread their petals wide, as though 
 They longed for nectar-seeking bees. 
 
 O'erhead, the arching boughs that spring 
 From pillar trunks look down and smile 
 
 On lowly currant shrubs that cling 
 Around their feet along the aisle. 
 
 In Cherry Lane the sunbeams steal 
 
 Through many a leaf and branch above, 
 
 And tender shoots come forth to feel 
 The touches of a wondrous love. 
 
 And life grows warmer with the hours. 
 Unmoved, unchilled by human pang, 
 
 Till from the stems now robed in flow'rs 
 The great, red drops in clusters hang. 
 
 15 
 
IN CHERRY LANE 
 
 Ah ! Mother mine ! white blossoms came 
 And filled my soul with thoughts of thee, 
 
 Who art to those that love thy name 
 What honeyed buds are to the bee. 
 
 Thou art the floweret white and fair, 
 A virgin from thy stainless birth, 
 
 The fruitful stem designed to bear 
 A Saviour to our sinful earth. 
 
 And when the cherries, ripe and red, 
 Come forth upon the breast of June, 
 
 They'll tell me of a heart that bled, 
 By men forgotten all too soon. 
 
 Ah! precious drops! through future days 
 Preserve my soul from spot or stain, 
 
 With tender thoughts of love and praise 
 That once were mine in Cherry Lane. 
 
 16 
 
February Snow 
 
 In downy softness falling from the pale white sky 
 It clothed the naked branches and with seeming fond- 
 ness clung, 
 Where we saw the blushing blossoms in the days gone 
 
 by, 
 
 When the blossoms and the days were young. 
 
 Quietly it floated downward through the still, calm 
 night, 
 And piled a feathery burden, till beneath the con- 
 stant strain. 
 Limbs, that felt the sap up-rushing, bent and showed 
 their might. 
 But the rot-attainted snapped in twain. 
 
 17 
 
FEBRUARY SNOW 
 
 Then came the welcome murmur of a soft south wind. 
 That caused a fluttering stir amid the foliage of 
 snow, 
 And the branches all looked fresher when they rose to 
 find 
 It had fallen to the earth below. 
 
 Ah! many a trivial sorrow, in the long, sad days. 
 Has brought such clinging burden to the world- 
 corrupted soul, 
 
 And many a weak, misguided one with wild-eyed gaze 
 Has plunged him where the dark floods roll. 
 
 But souls that soar in silence from the cold, gray earth, 
 Find love and courage clinging round the cross to 
 which they yield. 
 Till the breath of heaven lifts them to a fresh, new 
 birth, 
 With the chastening hand of God revealed. 
 
 18 
 
To a March Bud 
 
 First promise of the sunny days to come, 
 When bursting flower and softly swelHng fruit 
 Will make for earth her yearly paradise ; 
 So delicate and graceful are thy leaves, 
 They charmed the sun to rude, insistent love 
 That brought these mantling blushes here to stay 
 Until thy riper beauties throw aside 
 Their green protection, and thy petals ope 
 For minstrel bees that honey-burdened heart. 
 
 Full many a fairer bud I've seen unfold 
 And live their perfect lives from hour to hour ; 
 Now mournful in the chilling tears of night. 
 Now glistening in the laughter of the morn. 
 Now glowing in the full-orbed smile of day. 
 The story of their lives will tell thy tale ; 
 The story of thy life and theirs is mine. 
 
 19 
 
TO A MARCH BUD 
 
 One hand has fashioned us with one intent : 
 To manifest His glory and to serve 
 As lowly instruments of joy to men. 
 And yet thy hopeful look has waked my soul 
 To sweeter strains of music than the rest: 
 I know not why, save that the passing gloom 
 Lay round my heart with more oppressive woe 
 Than heretofore. But now the earth's astir; 
 Thro' all her wondrous grades of living things, 
 From soul-blest man to nature's lowest forms. 
 One chord is trembling and the air is filled 
 With mighty symphonies of waking life. 
 And I, in homage to our Father's love, 
 Stoop down to touch thee with my grateful lips 
 And whisper: "Bud, I am a child again." 
 
 The cheeks of apple bloom have not returned 
 Nor can I climb again my mother's knee 
 To find relief from all the pains of life 
 In sweet oblivion on that loving breast. 
 And yet, my bud, I am a child again. 
 Repentance cleans away the stain of years. 
 And leaves the soul absolved as fair in grace 
 As angel youth where never blot has been. 
 
 20 
 
TO A MARCH BUD 
 
 It may not last for many precious hours, 
 For men are frail in intercourse with men ; 
 But while I stay and drink thy perfume in, 
 There's nought but innocence for thee and me. 
 
 Dost envy me? Ah! thou wilt pass away, 
 Nor earth nor sky shall know thy beauties more. 
 So shall not I. But since our ways are one 
 About our Master's business : Him to praise. 
 Thou with thy beauty, I with mind and tongue; 
 Can we not cheer and help each other now ? 
 My careful hand can lop decaying limbs. 
 And brush the crawling insect from thy leaves, 
 And wrap thy roots in warmth-producing soil ; 
 Whilst thou canst smile upon me in return. 
 And when my heart is sad, though wanting cause, 
 Thy perfumed breath shall drive its cares away. 
 So, loving thee, I'll love our Master more. 
 And love, my bud, is what we live for here. 
 
 21 
 
When Passion Dies 
 
 To-night in the snow-clad, frozen valley, 
 
 What glittering smiles for the soft-cheeked moon 
 
 Transform the faces of mound and river, 
 That lie in the glory of night's full noon. 
 
 Ah! southland breezes with dewdrops laden. 
 And dawn's gray veiling will come too soon. 
 
 The young day brought me her morning greetings 
 In golden glances and laughter white ; 
 
 The passionate noontide glowed and sparkled, 
 The sunset clothed me in crimson light. 
 
 Ah! dearer far, in its chastened beauty, 
 
 The calm, pure smile of the nun-robed night. 
 
 22 
 
The Spectrum of Love 
 
 My prism is set. to catch one ray of light 
 That enters from the outer world to flow- 
 Across my room in lines of sentient snow 
 
 Instinct of heaven and with its radiance bright. 
 
 A narrow band of soft, celestial white 
 It sinks within the crystal prism and lo! 
 New rays divergent issue forth and glow — 
 
 A bow of promise in the chambered night. 
 
 My heart is hushed, my questing lips are closed 
 In joy for light where eyes had long been blind; 
 That violet is mercy's gentle sway, 
 That red is justice firm ! Yet these, opposed. 
 Unreconciled in my poor prism-like mind. 
 Are one in God, love's white, eternal day. 
 
 23 
 
After the Rain 
 
 The moist winds come with greetings strangely sweet 
 To breathe their cooHng fragrance on my face, 
 And seem to fold me in their soft embrace 
 
 As some old friend they long had yearned to meet. 
 
 With new found life all nature's pulses beat, 
 The hour of gloom has passed and left no trace, 
 Save where a glistening drop remains to grace, 
 
 With liquid pearl, the grasses at my feet. 
 
 And from my heart there comes a whisper low: 
 These drops that lie, a burden on the leaves, 
 Are gems for me that deck the grateful sod ; 
 So, when the tears of anguish cease to flow. 
 Those cares for which the patient mourner grieves, 
 Are jewelled crowns that make her dear to God. 
 
 24 
 
The Mariner's Compass 
 
 I STOOD at night beside the swarming bay 
 
 And watched the stately ships that seemed to glide 
 
 Like sheeted ghosts along its heaving tide. 
 While others rolled amid the flashing spray. 
 Some dragged, as weary, tempest-tossed and gray, 
 
 Where tug-boats surged ahead and puffed in pride; 
 
 But swift and worn had one sure, steadfast guide 
 To hold them safely on their mystic way. 
 
 So, buoyed in hope, my humble bark I'll steer 
 Nor envy those that flaunt their flags afar. 
 
 Even though in splendor on the waves they go. 
 And if my way be rough, I'll have no fear; 
 The same true guide, the same eternal star 
 Lights up the pathway of the swift and slow. 
 
 25 
 
On the Shore 
 
 A LONG, low Stretch of gray, receding sands, 
 
 A wide expanse of waves where streaks of spray 
 And sun gold gleamings on the surface play, 
 
 Lighting the dark green sea. A maiden stands 
 
 The water's edge beside; her slender hands 
 
 Clasp wildwood blooms and tresses rippling stray 
 Around her cheeks while eyes look far away, 
 
 As if they sought some dreamed-of mystic lands. 
 
 Ah ! thus how oft we stand along the shore 
 And gaze across life's fair but dangerous sea. 
 Yearning to know what lies beyond the wave : 
 How oft forget that He whom saints adore 
 Can calm the storm as once on Galilee, 
 
 That faith in God alone can guide and save. 
 
 26 
 
Perseverance 
 
 Far up the mountain height a glorious beam 
 So clothed and glorified the summit fair, 
 That I enraptured longed to rest me there, 
 
 As flown from earth above the clouds to dream. 
 
 Upward I toiled, led by that golden gleam, 
 
 And gained the heights with bleeding feet and bare, 
 But oh ! the scene was so superb, so rare. 
 
 That pain died out and joy remained supreme. 
 
 Ah ! thus will those who toil and persevere 
 Forget the anguish they have bravely borne 
 
 When Heaven dawns upon their gladdened sight: 
 The pain that calls up many a blinding tear, 
 The grief that causes many a heart to mourn — 
 All, all will fade in everlasting light. 
 
 27 
 
Hidden Light 
 
 The snowflakes blow across a misty sky 
 
 And hide the hills whereon I yearn to gaze, 
 Such dreams they bring of long-expected days. 
 
 And through the pallid gloom my straining eye 
 
 Looks for the light and watches hopefully 
 To catch a glimpse of soul reviving rays, 
 Because I know beyond this veil of haze 
 
 The sunlight shines to bless and beautify. 
 
 Dear God! what shadows hide the heavens from me 
 To dim the eye and shade the trusting view ; 
 Yet can I see love's far refulgent ray. 
 And though at times obscure and faint it be, 
 Beyond this gloom for souls divinely true 
 Still glows the lustre of eternal day. 
 
 28 
 
St. Patrick's Cathedral 
 
 How near seems heaven within this solemn pile ! 
 And what a sense of cloistered splendor falls 
 Around our hearts, along these sculptured walls 
 
 From choir and transept to the vaulted aisle ! 
 
 What visions heavenly the fair, pure style 
 And graceful majesty before us calls, 
 Of jasper thrones and marble gleaming halls, 
 
 All lighted up in God's eternal smile! 
 
 O rare, white monument to faith and zeal ! 
 Symbol of perfect, never-ending bliss! 
 
 Kingdoms may pass away, but thou wilt stand, 
 And morning's first-born ray will ever steal 
 Around thy spires, that it may softly kiss 
 The fairest temple in this wondrous land. 
 
 29 
 
Unconquered 
 
 When hearts are true and souls are brave, 
 
 They fear no scourging rod, 
 And hail with joy a martyr's grave 
 
 To reach the arms of God. 
 
 30 
 
IN LIVING FAITH 
 
Loyal Hearts 
 
 God guard the loyal hearts that love, 
 
 With a love that never dies, 
 Despite the dark, derisive sneer 
 
 Or flashing flame of scorn ; 
 God bless the noble, steadfast souls 
 
 Whose clear, discerning eyes 
 Can see afar the portals of the morn. 
 
 Their way on earth is a stony road 
 
 And that stony road is dark, 
 Beset with battle-burnished swords 
 
 In maddening malice drawn ; 
 Their only guide through dismal night 
 
 The heaven-sent gleaming spark 
 That fires their souls to ardor for the dawn. 
 
 33 
 
LOYAL HEARTS 
 
 God guide the earnest minds that burn, 
 
 As they keep love's lamp aglow, 
 Where flaring flames of falsehood light 
 
 The new built pagan shrine; 
 God warm the lips that speak those truths 
 
 He preached so long ago. 
 When men had quenched the fires of love divine. 
 
 Their lamp is scorned: a dim rush-light 
 
 In the dawn of splendid day, 
 Their words are mocked as chains that bind 
 
 Man's soul to prison bars; 
 Yet still they feed the deathless flame 
 
 And preach love's upward way, 
 That leads where truth shines out beyond the stars. 
 
 34 
 
Fallen Angels 
 
 Dear Lord, how men have fallen! Gifted minds 
 That rose amid the higher fields of air, 
 Were wont to pause before Thee, bowed and bare, 
 
 To kiss the slender, golden chain that binds 
 
 The soul with God. Now man's presumption finds 
 Weak superstition in a Christian prayer; 
 Makes human praise and human love his care. 
 
 And scatters virtue to the wanton winds. 
 
 Day after day the vinegar and gall 
 
 Are held before Him, lances pierce His side. 
 The wounded limbs and temples bleed anew; 
 Whilst ribald jest and blasphemy recall 
 
 That hour of anguish when the Saviour cried: 
 "Father, forgive! they know not what they do." 
 
 35 
 
At Baltimore 1889 
 I 
 
 Exultant-voiced the deep toned organ swells, 
 The fragrance and the smoke of incense rise 
 
 And fill the temple-vaulted shrine where dwells 
 The Incarnate God, the Lamb of Sacrifice. 
 
 Layman and levite, pontifex and priest 
 Have journeyed far to bid the Church rejoice. 
 
 And tell the listening nations of our feast 
 In many tongues and one world-filling voice. 
 
 What have we done ? We've crossed the stormy wave, 
 Scaled mountain walls, explored the forest vast. 
 
 Watered the plains and lit the gloomy cave, 
 To teach men truth and bid them hold it fast. 
 
 36 
 
AT BALTIMORE 1889 
 
 We've preached the gospel of a suffering God, 
 And suffering still have kept our onward way; 
 
 By heathens cursed, the thorny road we've trod 
 And sowed the seed for all that's great to-day. 
 
 Therefore we sing hosannas to the Christ, 
 
 Pledge Him this hour is but the opening bud. 
 
 Swear our allegiance at this sacred tryst 
 In peace and love or, as of old, in blood. 
 
 II 
 
 Illustrious Carroll ! rise and speak once more ; 
 
 Point down the ages that are lost in space; 
 Bid us march on as they who marched before, 
 
 Preaching the truth to all the human race. 
 
 Tell us how Christ, the pre-ordained to die. 
 Came to His own ; His own received Him not, 
 
 And that His Church must bear the sneer, the lie, 
 The ribald jest by sensual minds begot. 
 
AT BALTIMORE 1889 
 
 Base minds have raked the gutters of the past 
 For loathsome garbage of our human shame, 
 
 Held them aloft as types and strove to cast 
 Their slimy foulness on the Church's name. 
 
 They've made man's history a brazen lie, 
 Letters a pool whence odors foul may start. 
 
 Canvas and stone breathe sensuality 
 To prostitute the sacred name of art. 
 
 From hour to hour Christ's truth is mocked, denied, 
 His Name blasphemed while all the centuries run ; 
 
 From year to year His Church is crucified. 
 
 For Christ, His Doctrine and His Church are one. 
 
 38 
 
Where Passion Calls 
 
 Stand on the snow-clad peaks of faith and see 
 
 The vaunting toilers in this vale below; 
 Men in pursuit of myth and phantasy, 
 
 Warmed into action by their passion's glow, 
 
 Striving in vain by rosy paths to go, 
 Yet know not whither. Straight before them lies 
 
 A foot-pressed path up toward the gleaming snow, 
 Through it ascending to the love-lit skies — 
 Ah! no, the wondrous height dazzles their doubting 
 eyes. 
 
 Some, on the self -plumed wings of private thought. 
 Soar to their little heights and call it bliss. 
 
 Entranced by rays of seeming wisdom caught 
 From earthly sources, some adore and kiss 
 Such as themselves, yea, even the vile abyss 
 
 Of human sin is odorous with wreaths 
 
 That had been twined for heaven ; serpents hiss 
 
 Where buds should bloom, and dying man bequeaths 
 
 To man contempt for Him who through his being 
 breathes. 
 
 39 
 
WHERE PASSION CALLS 
 
 Striving to prove mankind a cultured beast, 
 To drown the voice of man's immortal soul ; 
 
 Make life a wine-tinct, rose-crowned pleasure feast, 
 And call the gifts, from God's own hand that roll 
 In rich profusion, nature's meagre dole. 
 
 Thus would they fling the sacred Name aside 
 And yield to phantasms of the brain a sole 
 
 And blind obedience; scorn the Crucified 
 
 And those who kneel to Him, their Saviour and their 
 guide. 
 
 40 
 
A Winter Moon 
 
 My feet are damp with the salt sea spray 
 
 Here on the shore where the mermaids be, 
 While soft winds laden with moisture play 
 
 Over the shimmering, cold green sea. 
 They chill my heart and I long to flee, 
 
 Yet still dream on by this sandy dune, 
 For a strange enchantment hangs over me 
 
 Under the light of yon winter moon. 
 
 At day's young dawning I yearned to stray 
 
 Where dreamers sang of, where men were free ; 
 My bark, though slender, soon winged its way 
 
 Over the shimmering, cold green sea. 
 At morn the waters danced joyously, 
 
 And evening glowed with the warmth of noon ; 
 But ah! the night wind sighed mournfully 
 
 Under the light of yon winter moon. 
 
 41 
 
A WINTER MOON 
 
 Now, light streams down but with ghostly ray 
 
 Falls weird and pallid along the lea, 
 And still I long for a glimpse of day 
 
 Over the shimmering, cold green sea. 
 Ah me ! how faint are the smiles of glee ! 
 
 Songs rise, and die in a wailing croon; 
 How dim and filmy what eyes can see 
 
 Under the light of yon winter moon ! 
 
 Prince, let us fly to the old roof-tree. 
 Over the shimmering, cold green sea ; 
 Faith dies, and love fades away too soon 
 Under the light of yon winter moon. 
 
 42 
 
False Prophets 
 
 Beware of false prophets, who come to you in 
 the clothing of sheep, but inwardly they are 
 ravening wolves. 
 
 St Matthew VII, 15. 
 
 We are living in marvelous times; 
 
 Supreme in the world's control, 
 When, laughing at zones and climes. 
 
 We travel from pole to pole. 
 We can rush in a sumptuous car 
 
 To the earth's most utterward parts ; 
 We can measure the farthest star : 
 
 Have we measured each other's hearts? 
 We can speak to the orbs that sweep 
 
 Through the nebulous seas above; 
 We can search the caves of the deep : 
 
 Have we sounded the depths of love? 
 
 43 
 
FALSE PROPHETS 
 
 We can stand on the earth, our throne, 
 And claim for domain the spheres; 
 
 The night into day has flown, 
 And the elements bring no fears. 
 
 But has hatred of wickedness stirred 
 
 Every soul to its inmost core? 
 Are we nobler in deed and word 
 
 Than the men who have gone before? 
 Have we lessened the greed for gold? 
 
 Are the thieves and the sharpers dead? 
 Are none left to shiver with cold? 
 
 No voices to clamor for bread ? 
 
 II 
 
 Yes, the days of the slave in chains 
 
 Have gone to the long dead past. 
 But the power of Mammon remains, 
 
 For the greed of the heart will last. 
 Though millions are living at ease 
 
 Surpassing the dreams of kings. 
 Yet millions are still on their knees, 
 
 For the lords are replaced by rings. 
 
 44 
 
FALSE PROPHETS 
 
 The city, the. village, the field, 
 
 Give voice to the wage-earner's cry- 
 That the riches his labor may yield 
 
 Bring only inducements to die. 
 He is crushed by the factory wheel. 
 
 He is choked in the factory dust, 
 And those who have heard his appeal 
 
 Would offer him barely a crust. 
 Speculators and gamblers and drones 
 
 Reck not what he lives on, or how ; 
 They eat the flesh from his bones 
 
 And drink the sweat from his brow. 
 The voice of his soul must be stilled — 
 
 What business with conscience have they ? 
 The purse of the rich must be filled 
 
 And souls must not stand in the way. 
 
 Ill 
 
 But his cry is disturbing the world, 
 His shout is encircling the earth. 
 
 And the flag of the masses unfurled 
 Is bringing new beings to birth. 
 
 45 
 
FALSE PROPHETS 
 
 New beings who think and can feel 
 The weight of the burden they bear, 
 
 Whose rags can no longer conceal 
 The brandings of shame they wear. 
 
 But the spirit of strife is abroad 
 
 And the forces are forming in line: 
 Will they take up the standard of God, 
 
 Or tear down the cross and the shrine ? 
 Will the struggle be solely for right, 
 
 For truth and for justice to all? 
 Or when men march forth in their might 
 
 Must the church and the altar fall? 
 
 IV 
 
 There are leaders to-day in the field 
 
 And spirits that march in the van. 
 Whose creed is that Christ must yield 
 
 To the deification of man ; 
 That the sole redeemer and friend 
 
 Is the march of untrammelled mind; 
 That the sum of existence and end 
 
 Is the worship of all mankind; 
 
 46 
 
FALSE PROPHETS 
 
 That religion is founded on fear; 
 
 That faith is a fossilized fraud : 
 Man's day of redemption is near 
 
 When he shouts his defiance at God. 
 
 V 
 
 Must these be the leaders of men? 
 
 Must these be the makers of laws ? 
 Must a Judas-led rabble again 
 
 Bring shame to a heavenly cause? 
 For as often as brave men tried 
 
 To stand up for the rights of man, 
 Some self-styled apostle as guide 
 
 Came forward to plot and plan. 
 He preached with uplifted hands, 
 
 False light on his features glowed; 
 He would lead them to teeming lands 
 
 Where the milk and the honey flowed. 
 But the old superstition must go, 
 
 If they wished to be truly free: 
 The Church was their deadly foe; 
 
 Who crushed men's souls? It was she. 
 
 47 
 
FALSE PROPHETS 
 
 VI 
 
 Then others came forth to lead, 
 
 With the shield of the "Sovereign State," 
 They scoffed at the new-found creed 
 
 And God was their object of hate. 
 But their purpose was still the same, 
 
 And this common bond sufficed 
 To make of them brothers in shame. 
 
 To dishonor the bride of Christ. 
 
 And men fell away from grace, 
 
 For man was alone divine; 
 They spat in the sorrowful Face 
 
 And mocked at the Christian sign. 
 The voice of the people arose 
 
 In a clamor of pride and scorn, 
 They cursed, as cause of their woes. 
 
 The day when the Christ was born. 
 They were freemen at last, released 
 
 From the Church's chains and the rust; 
 Their hearts, turned cold to the priest, 
 
 Were aflame with the fires of lust. 
 
 48 
 
FALSE PROPHETS 
 
 Ah! Calvary's blood-stained sod 
 And the wood of its cross can tell 
 
 How the voice that is called "of God" 
 May utter the thoughts of hell. 
 
 VII 
 
 Will they shout for His blood to-day, 
 Urged on by a frenzied voice? 
 
 Must the people be led astray? 
 Is Barabbas again their choice? 
 
 Oh ! the lightning of tongue and pen 
 
 Must shatter the mask of lies 
 That the malice of godless men 
 
 Is holding before man's eyes. 
 We must call to the surging crowd 
 
 That the Church and the Church alone 
 Can preach the truth to the proud, 
 
 And claim for the poor their own. 
 That man's injustice to man 
 
 Is the cause of the soul's decline ; 
 That the only redeeming plan 
 
 Must be stamped with a seal divine ; 
 
 49 
 
FALSE PROPHETS 
 
 That man when he bows in prayer 
 
 With face to the heaven-made sod, 
 Is nobler when kneehng there 
 
 Than the creature defying his God; 
 That the cross and the wounded side 
 
 Are the ties of our brotherhood ; 
 That truly is man deified 
 
 When washed in a God's red blood. 
 The Church and no other can teach 
 
 These millions of man-made slaves 
 The truth she was sent to preach, 
 
 The gospel of Christ that saves. 
 
 50 
 
The Christian Scholar 
 
 He stands as one apart 
 
 From the common herd of men, 
 With stainless soul and a noble heart, 
 His mind undimmed by the tainted art 
 
 Of every pensioned pen. 
 
 And luring tongues may cry 
 
 They have found new paths to light : 
 He turns away with a flashing eye 
 For his guardian angel ever nigh 
 
 Will guide his steps aright. 
 
 His face is flushed and fair 
 
 As the smile of Heaven beams 
 On every wave of his shining hair. 
 And leaves a mystical glory there 
 Men see alone in dreams. 
 
 51 
 
THE CHRISTIAN SCHOLAR 
 
 And virtue leads him on 
 
 With her white inviting hands, 
 Along where many a saint has gone, 
 And many a weaker soul was drawn 
 Beneath the shifting sands. 
 
 His step is light and free — 
 
 'Tis the blind alone who plod — 
 The sweeping winds of a stormy sea 
 Obscure his vision, but safe is he 
 Who proudly trusts in God. 
 
 52 
 
Valentine Hill 
 1776 
 
 Here on this hill, in the olden days, 
 
 When veins ran warm with a patriot fire, 
 
 They stood in the ranks, their souls ablaze, 
 Shoulder to shoulder, son and sire. 
 
 And the virgin, land they loved so well 
 
 Was flushed with the rich, red blood they gave ; 
 
 She rose in strength as her heroes fell, 
 And to give that power they sought the grave. 
 
 Some of their forms are carved in stone. 
 Their names are shrined in a nation's pride. 
 
 While thousands sank to their death unknown; 
 For love they struggled, for love they died. 
 
 We honor them all and we love the fields 
 These resolute soldier-martyrs trod. 
 
 And the seed they planted this harvest yields — 
 The road of sacrifice leads to God. 
 
 53 
 
VALENTINE HILL 
 1896 
 
 Here on this hill, in these golden days, 
 Their faces glowing with voiceless joy. 
 
 They stand prepared for the coming frays. 
 Shoulder to shoulder, man and boy. 
 
 They bring to the famished, heavenly bread. 
 That the souls of men may be fair and clean: 
 
 The world hears not their marching tread, 
 And their banner floats to the breeze unseen. 
 
 But the sin-enslaved cry aloud for aid 
 While the spirits of evil hear and pause ; 
 
 There never was yet a Priest afraid 
 
 To shed his blood in the Master's cause. 
 
 Some of their names will live for men ; 
 
 Thousands will gain but a nameless sod; 
 They die that the dead may live again — 
 
 The road of sacrifice leads to God. 
 
 54 
 
The Upper Room 
 I 
 
 "All power in heaven and earth is given to Me," 
 Thus spake the sovereign Lord in GaUlee, 
 "Therefore I say to you, go forth and teach 
 The nations of the earth. Baptize and preach 
 What things soever I have spoken to you. 
 This is their law : bid them observe and do." 
 
 That was not all, the end was not as yet. 
 He spake again : perhaps on Olivet 
 Before He blessed them and was lost to view ; 
 Perhaps within that chamber where the few, 
 His chosen followers, sat down to eat. 
 His blood their drink. His sacred flesh their meat ; 
 We may not say just where. He spake again: 
 "Depart not from the city, but remain 
 Waiting the promise. In that awesome hour 
 The Father from on high will send you power. 
 That going forth your lives and words may be 
 Throughout the world a witness unto Me." 
 
 55 
 
THE UPPER ROOM 
 
 So when the cloud received Him from their sight 
 They turned them to the city. Day and night, 
 Morning and evening found them waiting there 
 With Mary, Mother of the Lord, at prayer. 
 
 The days wore on, the world was sunk in sin; 
 Foul crimes without and loathsome vice within. 
 Blood-purchased souls went onward to their doom, 
 Yet came no voice from out that upper room. 
 The Gospel bearers from the world had fled — 
 Christ and the preachers of His love were dead. 
 
 Dead to the sneering world, the sinful throng 
 That makes its pleasure judge of right and wrong. 
 Dead in the eyes of carnal-minded men; 
 Dead, when around the streets they should have been, 
 Holding aloft the standard of the Cross, 
 Saving the souls of men from endless loss. 
 
 Dead — Ah ! the devil and his angels knew 
 What death was theirs : a death in which they grew 
 In grace and wisdom as their Lord had grown 
 Who chose to dwell for thirty years unknown. 
 
 56 
 
THE UPPER ROOM 
 
 Dead to the world they were; with Christ they died 
 A living death, that sin might not abide 
 Within their souls. Dead as the seeds that die 
 To spring toward heaven and bloom and fructify. 
 
 Such was their death ; to sin and passion lost, 
 Till dawned the morning of the Pentecost. 
 
 Then kneeling humbly with united mind, 
 Suddenly upon them, as a rushing wind 
 That filled the house, a sound from heaven came 
 Mighty in power; while the Spirit's flame 
 In parted tongues blazed o'er each bending head 
 And fired the souls of those accounted dead. 
 
 Trembling they rose, who knew themselves so weak, 
 Trembling, their human lips essayed to speak; 
 Then, as they felt the spirit of the Lord 
 Giving new life and strength, with one accord 
 They rushed abroad, impatient to proclaim 
 The Gospel message and the Saviour's name; 
 They spoke, and thrilled a vast assembled host 
 In divers tongues as bade the Holy Ghost. 
 
 57 
 
THE UPPER ROOM 
 
 II 
 
 Spouse of the Christ ! in every clime and age 
 True to the Lord's command — thy heritage — 
 To teach the nations : on this Pentecost, 
 Knowing what milHons to their God are lost, 
 Angels in joy around the Father's throne 
 Fill Heaven with music for this corner-stone ; 
 This mighty stone and sturdy rising walls, 
 That bring such promise of the spacious halls 
 Where youth may learn and pray and persevere 
 With Mary's influence and the angels near. 
 
 There men who consecrate their lives to Gk)d 
 May learn the ways in which their Master trod. 
 May learn with glowing hearts to read the Word 
 And hear Him speak, as the Apostles heard. 
 
 There love shall set their earnest souls on fire. 
 Until they blaze with one supreme desire. 
 To cut, to burn, to cast away the dross 
 Of human weakness that would shirk the cross. 
 To love no flesh ; to sever ties that bind, 
 Making the body master of the mind. 
 
 58 
 
THE UPPER ROOM 
 
 To lay up treasures which no moths consume, 
 Absorbed in prayer, as in that upper room. 
 Living for Christ: with Him their daily bread, 
 But lost to sin — with His Apostles dead. 
 Dead — but the Father and His angels hear 
 How speak these dead from fruitful year to year. 
 
 Low murmured prayers in ceaseless round ascend 
 For all the world, alike for foe and friend. 
 Their hymns of praise arise as one sweet voice. 
 While angels listen and the heavens rejoice. 
 Their chanted psalms, with love's appealing, swell, 
 Loosing for men the bonds of death and hell, 
 While mute desire and supplication reach 
 Sublimer heights than ever human speech. 
 
 Such is the life these young Apostles lead. 
 Bound to their Lord in every word and deed. 
 For them the banquet of His love is spread. 
 For Him they live though men account them dead. 
 Dead! aye, the devil and his angels know 
 What death is theirs : a death in which they grow 
 In grace and wisdom, till the anointed hour 
 Bids them arise in God's almighty power; 
 
 59 
 
THE UPPER ROOM 
 
 Bids them go forth to preach for sodden ears 
 And bear, as bore their Lord, the coward sneers 
 Of those who lead the world and walk abroad 
 Casting their spittle on the Church of God. 
 Bids them go forth to bless, to touch and heal, 
 And live such lives as force the world to feel 
 What power they exercise. 
 
 Despite the boast 
 That men no longer need the Holy Ghost 
 Vice reigns triumphant in her haunts of shame 
 And earth has still her deaf and blind and lame. 
 The Saviour speaks ; men hear but human cries. 
 The light streams downward; on self-blinded eyes. 
 He bids them walk ; the passion-palsied limb 
 Can bear no toil along the road with Him. 
 
 What power on earth can bid the palsied rise, 
 Or give God's light to error-darkened eyes ? 
 Where is the voice to raise the drooping head, 
 Open the grave and vivify the dead? 
 Who can the innocence of youth restore. 
 Bid sinners go in peace and sin no more? 
 Who can proclaim the love of Christ for men. 
 Turning their thoughts from earth to heaven again, 
 
 60 
 
THE UPPER ROOM 
 
 Bringing back souls the world had long enticed, 
 Who, but Apostles from the School of Christ? 
 
 Here is the School of Christ — the upper room — 
 Where men shall learn to know the bud and bloom 
 Of saintly lives ; where Christ Himself shall teach, 
 Illume the mind and wake the chords of speech. 
 Here men will dwell to learn God's holy will : 
 That He who built the church must guide her still. 
 
 Christ has not lied ; this pompous world has need 
 Of high, inspiring word and God-like deed ; 
 Of men who lift themselves above the clay 
 And yearn to show their fellow men the way; 
 Of men whose spotless souls are all aflame 
 To teach the sweetness of the saving Name ; 
 Whose word and work, though like their Lord assailed. 
 Prove that the gates of hell have not prevailed. 
 
 61 
 
Enshrined 
 
 The fairest bud that blows 
 
 May grace the green hillside: 
 The sweetest flowers are those 
 His garden walls enclose, 
 
 Where love and peace abide. 
 
 62 
 
IN LOVE DIVINE 
 
The Shepherds' Watch 
 
 Chill, wintry skies looked down on Bethlehem 
 Where wayworn pilgrims lay in slumber deep, 
 
 While under heaven, the only roof for them. 
 
 The shepherds kept night watches with their sheep. 
 
 And weary v.^atch it was, for wolves will prowl 
 Amid the shadows of the starless night, 
 
 And rest is sleepless when the jackal's howl 
 May stir the flock to sudden fear and flight. 
 
 Aye ! weary watch it was ; the heavens were dark. 
 The air was cold and damp with foggy rain, 
 
 The brushwood failed to catch the friendly spark 
 And longed-for sleep oppressed the drowsy brain. 
 
 65 
 
THE SHEPHERDS WATCH 
 
 What dreams were theirs, these shepherds on the hills ? 
 
 What great ambition gave them courage? None. 
 They watched their sheep and bore accompanying ills 
 
 With hopeful prayer: Jehovah's will be done. 
 
 No dreams of wealth disturbed their souls' repose, 
 No wild desire where others sowed to reap; 
 
 The morning found them, as the evening's close, 
 Simple and trusting as the nibbling sheep. 
 
 And so they shivered in the chill night air 
 
 And drew their sheepskin coats in closer fold, 
 
 Stretching their forms on branches hard and bare 
 To snatch a moment from the world and cold. 
 
 But suddenly the darkness fled the sky. 
 
 The sheep sank trembling on the silvered ground, 
 
 And lo ! an angel of the Lord stood by, 
 
 While brightness as of heaven shone around. 
 
 Speechless with fear the cowering shepherds lay: 
 "Fear not," the angel said, "good news I bring 
 
 With joy for you ; a Saviour's born to-day, 
 Lo ! Christ is in the city of the King." 
 
 66 
 
THE SHEPHERDS WATCH 
 
 Ah ! many a wintry night our hearts have known, 
 When sin and sorrow filled the burdened air 
 
 With wailing voices, by the wild winds blown 
 Across the world in accents of despair. 
 
 And many a soul yet feels the evening chills 
 
 That creep around hirn with the gathering shade. 
 
 And looks in vain across the cheerless hills 
 For even a tinge of light so long delayed. 
 
 He bears, perchance, the weight of others' sins. 
 Perhaps the crushing fault is all his own ; 
 
 The dew lies dense and hopeless night begins — 
 Ke finds himself upon the fields alone. 
 
 He looks for courage from the worldly wise. 
 He seeks for comfort in the ways of men ; 
 
 A little light shoots out across the skies 
 And leaves him, lost in deeper depths again. 
 
 Where shall he turn to find the strength he needs, 
 The hope to cheer him and the light to guide ? 
 
 Ah! not in dreams of wild, heroic deeds. 
 Nor yet in drifting down a pleasure tide. 
 
 67 
 
THE SHEPHERDS WATCH 
 
 The soul that clings to God's eternal love 
 
 And strives, though feebly, as the days go by, 
 
 Will hear some night the voice he's dreaming of, 
 And see new glory light the darkened sky. 
 
 His heart will throb for joy, and bounding feet 
 Will speed him on to kneel before the shrine, 
 
 Where, rapt in adoration, he may greet 
 
 With words of tender love the Child Divine. 
 
 68 
 
A Christmas Song 
 
 Sing! heavenly choirs of angels, sing! 
 
 For the night has flown away, 
 And earth exults in her new-born King 
 Who comes with the opening day. 
 
 The shepherds have hied 
 
 From the cold hillside 
 To the manger where He lies, 
 
 And His wondrous star 
 
 Shines out afar 
 'Mid the gloom of the Eastern skies. 
 
 Sing! heavenly choirs of angels, sing! 
 
 Your song is a song of love : 
 Glad tidings to earth-worn souls ye bring 
 From the mansions of joy above. 
 
 The Magi have come 
 
 From their distant home. 
 With their frankincense and gold, 
 
 To kneel before 
 
 A child and adore 
 What the heavens in awe behold. 
 
 69 
 
A CHRISTMAS SONG 
 
 Sing! heavenly choirs of angels, sing! 
 
 Your song is a song of peace : 
 The dove has come of the fair white wing 
 With sorrow and pain's surcease. 
 
 The Word divine 
 
 For His favored shrine 
 Has chosen the hearts of men, 
 
 And the votive flame 
 
 Of passion and shame 
 Shall burn there never again. 
 
 Sing! heavenly choirs of angels, sing! 
 For the gift of these glorious days : 
 Let earth rejoice and the welkin ring 
 With anthems of joy and praise. 
 The warm, glad beams 
 Of God's love streams 
 On a world that once grew^ cold, 
 For His spouse is there 
 Still young and fair 
 As she was in the days of old. 
 
 70 
 
The Heart of God 
 
 Ah, tender Heart of Jesus ! 
 
 Since deathless love was Thine, 
 What fires of pure affection 
 
 Should warm this heart of mine ! 
 But cold and dark the chambers 
 
 Where living light should be. 
 And silent are the heart-strings 
 
 That should pulsate for Thee. 
 
 Ah ! bleeding Heart of Jesus ! 
 
 My sinful heart should bleed, 
 And wash away the foulness 
 
 Of thought and word and deed; 
 But dried up are the fountains 
 
 Where holy thoughts may spring, 
 And fled is all the fragrance 
 
 That holy deeds should bring. 
 
 71 
 
THE HEART OF GOD 
 
 Ah ! broken Heart of Jesus ! 
 
 What time Thy spirit fled, 
 The stars grew pale in heaven 
 
 And tombs gave forth their dead. 
 Break, break with bitter anguish 
 
 This hard, unfeeling heart, 
 Till, conscious of its baseness. 
 
 The tears of sorrow start. 
 
 Ah ! patient Heart of Jesus ! 
 
 Since joys of earth are dross. 
 Sustain me, for Thy love's sake 
 
 To meekly bear my cross ; 
 To love the way of sorrows 
 
 Thy sacred feet have trod: 
 My life, my love, my Saviour, 
 
 My brother and my God. 
 
 72 
 
Homeward Bound 
 
 Dear Lord ! I've walked a winding way 
 
 By meadow, stream and hill, 
 Nor dreamed of aught but to obey 
 
 My own capricious will. 
 And every path my feet essayed 
 
 Led farther still from Thee; 
 What wonder if my heart's love strayed! 
 
 The world was dear to me. 
 
 I sought support in other strength 
 
 And boasted of mine own. 
 But vain the trust, and now at length 
 
 I've turned to Thee alone. 
 Ah ! strength to do and eyes to see 
 
 Come only with Thy grace; 
 Then let the world not hide from me 
 
 The beauty of Thy face! 
 
HOMEWARD BOUND 
 
 Trembling and sore afraid am I 
 
 To feel Thy hand on mine, 
 Lest faltering step or worldly sigh 
 
 Should draw my hand from Thine. 
 Yet glad and full of joy withal 
 
 To know Thee Lord and guide, 
 Whose love will last, whose voice will call, 
 
 Even though I turn aside. 
 
 Oh ! watch me, guard me, lest I turn ! 
 
 This world is wondrous fair; 
 The fires may not so fiercely burn. 
 
 Yet embers still are there. 
 Then bid my trembling limbs be strong! 
 
 My throbbing heart be still! 
 They feel no fear of pain or wrong 
 
 Who love Thy holy will. 
 
 74 
 
Before a Crucifix 
 
 Ah ! wounded Love ! my worthless lips I press 
 
 To these, Thy carven feet, 
 Cold as the stones that felt their warm caress 
 
 On Sion's dusty street. 
 
 How blest those stones and they who walked on them 
 
 All stained and cracked and worn! 
 How doubly blest who kissed Thy garment's hem, 
 
 Though dust-begrimed and torn! 
 
 Then blest am I, though far removed yet free 
 
 Thine image here to kiss — 
 Were not Thy garments, till they vestured Thee, 
 
 Just earth-born things, like this? 
 
 75 
 
Eternal Rest 
 
 They sleep the sleep of peace; 
 And though our eyes may long to see 
 
 Their faces once again, 
 We know they are forever free 
 
 From all the griefs of men. 
 And so in calm content we rest — 
 God's will is always best. 
 
 Ah! why should eyes be wet 
 
 With tears for those who pass away 
 
 From sorrows born of earth? 
 The faithful soul's most joyful day 
 
 Is that of heavenly birth. 
 And clothed in sweet eternal rest, 
 It knows God's will is best. 
 
 1(> 
 
The Best Beloved 
 
 Dear souls, debarred by God's afflicting hand 
 From song-bird greetings of the joyous morn, 
 From healing draughts of perfumes freshly born, 
 And heaven's own beauty strewn o'er sea and land, 
 Fond hearts, though far away, 
 Are with you day by day. 
 
 We may not bring you back the soothing hours 
 When sleep is rest that fears no waking pain. 
 When measured music beats in every vein 
 And life goes singing through a field of flowers. 
 Nor may we say : Arise ! 
 This the dear Lord denies. 
 
 We may not give you greetings face to face. 
 Perchance because of many a league that lies 
 Between us now, or yet perchance of ties 
 That bind our willing hands to time and place, 
 Yet are our hearts on fire 
 With love's supreme desire. 
 
 11 
 
THE BEST BELOVED 
 
 And SO we send you from our scanty store 
 The modest gift of poor but earnest prayer, 
 That God's sweet love may give you grace to bear 
 Your pains in memory of the pains He bore : 
 And make you still more dear 
 To Him whose heart is near. 
 
 We send assurance of remembrance true 
 
 In those blest moments which we hope to spend 
 In sweet communion with that changeless friend 
 Whose great heart throbs for prisoned souls like you 
 Whose love, on eager wings. 
 Flies forth where sorrow stings. 
 
 Dear souls, be comforted! The world is fair, 
 Yet filled with dangers for unwary feet. 
 So in His wisdom and in mercy sweet. 
 Our Lord withdraws you from the tempting snare, 
 To lay your heads at rest 
 Upon His own dear breast. 
 
 78 
 
The Month of Mary 
 
 Ah May ! sweet May ! when fragrant lilies grow 
 And rhythmic waters kiss the streamlet side; 
 When modest flowers near the hedgerows hide 
 
 And milder airs from brighter heavens blow : 
 
 'Tis ours with prayer and joyous hymn to show 
 How men revere the dove-like, trusting bride 
 Who went with Joseph from the temple's pride, 
 
 To charm the lowly and to cheer the low. 
 
 'Tis thine to bid the odorous blossoms spring 
 And breathe their incense at her queenly feet, 
 In eloquent though mute address of love : 
 'Tis ours to kneel before her shrine and bring 
 White souls all perfume-filled, as censers meet 
 For man's sweet homage to his Queen above. 
 
 79 
 
Da Vinci's Virgin of the Rocks 
 
 Fair Lady ! how serenely sweet 
 Thy mother face, thy gentle eyes, 
 
 That turn so graciously to greet 
 
 The scene that here before thee lies. 
 
 Baptist and angel bend the knee — 
 
 Thus earth and heaven accord their part- 
 Before the Christ-God born of thee. 
 While love sits brooding in thy heart. 
 
 For these return thy tender love, 
 
 The flowers embrace thy garment's hem, 
 
 Mute waters pray and heaven above 
 Sheds fairest light on thee and them. 
 
 Yet, Mother mine, the crags are there. 
 Grim shadows of the cruel years 
 
 That came to cloud thy soul in care, 
 To pierce thy heart and draw thy tears. 
 
 CO 
 
Our Lady Veiled 
 
 Through all the purple Passion days 
 
 My heart its purple wore, 
 Of bitter thoughts for sinful ways 
 
 And what my Saviour bore. 
 
 Ah! pain was mine still more 
 
 When, turned in love to thee, 
 No sweet, sad face could meet my gaze- 
 
 Thine eyes were veiled from me ; 
 My Mother, in the Passion days. 
 
 Thy face was veiled from me. 
 
 But when the blessed Eastertide 
 Brought joys that were before, 
 
 And happy blossoms bloomed beside 
 His prison's golden door, 
 
 81 
 
OUR LADY VEILED 
 
 Ah ! joy was mine still more 
 
 When, turned in love to thee, 
 I saw thee, radiant as a bride — 
 
 Thine eyes spoke love for me; 
 My Mother, in the Eastertide, 
 
 Thy face spoke love for me. 
 
 When dawns at last the Morning light 
 
 And purple days are o'er. 
 Thy hand will lead me to His sight 
 
 Whom earth and heaven adore. 
 
 Ah! joy will come still more 
 
 When, turned in love to thee, 
 His lips will say my heart was right — 
 
 Thine eyes will beam for me ; 
 My Mother, in that Morning light, 
 
 Thy face will shine for me. 
 
 82 
 
Virgin Mother Mary 
 
 O Virgin Mother, pure and sweet! 
 
 As low before thee bending, 
 We cast our garlands at thy feet 
 
 In faith and love unending ; 
 We sing the glory of thy name 
 
 Who bore our Lord and brother. 
 And since from Heaven the angel came 
 Has been our loving mother. 
 Blessed name to God most dear, 
 Sweetest name to sinners here, 
 Holy name that all revere. 
 Virgin Mother Mary ! 
 
 In every vale, to deck thy shrines. 
 The fragrant flowers are springing ; 
 
 From leafy shrubs and towering pines 
 The birds thy praise are singing. 
 
 83 
 
VIRGIN MOTHER MARY 
 
 For thee, as offerings, maidens fair 
 
 Now pluck the scented roses. 
 And search the shaded nooklets where 
 The violet reposes. 
 
 Votive wreaths are fondly hung, 
 Silver bells are softly rung. 
 While thy joyful hymns are sung. 
 Virgin Mother Mary ! 
 
 The murmur of the rippling rills, 
 
 Through moss and pebbles flowing; 
 The sunshine on the sloping hills 
 
 Where modest blooms are blowing; 
 The rustling of the leaflets green; 
 
 The breeze's soft complaining. 
 Express their love for thee, our Queen, 
 Who far in Heaven art reigning. 
 Purest maid of mortals born, 
 Help of wretched and forlorn. 
 Heavenly gems thy head adorn. 
 Virgin Mother Mary! 
 
 84 
 
Two Mothers in Heaven 
 
 Mother of God ! how my heart responds 
 
 To the thought of a long-lost day, 
 When I heard thy name in the tender tones 
 
 That trained my young lips to pray. 
 And now when this lonely world doth hold 
 
 No mother's soft voice for me, 
 I repeat thy prayer with the lasting love 
 
 She nursed in my heart for thee. 
 
 Dark are the eyes that beamed with light 
 
 And glowed with a nameless joy, 
 When she saw me come from the world, a man, 
 
 To kneel at her feet, a boy. 
 Cold is the hand that smoothed my hair 
 
 And stilled is that voice so mild, 
 For pale in death are the once sweet lips 
 
 That taught me to be thy child. 
 
 85 
 
TWO MOTHERS IN HEAVEN 
 
 Mother of God ! how she loved thy name ! 
 
 And her life made brave by thine, 
 Brought courage and trust to many a soul, 
 
 Brought fervor and faith to mine. 
 For she taught my heart that its love for thee 
 
 Was the Lord's work well begun, 
 That would lead me on to a richer life 
 
 In the love of thy Saviour son. 
 
 She has gone, from sorrows that vex our days 
 
 Till we yearn for sweet release, 
 To rest secure in the smile of God, 
 
 Where the soul finds endless peace. 
 But still she loves me, her child and thine, 
 
 As once at her gentle knee, 
 And, true to her faith, my heart remains 
 
 Unchanged in its love for thee. 
 
 86 
 
My Wooden Idol 
 
 A WOODEN Statue, an image odd, 
 
 In colors of gorgeous hue, 
 That well might adorn a Chinese god, 
 
 So garish the gold and blue. 
 
 The nose is long and a hectic flush 
 
 Burns on the listless face 
 That never was taught by master's brush 
 
 To glow with artistic grace. 
 
 The hands upraised as in silent prayer 
 
 Are painfully long and thin, 
 And the diadem on her childish hair 
 
 Is fashioned of gilded tin. 
 
 The graceless figure is stiff and tall, 
 
 As there, in a carved recess, 
 It stands before me, enrobed in all 
 
 The beauties of ugliness. 
 
 87 
 
MY WOODEN IDOL 
 
 Yet here I kneel and my love defies 
 The sneer and the claims of art; 
 
 Its faults are dear to indulgent eyes 
 And its quaintness charms my heart. 
 
 And men may call me idolater, 
 Bowing down to wood and stone, 
 
 But my love for Him and love for her 
 Together have always grown. 
 
 And now as of old my every breath 
 
 Their influence sweet can tell. 
 My heart is a home like Nazareth 
 
 Where wedded in love they dwell. 
 
 He came from Heaven for love's sweet sake, 
 That men might have grace and light. 
 
 But the human form He deigned to take 
 Was not with His glory bright. 
 
 So this poor statue is far from her 
 Who is Queen of the choirs above, 
 
 Yet it causes my inmost soul to stir 
 With the holiest, purest love. 
 
 88 
 
MY WOODEN IDOL 
 
 It brings me back to the wondrous days 
 When He walked with sinful men, 
 
 Till with rapturous, tear-filled eyes I gaze 
 On His lovable face again. 
 
 It lifts me up to her Son divine, 
 To His scorn of sham and fraud, 
 
 And bids me honor while life is mine 
 The beauty that's true to God. 
 
 89 
 
Expectation 
 
 O HAPPY days ! when flowers spring, 
 When song-birds flit on painted wing 
 Among the languid, list'ning trees, 
 And thrill those matchless melodies 
 That they, and they alone can sing ! 
 
 Come with your sweetest airs and bring 
 One whom her heart can call its King, 
 And trust with calm, confiding ease, 
 O happy daysl 
 
 Come with the blush of morn and cling 
 Around her till the bride-bells ring ; 
 Come with the sweets of honey bees 
 Laden with nectar, and the breeze 
 Through wildwood blossoms murmuring, 
 O happy days! 
 
 90 
 
A Bride of Christ 
 
 I COME, dear Lord, in my bridal robes, 
 To this angel-guarded shrine. 
 
 And lay at Thy feet my poor, cold heart 
 To be Thine, and only Thine. 
 
 I come with a love as faint and frail 
 As this taper's trembling flame, 
 
 And one sweet hope that it burn and glow 
 In the fire of Thy sacred Name. 
 
 With one sweet hope for the days to come 
 When purified, Lord, by Thee, 
 
 I catch some gleam of the burning love 
 That glows in Thy heart for me. 
 
 91 
 
A BRIDE OF CHRIST 
 
 What leads me here, is it with regret 
 That the fair, glad world I leave? 
 
 Ah ! no. I come with the only fear 
 That ever my Lord should grieve. 
 
 I heard Thy voice and I knew who called, 
 
 And I felt no longer free, 
 For it spoke in the clearest, fondest tones : 
 
 "My beloved one, come to Me." 
 
 Ah! why, dear Lord, am I called to serve? 
 
 There are purer souls than mine; 
 There are brighter minds and fairer forms 
 
 To follow this light divine. 
 
 No voice replies and my heart is pleased. 
 
 For I have no wish to hear ; 
 I only know that I heard Thee call, 
 
 And behold ! my Love, I'm here. 
 
 92 
 
After Benediction 
 
 Chime again, sweet silver bells, 
 Waft your music to mine ear, 
 
 Tones that of His presence tells — 
 Tells my heart its Love is near: 
 
 Chime again, sweet silver bells. 
 Chime again, my Love is here. 
 
 Chime again, sweet silver bells, 
 Lest my yearning spirit sigh, 
 
 For my soul in rapture swells 
 When I know my Love is nigh. 
 
 Chime again, sweet silver bells. 
 We are here, my Love and I. 
 
 Chime again, sweet silver bells. 
 Let your voices bid me stay: 
 
 Keep me close to where He dwells 
 Hour by hour and day by day. 
 
 Chime again, sweet silver bells. 
 Lest my heart should turn away. 
 
 93 
 
Rest in God 
 
 Pure as the lilies beside her coffin lying, 
 
 Vying in perfume with fragrance from above; 
 
 Gentle as balm-laden winds through flowers sighing: 
 Why should we weep when the lover takes His love ? 
 
 Why should we mourn for a calm and holy ending, 
 Changing the darkness to morning's wondrous glow ? 
 
 Softly it came, as on seraph wings descending, 
 
 To waft her away where her soul had longed to go. 
 
 Weary the days were since spirit voices calling 
 Came faint and low as thro' arches cool and dim; 
 
 Now, in the sun-drops of glory round her falling, 
 All is forgotten in the radiance of Him. 
 
 Angels rejoice in the gladsome song of greeting 
 Breathed by her sisters long among the free ; 
 
 Sweeter than music His gracious voice repeating: 
 Welcome, beloved, to the bliss prepared for thee. 
 
 94 
 
IN FREEDOM'S NAME 
 
My Chosen Path 
 
 My soul has yearned for thrones and kings 
 
 Which now but phantoms seem; 
 I've soared aloft on fancied wings 
 
 To realms of joy supreme, 
 I've longed the path of life to strew 
 
 With fragrance-breathing flowers, 
 And dreamed that love would light me through 
 
 The gloom of darkened hours. 
 
 But now I choose the hard, bleak road 
 
 Which saintly feet have trod. 
 To bear in love my yoke and load 
 
 With those who serve their God. 
 And though more tempting paths I've tried 
 
 Made fair by worldly art, 
 Yet none but this has satisfied 
 
 The cravings of my heart. 
 
 97 
 
MY CHOSEN PATH 
 
 The way seems rough when day has gone 
 
 And rocks my steps impede, 
 But strong in faith I'll journey on 
 
 Where love divine may lead; 
 For as the stars through darkness gleam 
 
 When storms have spent their wrath, 
 So light from heaven will surely beam 
 
 And cheer my rugged path. 
 
 I dream not now of kingly power 
 
 Or laureled brow of fame, 
 But crave for grace that every hour 
 
 May conquer sin and shame. 
 The one sweet hope my heart shall know 
 
 Is Heaven's approving smile, 
 The one dear love while here below. 
 
 My green, old Mother-isle. 
 
 98 
 
An Exile's Shamrock 
 
 One Saint Patrick's Day, a letter 
 
 From that island home of mine 
 Brought a faded spray of shamrock 
 
 As a fond remembrance sign, 
 And to me it looked so fair 
 Lying crushed and withered there. 
 As the lover finds rare beauty 
 
 In the dead for whom he grieves, 
 That mine eyes grew dim with longing. 
 
 And a tear fell on the leaves. 
 
 Ah ! those drops that came up-welling 
 
 From my love-awakened heart 
 Seemed to rouse the dying shamrock 
 
 And fresh vigor to impart. 
 All the tints of green it knew 
 When from native soil it grew, 
 Came again to grace my garden, 
 
 And I watched with tender care 
 Till it flourished as if drinking 
 
 Of its own pure Irish air. 
 
 99 
 
AN EXILE S SHAMROCK 
 
 It has no bewildering colors 
 
 To attract the passing eye, 
 And it hides among the grasses 
 
 When the summer winds go by ; 
 But such memories it brings 
 That, on airy-plumaged wings, 
 O'er the sea-crowned isle I hover 
 
 And, absorbed in dreamy joy. 
 Roam again old smiling valleys 
 
 With the ardor of a boy. 
 
 Ah ! my cherished creeping beauty, 
 
 Days will come that should be now, 
 When some hand will wreathe a garland 
 
 For our ransomed country's brow. 
 Thou and I, my shamrock, may 
 Never see the longed-for day. 
 But these chubby boys that kiss thee 
 
 Have the faith that's strong in me, 
 And they yet may greet thy sisters 
 
 On the hills they've helped to free. 
 
 100 
 
Unbroken Vows 
 
 When grandsires' tales in their awful truth 
 
 Shot flames through each red vein, 
 When my lips still blushed with the kiss of youth 
 
 Whose whisper fired my brain, 
 I longed, dear land, for a bounding steed 
 
 And a trusty blade at my side. 
 Which my strong, resistless arm should wield 
 Till thy brave old banner swept the field 
 
 In its ancient power and pride. 
 
 Then ripening days brought manhood's dream, 
 
 When the holy hills should feel 
 A human forest, with glint and gleam 
 
 On their foliage of steel. 
 Alas ! the years, with relentless haste, 
 
 Sweep over our pallid brows. 
 And still in the garb of bending slaves 
 We gather around our fathers' graves. 
 
 To renew unbroken vows. 
 
 101 
 
UNBROKEN VOWS 
 
 But God helps those who help themselves, 
 
 And for us that promise shines, 
 As the guiding light of one who delves 
 
 In the gloom of hidden mines. 
 We know there is wondrous strength in prayer 
 
 When the heart despondent bleeds. 
 For it makes the trembling being glow, 
 Till the buds of his soul's affection blow 
 
 And blossom into deeds. 
 
 We have prayed in faith and watched in hope. 
 
 We have worked in purest love, 
 And smiled at the barbarous rack and rope. 
 
 For the heavens smiled above. 
 And with steadfast hearts, though aching eyes, 
 
 We watch for an hour of fate; 
 It is hard, dear Lord, as the years go by. 
 Despised and powerless thus to lie 
 
 At a nation's outer gate. 
 
 102 
 
On the Roadside 
 
 The door of a straw-roofed cot is barred 
 And the bearded, dark-clad sentries stand, 
 
 Keeping their grim, ungracious guard 
 At a vacant house in a stricken land. 
 
 A rose-bush trained by fair hands to cling 
 
 Where the prisoner goldfinch loved to sing 
 Is crushed. In the boxwood bordered bed 
 The flowers are bruised and dead. 
 
 Along the road on a trampled sward, 
 
 The rough-tossed goods of a cottage lie. 
 Sweet proof of tyranny's coarse reward 
 
 For earnest labor and purpose high. 
 A mother hushes her babe to sleep. 
 And croons the sorrow she may not weep : 
 
 Silent, the father stands aside 
 
 In his calm, courageous pride. 
 
 103 
 
ON THE ROADSIDE 
 
 Rugged and proud he stands, his knee 
 Clasped by a timid but fearless child. 
 
 No faint-souled mourner of fate is he; 
 His home dismantled, his hearth defiled, 
 
 Can bring no tear to the blazing eyes 
 
 That turn from earth to the melting skies: 
 
 He knows what strength for the poor is there, 
 And the strong lips quiver in prayer. 
 
 104 
 
This Irish Heart of Mine 
 
 I HAVE Strayed through every nation 
 
 Far away from friends and home, 
 And have paused in admiration 
 
 By St. Peter's wondrous dome; 
 I have roamed and read their stories 
 
 Where the Grecian ruins He, 
 And have marveled at the glories 
 
 Of the blue Italian sky. 
 
 But an Irish hill side glowing 
 
 In the morning's golden ray, 
 With a minstrel streamlet flowing 
 
 Down below the verdant brae ; 
 And a thatch roofed cot appearing 
 
 Where the wild moss-roses twine, 
 Make a scene far more endearing 
 
 For this Irish heart of mine. 
 
 105 
 
THIS IRISH HEART OF MINE 
 
 Glorious dreams are in the pealing 
 
 Of those old cathedral chimes, 
 And in organ tones revealing 
 
 All the charm of southern climes; 
 Luring love lies in the glances 
 
 Of dark eyes that shoot and gleam 
 As the broken sunlight dances 
 
 On a shaded woodland stream. 
 
 But the harp of Erin breathing 
 
 Tender strains that sorrow sings, 
 While a stranger hand is wreathing 
 
 Cypress leaves around the strings; 
 And the blue eye's modest bearing 
 
 When it beams with love divine, 
 Have a charm beyond comparing 
 
 For this Irish heart of mine. 
 
 106 
 
A Rapparee Love Song 
 
 I BOWED before you yesternight 
 As low as would an abject slave, 
 
 I offered you a heart as true 
 As ever man to woman gave. 
 
 You sat in all your wealth secure, 
 The while my tale of love I told — 
 
 You spurned the gift because 'twas pure. 
 Because 'twas broidered not with gold. 
 
 But ah ! dear heart ! in days to come, 
 
 When laurel round my brow shall twine. 
 You'll wish this hour had made you mine. 
 In glorious days to come. 
 
 'Tis true that now no princely halls 
 Await the bride who'll be my own. 
 
 And your proud heart could never part 
 With rank and name for love alone. 
 
 107 
 
A RAPPAREE LOVE SONG 
 
 Yet Still, in spite of outward pride, 
 I know that heart pulsates for me — 
 
 Your lip may curl, you cannot hide 
 The light no eye but mine can see. 
 
 And you'll confess, in days to come, 
 When lordlings bow before your shrine, 
 'Tis land and gold for which they pine. 
 In heart-sad days to come. 
 
 The war-cries roll across our land 
 
 Which long has bowed in conquered shame 
 
 Outside your gates the charger waits 
 That yet will bear me on to fame. 
 
 I go, but 'mid the clash of steel, 
 
 My country's name and yours will be 
 
 Twin guiding stars, for love's appeal 
 Will fire your soul when she is free. 
 
 Farewell ! and when, in days to come. 
 Your dreams of earthly grandeur fade. 
 Command my sword in shine or shade, 
 In love-lorn days to come. 
 
 108 
 
A RAPPAREE LOVE SONG 
 
 What ! these fair hands detain me now ! 
 
 Those scornful eyes are dim with tears! 
 You've thrown aside the mask of pride 
 
 That would have darkened future years. 
 'Twas worth the pain of being spurned 
 
 Such gleams of joy as these to know; 
 But hark ! O love ! O life returned ! 
 
 The call to arms, and I must go. 
 Adieu, my own, in days to come. 
 
 When laurel round my brow shall twine, 
 
 You'll bless this hour that makes you mine, 
 In golden days to come. 
 
 109 
 
Where Beauty Dwells 
 
 The blossoms are painted in rainbow hues 
 
 With delicate shades between, 
 And gladden our eyes 
 As they gracefully rise 
 
 From fairy-wand stems of green. 
 We prize them not for the tint of leaves, 
 
 Nor yet for the fragile stem ; 
 The odorous joy which the soul receives. 
 And exquisite beauty the mind perceives. 
 
 Give birth to our love for them. 
 
 The children of men have their varied hues, 
 
 As part of our Lord's dear plan; 
 The light and the shade 
 Which His hands have made 
 
 Are symbols of love for man. 
 We judge them not by the tinctured skin, 
 
 The straight or the wavy hair, 
 For God has created His home within 
 The lowliest being assoiled from sin, 
 
 And dwells in His glory there. 
 
 110 
 
St. Benedict the Moor 
 
 To the Convent gate, near Palermo town, 
 
 A young lay brother came; 
 His skin was black and his garments poor. 
 
 But the monks had heard his name. 
 They knew how blameless his life had been, 
 
 How chaste were all his ways, 
 For the fair Sicilian land was filled 
 
 With his glory and his praise. 
 
 They took him into their heart of hearts 
 
 And blessed the Lord who gave 
 To their humble home this saintly youth, 
 
 The son of a negro slave. 
 And their love increased as years went on, 
 
 And their veneration grew. 
 As they saw his wonderful face ablaze 
 
 With the Christ-light shining through. 
 
 Ill 
 
ST. BENEDICT THE MOOR 
 
 He had always sought for the lowest place — 
 
 The kitchen was now his choice — 
 Where his soul could glow with a love divine 
 
 And his humble heart rejoice. 
 But the monks were men whose souls were free 
 
 From the world's unchristian pride, 
 And they begged their colored cook to be 
 
 Their Guardian and their guide. 
 
 O Church of God ! 'tis in you alone 
 
 All nations and races meet, 
 To kneel as her children side by side 
 
 At the dear Lord's sacred feet. 
 'Tis in you alone no lines are drawn 
 
 That would keep men's souls apart, 
 For you lead them all to the fount of love 
 
 In the Saviour's bleeding heart. 
 
 O saint of the kitchen poor and bare ! 
 
 Look down from the heavens and see 
 Your trampled race in the menial's place. 
 
 Though the law declares it free. 
 
 112 
 
ST. BENEDICT THE MOOR 
 
 You loved to obey when others ruled 
 
 In a saintly soul's retreat, 
 And the monks you served were Christ-like men 
 
 Who would kneel to kiss your feet. 
 
 But the arrogant lords who rule to-day 
 
 In purse-proud, fatuous pride, 
 Look down with scorn on brothers for whom 
 
 Their suffering Saviour died. 
 And the weak, complacent world goes on 
 
 With never a word of blame. 
 Nor a shout of wrath to wipe it out, 
 
 As our country's only shame. 
 
 113 
 
Still Enslaved 
 
 Has not the Nation spoken 
 In thundering, final tone? 
 
 Were not the shackles broken — 
 His soul proclaimed his own? 
 
 Should then our Constitution 
 Be outraged and defied, 
 
 By men steeped in pollution 
 Of race and family pride? 
 
 Should men who serve the letter, 
 
 False to the spirit be? 
 'Tis base the soul to fetter 
 
 Of him whose limbs are free. 
 
 If liberty prevail not, 
 
 We play the traitor's part. 
 
 For words of love avail not 
 If hate be in the heart. 
 
 114 
 
STILL ENSLAVED 
 
 Who feels himself the stronger, 
 Should he be madly blind? 
 
 That man is man no longer 
 Who does not love his kind. 
 
 Should man to beast be mated 
 Because he's lowly born? 
 
 The souls which God created 
 Should men presume to scorn? 
 
 The Lord to every creature 
 His gift of freedom gave, 
 
 Nor stamped on human feature 
 The symbol of the slave. 
 
 Twas of divine election 
 
 That men should not lie prone 
 In token of subjection, 
 
 Except to God alone. 
 
 Though light and love eternal, 
 He left men free, as well 
 
 To rise to bliss supernal 
 
 Or plunge themselves in hell. 
 
 115 
 
STILL ENSLAVED 
 
 What then? Is man the greater, 
 And should he dare to grind 
 
 In dust what earth's Creator 
 In justice would not bind? 
 
 Such gifts as God has given 
 Must be assured to men; 
 
 The chains that once were riven 
 Must not be forged again. 
 
 Souls of divine creation, 
 Shall they to earth be trod? 
 
 Tis treason to the Nation, 
 To reason and to God. 
 
 116 
 
IN SIMPLE TRIBUTE 
 
Cardinal McCloskey 
 
 For half a century, the tender guide, 
 
 The soothing friend of many a burdened soul: 
 Calm where the storm-fed waves of passion roll, 
 
 Changeless through every change of year and tide. 
 
 In royal purple robed, or doubly dyed 
 And bleeding scarlet, or with simple stole. 
 Ever the same. Obedience and control 
 
 Showed him the footsteps of the Crucified. 
 
 O Priest! whose love-lit eyes have watched so long 
 
 Before the presence of the Lord; whose voice 
 
 For fifty years has taught the truly free; 
 
 Gentle thy tones, yet reaching far, and strong 
 
 In living faith : may Heaven our hearts rejoice 
 
 For years to come in still possessing thee ! 
 
 119 
 
A Rosary of Years 
 
 And thou shalt sanctify the fiftieth year 
 
 for it is the year of jubilee. 
 
 Leviticus XXV, lo. 
 
 Just fifty years ago he knelt in prayer 
 Trembling with joy, while his anointed hands 
 Were bound in white and o'er his bending head 
 Brooded the mighty spirit of the Lord. 
 Then burst upon his view the teeming lands 
 Where men were hungering for the bread of life, 
 The harvest white afield, the workers few, 
 And robed in grace he walked abroad to serve 
 As bonded slave to even the rudest soul 
 That knew not God, or labored not to love 
 The great creating power whose seal it bore. 
 
 A decade passed and found him called to serve 
 As coadjutor to the great-souled chief. 
 Who planned in love that vast Cathedral pile 
 Which this our father, as a towering prayer 
 
 120 
 
A ROSARY OF YEARS 
 
 In white majestic marble, carved on high 
 To point for men their starry way to God. 
 
 The second decade bade him bear alone 
 A heavier burden in the Master's cause, 
 As watchful guardian of a twofold charge, — 
 The sheep and shepherds of a far spread field 
 Where mountains rise and mighty rivers flow — 
 Now guarded well by men who knew the toils 
 And wasting struggles of those early days. 
 
 Two decades passed; that flashing sword of flame, 
 The Christ-like spirit of th' immortal Hughes, 
 Rose to his God, and left a widening fold 
 To him whose light still warms the western sky. 
 And as the hand of time began to tell 
 The crowning decade of these fruitful years, 
 A voice came pealing from the sacred home 
 Where dwells the Vicar of our Saviour God, 
 Bidding him wear the princely scarlet robe, 
 Surpassing all the glow of earthly kings. 
 
 Such is the Heaven-sent rosary of years 
 His life has known within the Holy Place. 
 
 121 
 
A ROSARY OF YEARS 
 
 Bead after bead has slowly passed along 
 The silver chain that has as yet no end; 
 Five golden decades, bearing to him each 
 Its meed of honors, till he reigns a Prince 
 Within the household of the living God. 
 
 Oh ! sound your trumpets for the Jubilee ! 
 Sound them as did the Israelites of old! 
 Sow not and reap not, let the harvest grow! 
 Throng to the holy place where dwells the Lord 
 And chant your praises for the precious boon 
 That such a man should live in these our times. 
 
 Tender and loving as a simple child. 
 Joyous and cheering as the dearest friend, 
 Kind and compassionate as man could be, 
 Clear and sagacious as a master mind. 
 Firm and unyielding as the giant hills 
 Where question is of God's eternal truth. 
 
 O earth be glad ! O skies with radiance glow ! 
 And flood the world with tidings of our joy. 
 
 122 
 
Cardinal Farley 
 
 The just shall flourish like the palm tree: he 
 shall grow up like the cedar of Libanus. 
 
 Psalm XCI, 13. 
 
 Crowned with the glory of a golden hour 
 That brought, amid the eternal hills of Rome, 
 
 That gift divine, the Priest's almighty power 
 He turned his face to this far western home. 
 
 And as he passed our harbor's guardian isle, 
 Dreamless of aught its opening soil might yield, 
 
 Fair heaven unveiled to greet with radiant smile 
 This youthful reaper for the Master's field. 
 
 Yet brief the stay, though large the service done. 
 When lo! the call to that secluded sphere 
 
 Wherein the Chief determines, one by one. 
 The field, the worker, and the title clear. 
 
 123 
 
CARDINAL FARLEY 
 
 In this retreat his earnest mind was stored 
 
 With wisdom, garnered from the good and wise, 
 
 That showed him Hght by many a pass and ford 
 Through wilds impassable to mortal eyes. 
 
 In this retreat his breadth of soul and mind 
 Distinguished him as clearly called to bear 
 
 The burden light that Heaven had once assigned 
 To Father dowry's priestly love and care. 
 
 Then Gabriel — the strength of God — became 
 For him a heaven-sent pillar cloud of light 
 
 That led him on by day, and glowed in flame 
 To guard his footsteps in the gloom of night. 
 
 So sped the days, so flowed the years along, 
 Bringing new burdens : each assurance new 
 
 From Christ's own Vicar that the wise and strong 
 Must wear the mantle of the tried and true. 
 
 And then the spirit of the saintly dead. 
 The gentle Corrigan, looked smiling down 
 
 To see, thus proved of God, thus onward led, 
 Another Hughes assume his purple crown. 
 
 124 
 
CARDINAL FARLEY 
 
 And now, O peaceful shade ! O mild voiced John ! 
 
 Whose calm persuasion bade all passions cease, 
 Behold him here, who gleams new glory on 
 
 These crimson emblems of the Prince of Peace. 
 
 Behold this John, who in himself combines 
 The strength of Hughes, a forceful blazing sun, 
 
 With that of those who followed milder lines. 
 Who strove for right in gentler days and won. 
 
 The trained apostle, who with zeal aflame 
 
 For life and light where death and darkness are. 
 
 Sends chosen souls who bear the sacred Name 
 To wandering sheep upon the fields afar. 
 
 The gifted seer, whose far-eyed vision saw 
 How thought may drift upon a shoreless tide, 
 
 And thus prepared a harbor safe, where law. 
 Upheld by truth, must stand as changeless guide. 
 
 The pastor true, whose kindly, watchful eye 
 Discerned how waters calm might well be stirred, 
 
 And called sweet counsellors whose hearts supply 
 New warmth of joy to those who preach the Word. 
 
 125 
 
CARDINAL FARLEY 
 
 The tireless worker, who with golden store 
 So crowned our temple of enduring stone, 
 
 That freed from bonds its graceful spires may soar 
 And chant allegiance to the Lord alone. 
 
 Prince of the Church ! you bid your flock revere 
 Our Pontiff, prisoned by men's lust for gold, 
 
 Who stands for truth, unmoved by force or sneer, 
 The Christ-like Shepherd of a world-wide fold. 
 
 Prince of the Church ! whose head is Christ the King, 
 To you our hearts are bound by love's sweet cord. 
 
 For you we pray, that gracious Heaven may bring 
 The gift of long, long years to serve the Lord. 
 
 126 
 
A Jubilee Meditation 
 
 FiVE-AND-TWENTY ycars of service for the Fold, 
 Drawing weak and erring sinners from the cold, 
 Reaping graces, till the harvest time, untold. 
 
 At the altar craving pardon, craving grace, 
 
 For the priceless souls entrusted to his care. 
 Robed in splendor as befits the holy place 
 That is sanctified by sacrifice and prayer. 
 Raising up the Host divine 
 
 And the golden chalice filled 
 With that same redeeming wine 
 Which on Calvary was spilled, 
 While the ransomed of his Masses far above 
 Hear the angels sing of worship and of love. 
 
 127 
 
A JUBILEE MEDITATION 
 
 By the bedside bringing comfort, bringing peace, 
 
 For the body and the burdened soul within, 
 With the Lord's own sweet assurance of release 
 From the nightmare and the loathsome load of sin. 
 Bringing joy that anxious ears 
 Sweep to sad, expectant eyes, 
 Drawing forth the gentle tears 
 That bespeak the soul's uprise. 
 And the yearning for His coming with the light 
 That will melt away the mist and chill of night. 
 
 Thus the years in love have held him and will hold, 
 Never wearied in the service — never old — 
 Till the silver leaves are burnished into gold. 
 
 128 
 
An Areopagite 
 
 'Tis morn along the classic steep 
 
 That holds the marble gods of Greece, 
 
 And nature waking from her sleep 
 
 • Enjoys an hour of perfect peace. 
 
 'Tis morning and the sunlight falls 
 
 On fluted columns, breathing walls 
 
 And widely circling seats of stone, 
 Where grim Athenian sages gave 
 Judgments at once profound and grave 
 In presence of the great Unknown. 
 
 'Tis morning over Ares' Hill 
 
 And there a bearded Roman stands 
 With parted lips and lifted hands, 
 
 While all the wondering winds are still. 
 
 And age, in garb of flowing white. 
 And saffron-robed, inquiring youth 
 Listen to God's eternal truth 
 
 And catch a gleam of heavenly light. 
 
 129 
 
AN AREOPAGITE 
 
 One gifted mind preserves that gleam, 
 For Christ is not a new-found dream 
 To him who long from error free 
 
 The heaven-approaching path has trod; 
 Whose heart has waited anxiously 
 
 For tidings of the Saviour God. 
 And Dionysius trembling hears 
 Of Him whose name he'd known for years. 
 
 In youth his penetrating mind 
 
 Had left his own compeers behind, 
 
 And soaring in the realms of air 
 
 Had found his chief enjoyment there. 
 
 Amidst the facts and theories 
 
 Of all the Greek philosophies 
 
 He roamed a devious path with ease. 
 
 For him old Athens twined her bays 
 
 In token of her highest praise. 
 
 The world had learned to speak his name 
 
 And Grecians gloried in his fame. 
 
 What wonder then, if with the years 
 We find his dignities increase, 
 
 130 
 
AN AREOPAGITE 
 
 Till blazoned forth his name appears 
 
 Among the worshipped sons of Greece ? 
 Robed in the garments of a sage 
 
 He climbs the sixteen steps that lead 
 Where men, the wisest of their age, 
 Gather in councilled state to read 
 The laws that Solon framed. Yet still 
 He looks beyond that templed hill. 
 Knowing that one eternal Being, 
 All wise, all powerful, all seeing, 
 Guided the forces of the spheres, 
 Guarded the ever changing years, 
 And earth-transcending love displayed 
 In all the works His hands had made. 
 
 The Sibyl leaves and Prophet's Book 
 Had taught the lettered world to look 
 For One who was to bear a sign 
 Proving His teaching all divine; 
 For One whose all pervading light 
 Would flash across the Pagan night; 
 For One whose mighty love would span 
 The vast expanse from God to man. 
 
 131 
 
AN AREOPAGITE 
 
 The hour had come : himself had seen 
 The sun withdraw its hght in fear 
 And clouded stars in heaven appear; 
 The pale moon pause and pass between 
 Our earth and sun from east to west, 
 Before that sun a moment rest 
 And then recede to occupy 
 Her lost position in the sky. 
 
 This Dionysius saw, and now, 
 When years on his majestic brow 
 Had turned the Grecian gold to white, 
 He sees at last the longed-for light. 
 He hears a voice that has the ring 
 
 Of inspiration telling him 
 The gospel tidings, that the King 
 
 Had left His Thrones and Cherubim, 
 Bringing sweet peace from God above 
 To bless the creatures of His love. 
 In reverent awe his grateful eyes 
 A moment seek the radiant skies, 
 Then kneeling at the feet of Paul 
 He cries : "O God and Lord of all. 
 Knowledge and Truth and Love in one, 
 Christ is indeed Thy only Son." 
 
 132 
 
AN AREOPAGITE 
 
 Such was the heart-consoling close 
 Of all his watching and the ray- 
 That dances on the distant sea, 
 
 Bringing the world a perfect day 
 In all its shimmering glory, knows 
 Less glittering gleams of joy than he. 
 
 Here let us leave old Greece and cast 
 A glance along the recent past. 
 
 Legends there are about these walls. 
 Of no uncertain tone, that tell 
 How this our Dion came to dwell 
 Here, where the beam of sunlight falls 
 With special glory, and the day 
 In flushed reluctance dies away. 
 Knowing that evening skies distill 
 Their sweetest dews on Ida Hill. 
 Grave was his mien, and all his ways 
 Were such as tended toward the praise 
 Of Him in whose divine employ 
 He looked for labor; not for joy. 
 Save that which well-spent hours impart 
 In silence to the humble heart. 
 
 133 
 
AN AREOPAGITE 
 
 Years pass and Alma Mater tolls 
 
 A fond good-bye and breathes a prayer 
 For him who takes immortal souls 
 
 To be his Hfe's devoted care. 
 And old New Hampshire's mountains greet 
 
 The blessing and the grace he brings, 
 While flowers sway to kiss his feet, 
 
 As courtiers at the feet of kings. 
 
 What wonder then, if Mother Church, 
 Ever with watchful eye in search 
 Of men to raise protecting hands 
 
 Over the tender flocks that stray. 
 If left alone, where robber bands 
 
 In darkness wait an easy prey; 
 What wonder, if she bid him be 
 A member of her Hierarchy? 
 Henceforth to sit in solemn state. 
 One of the truly wise and great, 
 Who sit with Christ on Sion's hill 
 To teach mankind God's holy will, 
 In words profound and luminous ; 
 The Christian Areopagus. 
 
 134 
 
AN AREOPAGITE 
 
 He needs no Paul whose thrilling voice 
 Bade Dion's waiting soul rejoice; 
 For Christ's own word has been the guide 
 Of all his actions, and the close 
 Of life will find the light that flows 
 From out the Saviour's wounded side, 
 Shedding its radiance round his soul 
 While God's eternal ages roll. 
 
 Thus have we touched with loving hand 
 The trembling chords of life between 
 
 That hero of the Grecian land 
 And this our hero, whose serene, 
 
 Unclouded brow and form erect 
 
 We trust the years may long neglect ; 
 
 Whose prayers we ask for future days 
 
 Against the world's seductive ways; 
 
 Whose kind indulgence here we crave, 
 
 All ceremonial rites to waive 
 
 And call him, if we may to-night, 
 
 Our own loved Areopagite. 
 
 135 
 
An Albanian Ode 
 
 Over the world-dividing sea 
 
 A Bishop took his joyous way, 
 To him whom bishops of the world obey, 
 
 And deem it glory thus to be 
 Servants of one who sits to-day 
 
 Where sat the fisherman who walked 
 With Christ on Galilee. 
 
 In princely purple robed, he kneels 
 
 Before the Vicar of the King of kings. 
 And as the Pontiff's hand is raised he feels 
 A rapturous joy uplift his soul 
 Beyond the stars and earth's control; 
 He hears the rustling whirr of myriad wings, 
 And to their soft accompaniment 
 The heavenly chorus sings. 
 
 136 
 
AN ALBANIAN ODE 
 
 Glory to God the Father, 
 Glory to God the Son, 
 And the sanctifying Spirit, 
 Whose holy will be done: 
 He built His Church on a mountain 
 
 Where the howling winds may rave. 
 But it rests secure through endless years 
 In the strength His promise gave. 
 The foes of heaven in vain assail. 
 For the gates of hell shall not prevail. 
 
 Angel 
 
 And from every spot on that wondrous globe 
 
 And with every nation's tongue, 
 They come, arrayed in the purple robe, 
 To kneel and render the homage due, 
 Where Peter guarded the faithful few 
 
 When the spouse of Christ was young. 
 From vales where mighty rivers run. 
 
 And the giant mountains rear 
 Their heads to heaven they come, and one 
 
 From the western land is here. 
 
 137 
 
AN ALBANIAN ODE 
 
 Chorus 
 He comes, he comes from the western land 
 
 That stretches from sea to sea, 
 Where they know the Lord's protecting hand, 
 And the Church of God is free. 
 He comes from the western land, 
 He comes from a martyr's shrine, 
 From a spot all red 
 With a life's blood shed 
 For a love divine. 
 
 Angel 
 And let him now return 
 
 To where the Hudson rolls. 
 And his strengthened heart will burn 
 
 With a holy zeal for souls. 
 Let him bring a blessing from thy hand 
 For his scattered flock in that growing land. 
 And the faith will grow and bloom and blow 
 On the mountain side and the vale below 
 
 Wherever the seed may fall. 
 For the tender plant of religion thrives 
 In the nourishing soil of holy lives. 
 
 And the Lord will bless them all. 
 
 138 
 
AN ALBANIAN ODE 
 
 Chorus 
 
 The Lord will bless them all, 
 
 Wherever the seed may fall, 
 For the tender plant of religion thrives 
 In the nourishing light of holy lives, 
 
 And the Lord will bless them all. 
 
 Angel 
 
 And when another decade gilds the past 
 
 With golden memories of heavenly days, 
 This toiling guardian of a region vast 
 
 Will come again to gain his meed of praise. 
 Again a blessing he will bring from thee 
 To faithful hearts across the shining sea. 
 And hamlets fair and cities huge will rise 
 
 Along the valley where the Mohawk flows. 
 Or where the haunted Catskills woo the skies 
 In constant yearning for their cooling snows. 
 Bright homes will deck the green hillside 
 And eager throngs will pour, 
 A ceaseless human tide 
 To every temple's door. 
 
 139 
 
AN ALBANIAN ODE 
 
 A thousand heaven-ascending spires 
 Will show where faith's undying fires 
 In flames anew 
 Are bursting through, 
 While the spreading fold thus blessed by heaven 
 Will need the pastoral care of seven, 
 To do the work now done 
 By this thrice-favored one. 
 
 Chorus 
 Oh ! tender the heart that gives to men 
 
 Such tokens of love divine, 
 O sanctified place! a seven- fold grace 
 
 Will evermore be thine. 
 
 Angel 
 Five times thereafter will the earth adorn 
 Her breast with blossoms of the year's true morn, 
 Then the lamb will yield its fleece 
 For virgin hands to spin. 
 The snow-white band which brings as dower 
 The plenitude of the Bishop's power. 
 To be his own till time shall cease 
 And eternity begin. 
 
 140 
 
AN ALBANIAN ODE 
 
 Chorus 
 
 O joy! O joy! O joy! 
 
 When the earth is all abloom, 
 A courier swift will ride 
 With the Pallium by his side; 
 The mystic band, 
 Which the Pontiff's hand 
 Will send from the prince's tomb. 
 For the lamb will yield its fleece. 
 And virgin hands will spin 
 The snow-white band which brings as dower 
 The plenitude of the Bishop's power, 
 To be his own till time shall cease 
 
 And eternity begin. 
 Glory to God the Father, 
 Glory to God the Son, 
 And the sanctifying Spirit, 
 Whose holy will be done. 
 
 141 
 
The First Decade 
 
 Perhaps I seem 
 To address thee with old saws. 
 
 Prometheus-Browning. 
 
 I 
 
 What is so sad to tender hearts 
 As cold neglect where love is due? 
 
 What is so sweet as love that starts 
 Out of its tomb to live anew? 
 
 With many a smile and sweet good-bye 
 
 Our mother watched her children go, 
 And heard them, young and warm, defy 
 
 The years to quench their love's first glow. 
 Their footsteps rang along the halls, 
 
 They passed beyond the outer doors. 
 And then — the pale and voiceless walls 
 
 Looked down on cold, forsaken floors. 
 
 142 
 
THE FIRST DECADE 
 
 Fresh faces came and, young and fair, 
 Brought newer beams of radiance there. 
 Bravely and well they did their part 
 To cheer the anxious mother heart ; 
 To set the silent corridors ringing 
 
 With notes of rapture and words of joy. 
 That rise, like music-fountains springing, 
 
 Out of the soul of a manly boy. 
 
 So passed the time, while every year 
 
 Brought new rejoicing and new regret; 
 Our smiles are often checked by fear. 
 
 For warmest hearts can soon forget. 
 Boys passed beyond the outer gates 
 
 Into the living tombs of men. 
 And, spite of long yet hopeful waits. 
 
 They seldom sought her halls again. 
 
 They stood beneath cathedral domes 
 And bent the knee in priestly awe ; 
 
 They pored by night on ponderous tomes 
 That hold the mysteries of the law. 
 
 They swept the heavens with searching eye 
 To catch the secrets of the spheres. 
 
 143 
 
THE FIRST DECADE 
 
 They delved beneath the earth where He 
 
 Rich treasures from uncounted years. 
 They peered within this wondrous frame 
 
 That shrines a deathless human soul, 
 And learned how crude the childish claim 
 
 That man is free from God's control. 
 They charmed the ear with magic tones 
 
 That slept unwaked in silent strings, 
 And ruled their world from higher thrones 
 
 Than ever bore the weight of kings. 
 
 They walked through all life's devious ways 
 With deeds approved and songs of praise; 
 Yet was their love not deathly cold, 
 Nor youth's affections wrapped in mould, 
 And, while the years passed on, a few 
 Returned to pay their reverence due. 
 
 Then came a day, a joy-filled hour. 
 
 When, flushed with hope, that faithful few 
 
 Felt surging through their hearts a power 
 To bind the old and draw the new ; 
 
 To keep young lives within the fold. 
 
 Lest their remembrance might grow cold. 
 
 144 
 
THE FIRST DECADE 
 
 Attracting elders from grave pursuit 
 To smile at follies departed long, 
 
 Finding a voice for memories mute 
 
 To light the shadows with stars of song. 
 
 They met in love, they worked, they prayed, 
 And the wisest plans were fondly laid; 
 But they found no easy task was theirs : 
 The 3^oung have loves and the old have cares. 
 
 Yet look around ! the work they've done 
 Proclaims its worth from sire to son. 
 And thus we hail with well-earned praise 
 The veterans of those hard-fought days. 
 
 II 
 
 We, who have come in recent years 
 
 To claim this mother for our own. 
 Who know her as she still appears 
 
 With newer glories round her thrown, 
 Must feel the debt of gratitude 
 
 We owe our steadfast brothers now, 
 That, with their spirit brave imbued. 
 
 Our lives may deck her honored brow ; 
 
 145 
 
THE FIRST DECADE 
 
 May emulate their burning zeal 
 Mere earth and self to soar above, 
 
 Till every silent heart shall feel 
 The warmth of pure, undying love. 
 
 Our soul's ambition then must be 
 
 To raise aloft our mother's name, 
 Till all the world shall feel and see 
 
 There's something more than heathen fame. 
 For every noble thought expressed 
 
 In virtuous deed or pregnant word. 
 Will find an echo in some breast 
 
 With high resolve and holy stirred. 
 Yes, even the feeblest effort made 
 
 For Alma Mater's name and cause 
 Will strengthen those in arms arrayed 
 
 For God and truth's eternal laws. 
 
 For, duped by knaves and held by signs, 
 Men scorn their father's heritage. 
 
 And place within polluted shrines 
 Mere idols of the present age; 
 
 Make Heaven a dream of vistas broad 
 Where lovers hear the pipes of Pan, 
 
 146 
 
THE FIRST DECADE 
 
 Where man is throned, the only god, 
 And God is, at His best, a man. 
 
 The spirit of this age ! An asp. 
 With hooded eye and slimy fold: 
 
 This age, that teaches men to grasp 
 Each other by the throat for gold. 
 
 And this is progress ; this the fire 
 
 That was to crown the mountain height! 
 This is the clamoring heart's desire. 
 
 This is the long-expected light ! 
 It is not light. It is not truth. 
 
 But human passion, nurtured well. 
 That fires the rising blood of youth 
 
 And leads him to the brink of hell. 
 Oh ! there is work for men of brains. 
 
 For men of nerve, for men of prayer, 
 When minds are dulled by siren strains. 
 
 And fiends would crush us, if they dare. 
 
 A decade's work is closed to-night, 
 A decade's work looms fair and bright ; 
 The past is grand, the record high: 
 Shall we then idly wait to die? 
 
 147 
 
THE FIRST DECADE 
 
 Shall we not oft assemble here, 
 
 With smiles of joy and words of cheer? 
 
 Or must the chill of life's concerns 
 
 Blight all young effort nobly born, 
 And must the soaring soul that yearns 
 
 For higher things be laughed to scorn? 
 Not so. The work so well begun 
 
 Will bloom as opening buds that know 
 The presence of the morning sun 
 
 Before they feel his ripening glow. 
 
 Here we shall come, a growing host, 
 
 To Alma Mater's shielding side ; 
 To call her great shall be our boast. 
 
 To know her great shall be our pride. 
 And higher, holier efforts now 
 
 Must light the eye and nerve the hand, 
 To pluck the wreath from falsehood's brow, 
 
 That truth may smile on all the land. 
 
 148 
 
IN CONTEMPLATION 
 
The Flight into Egypt 
 
 Arise, and take the child 
 and his mother, and fly into Egypt: and be 
 there until I shall tell thee. 
 
 St. Matthew II, 13. 
 
 The Wise Men with their retinue had gone. 
 The scene that earth should not behold again 
 Was now enshrined within the wondrous past. 
 Rich gifts of gold and frankincense and myrrh 
 Lay all unnoticed, and the heavenly souls, 
 Absorbed in God's great doings, sank to sleep. 
 
 Lo ! as they slept, an angel of the Lord 
 Appearing unto Joseph saith: "Arise, 
 And take the child, and with His mother fly 
 To Egypt, and be there till I shall speak 
 Again to thee, for it will come to pass 
 Herod will seek and would destroy the child." 
 
 151 
 
THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT 
 
 Quick to obey that ever welcome voice 
 Joseph arose while yet the darkness hung 
 In heavy folds across the slumbering sky, 
 And gently waked the virgin heart that held 
 Even in sleep the tender lamb of God. 
 
 They lingered not, no golden wealth was theirs, 
 
 No train of servants to provoke delay. 
 
 But fled in silence from the sleeping town; 
 
 And Joseph, pilgrim-like, kept watch and ward, 
 
 While holding close and warm her infant son 
 
 The young queen mother followed through the night. 
 
 That night of nature veiled the watchful eyes 
 Of those who could have harmed them as they fled: 
 That night of God's sweet history still holds 
 Their journey safe within its secret heart. 
 
 What helped them on, how fared they on the way, 
 How long their travel, and who brought them food, 
 Until they reached that vale and narrow stream 
 Which marked the end of Herod's stern domain, 
 And passed in safety to the Land of Night, 
 We know not now, nor man shall ever know. 
 
 152 
 
THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT 
 
 The yellow desert sand rose up and whirled 
 Its blinding clouds about them, and the sun 
 Brought scorching heat to dry their parching lips : 
 The palm trees waved their solemn leaves on high, 
 The birds went twittering to their daily toil, 
 The tigers skulked about in search of prey 
 And lions roared amid their rocky caves, 
 Unconscious that their Lord was passing by. 
 
 Where did the weary pilgrims rest at last, 
 What occupation passed their exiled hours, 
 We may not say. We know but this, that God 
 Was round about them, and their hearts were full 
 Of grace and living light and sweet content. 
 Their night of suffering was sun-lit day. 
 And must be theirs who tread the thorny path 
 Marked out by Him, that leads thro' pain to peace. 
 
 Young lives will yearn for sympathetic friends 
 Nor dream of faithless hearts : yet, woe to say, 
 The dearest friend is oft the unconscious foe. 
 Lip flows to lip, and soul responds to soul 
 Through many a flowery year of youth, and yet 
 How fair we deem the counterfeit of love ! 
 
 153 
 
THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT 
 
 If then the snow white of the heart be stained 
 And generous natures warped to meaner ends, 
 And if the gentle sound of God's dear voice 
 Should softly come in fancied friendship's sleep 
 Saying: "Arise and fly!" what choice is theirs, 
 Except to seek the shadows of that night 
 Which hides men from the tempting eyes of sin. 
 Knowing that lost to all the world calls good 
 His grace will light the way and guide them on! 
 
 Strong men and women of aspiring lives 
 Have some long-cherished dream, some high desire, 
 Some dearest wish, some place best loved of all. 
 On these and these alone their hearts are set. 
 In these and these alone they yearn to find 
 The pleasing zest, the soothing, calm delight 
 And rest of soul forever sought by man. 
 
 If then the tender voice of God should come 
 By one who bears His message and should say: 
 "Arise, and fly ! arise, and leave the place. 
 The friends, the work, congenial to thy taste !" 
 What should men do, but lift their eyes and go 
 With noble speed? For though the poor heart chords 
 
 154 
 
THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT 
 
 Of human love and human pride should thrill 
 With trembling anger or with flushed complaint, 
 'Tis best to yield, to suffer, and be strong. 
 The eye is blindest when it seems most clear, 
 And God's blest will must not be crossed by man. 
 The heart's desire is not the highest good 
 For every soul : the sweetest peace on earth, 
 Even in pursuit of good, may prove to be 
 A wind-swept desert in the eyes of God. 
 
 The night to which the soul must fly from sin, 
 The night that comes from sorrows meekly borne 
 With trained obedience and hopes denied. 
 Is night to those alone who close their eyes 
 And trust no wisdom larger than their own. 
 
 It is the land of refuge — bleak perchance 
 And void of human comforts — yet it smiles 
 Both fair and warm with love for those who bring 
 The gracious Presence close in their embrace. 
 And they who serve with hopeful, earnest hearts 
 Are safer in their darkness, led by God, 
 Than in the day-dawn, by themselves alone. 
 
 155 
 
THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT 
 
 Their darkness is that dear Egyptian land 
 Where Joseph led his fair young Virgin spouse 
 A casket rare to hold their heavenly gem. 
 Thrice blest are they who dwell content therein, 
 Till stars shine out along the murky sky 
 And angels whisper low : "Arise, and come !" 
 
 156 
 
The Widow's Mite 
 
 Verily I say to you, that 
 this poor widow hath cast in more than they all. 
 
 St. Luke, XXI, 3. 
 
 Our gentle Lord had spent the morning hours 
 Within the Temple, where His thrilling voice 
 Had waked responsive chords in fervent hearts 
 And brought new strength to many wavering souls. 
 Calmly and firmly He pronounced the words 
 That brought confusion to the Sadducees. 
 With holy scorn, in strong, majestic tones, 
 He lashed their brothers in hypocrisy ; 
 Then sadly turned aside to rest awhile 
 Along the terrace of the Women's Court. 
 
 Three caskets open-mouthed were placed near by, 
 Wherein the faithful and devout might cast 
 Their offerings for the Temple. Seated there, 
 He watched the princes and the doctors pass, 
 
 157 
 
THE WIDOW S MITE 
 
 With fringes long and broad phylacteries. 
 Proudly they strode in haughty self-esteem 
 And gave their gifts with ostentatious hand 
 That all might see and mark and comprehend. 
 
 Absorbed in pride of power they dreamed not then 
 Of Him who sat, unnoticed and unknown, 
 Reading the secret of their hardened hearts. 
 Nor would they deign to turn a passing glance, 
 Except of scorn, on that poor widowed one 
 Who came with faltering step and downcast eye 
 To give her modest alms. She seemed beneath 
 Their lofty notice, for her garb was frayed 
 And must not touch them lest it soil their own. 
 What deep concern had they if two brass mites 
 Were all her living, all her hoarded gain? 
 What was her gift? An insult for the Lord 
 Compared with their much praised munificence! 
 
 They swept along and she was lost to view, 
 Despised and mean before the sight of men: 
 Ah! not despised nor mean before her God. 
 The gentle eyes of Jesus marked that gift 
 Which told its tale of sweet, unselfish love, 
 
 158 
 
THE WIDOW S MITE 
 
 And turning toward His faithful ones He said, 
 In solemn tones made warm by heavenly joy: 
 "Amen, I say to you, this widow poor 
 Hath cast in here much more than all the rest. 
 For out of their abundance they have cast. 
 She, of her want, hath given all she had." 
 
 Ah ! gracious Lord, what music in Thy words ! 
 What strength and solace to the prisoned soul ! 
 How sweet they are to many a noble heart 
 That fain would work great wonders but is held 
 In chains of poverty or circumstance! 
 
 He sees the path that leads to greater heights. 
 But some grim power holds him sternly back. 
 He yearns to lift their burdens from the poor 
 And speak the word of life to darkened souls. 
 
 He longs to have the wealth that men misuse, 
 Not for himself but that his hands might raise 
 Befitting temples for the Lord of Hosts, 
 Might bring the widow and the orphan bread ; 
 Alas ! while hearts are bare whose hands are rich. 
 His hands are empty though his heart be full. 
 
 159 
 
THE WIDOW S MITE 
 
 He chafes and frets because he cannot seize 
 The opportunities that come in throngs 
 To other doors. His generous soul is stirred 
 To indignation at the sight of wrongs 
 That hundreds could redress. Alas ! they seem 
 To have no fervor burning in their souls 
 And his poor, willing hands are fettered still. 
 
 He sends a message to the great blind world, 
 Full of high faith and glad expectancy. 
 Laden with wisdom from the fount of truth. 
 Rich with unselfish love for all mankind ; 
 His words ring loud and clear a little hour, 
 Faintly the echoes come from kindred souls 
 That seem to him like soaring mountain peaks 
 Along the windings of an upper range, 
 Then melt away : the roystering v/orld rolls on 
 As if no ear had heard his message, yea. 
 As if his lips had never uttered speech. 
 
 O noble heart, look up ! The Master's eyes 
 Are lit with love; His words are light and life: 
 "Amen. I say to you, this widow poor 
 Hath cast in here much more than all the rest." 
 
 160 
 
THE WIDOW S MITE 
 
 The pure, unselfish soul's desire to rise 
 To greater heights will bring its sure reward. 
 Silver and gold you have not but go forth, 
 Strong in the power and the name of Christ. 
 
 The opportunities that some neglect 
 May not be given to you, but yours will come 
 In God's good time. The wrongs you'd fain redress 
 Are known to Him and like a flash from heaven 
 His morn will break. The earnest word you spoke 
 Has found some soil where it may grow and bloom. 
 
 Nothing of good is lost. The widow's mite 
 Was small to men, but princely to the Lord. 
 Do what you can and be content to leave 
 The outcome to the Master's loving care. 
 Give what you have, the gift however small 
 Will be recorded in the book of God. 
 
 161 
 
Christ and the Children 
 
 Suffer the little children 
 to come unto me, and forbid them not. For 
 of such is the kingdom of God. 
 
 St Mark X, 14. 
 
 Our blessed Lord had said a last farewell 
 To that ungrateful village where His youth 
 And early manhood had been sweetly spent 
 In rare seclusion from the worldly throng. 
 His work was well nigh done and now, aflame 
 With love divine, He turned to take the road 
 That led Him on to agony and death. 
 Yet as He journeyed toward the crumbling walls 
 Of lost, but still beloved, Jerusalem, 
 With all the coming scenes of shame and scorn 
 Crowding so darkly round His anguished soul, 
 The tender heart was overflowing still 
 With love's abundant and eternal stream. 
 
 162 
 
CHRIST AND THE CHILDREN 
 
 He saw the rabble crowd with torch and club 
 That thronged to desecrate His place of prayer. 
 He felt the Judas kiss upon His cheek, 
 And shrank in shame beneath the fiendish scourge. 
 He felt the crown of thorns that pierced His brow, 
 And heard the frenzied shouts of beastly men 
 Who drowned their reason in a putrid pool 
 Of low desire and lust for earthly sway. 
 Yet could He turn with gentle, smiling eyes 
 To greet the trusting mother hearts that came 
 And asked a blessing for their little lambs. 
 
 Moved by intemperate zeal the chosen twelve 
 Rebuked the women with unseemly words, 
 But shrank aside confused when Jesus spoke 
 In strong and earnest tones : 'Torbid them not. 
 Suffer the little ones to come to Me, 
 My Father's kingdom is for such as these. 
 Amen, amen, I say this word to you. 
 That whosoever, simply as a child. 
 Will not receive the kingdom of the Lord, 
 He cannot enter there forever more." 
 Then laying hands upon the children's heads 
 He blessed them lovingly and went His way. 
 
 163 
 
CHRIST AND THE CHILDREN 
 
 Alas ! how often, with unworthy aims, 
 Do men debar themselves from light and peace ! 
 Absorbed in lesser things their minds are filled 
 With worldly maxims that can never lead 
 To aught but heedlessness of truth and love. 
 
 Some seek the lower depths and grovel there, 
 As if the pleasures of the sense were all 
 That man should strive or care to satisfy. 
 The velvet cheek and dimpled smiles of youth 
 Awake no yearnings for the old, sweet days 
 When life was blameless and the heart was pure. 
 These bring them back perchance to other years 
 And draw the cord of anguish round their souls, 
 Not for the innocence forever flown, 
 But for the sorrows born of long excess. 
 
 Some seek to soar above their early faith, 
 Its child-like confidence and simple prayers, 
 To reach what men have called a wider range 
 Beyond the limits of a narrowing creed. 
 Their minds are drawn by half-unconscious pride, 
 Their eyes are dimmed by what the world admires, 
 Their ears are deaf to all but man's conceit, 
 
 164 
 
CHRIST AND THE CHILDREN 
 
 And blinded thus, they fail to understand 
 The Master's warning words : "Unless you be 
 Converted from your sins, and so become 
 As little children in the eyes of God, 
 You shall not enter where His glory dwells." 
 
 Some gifted still with fond and faithful hearts 
 Are strangely heedless of those orphaned souls 
 That need assistance on their toilsome way. 
 Sweet words of truth, soft hands to lead them on 
 Out of the darkness to the light of love. 
 Their lives are faultless, yet they never know. 
 Nor feel a burden other than their own. 
 
 Bowed with the weight of His approaching doom 
 And torn with anguish for the crimes of men. 
 Our patient Lord could turn away from pain 
 And pause a while to bless in tender tones 
 The artless children of the trusting poor. 
 Yet some who make profession of their love 
 Where men may hear and see, are deaf to cries 
 That come from many a hidden, aching soul 
 Who seeks the Lord's own breast to nestle theie, 
 Safe in the warmth of that divine embrace. 
 
 165 
 
CHRIST AND THE CHILDREN 
 
 Ah ! many a heart that should be warm is cold, 
 And thus rebukes the little ones of Christ, 
 With those who yearn to bring them to His feet ; 
 While all in vain our sweet beseeching Lord 
 Holds out to them His white entreating hands 
 And softly cries in words of pleading love: 
 ''Suffer the little ones to come to Me," 
 
 166 
 
Feed My Sheep 
 
 He saith to them: Cast the 
 net on the right side of the ship, and you shall 
 find. 
 
 St John XXI, 6. 
 
 Through all the silent night their vessels lay 
 Rocked by the drowsy wave of Galilee. 
 Their net was spread but harmlessly it hung 
 Down in the depths and trembled with the sea, 
 Swayed by the waters gliding to and fro 
 And softly smiling at the useless mesh. 
 
 The moon looked down upon the reverent hills 
 That gathered round His consecrated sea ; 
 Now drawing close beside the water's edge 
 As if in love to touch that sacred wave ; 
 Now standing back behind the level green 
 As though they held aloof in sacred awe. 
 
 167 
 
FEED MY SHEEP 
 
 The ripples glittered under silver beams 
 
 And moved in burnished crescents toward the shore 
 
 To break in silence on the pebbly strand. 
 
 Hour after hour that dreamy night went by 
 Until the soft, white radiance stole away 
 Into the cooler gray of waking morn. 
 Their net was empty and with saddened hearts 
 They turned to leave the cold, ungenerous deep, 
 When lo! a stranger stood beside the sea 
 And saith: "My children, have you any meat?" 
 Sadly they answered, no ; and then He saith : 
 "Cast on the right the net and you shall find." 
 
 In silent wonder, yet with smallest hope, 
 They cast again and when the waters closed, 
 Such multitude of fishes thronged the net 
 As made them powerless to draw it forth. 
 Amazed, they turned to look again on Him 
 Who stood so calmly there. What man was this 
 Who knew so well the secret of the sea ! 
 
 Love gives a keenness to the lover's eye 
 That pierces through where other sight is dull. 
 
 168 
 
FEED MY SHEEP 
 
 So was it there. The loved and loving John 
 Turning to Peter said : 'Tt is the Lord." 
 Whereat the Prince in his impetuous haste, 
 Girding a coat about his naked loins, 
 Cast himself out upon the buoyant wave 
 And in a moment knelt before his God. 
 
 Hot coals were lying at the Master's feet 
 A fish and bread thereon ; then saith the Lord : 
 ''Bring hither of the fishes you have caught." 
 This loving service done, they sat them down 
 And dined together. Then the Master turned 
 And saith to Simon Peter : "Lovest thou me 
 More than these others ?" Simon made reply : 
 "Yea, Lord, thou knowest that I love thee well." 
 Then saith the gracious Jesus : "Feed my lambs." 
 Again He saith to Simon : "Lovest thou me?" 
 And Simon said : "Yea, Lord, thou knowest my love." 
 Then saith the gentle Saviour : "Feed my lambs." 
 
 Once more the Master saith, and this was thrice : 
 "O Simon, son of Jona, lovest thou me?" 
 And Peter, grieved at heart to hear the words 
 So oft repeated as if doubt there were, 
 
 169 
 
FEED MY SHEEP 
 
 Cried out in anguish : "Lord, thou knowest all things, 
 Thou knowest that I love Thee." Jesus spake 
 In tones of love the sweetest : "Feed my sheep." 
 
 The morning smiled along the grassy plain 
 That lay in soft green beauty by the sea ; 
 The waters that had lain serene and calm 
 Beneath the soothing stillness of the night 
 Now danced for joy because the sun had risen, 
 And sparkling with the fire of warmer love 
 Sent up their message bright of happiness 
 To greet the hills His sacred feet had trod, 
 His knees had pressed in sweet embrace at prayer. 
 
 The singing brooks dashed gaily toward the sea. 
 The palm trees bent to hear the whispering wind, 
 The vines gave forth their joy in odorous breath. 
 The lilies raised their chalices to heaven 
 And all things fair proclaimed that earth was glad. 
 
 Aye, earth was glad and heaven was lit with joy 
 To hear such gospel from the Lord's own lips 
 And know that man would not be left alone 
 To battle with the hosts of sin and shame. 
 
 170 
 
FEED MY SHEEP 
 
 That love divine had with commanding words 
 Made sure the happiness of countless souls 
 Who else had withered in the frost of days, 
 Unwarmed by sunshine from that guiding light 
 Which lifts our sinful earth so close to God. 
 
 Through all the storied years that voice divine 
 Has breathed its message from the Fisher's throne. 
 That voice is ringing round the world to-day 
 And breaks the bread of life for those in need 
 To heal the wounded and assuage their pain. 
 
 Ah ! loving Lord ! defend and make us strong 
 To keep that message warm within our souls, 
 Since failing this we dare not hope to hear 
 Thy words of welcome: Child, abide with Me. 
 
 Draw from our ears whatever makes us dull 
 To hear Thy Church that pleads for Christian love, 
 And bids us view in every child of earth. 
 Though blind and sinful, an immortal soul. 
 
 Draw from our eyes the veil through which we see 
 Nought but the sinner's crime, the beggar's rags, 
 
 171 
 
FEED MY SHEEP 
 
 And turn away in coldness from our doors 
 The weak abandoned ones Thy blood redeemed. 
 
 Draw from our tongues the sting of scornful words 
 That wound the spirit in the dawn of hope 
 And plunge the soul in darker deeps again. 
 Grant us to see with tender eyes like Thine, 
 And hear with ears attuned to gentler airs, 
 And speak with words that blossom in the sun 
 Of that great truth which radiates from Thee. 
 
 172 
 
The following notes may have some interest for a 
 few readers: 
 
 Page 53. Valentine Hill, at Yonkers, New York, 
 was occupied by part of the American Army before 
 the battle of White Plains. 
 
 58. The cornerstone of the new Seminary on Valen- 
 tine Hill was laid May 17th, 1891. 
 
 87. A statue in the Chapel of the old Seminary at 
 Troy, N. Y. 
 
 127. Rev. Bernard M. Bogan, Plainfield, N. J. 
 
 129. The Rt. Rev. Denis M. Bradley, first Bishop 
 of Manchester, N. H., was an alumnus of the old 
 Seminary on Ida Hill at Troy. 
 
 136. A visit Ad Limina by the Rt. Rev. Francis 
 McNierny, Bishop of Albany, N. Y. 
 
 138. The life blood of Rev. Isaac Jogues, S. J. 
 
 142. The Alumni Association of the College of 
 St. Francis Xavier, New York City. 
 
 173 
 
lii-lli