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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT; 
 
Nature Lovers' Poems 
 
 By 
 Amos K. Mehl 
 
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 Fort Wayne 
 Indiana 
 
December, 1917 
 
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 Copyrighted 1917 by 
 Amos K. Mehl 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 DEC 22 19!7 
 
 €)CI.A481081 
 
To 
 
 Elsie M. and J. Wayne 
 
 My Children 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Nature's Child - - Frontispiece 
 
 The Dawn 14 
 
 OldBaldy 23 
 
 Solitude 38 
 
 The Mountain Stream - - 49 
 
 The Grand Old Woods - - - 61 
 
 The City 73 
 
 Sunset ------- 84 
 
 The Surf 93 
 
 The Vanishing Race - - - 104 
 
 Autumn ------ 114 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 
 Introduction ----- 9 
 
 When Hearts Forget - - - 11 
 
 April Showers ----- 13 
 
 There Is No Death - - - - 14 
 
 The Vanity of Wealth - - - 16 
 
 The Passing Veterans - - - 18 
 
 Meditations Upon a Skull - - 20 
 
 Charming Days - - - - , - 21 
 
 San Gabriel ----- 23 
 
 An Evening Revery - - - - 25 
 
 To An Ideal Woman - - - 26 
 
 A Summer Shower - - - - 28 
 
 October Leaves - - - - 31 
 
 The Lonesome Pine - - - - 32 
 
 The Guard at Lindenwood - - 34 
 
 God's Trail - 36 
 
 The Mountain Lake - - - 38 
 
 True Happiness ----- 40 
 
 The Melancholy Crane - - 42 
 
 Winter Woods 46 
 
 A Dream of Spring _ _ _ 47 
 
 A Few More Days - - - - 48 
 
 The Stream 49 
 
 To My Baby Boy - - - - 51 
 
 Nature Sleeps _ _ - - 53 
 
 The Quiet Hour 55 
 
 Three Roses ----- 57 
 
 Far From the City - - - - 59 
 
 The Woods 61 
 
 The Boy That Once Was I - - 63 
 
Valediction ----- 65 
 
 When Leaves Lie Low - - - 67 
 
 A Dream at Twilight - - - 69 
 
 Indian Summer - - - - - 71 
 
 I Want to Go Back - - - 73 
 
 Eternal Peace ----- 75 
 
 When Autumn Calls - - - 77 
 
 The River 79 
 
 Time's Prisoner _ - - - 81 
 
 November Days ----- 83 
 
 Sunset Beyond the Lake - - 84 
 
 The Conflict 86 
 
 My Friend 88 
 
 When the Sun Goes Down - - 91 
 
 Song of the Sea - - - - 93 
 
 Life 94 
 
 Night in the Woods - - - 96 
 
 My Desire 97 
 
 The Chrysalis 99 
 
 On New Year's Eve - - - - 101 
 
 I Love the Trail - - - - 102 
 
 The Vanishing Race - - - - 104 
 
 Nocturne - - _ - - 107 
 
 By Fancy Painted - - - - 108 
 
 The Passing of Winter - - - 110 
 
 When Twilight Comes - - - 111 
 
 Days of Youth 112 
 
 Autumn ------ 114 
 
 I Dream of You - - - - 116 
 
 Sadly I Ponder 117 
 
 Prairie Lands ----- 118 
 
 When Life is Done - - - - 120 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 Every lover of the out-of-doors is con- 
 scious of the feeling of companionship in 
 the open. Is there any finer companion- 
 ship in life than that of the beech, the oak, 
 the maple and their fellow trees — any 
 sweeter breath in life than that of new 
 mown grass or any milder melody than 
 that of the singing pines? When we have 
 lost these friends for a time — perhaps 
 after months of life in the city — we know 
 what restorers of life they are. We taste 
 the full joys of their companionship when, 
 after long absence, we return to Nature 
 and renew our allegiance to the growing 
 things of the earth. 
 
 The city is a most lonely place; one 
 may travel for hours and not see a famil- 
 iar face, while in the woods or in the fields, 
 by the river, on the steep mountain-side 
 or by the ever restless sea, there are always 
 faces, bright eyes, laughing voices and 
 friends. 
 
 The voices of the trees and the grass 
 like that of old time friends, are filled with 
 echoes of the past. They stir our hearts 
 
 Page Nine 
 
with memories of years of fresh, dewy 
 mornings in the springtime of life, when 
 our spirits soared to the sky with the 
 lark; of summer moons when, resting on 
 the fragrant soil, we listened to the gentle 
 voices of the night and dreamed the long, 
 long dreams of youth. Byron well ex- 
 presses the idea thus: 
 
 There is a pleasure in tlie pathless woods, 
 There is a rapture on the lonely shore, 
 There is a society where none intrudes 
 By the deep sea, and music in its roar, 
 I love not man the less but Nature more. 
 
 Amidst the crash and chaos of the 
 temples man has reared the purposes of 
 God move on, and nature, His great 
 handiwork is undisturbed by the puny 
 struggles of the human race. Men may 
 come and go, kings hold the scepter and 
 depart, armies fight and pass to dust, 
 nations rise and fall, but Nature — the 
 work of God remains. 
 
 Let him whose faith is shaken by the 
 
 greed and selfishness of men, seek the 
 
 solace of Nature, for there, before the works 
 
 of God, he will see things truly. He who 
 
 loves Nature is near God. 
 
 A. K. M. 
 
 Page Ten 
 
WHEN HEARTS FORGET 
 
 When hearts forget and silver threads 
 
 Commingle with the brown or gold, 
 When we no more may lightly tread 
 
 The path of youth we did of old, 
 'Tis not familiar sight or sound 
 
 That makes us most to memory yield, 
 But rather some rare scent re-found. 
 
 Of Autumn fires in fen or field. 
 
 *Tis not some song or sweet refrain, 
 
 Nor whisper of the winds that pass 
 That start the idle tears again. 
 
 But rather scent of burning grass 
 Along some lonely country road; 
 
 'Tis this that takes us back again 
 To when we knew not of the load 
 
 Of weary cares and mental strain. 
 
 Old loves, old days, come back again, 
 
 And echoes of the past float down 
 The long, long way, until we fain 
 
 Would dwell beyond the lights of town; 
 Dwell where the vine clings to the wall, 
 
 And silent shadows come and go, 
 Where oft we heard the plaintive call 
 
 Of cooing dove when sun went low. 
 
 Page Eleven 
 
These ope the gates to Yesterday, 
 
 But Time bids we may only look 
 Where Memory points far down the way, 
 
 To cottage home in shady nook. 
 Where spreads a glory over all, 
 
 That wealth and fashion can not show. 
 From whence we often hear the call 
 
 Of Youth, but know we cannot go. 
 
 Page Twelve 
 
APRIL SHOWERS 
 
 The dainty buds are swelling, 
 While whisp'ring winds are telling 
 Of mystic life low dwelling 
 
 Where wait the lovely flowers. 
 The grasses too are sleeping 
 Safe in the warm earth's keeping, 
 But soon they will come peeping, 
 
 Lured forth by April showers. 
 
 O, welcome, April showers, 
 That bring the dainty flowers. 
 And weave the leafy bowers 
 
 Where nesting birds are calling. 
 A few more days to follow, 
 Then we shall see the swallow 
 Skim over hill and hollow. 
 
 From dawn to twilight's falling. 
 
 The merry brook comes bending 
 Around the rocks, descending 
 Until it finds its ending 
 
 Within the rushing river. 
 We love the wood's wild chorus, 
 When April skies hang o'er us, 
 And sunshine spreads before us 
 
 And praise the Bounteous Giver. 
 
 Page Thirteen 
 
THERE IS NO DEATH 
 
 Long ages gone some mighty power 
 Uplieaved the Rockies and Cascades, 
 
 Raised high Gibraltar's beacon tower, 
 And Hudson's rock-ribbed Palisades; 
 
 Such mighty forces active then, 
 
 Nor touched by greatest skill of men. 
 
 Reveal to those who care to see. 
 
 The language of all history, 
 
 "There is a God." 
 
 'Tis near the hour of midnight gloom, 
 
 A hurricane sweeps o'er the sea. 
 No moon, nor stars the sky illume. 
 The night is dark as dark can be. 
 The angry waves leap mountain high, 
 Make compact with the angry sky, 
 The thunder-peals roll loud and long, 
 'Till echoes sound the crags along, 
 ''There is a God." 
 
 With fearful plunge the rushing tide 
 
 Leaps down to awful depths below, 
 Where dreadful chasms open wide 
 Receiving there the endless flow. 
 The echo of the water's fall 
 Reverberates from wall to wall. 
 Proclaiming to the passing throng 
 That moves in wonderment along, 
 "There is a God." 
 
 Page Fourteen 
 
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In silences of midnight hour, 
 
 When all the world is slumbering, 
 And twinkling stars adorn God's bower. 
 
 Stars far bej^ond our numbering, 
 I stand upon the river's brink, 
 And in amazement gaze and think 
 Of all the truth that's written there. 
 The touch of mystery everywhere, 
 "There is a God." 
 
 The morning breeze sings soft and low, 
 
 A strain made of celestial parts. 
 And wafts Creation's poem, though 
 
 'Tis heard by only listening hearts. 
 Each dawn unfurls another day 
 And drives the rolling mists away. 
 Each rising sun brings life and light, 
 And whispers to departing night, 
 "There is no death." 
 
 Page Fifteen 
 
THE VANITY OF WEALTH 
 
 On yonder hill the rich man lives, 
 
 Nearby the ocean wave; 
 To needy poor he never gives, 
 
 No want he tries to save. 
 He builds his castle where he wills, 
 
 Beside some babbling brook, 
 Or on the sloping side of hill. 
 
 Or some secluded nook. 
 
 His gilded dome reflects the light 
 
 Of sun or moon or star, 
 To seaward he commands a sight 
 
 Of trackless ocean far; 
 Far as the human eye can see 
 
 The billows onward roll, 
 Across the wild and stormy sea 
 
 Just like his restless soul. 
 
 His faithful servants live below 
 
 In hut or humble cot, 
 At his command they come and go, 
 
 To toil, is their lot. 
 They know no joys, but weary, wan, 
 
 They only know to wait 
 Until the great eternal dawn. 
 
 When wide will swing the gate. 
 
 Page Sixteen 
 
Those castle gates may bar the poor, 
 
 And guard the rich man's gold, 
 But they will never be secure 
 
 Against a phantom old 
 That any day or night may call 
 
 And bid him ope the door, 
 And then to follow, leaving all, 
 
 To hence return no more. 
 
 Page Seoenteen 
 
THE PASSING VETERANS 
 
 Some fifty years have drifted by 
 Since shrilly whistled shot and shell, 
 
 When fearless men marched forth to die, 
 On field of foe, where thousands fell. 
 
 Full long and wild the conflict raged. 
 The Nation's heart was stirred with awe 
 
 While in the deadly strife engaged 
 To save our country and its law. 
 
 Where swept the surge of human tide, 
 In answer to the country's call. 
 
 They marched and fought and bravely 
 died 
 'Neath shadows hanging like a pall. 
 
 Then came the dawn of brighter day. 
 When silent was the bugle's call. 
 
 When war clouds lifting, rolled away. 
 And peace again reigned over all. 
 
 And as the surge of time rolls on. 
 They still keep falling, one by one, 
 
 Cares laid aside, they soon are gone. 
 Life's battle fought, the vict'ry won. 
 
 Page Eighteen 
 
Now few of them are left, and they 
 Soon all will sleep beneath the sod, 
 
 Will follow on where leads the way 
 To everlasting peace and God. 
 
 Pay tribute, then, where tribute's due, 
 To heroes brave who've gone before, 
 
 And the surviving veterans few, 
 
 Who soon will cross to that far shore. 
 
 Page Nineteen 
 
MEDITATIONS UPON A SKULL 
 
 What high reflections once took place 
 Within the shadow of this space? 
 What thoughts have had their origin 
 This dusky hollow room within? 
 
 Was it a master or a sage, 
 
 A noted ruler of the age? 
 
 Were they vast musings multiplied, 
 
 That wisdom scattered far and wide? 
 
 Have they swayed empire or swayed state, 
 
 And sat in council with the great, 
 
 Or only ruled a modest home 
 
 In cottage near the ocean's foam? 
 
 Many sights and visions fair, 
 Have flashed upon the mirrors there, 
 Of mountains high or prairies wide, 
 Of rosy tints at eventide. 
 
 O, the dreams that were that wandered 
 
 here 
 Of youth and home and maiden dear, 
 Of moonlight strolls among the trees. 
 And music of the rustling leaves! 
 
 Page Twenty 
 
CHARMING DAYS 
 
 Springtime has its mellow days, 
 
 Its swiftly flowing streams 
 That rush adown the winding ways, 
 
 Where bright the sunshine gleams; 
 Its rains come gently down. 
 On fields and hillside brown, 
 
 Yet frost may chill 
 
 While bluebirds trill, 
 Some days be dark, and frown. 
 
 Summer brings its golden haze. 
 
 Its flowers sweet and fair, 
 Strewn all along the wooded ways, 
 
 In rich profusion there: 
 And fields of waving grain 
 Spread o'er a wide domain. 
 
 And the sun beats down 
 
 On field and town 
 Till Autumn comes again. 
 
 Autumn has its yellow corn. 
 
 Its dim blue hazy hills, 
 It has its fair September morn. 
 
 That rare perfume distills 
 From fallen Autumn leaves; 
 Then dim October weaves 
 
 Its haze of blue 
 
 Till frost and dew 
 Make keen and cool the eves. 
 
 Page TtOenty-One 
 
Winter robes the earth in snow, 
 
 Sometimes a silver thaw 
 Will in the glinting sunlight glow 
 
 And thrill our souls with awe, 
 Then storms again rage wild, 
 Where once the sunshine smiled, 
 
 And clouds hang low 
 
 Above the snow 
 That on the ground is piled. 
 
 Indian Summer days excel 
 
 All others of the year. 
 Hazy hills — I love them well — 
 
 And meadows brown and sere, 
 The mellow days like Spring, 
 A few birds lingering; 
 
 Rich painted woods. 
 
 Sweet solitudes, 
 And all the charms they bring. 
 
 Page Tvoenty-Two 
 
The glinting sunrays low descend 
 And crown Old Baldy's snowy crest. 
 
SAN GABRIEL 
 
 I love the evening twlight clear, 
 
 The fading of departing day, 
 When bars of mellow light appear 
 
 Beyond the hilltops far away — 
 When length'ning shadows slowly creep 
 
 O'er quiet ranch and orange trees, 
 When stars o'erhead wake up from sleep, 
 
 And softly comes the evening breeze. 
 
 Alone I sit and silent dream, 
 
 Beneath the giant redwood tree, 
 I ponder things of life that seem. 
 
 And weight the cares of life that be. 
 Beneath the emerald drapery 
 
 There breaks upon my silent mood, 
 A note fine spun with witchery — 
 
 The throstle piping to her brood. 
 
 As thus I dreaming sit and bend 
 
 To catch the music of my guest, 
 The glinting sunrays low descend 
 
 And crown Old Baldy's snowy crest; 
 My drooping eyelids slowly close 
 
 The windows of my weary soul. 
 And peace enfolds me, brings repose, 
 
 Until I glimpse the higher goal. 
 
 Page Ttoenty-Three 
 
Far down below a valley fine 
 
 Stretches away beyond the view, 
 Orchard and flowers, and bright sunshine, 
 
 Beneath a cloudless Southern blue — 
 San Gabriel rises, spreading far 
 
 Out to the swinging, sweeping tide, 
 The sunset gates seem held ajar 
 
 As tribute to San Gabriel's pride. 
 
 Page Ttoenty-Four 
 
AN EVENING REVERY 
 
 I hear a robin singing 
 Where silent waters flow, 
 
 On topmost twig he's swinging 
 Against the sunset's glow. 
 
 The violets are blooming, 
 
 In spots of purple hue, 
 Beneath the trees uplooming 
 
 Toward heaven's sapphire blue. 
 
 A gentle breeze is blowing, 
 
 As soft as velvet down, 
 And rose-hued clouds are glowing 
 
 Where late the sun went down. 
 
 I sit and dream and ponder, 
 While shadows longer grow. 
 
 Yes, dreaming sit and wonder 
 What lies beyond the glow! 
 
 I sense a rare perfuming 
 Flung on the evening air 
 
 From nearby tree that's blooming 
 Like blushing maiden fair. 
 
 I hear an echo drifting 
 From far-off days of yore. 
 
 As memory's veil is lifting 
 From time that is no more. 
 
 Page Ttoerdy'Fite 
 
TO AN IDEAL WOMAN 
 
 There's a matchless beauty in sweet- 
 scented June, 
 When the rose bush bends with its 
 burden low, 
 And the mellow light of the silvery moon 
 Comes softly stealing to earth below. 
 
 There is beauty in Nature, yes, every- 
 where. 
 But of all this splendor nothing vies. 
 With thy innocent smile, and the sunny 
 air 
 Playing about thy lovely eyes. 
 
 There's a melody sung by the sounding 
 sea, 
 And the tremulous wind as it moans 
 and sighs 
 Through the rustling leaves of some lonely 
 tree. 
 Or the pattering rain when daylight 
 dies. 
 
 A marvelous blend of music I hear, 
 But none is so rich and tuneful to me 
 
 As the sound that falls on my listening ear 
 Of kind words said by the voice of thee. 
 
 Page Twenty-Six 
 
There's beauty of form and there's maj- 
 esty 
 In the bow of promise and twinkling 
 star, 
 In the eternal swell of the heaving sea, 
 And the dome of heaven, deep blue and 
 far. 
 
 There's dainty form in each flake of snow, 
 But no shape of earth is in such beauty 
 dressed 
 
 As that which Nature has made us know 
 By her rarest art in thy form expressed. 
 
 Thy faultless beauty, the light of thy face, 
 Thy low kind words and the voice of 
 thee. 
 
 Thy nature serene and womanly grace, 
 Are the light and the hope of eternity. 
 
 Page^Twenty-Seoen 
 
A SUMMER SHOWER 
 
 The noonday sun beats fiercely down 
 
 Upon the meadow, field and fen, 
 The butterfly flits lightly by, 
 
 Gath'ring nectar down the glen; 
 O'er meadow sweet and clover field, 
 
 Wander and drone the bumblebees, 
 The birds seek shelter from the heat, 
 
 Among the leaves of shady trees. 
 
 All earth a solemn silence holds, 
 
 Scarce stirs a blade of corn or cane, 
 Nor trembling leaf nor bough of tree; 
 
 The billows of the fields of grain 
 Have ceased to roll, have gone to sleep. 
 
 The mirrored lake reflects the trees, 
 And moves not pebble on the beach, 
 
 The wind and waves are both at ease. 
 
 Low in the west a cloud appears. 
 
 Near the horizon it's afloat. 
 Springs up a gentle western breeze, 
 
 A whisper from the winds remote. 
 Clouds, sentinel-like, go scudding by. 
 
 Now darker ones enveil the sun, 
 With swifter pace they sail above, 
 
 While deeper shadows onward come. 
 
 Page Twenty-Eight 
 
Hunters survey the heavens above, 
 
 Then shelter seek at cabin door, 
 Fisherman view askance the clouds. 
 
 And turn their prows to leeward shore; 
 The birds retreat among the trees 
 
 To 'scape the wind and coming rain. 
 And restless cattle wander near 
 
 The low gate of the long green lane. 
 
 A mighty rush and roar of wind 
 
 Is moving swiftly on ahead, 
 A flash, a crash, a deaf 'ning sound, 
 
 Adown the oak the lightning's sped. 
 Flaming swords cleave darkness through, 
 
 Heaven's artillery thundering roars, 
 Dark clouds hide the peerless blue. 
 
 And on the earth a deluge pours. 
 
 Now gentle rain comes pattering down. 
 
 And faster comes, and faster still. 
 Comes slanting through the leafy trees 
 
 And beating on the fields and hill. 
 Gleams the lightning's vivid flash. 
 
 Darting here, there, everywhere, 
 Reverberating thunder peal 
 
 Follows the wonderous flame-like glare. 
 
 Page Twenty-Nine 
 
Again the rain is past and gone, 
 
 Unfurls the west a banner blue, 
 While sun in silver puddles shines, 
 
 And all the earth again is new. 
 On yonder passing cloud appears 
 
 Elusive bow of promise fair, 
 The storm is fast receding east. 
 
 Leaving a cool breath everywhere. 
 
 The sun has passed beyond the hills. 
 
 The shades of night are coming on, 
 The radiant bow has vanished quite. 
 
 With setting sun it now has gone. 
 The lightning plays midst cloudy peaks, 
 
 Far to the north, southwest and lee, 
 Flashing among the misty crags 
 
 Like signals sent far out at sea. 
 
 Page Thirty 
 
OCTOBER LEAVES 
 
 See yonder sea of color gleaming, 
 A dazzling sweep of forest beaming, 
 A painted tapestry of wood 
 Proclaiming Nature's ardent mood. 
 
 A vast expanse of red and gold, 
 A wealth of riches to behold, 
 A grandeur of funereal thrall 
 That Autumn on the pyre lets fall. 
 
 Each branch and twig of bright attire, 
 Adds to the hilltops' crimson fire, 
 The sunshine streams in yellow tide 
 Through Autumn leaves and branches 
 wide. 
 
 The wind folds down to whisper dreams, 
 And hardly stirs the little streams, 
 The sky o'erhead of sapphire blue 
 Holds light of rarest gem-like hue. 
 
 This picture rare each year is hung, 
 'Gainst rare, rich mantle Autumn-flung; 
 It tells of life and death once more. 
 Of death in life, of harvests o'er. 
 
 Page Thirty-One 
 
THE LONESOME PINE 
 
 Why stand you alone 
 Against the sky line, 
 
 Far up on yon height, 
 O brave, lonesome pine. 
 
 Your foothold the rocks, 
 Where firmly you cling. 
 
 Defying the storms 
 
 From Autumn to Spring. 
 
 How often you've fought 
 The wind and the snow, 
 
 While others were safe 
 In valley below. 
 
 You sing and you sigh, 
 But not to be heard. 
 
 For no one is near. 
 Not even a bird. 
 
 You rant and you rave 
 At the tempest at night; 
 
 When Winter winds come 
 With furies you fight. 
 
 Page Thirty-Two 
 
The first in the morn 
 To welcome the sun, 
 
 The last to behold it 
 When daylight is done. 
 
 Sing on, lonesome pine, 
 Though no one be near, 
 
 Thy song is not vain. 
 The muses will hear! 
 
 Page Thirty-Three 
 
THE GUARD AT LINDENWOOD 
 
 The old elm sentinel-like has stood 
 Long guarding the gates of Lindenwood, 
 Saying to all who venture near: 
 "All are equal who pass in here. 
 
 "No rank nor class of any grade, 
 Can pass beneath my solemn shade; 
 The rich and poor who here go by 
 All, all are equal where they lie. 
 
 "Winds from the South will softly call, 
 Spreading a carpet green o'er all, 
 But as they pass they murmur low: 
 'All are equal who sleep below.' 
 
 "June flowers bloom for all the same, 
 Be they lowly or had they fame, 
 And softly breathes each tender leaf: 
 'All are equal who sleep beneath.' 
 
 "Then comes the dismal Autumn rain. 
 Beating its sad and low refrain: 
 'The proud lie low, their race is run, 
 All men are equal 'neath God's sun.' 
 
 Page Thirty-Four 
 
"Winter comes with snow and sleet, 
 Spreading its great white winding sheet, 
 And passes on with mournful sigh: 
 *I cover them all, the low and the high.* 
 
 "Great marble shafts may pierce the sky 
 Near where the unmarked lowly lie, 
 The elements sing on and say: 
 'All, all are equal, these but clay.' " 
 
 Page Thirty-Five 
 
GOD'S TRAIL 
 
 God's pathway, see, 
 Out on the deep, 
 
 Where the wild waves 
 Eternally sweep. 
 
 Deep in the woods 
 
 Silence is awe, 
 Nothing but God's 
 
 Immutable law. 
 
 A melody, hark! 
 
 Up in the hills, 
 'Tis but His voice 
 
 There in the rills. 
 
 Flowers and grass 
 Come at His call, 
 
 When He commands 
 Death reaps them all. 
 
 The strongest oak 
 Snaps like a reed. 
 
 When 'tis assailed 
 By hurricane's speed. 
 
 Page Thirty-Six 
 
The gleam of His sword 
 Cleaving the sky, 
 
 Illumines the way 
 When he rides by. 
 
 Splendor we see 
 Where'er we go, 
 
 In Summer flowers, 
 In beautiful snow. 
 
 A planet He flings 
 
 Into space far, 
 Changes it then 
 
 To twinkling star. 
 
 Over the earth. 
 
 Far into space. 
 His plainly marked 
 
 Trail we can trace. 
 
 Page Thirty-Seoen 
 
THE MOUNTAIN LAKE 
 
 Far up among the pine-clad hills, 
 
 Beyond the haunts of men, 
 Where evermore the sparkling rills 
 
 Come rushing down the glen, 
 A lonely lake lies dreaming on. 
 
 Serene beneath the sun, 
 Or cloudy sky, from early dawn 
 
 Until the day is done. 
 
 In bold relief against the sky 
 
 Loom spirits of the height. 
 Whose noble peaks point heaven high, 
 
 Where eagles wing their flight. 
 The pine-clad hills reposing nigh. 
 
 Are mirrored in the lake, 
 Where crystal waters gleaming lie 
 
 Within the circling brake. 
 
 The snow white lilies seem to sleep 
 
 Upon the silvery sheen. 
 Where only gnomes their vigil keep, 
 
 Where man has seldom been. 
 No boat has ever cut the sand 
 
 Beneath o'erhanging trees. 
 Where wavelets lap the lonely strand, 
 
 When touched by stealthy breeze. 
 
 Page Thirty-Eight 
 
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 3 3 
 
 3- — 
 
 5- 
 era 
 
An almost prayerful silence blends 
 
 With whispers near the spot, 
 And woodland solitude extends 
 
 Where ages are forgot. 
 The shady, wooded aisles are mute 
 
 And silent everywhere, 
 Save as they touch the poet's lute 
 
 To play a plaintive air. 
 
 When soft light from the moon so fair, 
 
 And quick winds stir the lake, 
 A thousand eyes are watching there 
 
 To keep the woods awake. 
 When both the stars and moon are gone, 
 
 And clouds blot out the light, 
 The lonely lake lies dreaming on 
 
 Through shadows of the night. 
 
 Page Thirty-Nine 
 
TRUE HAPPINESS 
 
 If you would find true happiness 
 Seek for it not in gilded halls 
 
 Amid the scenes of worldliness, 
 
 Go, rather, where the wild bird calls 
 
 You, down along the forest aisles 
 
 Where Nature on you kindly smiles. 
 
 Look for it on some eminence 
 Out by the ever restless sea, 
 
 There find abundant recompense. 
 For all that's been and is to be; 
 
 Go where the foaming billows roar 
 
 Unceasingly along the shore. 
 
 And you may find it on the plains, 
 The treeless, rolling plains of old. 
 
 Whose passing mem'ry still remains 
 A joy more treasured than pure gold; 
 
 The same breeze there forever flows, 
 
 The same sky often turns to rose. 
 
 Forget the strife and eager rush. 
 The avarice for gold or gain, 
 
 Where men each other seek to crush 
 For riches that are all in vain; 
 
 Dream rather of the country-side, 
 
 Far from the rush of human tide. 
 
 Page Forty 
 
What need you care if markets rise 
 Or fall, and other things go wrong, 
 
 To you belong the peerless skies. 
 
 The breezes, and the birds' sweet song; 
 
 Contented be in life's short span 
 
 And pity have for poor Rich Man. 
 
 The world has other wealth than gold, 
 Abundant wealth that all may share, 
 
 Vast treasures never bought nor sold. 
 Though freely scattered everywhere; 
 
 Accept them, and to your surprise. 
 
 You'll find this world a Paradise. 
 
 Page Forty-One 
 
THE MELANCHOLY CRANE 
 
 Down where the snowy lilies hide 
 
 Upon the slowly creeping stream, 
 Where mirrored waters gently glide, 
 
 And suiting well the recluse's dream, 
 Like some fixed statue there he stood, 
 
 In dreary wilderness alone, 
 No friends had he in marsh or wood. 
 
 Where oft he heard the sad winds moan. 
 
 Sometimes a purple, shaggy sky 
 
 Would blot the friendly heavens out, 
 And gusts of angry winds come by 
 
 As if to put the fowl to rout. 
 When dismal rains in torrents fell 
 
 And nights were dark as ebony, 
 Full dreary then that lonely dell, 
 
 Where once he lived in ecstasy. 
 
 When softer winds and sunshine came, 
 
 Like sifted swansdown, idly by, 
 When sunset skies were all aflame. 
 
 He still would only sadly sigh; 
 For what to him the fading sun 
 
 Beneath a glorious crimson sky. 
 When one day more its course had run, 
 
 And shades of night were drawing nigh. 
 
 Page Forty-Two 
 
Some years gone by his faithful mate 
 
 Had sacrificed her loyal life, 
 And since that time he'd come to hate 
 
 Man, who's forever seeking strife. 
 Some wretch, with murder in his eye. 
 
 That he might prate about his skill, 
 Ordained that she must that day die 
 
 To satisfy his ruthless will. 
 
 When calmly sailing through the air, 
 
 Above the world and wild morass. 
 He merely seemed a spectre there, 
 
 Like cloud-cast shadow on the grass. 
 As shifts the sun from shade to light, 
 
 Then swings again to darker shade, 
 So swung he in his solemn flight. 
 
 Above the world, adown the glade. 
 
 The noisy blackbirds flew round him. 
 
 When passing to the farther shore, 
 A kingfisher, on a blasted limb. 
 
 Was scolding him forevermore. 
 Like haunted spirits, swallow flew 
 
 About him, circling where he stood. 
 Then sailed far upward, through the blue, 
 
 Away beyond the marshfand wood. 
 
 Page Forty-Three 
 
Way down where shining minnows gleam, 
 
 And water bugs their trac'ry spin, 
 Upon the slowly moving stream, 
 
 Far from the city's clamorous din, 
 Where gay and gaudy butterflies, 
 
 Above the sun-flecked waters roam 
 And lightly float, for years gone by. 
 
 The lonely heron made his home. 
 
 The snowy lilies hardly stirred 
 
 Or rocked beneath o'er-hanging trees, 
 Scarce moved a turtle when the bird 
 
 Came dropping down with quiet ease 
 Through leafy tree-tops standing near 
 
 His home, upon that lonely shore; 
 All there was silent, gloomy, drear. 
 
 Harsh and wilderness, nothing more. 
 
 When Autumn winds came down the lake, 
 
 Another huntsman came that way, 
 With caution he crept through the brake, 
 
 Bent on the harmless crane to slay. 
 The bird spread wide his wings and rose 
 
 Above the reeds. A puff of blue. 
 His peaceful life came to a close, 
 
 There near the only home he knew. 
 
 Page Forty-Four 
 
O'er all that wide expanse of grass, 
 
 A death-like silence reigns supreme, 
 Now winds and sun and shadows pass, 
 
 Just like a dream o'er marsh and stream. 
 No more will know the lonely lake 
 
 (Where wildness only hence shall reign) 
 The haunting spirit of the brake, 
 
 The blue form of the lonely crane. 
 
 Page Forty-Five 
 
WINTER WOODS 
 
 The forest trees are bare and brown, 
 With here and there a clinging leaf, 
 
 The tiger-lilies bend them down, 
 With violets they've come to grief; 
 
 The promise and anemone 
 
 Are dreams of summers yet to be. 
 
 Below the shield of ice and snow 
 The little brook still rushes on. 
 
 Though cold the water there below, 
 It sings of sunny days now gone. 
 
 It murmurs a soft melody 
 
 As on it hurries to the sea. 
 
 The slanting light comes sifting through 
 The interlacing branches high, 
 
 A scream, a gleam, a streak of blue, 
 A scolding jay-bird flashes by; 
 
 The saucy red-wing's flaming flight 
 
 Flares just above the carpet white. 
 
 There's beauty in the winter woods. 
 And music in the lilt of streams, 
 
 Though Nature shows her wilder moods, 
 And land is traced in icy dreams. 
 
 There's beauty when the skies are gray, 
 
 As well as any other day. 
 
 Ptige Forty-Six 
 
A DREAM OF SPRING 
 
 My thoughts are of the Spring, 
 When rain comes dashing down 
 Against my window pane, 
 As musing there I gaze upon 
 The slanting, driving floods 
 That come in gusts, then pass 
 On down, across the field beyond. 
 The sun bursts through a silver cloud 
 And lights my heart to dreaming of 
 The myriad unborn tender flowers 
 In wood-lot and in verdant fleld, 
 And down along the winding brook, 
 I dream of scented lilac sprays, 
 And apple blossoms gladdening 
 Some sunny hillside by the way, 
 Where swallows swiftly glide 
 Like spirits through the air. 
 Across the field I seem to hear 
 The piping of a quail. 
 His prophecies of rain. 
 My vision paints a gorgeous scene 
 Of emerald against the blue, 
 A landscape stretching far 
 To meet the bending sky; 
 Behold, the Spring has come! 
 
 Page Forty-Seoen 
 
A FEW MORE DAYS 
 
 O see yon sea of glory gleaming 
 Through veil of hazy atmosphere, 
 
 And listen to the saucy screaming 
 Of that braggart jaybird near. 
 
 The other birds have now forsaken 
 Nesting haunts and Southward gone, 
 
 At mystic warning all have taken 
 Wing before the early dawn. 
 
 Comes again the silent reaper, 
 Harvesting the woodland gold. 
 
 The flaming red of vine and creeper, 
 Changing them to dust and mould. 
 
 And lazy rivers now are creeping 
 Without singing down the vales. 
 
 And weary winds seem almost sleeping, 
 Soon to wake to wilder gales. 
 
 The hazy heavens o'er us bending, 
 
 Solemn, silent and serene. 
 Make us think the sky's descending 
 
 Low to blend with Summer's green. 
 
 A few more days of golden glory 
 Ere the darker shadows fall, 
 
 A few more days ere Winter hoary 
 Spreads his mantle over all. 
 
 Page Forty-Eight 
 
HAMMER PLATE 
 
 The Mountain Stream 
 
THE STREAM 
 
 Sparkling and clear the mountain stream 
 Leaps down to the pool where shadows 
 
 dream, 
 Then hurries onward and down the steep, 
 O'er stony beds, through gorges deep. 
 
 It lends the power that drives the wheel 
 Of the iron horse and the spinner's reel, 
 Its slender threads give power and might, 
 And turn the darkness into light. 
 
 Slipping from toil in silv'ry sheen, 
 Through forest keeps and meadows green, 
 It slowly creeps then spreads more wide 
 To blend at last with the ocean tide. 
 
 The Stream of Life leaps wide and free, 
 Through dreamy youth, through child- 
 hood's glee. 
 Then hurries on to sterner life, 
 Down rugged gorge of toil and strife. 
 
 It bears us on past worldly gain. 
 Past honors void and glories vain; 
 Norjwealth nor gold nor song nor rhyme 
 Can|stay the onward rush of time. 
 
 Page Forty-Nine 
 
When comes life's eve and calm repose, 
 The placid stream still onward flows, 
 Until through age we dimly see 
 A glimmer of Eternity. 
 
 Page Fifty 
 
TO MY BABY BOY 
 
 Dewitt, my darling baby boy, 
 
 Has brought with him a world of joy, 
 
 His laughing eyes of heaven's blue 
 
 He stole from skies as he came through. 
 
 The love-light gleaming in his eyes, 
 
 Is starlight mixed with sweet surprise. 
 
 Such dreamy wisdom finds home there, 
 
 His smile makes all the world more fair. 
 
 His rosy lips like cherries are, 
 
 Slipped from some sacred garden far. 
 
 A dimple in his chin we trace, 
 
 Close by the smiling kissing place. 
 
 His lily fingers, wee pink hands. 
 
 No flowers rival from far lands. 
 
 So fragile, yet such perfect art. 
 
 To fill completely one fond heart! 
 
 Such chubby, tiny little feet, 
 
 Rose petals could not be more sweet. 
 
 Such little way from life's great door. 
 
 Just on the threshold where once more 
 
 The journey starts, as oft before. 
 
 The way must lead through hopes and 
 
 fears ; 
 What toll will take the passing years? 
 Now lying in my arms so sweet. 
 He only thinks he'll go to sleep. 
 
 Page Fifty-One 
 
Closed flower eyelids, down he goes, 
 See! lie is hushed in sweet repose, 
 My arms close folding him tonight 
 We rest content in soft firelight. 
 Tell me my baby, drowsy eyes, 
 What dream see you beyond the skies? 
 What do you find in that fair clime, 
 In dreamland, O, sweet boy of mine? 
 The eyelids softly flutter, then 
 He sails in Dreamland's boat again. 
 I lay him gently down to sleep. 
 And know that angels vigil keep. 
 
 Page Fifty-Two 
 
NATURE SLEEPS 
 
 Fierce and wild come Winter storms, 
 
 And gone are Autumn rains, 
 The frost engraves fantastic forms 
 
 Upon my window panes; 
 Clouds spread a great white winding-sheet 
 
 Upon the world below. 
 And piercing winds drive through the 
 street 
 
 The fleecy flakes of snow. 
 
 The trees are bare, the leaves lie low 
 
 To shield the flowers fair, 
 The blossoms sleep beneath the snow, 
 
 Close-covered everywhere; 
 The pond and lake are frozen o'er. 
 
 Unseen the river's flow, 
 No wavelets play along the shore. 
 
 They're sleeping down below. 
 
 To sunny lands the birds have flown. 
 
 Their nests are full of snow, 
 Their songs hushed in oblivion. 
 
 And only caws the crow; 
 The squirrel has sought his Winter home 
 
 Within the hollow tree, 
 The honey bee clings to the comb, 
 
 A drowsy refugee. 
 
 Page Fifty-Three 
 
Beyond the clouds the sun yet shines 
 
 From skies of peerless blue, 
 There is an end to all snow lines, 
 
 Though sometimes hid from view; 
 Beneath the ice the river creeps, 
 
 And shifts the shining sand. 
 The heart of Nature silence keeps 
 
 Beneath the snowy land. 
 
 Page Fifty-Four 
 
THE QUIET HOUR 
 
 Down by the babbling brook, 
 Beyond the haunts of men, 
 
 I found a shady nook, 
 Within a peaceful glen. 
 
 'Twas in the pensive wood. 
 Among the stately trees, 
 
 Where in the solitude 
 My spirit was at ease. 
 
 The flowerets smiled on me 
 By millions, many more 
 
 Beyond those I could see 
 Had greeted me before. 
 
 A little bird came by 
 And bade me linger long. 
 
 That it might satisfy 
 
 Me with its blithesome song. 
 
 The trees told all they knew 
 Of secrets where they stood 
 
 The long, long ages through 
 In peaceful brotherhood. 
 
 Page Fifty-Five 
 
Not once they frowned on me, 
 But with a friendly smile 
 
 They let me plainly see 
 
 To stay would be worth while. 
 
 A fragrant breeze came by, 
 
 From out the South somewhere, 
 
 And whispered with a sigh, 
 "The world is very fair." 
 
 When souls of men grow cold, 
 From greed or worldy gain, 
 
 I seek these friends of old, 
 To cheer my heart again. 
 
 Page Fifty-Six 
 
THREE ROSES 
 
 'Twas in the month of June, 
 Out by the morning road, 
 
 Where birds were all in tune 
 And laughing waters flowed, 
 
 Three sister roses grew 
 
 Adorned with pearls of dew. 
 
 They swung there, all aglow, 
 Touched by the morning sun, 
 
 "White as the winter snow. 
 But ere the day was done 
 
 No roses were in sight. 
 
 They all had vanished quite. 
 
 Upon a mother's grave. 
 Beneath a willow tree. 
 
 Whose weeping branches wave 
 And moan unceasingly. 
 
 One snow-white rose was laid 
 
 By hand of sad-eyed maid. 
 
 Another found its way 
 
 Into a dusky room. 
 Where on a pillow lay, 
 
 Within the silent gloom, 
 A mother's darling child. 
 With fever raging wild. 
 
 Page Fifty-Seoen 
 
Upon a harlot's breast, 
 To catch the lustful eye, 
 
 Another found its rest, 
 Where revelry holds high. 
 
 And dim lights yellow shine 
 
 On cheeks red- tinged with wine. 
 
 Page Fifty-Eight 
 
FAR FROM THE CITY 
 
 Northward from the busy places 
 
 Where the crowds go surging on, 
 Stretch wide, green, inviting spaces 
 
 To the woodlands halycon. 
 There the shade is sweet and restful 
 
 'Neath some leafy spreading tree 
 That bends low to give a greeting 
 
 That's all kind, to you and me. 
 
 There the wind so lightly passes. 
 
 With all fragrant odors rife, 
 Creeping through the slender grasses, 
 
 Singing of a tranquil life. 
 Witching sunbeams play with roses 
 
 And the shadows 'neath the trees. 
 Nature's god serene reposes. 
 
 Mid these scenes of quiet ease. 
 
 Evermore the waves are lapping, 
 
 All along the peaceful shore. 
 And the busy birds are tapping 
 
 At the old dead sycamore. 
 Little throats are madly singing 
 
 Melodies the whole long day. 
 Trailing vines are climbing, clinging 
 
 To the trees in flowery spray. 
 
 Page Fifty-Nine 
 
This the place for nature-lovers, 
 
 Others wander blindly by, 
 Little guess that round them hovers 
 
 Blessings that can never die, 
 Theirs to have when work and worry, 
 
 Drives them to this beauty spot. 
 Where no greed, or strife, or hurry 
 
 Holds its own, with God forgot. 
 
 Page Sixty 
 
THE WOODS 
 
 I love the woods, the grand old woods, 
 
 The temples built with God's own 
 hands, 
 The whisp'ring leaves, the nodding boughs 
 
 The murm'ring brook with shifting 
 sands, 
 The moaning winds through leafy trees, 
 
 Which seem far as the surf and foam, 
 The strange and ghostly deep retreats, 
 
 Old as the world and sweet as dawn. 
 
 I love the woods, the wide wild woods, 
 
 Where oak and poplar side by side, 
 Where bittersweet and twisting vine 
 
 Twine round and high to tree-tops wide, 
 Where squirrels swing from limb to limb 
 
 And hurry to the verdant dome. 
 Where dwell the fox and sleepy owl, 
 
 Where screaming jaybirds make their 
 home. 
 
 I sit beneath those greenwood trees, 
 
 And watch the shadows come and go, 
 I deeper in the forest tread 
 
 Among the stately trees, and lo! 
 Behold, long shady aisles I see. 
 
 And halls with frescoed ceiling high; 
 Then through the canopy o'erhead 
 
 I catch a glint of azure sky. 
 
 Page Sixty-One 
 
I rove along the rustic path, 
 
 Made by the Indians ages gone, 
 Which follows where their fancy led, 
 
 Down by the lake and then along 
 The hills, across the babbling brook. 
 
 Through hazel bushes here and there, 
 Around the rocks, among the trees, 
 
 And ending I can not tell where. 
 
 The ancient oak stands proud and high, 
 
 A monarch of the timber-land; 
 The red man's moccasin of old 
 
 Has made this trail I understand; 
 The White man's footsteps followed on; 
 
 But these are as the dust they trod, 
 But still the mighty oak bides on. 
 
 Bears witness of a living God. 
 
 Page Sixty-Two 
 
THE BOY WHO ONCE WAS I 
 
 While coming up the way 
 Along the steep incline, 
 
 My winding pathway lay 
 By sturdy oak and pine. 
 
 A leaf brushed 'gainst my cheek, 
 
 A resting place 'twould seek. 
 
 Its magic touch and breath 
 Brought visions to my mind 
 
 Of youth and age and death. 
 And all that lies behind. 
 
 Dim in the distance lay 
 
 The vale of Yesterday. 
 
 A lad was there at play 
 Near by the rippling rill, 
 
 Where golden sunlight lay 
 Serene upon the hill. 
 
 The lad, the sky, the stream 
 
 Seemed all one lovely dream. 
 
 The boy looked up at me 
 With eyes of wonderment. 
 
 Light-hearted, fancy-free. 
 He surely seemed content 
 
 To spend the happy hours 
 
 Among the birds and flowers. 
 
 Page Sixty-Three 
 
Nearby I saw a road 
 
 That seemed to lead below. 
 With eager steps I strode 
 
 To reach that Long-ago. 
 I thought to meet that boy 
 And taste once more his joy. 
 
 The gate was closed, Alas! 
 
 The gateman, old and gray, 
 Then said that I must pass 
 
 Along the other way. 
 My pleadings were in vain, 
 Said he, "No, ne'er again." 
 
 Then on again I strode, 
 Far up the steep incline. 
 
 Along the heavy road. 
 Beyond the oak and pine. 
 
 I waved a sad "Goodbye," 
 
 To the lad who once was I. 
 
 Page Sixty-Four 
 
VALEDICTION 
 
 The Indian wandered up the hill 
 And sat beneath the singing pine, 
 
 Near by the foaming, rushing rill. 
 The way his feet were wont to climb; 
 
 He sought the place where rests in peace 
 
 His faithful mate, beneath the trees. 
 
 Beneath the pines the needles spread 
 A golden carpet, smooth and fine, 
 
 A verdant roof they wove o'erhead; 
 Clambered the moss and wild woodbine 
 
 Over the mound and boulders near. 
 
 Within the rude enclosure drear. 
 
 The passing winds made low, sad moan 
 And swayed the branches of the pine, 
 
 A mournful dirge, in plaintive tone; 
 The Indian listening, sat supine. 
 
 He dreamed of forests far away, 
 
 Of his lost love beneath the clay. 
 
 He saw away beyond the bridge 
 And looking far as eye can see. 
 
 Low, rolling hills, ridge touching ridge, 
 Like billows of some restless sea. 
 
 Lost in the dim and distant blue 
 
 With secrets hidden no man knew. 
 
 Page Sixty-Five 
 
His lone, sad heart was stirred within 
 By reaches vast of forest old, 
 
 By shifting light and shadows dim, 
 And patches fair of green and gold; 
 
 By cloud-ships calmly sailing by 
 
 To unknown ports beyond the sky. 
 
 He rose and drew close to the mound, 
 And sadly scanned the forest o'er — 
 
 For many years his hunting ground — 
 Then disappeared forevermore. 
 
 All others of his tribe had gone. 
 
 Sedate he left to follow on. 
 
 Page Sixty-Six 
 
WHEN LEAVES LIE LOW 
 
 O hark! I hear a voice so clear, 
 That bids me seek the woods, 
 
 Where dead leaves lie and sad winds sigh 
 Through lonely solitudes. 
 
 A sun-flecked ridge, a rustic bridge, 
 
 A path that leads me far 
 Along the brook, by shady nook, 
 
 Where tangled thickets are. 
 
 The placid stream, just like a dream, 
 
 Flows gently now along 
 Its winding way, by night and day, 
 
 And sings its own sweet song. 
 
 Upon the brink I stand and think 
 
 How like the river's flow 
 Time bears us on, that soon we're gone 
 
 Where all the world must go. 
 
 How quiet now each bush and bough. 
 Where once was life and song. 
 
 How sad they seem, the wood and stream, 
 Where birds sang aU day long. 
 
 Page Sixty-Seoen 
 
The leaves let go their hold, then O 
 How gently down they glide! 
 
 The red and gold all turned to mould, 
 When scattered far and wide. 
 
 How calm they go to graves below, 
 With millions gone before; 
 
 A few more days and Autumn ways 
 Will close the mystic door. 
 
 
 Page Sixty-Eight 
 
A DREAM AT TWILIGHT 
 
 'Tis evening now, the day is done, 
 
 A breeze floats lightly by. 
 The setting sun, whose course is run, 
 
 Now richly paints the sky. 
 We're dreaming of the sunset West, 
 
 Far from the busy throng. 
 Again we see the mountain's crest 
 
 Where twilight lingers long. 
 
 The sky is blue, the plains are wide, 
 
 The wind is flowing free, 
 We're out to seek the joys that hide 
 
 Beyond the wide prairie. 
 We're weary of the rolling plain, 
 
 The rivers flow too slow. 
 We're out to seek the hills again. 
 
 Where rushing torrents flow. 
 
 Our eager eyes look to the height. 
 
 Where bald peaks upward rise 
 And eagles wing their steady flight 
 
 When fading daylight dies. 
 We see the downward rushing streams 
 
 Of waters crystal clear, 
 Where cascades leap and Nature dreams 
 
 Beneath the pine trees near. 
 
 Pane Sixty-Nine 
 
We climb where many a boulder cleaves 
 
 And peace flows like the wind, 
 Where cares fall off like Autumn leaves 
 
 And gloom is left behind; 
 Where spectral shadows play at will, 
 
 From dawn till close of day, 
 And echoes float from hill to hill 
 
 Then faintly die away. 
 
 We sit upon the rocks near by 
 
 And watch the waters gleam. 
 We hear the gentle breezes sigh 
 
 Through stately pines, then dream 
 Of other mountains far away. 
 
 Beyond our vision keen. 
 Where torrents flow and shadows play 
 
 Beneath the evergreen. 
 
 Page Seoenty 
 
INDIAN SUMMER 
 
 The halcyon days are past and gone, 
 The Indian Summer sun hangs low, 
 
 The golden Autumn days have come, 
 A crimson warms the afterglow. 
 
 The shocks of corn like wigwams stand 
 In dusky rows across the way, 
 
 Their banners flowing to the wind, 
 A sad farewell they seem to say. 
 
 The trees have cast their last leaves down, 
 To shield the flowers at their feet, 
 
 Have bared their naked breasts and arms 
 To battle with the winds and sleet. 
 
 The thistledown floats lightly by, 
 Like feathers from a flock of geese. 
 
 That sail serene on Southern seas 
 
 Where wintry winds can hold no lease. 
 
 The sky bends low to meet the dew. 
 The mist clouds rise to meet the sun. 
 
 O'er vaUeys hangs the hazy blue 
 
 When Indian Summer days have come. 
 
 Page Seoenty-One 
 
Like gossamer spun the myriad lines 
 That lazily float the azure through 
 
 Weaving the shrouds for the dying year, 
 From limpid lights of rainbow hue. 
 
 And unseen hands fling wide the doors, 
 And bid me enter, to rest at ease. 
 
 Sailing, sailing supinely on. 
 
 Would all the days were days like these! 
 
 Page Seventy-Two 
 
I visioned the wonderous sight 
 Of a city with pinnacles high. 
 
I WANT TO GO BACK 
 
 E'en yesterday wandered I through 
 
 The wood, 'neath the evergreen trees, 
 Where mingled the pine and the yew 
 
 To sing and to sigh in the breeze; 
 I saw the swift river rush by 
 
 On its way to the far distant sea, 
 I watched the birds heavenward fly, 
 
 And dreamed of the days yet to be. 
 
 I visioned the wonderous sight 
 
 Of a city with pinnacles high, 
 I saw in the glimmering light 
 
 Where thousands of people went by; 
 'Twas the sedulous mart of the world. 
 
 The tide of humanity's stream; 
 I saw a great future unfurled 
 
 To me like a wonderful dream. 
 
 I followed my phantom and came 
 
 Where the stream of humanity flows; 
 I came to seek riches and fame, 
 
 But knew naught of sorrow and woes; 
 Where millions are made in a day, 
 
 By those who are "playing the game," 
 Casting true joys away. 
 
 To harvest that bubble — a name. 
 
 Page Seoeniy-Three 
 
But I'm weary of toil and care, 
 
 Of the city's grime and its dust 
 That's forever filling the air, 
 
 I shrink from its greed and its lust; 
 From the slums of the city's dark ways, 
 
 Where illness meets sorrow and pain, 
 And I shudder at human affrays, 
 
 I'd give worlds to go back again! 
 
 I'm turning once more to the blue, 
 
 And I'm longing again for the sigh 
 Of the wind through the pine and the yew, 
 
 Where mountains to heaven heave high; 
 I'm yearning again to retreat 
 
 To a peaceful greenwood that I know, 
 Far away from the throng of the street; 
 
 It's calling me — O let me go! 
 
 Page Seoenty-Four 
 
ETERNAL PEACE 
 
 When "whispering winds at dewy eve 
 
 Came creeping down the dusky way, 
 And breath of June was on the air, 
 \ ^The world serene and peaceful lay 
 Beneath the Summer sun or clouds; 
 
 Far-spreading fields of waving grain 
 Shone brightly in the morning dew 
 Or nodded in the sun and rain. 
 
 The peaceful river silent crept 
 
 Adown the valley, through the plain, 
 By castles old and lowly huts, 
 
 Until it reached the restless main 
 Where great white fleets at anchor lay 
 
 Like sleeping swans upon the sea; 
 Rocked by the billows of the deep. 
 
 They rose and fell unceasingly. 
 
 From ancient towers the deep-toned bells 
 
 Rang vesper psalms when day was done, 
 And shadows slowly eastward crept. 
 
 As stars awakened one by one; 
 Along the busy, crowded streets 
 
 A multitude of toilers went 
 Their quiet way, no thought had they 
 
 Of aught but plenty and content. 
 
 Page Seaerdy-Five 
 
But direful change now marks the place. 
 
 The golden fields of waving grain 
 By mighty armies have been mown 
 
 Until the're all one bloody plain; 
 The morning sun is greeted now 
 
 By clouds of battle smoke and shell, 
 The deaf'ning roar of heavy guns 
 
 Again repeats that "War is Hell!" 
 
 The ancient towers now ruined stand 
 
 In silhouette against the sky, 
 And spectral shadows linger near 
 
 Where torn and ghastly corpses lie; 
 The waves of grief like mountains roll. 
 
 And storms of trouble fiercely beat 
 Against despairing human souls 
 
 That know not whither to retreat. 
 
 O bird of peace, come back again, 
 
 From out thy secret hiding place. 
 Dispell the storm and darksome might. 
 
 Come messenger of peace and grace! 
 O banish far the god of war. 
 
 And spread thy broad wings over all 
 This wide, wide world, from sea to sea, 
 
 Until we hear the Master's call. 
 
 Page Seventy-Six 
 
WHEN AUTUMN CALLS 
 
 The voice of Autumn is calling me, 
 I hear it whisper far and near, 
 
 The brook, the birds and crimsoning tree 
 All are beckoning, "Come and see!" 
 
 The golden rod upon the hill 
 
 Flaunts her plumes in the morning 
 breeze. 
 The bees are seeking their honeyed fill 
 Ere Winter files his long, hard lease. 
 
 The flaming sumach decks the hill, 
 Like tapestry the crisp brown grass, 
 
 And sings in minor note the rill 
 Beneath the crimson sassafras. 
 
 The spring winds gave these vernal birth, 
 The frost their glory did bestow. 
 
 The chilling winds have stilled their mirth, 
 Soon all will sleep beneath the snow. 
 
 The deadened branches criss-cross lie. 
 Entwined with many a twist and crook. 
 
 Brambles and briars, rank and high. 
 Grow 'long the edge of winding brook. 
 
 Page Seoenty-Seoen 
 
The thistledown is drifting low, 
 Sowing its seed for another year, 
 
 Floating like fleecy flakes of snow 
 Over the meadows brown and sear. 
 
 Suddenly starts the whirring quail, 
 Swiftly she flies beyond the hill, 
 
 Out leaps a frightened cotton-tail. 
 Then hides beneath the ruined mill. 
 
 man of wealth, you have your gold. 
 Your mansions vast with gilded halls, 
 
 But give to me the wood and wold. 
 That I may harken when Autumn calls! 
 
 Page Seoenty-Eight 
 
THE RIVER 
 
 From a crevice in the mountain 
 Bubbles forth a little fountain, 
 
 Pure and clean. 
 Down the hillside lightly tripping, 
 'Neath the willows softly slipping, 
 
 Quite unseen, 
 Quick it hurries over pebbles. 
 Sings in minors and in trebles. 
 
 Through the shadow and the sheen. 
 
 Then between the banks so narrow, 
 Speeding forward like an arrow 
 
 From a bow; 
 Faster flowing, louder splashing, 
 Fiercer, wilder, downward dashing 
 
 It will go. 
 Rushing round the rocks projecting, 
 To the right and left deflecting; 
 
 So the wilder waters flow. 
 
 Then again more slowly flowing, 
 Like a mirror shadows showing 
 
 Of the trees, 
 In the water brightly gleaming. 
 Like inverted forest seeming, 
 
 Roguish breeze 
 To the trembling leaves is telling 
 Of the wonders far down dwelling, 
 
 Where the river flows at ease. 
 
 Page Seoenty-Nine 
 
Deep within its bosom hidden 
 Tragic secrets never written 
 
 On a scroll, 
 Float adown the silent river, 
 Known by only God, the Giver 
 
 Of the soul, 
 He who guides the river's bending 
 From its source to final ending 
 
 At the sea where billows roll. 
 
 When the sun is low descending 
 And my life is near its ending 
 
 May it be 
 Like the river's tranquil flowing 
 On its last stretch homeward going 
 
 To the sea; 
 Calmly, gently drifting, drifting, 
 'Till the mystic shadows lifting 
 
 Show to me Eternity. 
 
 m 
 
 t 
 
 Page Eighty 
 
TIME'S PRISONER 
 
 Time bade me step within the door, 
 
 To search the realms of mystery; 
 But, turning back, I stand before 
 
 The portals of past history. 
 I try the door, it will not give, 
 
 I rap, I beg, but soon I learn 
 That I am but a fugitive. 
 
 And never more I may return. 
 
 Across the narrow hall I see 
 
 Another door, Futurity, 
 This side of that which is to be; 
 
 I hurry there, but woe is me, 
 'Tis but another bolted door; 
 
 I loudly knock, there's no reply, 
 Grim silence only, nothing more. 
 
 My anxious fears intensify. 
 
 With trembling hope I venture near 
 
 A window where the light steals through, 
 But find I cannot pass out here, 
 
 Since Father Time has barred this, too. 
 Between the bars I look and see 
 
 The Deathless Past go speeding on. 
 Until beyond dim memory 
 
 'Tis lost in dark oblivion. 
 
 Page Eighty-One 
 
There's no retreat, my sad heart learns, 
 
 All is a vision that has been, 
 My soul for fuller knowledge yearns, 
 
 But I may never enter in. 
 I'm locked within these unseen walls. 
 
 The Past is only history, 
 I ask the Future, silence falls. 
 
 The Present has imprisoned me! 
 
 Page Eighiy-Tu)o 
 
NOVEMBER DAYS 
 
 From the city I wander 
 To the naked woods yonder, 
 Then down by the river 
 Where willow wands quiver, 
 I dreamily ponder. 
 
 Far away is the swallow, 
 Soon flowers will follow, 
 The woods are all quiet. 
 No birds there in riot, 
 On hill or in hollow. 
 
 The green is now fading. 
 And dull is the shading. 
 The Fall winds are lazy. 
 And landscapes are hazy. 
 While Winter is waiting. 
 
 The hillside is blue in 
 The distance, the ruin 
 Of Summer is passing. 
 And leaves are amassing 
 In forest they grew in. 
 
 I hear the Days saying: 
 "We can not be staying. 
 The year is fast going, 
 And soon 'twill be snowing 
 
 Where now we are straying.' 
 
 Page Eighty-Three 
 
SUNSET BEYOND THE LAKE 
 
 A picturesque log cabin stands 
 
 Vine-clad, upon the beach, 
 A panoramic view commands 
 
 A wide extending reach; 
 To southward, dim blue distances, 
 
 To westward, lies the lake. 
 Far northward hills of dreaminess 
 
 Rise upward from the lake. 
 
 A few cloud islands floating high, 
 Rose-hued and rimmed with gold, 
 
 A heron slowly drifting by- 
 Out near the western wold. 
 
 From bending reed a blackbird's cry 
 Comes floating down the air. 
 
 Borne on a whisper breeze, a sigh 
 From some Elysian fair. 
 
 Rapt glory of the sunset skies, 
 
 Out by the western gate, 
 When fading daylight softly dies 
 
 And shadows silent wait! 
 Along the shore the glassy sheen 
 
 Reflects the crimson glow. 
 And visions of the trees are seen 
 
 Suspended down below. 
 
 Page Eighty-Four 
 
Before its final plunge the sun 
 
 Has changed its disc of gold 
 To one of rose, ere day is done ; 
 
 Then twilight skies unfold 
 A brilliant sunset curtain there, 
 
 A painting seldom seen 
 Save when Nature paints on air 
 
 A gorgeous sunset scene. 
 
 And thus the glorious sun goes down, 
 
 While shadows silent creep 
 Athwart the lake and hillside brown, 
 
 'Till all the sunbeams sleep. 
 The silver sickle of the moon 
 
 Hangs low against the sky, 
 Somewhere from out the dusk a loon 
 
 Sends forth its weird cry. 
 
 I watch the day-flush leave the sky, 
 
 Ere night comes in its wake, 
 I muse and sadly breathe a sigh. 
 
 While darkness hides the lake. 
 To passing day I say goodbye, 
 
 While dimmer grows the light. 
 And evening shuts the door and I 
 
 Bid welcome to the night. 
 
 (i^l 
 
 Page Eighty-Five 
 
THE CONFLICT 
 
 Will the dreary rain ne'er cease, 
 The raging torrent be at peace, 
 A staying hand the shadow lift 
 Revealing heaven through the rift? 
 
 Just yesternight the stars looked down 
 Upon the peaceful, happy town. 
 The lights shone forth from ev'ry side 
 Upon the flood of human tide. 
 
 The river, peaceful, flowed along 
 Beneath the bridge and busy throng, 
 In easy curves it onward rolled. 
 While chime of bells the hour told. 
 
 The moonbeams danced upon the stream, 
 Like visions of a happy dream, 
 A benediction seemed they like 
 Upon the homes beyond the dyke. 
 
 Today the swiftly flowing tide 
 Against man's work its power tried, 
 It hurled itself with awful might, 
 Both rain and river made their fight. 
 
 Terrific, wild, the battle raged, 
 'Tween man and roaring waters staged, 
 Fiercer and stronger came the tide. 
 Bushing o'er ramparts far and wide. 
 
 Pttge Eighty-Six 
 
The victors carried death and gloom, 
 Helpless victims hurled to doom, 
 No power of human hand could stay 
 The elements engaged in fray. 
 
 A winding sheet they made of snow. 
 And spread it o'er the fields below. 
 Then darkness came upon the wave, 
 And all was silent as the grave. 
 
 Page Eighty-Seoen 
 
MY FRIEND 
 
 As a boy, when turning the sod, 
 Or hoeing the corn and the cane, 
 
 I implicitly trusted in God, 
 A personal God, and humane. 
 
 Who'd lead me and show me the road, 
 
 And help me to carry my load. 
 
 Then later I banished Him quite. 
 As a personal being like man, 
 
 I banished Him out of my sight. 
 Not knowing the univers'e plan. 
 
 One morning I found Him again. 
 
 Thereafter my friend to remain. 
 
 That morning while roaming the street 
 I came to the house of the Lord, 
 
 And entered, expecting to meet 
 His people in friendly accord; 
 
 Dame Fashion was there in her pride, 
 
 But I saw not the Lord at her side. 
 
 From the Bible the minister read 
 Of the future abode of the soul, 
 
 Expounding his sermon he said: 
 *'The pious man's ultimate goal 
 
 Will be with the merciful God, 
 
 But not till he's under the sod." 
 
 Page Eighty-Eight 
 
The sound of sweet music I heard, 
 From organ and orchestra there, 
 
 But sweeter the voice of a bird 
 Floated in from a tree-top so fair, 
 
 Inviting me out to a world 
 
 Where Nature her glories unfurled. 
 
 From the temple I wandered alone 
 To the brink of a river near by, 
 
 And found there the friend of my own 
 Free choosing, whom others passed by; 
 
 Together we roamed over hills, 
 
 Through meadows and by sparkling rills. 
 
 Since then I have known Southern skies, 
 Have looked on the blue rolling sea. 
 
 Have watched o'er the plains the sunrise, 
 And have learned of strange wonders 
 that be, 
 
 I have sounded the depths of life's deep, 
 
 I have climbed pathways rugged and steep. 
 
 But never alone have I gone, 
 
 'Long pathway all dark or all fair, 
 
 Nor missed I the light of the morn. 
 
 For my true friend has ever been there. 
 
 Through sunshine and shadow we two 
 
 To each other have ever been true. 
 
 Page Eighty-Nine 
 
Our house of devotion? The woods, 
 The carolling birds for a choir, 
 
 Thus roaming the sweet solitudes 
 The heart found its fondest desire. 
 
 And peace was at home where we trod, 
 
 My friend and companion was God. 
 
 Page Ninety 
 
WHEN THE SUN GOES DOWN 
 
 A path of liquid gold leads far 
 
 Across the lake to where 
 The water meets the sandy bar; 
 
 Upon the evening air 
 Sweet odors come across the bay, 
 
 I idly musing stand 
 And watch the passing of the day 
 
 Beyond the sunset land. 
 
 Among the rushes near an old 
 
 Canoe lies on its side, 
 Black water beetles manifold 
 
 Around the ruins glide. 
 Upon a bending willow wand 
 
 A red-winged blackbird swings, 
 The swallows dip and fly beyond 
 
 The lake, on buoyant wings. 
 
 A swell comes gently by the boat 
 
 And writes upon the sand, 
 Erasing first what others wrote 
 
 Upon the shelving strand; 
 And oh, what memories it brings 
 
 Of days that are no more, 
 Of sunny hillsides, flowin>g springs. 
 
 And waves that lapped the shore! 
 
 Page Nindy-One 
 
I hear the dip of oars and swish 
 
 Of waves against the boat, 
 And standing there I longing wish 
 
 That I again might float 
 Upon the dreamy waves of youth, 
 
 When all the world was fair, 
 And I knew only golden truth. 
 
 And naught of worldly care. 
 
 A heron rises from the brake. 
 
 Quite near to where I stand; 
 My vision's gone, I'm wide awake! 
 
 Around me lies the sand. 
 The golden path across the lake 
 
 Is gone, has vanished quite, 
 My weary way I homeward take, 
 
 As slowly fades the light. 
 
 Page Ninety-Two 
 
The Surf 
 
SONG OF THE SEA 
 
 Surf of the sea 
 
 You sing to me 
 
 Of wild winds going by 
 
 Where lonely islands lie, 
 
 Rock-ribbed and bleak 
 
 From shore to peak. 
 
 O, sing to me 
 
 A melody 
 
 Of where the winds are mild 
 
 And oft the sunshine smiled 
 
 Upon the hills 
 
 And rushing rills. 
 
 Let airs arise 
 
 With sweet surprise, 
 
 And float far up the hill. 
 
 Through singing pines until 
 
 Your echoes seem 
 
 A dream, sweet dream. 
 
 Some early dawn 
 When I pass on 
 Beyond the sunset sea. 
 Sing softly then to me. 
 Of life and light 
 Beyond the night. 
 
 Page Ninety-Three 
 
LIFE 
 
 Like Autumn leaves we're cast upon 
 The passing stream of years, 
 
 Which flows forever on and on, 
 And ends in vaie of tears. 
 
 Serene we drift through eddies smooth, 
 
 Along the sunny shore 
 Of childhood and of happy youth. 
 
 As millions have before. 
 
 We glide into the broader stream 
 
 Of joy and hope and love, 
 Whose hazy shores seem like a dream, 
 
 Where blue skies bend above. 
 
 We pass into the swirling tide 
 
 Of selfishness and gain, 
 Where seething waters swiftly glide 
 
 Out toward the restless main. 
 
 Now on the billows of success 
 
 Triumphantly we ride, 
 Then down we plunge to worldliness. 
 
 Where vales of sorrow hide. 
 
 Page Ninety-Four 
 
Beyond this world again we drift, 
 
 To ne'er again return, 
 The veil between will never lift. 
 
 No more life's spark will burn. 
 
 Unseen our spirits upward rise. 
 Like mists above the wave. 
 
 The human soul that never dies. 
 Goes not down to the grave. 
 
 Page Ninety-Fiue 
 
NIGHT IN THE WOOD 
 
 Oft comes a call 
 
 At night from the wood 
 Bidding me come 
 
 To its deep solitude. 
 
 Moonbeams are kind, 
 
 Leading me on, 
 Deep in the dark, 
 
 Then they are gone. 
 
 Strange shadows there 
 
 By the old log, 
 Firefly lamps 
 
 Lighting the bog. 
 
 The hoot of an owl, 
 
 Calling its mate 
 Out of the wild, 
 
 Sounds desolate. 
 
 Night and the wood 
 
 Are kind to me, 
 They are so still. 
 
 So pure and free. 
 
 Page Ninety-Six 
 
MY DESIRE 
 
 I never loved the streets, 
 
 With walls up-looming, 
 Nor somberness that greets 
 
 Me in the glooming. 
 
 I love the arch of blue 
 
 Above me blending, 
 The green, the wide world through. 
 
 That's never ending. 
 
 I want the wooded glade. 
 
 By hill or mountain. 
 The cool refreshing shade 
 
 Down by the fountain. 
 
 I want to climb the hills, 
 
 To do my rhyming, 
 Up where my vision thrills 
 
 Me for my climbing. 
 
 O, let the sunlight through 
 The blue, wide spreading, 
 
 To kiss the morning dew 
 Where I am treading. 
 
 Page Nindy-Seoen 
 
I'll take my way along 
 A path of flowers 
 
 And listen to the song 
 Of birds for hours. 
 
 I want to roam until 
 I reach life's closing, 
 
 And then upon some hill 
 To be reposing. 
 
 Page Ninety-Eight 
 
THE CHRYSALIS 
 
 Abiding in the shades of night 
 
 Within a sealed and silent tomb, 
 Where ne'er a ray of welcome light 
 
 Steals in to drive away the gloom, 
 Within this suiiless chamber dark 
 
 There sleeps a lifeless, listless thing, 
 It wears no sign of beauty's mark. 
 
 But there life's germ is smouldering, 
 Awaiting vernal Spring, 
 For its awakening, 
 When it will fly 
 In yon blue sky, 
 
 On light and airy wing. 
 
 All powers of darkness can not stay 
 
 Its coming at the call of Spring, 
 'Twill burst its tomb, from lifeless clay 
 
 'Twill wake to birth with gaudy wing; 
 A thing of beauty, glad and free, 
 
 'Twill sail above the velvet lawn, 
 A floating flower of revelry 
 
 As lovely as the morning's dawn, 
 On light wing debonair, 
 'Twill wander here and there. 
 Like mystic dreams 
 Its beauty seems, 
 
 When floating in the air. 
 
 Page Ninety-Nine 
 
Then over garden, through the hedge, 
 
 Into the meadow, down the vale, 
 Among wild roses, over sedge. 
 
 Through spreading treetops it will sail, 
 Nor pause to rest but seek the sun, 
 
 As meant for naught but light and air, 
 Its course in ardent rapture run. 
 
 With all the world a garden fair; 
 We watch its roving flight 
 To dim and dizzying height, 
 And higher yet to go. 
 And fainter grow 
 
 Until 'tis lost to sight. 
 
 Page One Hundred 
 
ON NEW YEAR'S EVE 
 
 The dusky shadows of the night 
 
 Are settling over town, 
 A random snowflake in its flight 
 
 Comes drifting slowly down; 
 Then many more come floating by, 
 
 On light and airy wing 
 From out the gloomy, sunless sky, 
 
 On winds scarce whispering. 
 
 Large and fluffy flakes they are. 
 
 That look like swarming bees 
 As they come falling from afar. 
 
 To street and roof and trees. 
 A shroud they weave the dying year, 
 
 Then spread it on with pride, 
 And wrap the world, both far and near. 
 
 Its gloominess to hide. 
 
 The year is slipping fast away. 
 
 The midnight hour is near, 
 When those who love draw close and say, 
 
 "Here comes another year!" 
 The old year's gone, forever gone, 
 
 'Tis midnight now, and clear 
 The stars of heaven look down upon 
 
 The joyous, glad New Year. 
 
 Page One Hundred One 
 
I LOVE THE TRAIL 
 
 I love the trail, the quiet trail, 
 
 That leads me far, and true, 
 To silent, dusky twilight vale, 
 
 'Mongst hillside scenes anew. 
 Where Nature charms and cradles me 
 
 To dreaming of the days 
 When roads were only trails and we 
 
 Light-hearted were always. 
 
 The trial that leads me by the stream 
 
 Where bending boughs bend low, 
 Reflecting in the water's gleam 
 
 Their shadows down below. 
 Thence upward winds to eminence. 
 
 To where my view commands 
 A broad expanse, a sight immense, 
 
 Way out to shadow lands. 
 
 More wealth have I than greedy men 
 
 Who strive for gold and gain, 
 God's mine of wea;lth I seek, for then 
 
 I'll never seek in vain. 
 The air is mine, the birds are mine. 
 
 Their songs are given me; 
 So are the clouds and bright sunshine, 
 
 No matter where I be. 
 
 Page One Hundred Two 
 
I love the trail, the lonely trail 
 
 That leads me on again 
 Beyond the haunts of men who rail 
 
 About their worldly gain. 
 Give me instead the winding ways 
 
 Where sun and shadows fall 
 Along my pathway, all my days; 
 
 I count this wealth 'bove all! 
 
 Page One Hundred Three 
 
THE VANISHING RACE 
 
 A solemn silence reigned supreme 
 
 O'er all the continent, 
 Except the lilting of a stream, 
 
 Or call of bird that sent 
 Its note along the forest aisle. 
 
 Or music of the breeze 
 When touching vibrant chords awhile 
 
 Among the leafy trees. 
 
 Unnumbered geese their harrow drew 
 
 Above the western plain. 
 Where rank and high the grasses grew, 
 
 Nursed by the sun and rain; 
 Like hurricane the bisons swept 
 
 Across the prairies lone. 
 Then all again in silence slept 
 
 Where dim the moonlight shone. 
 
 God-silenced peaks rose to the sun, 
 
 Capped by eternal snow, 
 When twilight fell and day was done 
 
 The rushing river's flow 
 Made music where the rocks were rent 
 
 Asunder ages gone, 
 And roaring waters turbulent 
 
 Forever hurried on. 
 
 Page One Hundred Four 
 
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The smoke of council fires rose 
 
 Above the ancient trees, 
 The Indian wandered where he chose, 
 
 No red man held his lease 
 Upon this wide, wide continent, 
 
 'Twas all the red man's land, 
 Prom rushing rivers turbulent 
 
 Down to the ocean sand. 
 
 When rose the mist one early dawn, 
 
 Down by the southern sea, 
 Three ships at anchor lay upon 
 
 The swells, triumphantly. 
 They to the Indian visions seemed, 
 
 As there they rose and fell 
 Upon the waves, he never dreamed 
 
 That they would sound his knell. 
 
 From o'er the sea the white man came, 
 
 With scant regard for right, 
 He came in search of wealth and fame, 
 
 His only law was might. 
 He swiftly swept the forests down. 
 
 For avarice and gain. 
 Up sprang the gleaming lights of town. 
 
 And waving fields of grain. 
 
 Page One Hundred Fioe 
 
And ever toward the west they strode, 
 
 The red man and the white, 
 Along the dark and bloody road 
 
 That led to many a fight. 
 The white man followed fast upon 
 
 The campfires of the red, 
 Whose dying embers lit the dawn 
 
 For progress' mighty tread. 
 
 The highways blended with the trail, 
 
 Across the western plains. 
 Then soon along the shining rails 
 
 Came rushing mighty trains; 
 Great iron steeds went shrieking by, 
 
 Out to the Golden Gate, 
 Where on the crimson sunset sky 
 
 Was writ the red man's fate. 
 
 He's fading like the morning mist 
 
 Before the Summer sun, 
 'Tis hopeless for him to resist 
 
 The white man's brain and gun; 
 Forever driven from place to place, 
 
 On to the western shore, 
 A weary, wandering, dying race 
 
 That soon will be no more. 
 
 Page One Hundred Six 
 
NOCTURNE 
 
 The river is lapping the sand 
 
 By the shelving shore, 
 
 Near a path that's leading me on 
 
 Through shadowy ways ; 
 
 The sough of the wind I hear 
 
 Like the far away sea. 
 
 The dome of heaven is hung 
 
 With lanterns of stars 
 
 That sparkle and twinkle up there 
 
 In the deep blue void. 
 
 The hoot of an owl I hear 
 
 Far off to the south; 
 
 All else is silence and awe, 
 
 Save the bay of a hound 
 
 That howls at the face of the moon 
 
 That's watching me from 
 
 The silvery hills of a cloud. 
 
 There, away to the east. 
 
 Solemn and vast lies before me 
 
 The slumbering world. 
 
 Page One Hundred Seven 
 
BY FANCY PAINTED 
 
 I'm in my hut alone tonight 
 Where all is dark, except the light 
 That steals in through the half -closed door, 
 Where moonbeams fall upon the floor. 
 My eyes see not and yet I see 
 A landscape most appealingly. 
 Upon a hill not high, not far, 
 The singing pines about me are; 
 To east it slopes, to vale below, 
 Where deeper shadows come and go; 
 Then farther down the foothills be 
 That heave like billows of the sea, 
 Until they meet the bending sky 
 Far out where lonely prairies lie. 
 A stream comes to my view and then 
 Is lost, but found to lose again. 
 The pensive beauty of those hills 
 Enthralls me with a joy that fills 
 My very soul with rapture sweet, 
 Thus making life seem more complete. 
 To westward, toward the sunset sky, 
 Imposing peaks point heaven high. 
 
 I— — I 
 
 Page One Hundred Eight 
 
I stand and gaze up at the height 
 Where snowy crests gleam on my sight; 
 A gorgeous painting I behold, 
 There by the sunset gates of gold! 
 There is an air about those heights 
 That charms my inner self and lights 
 The chambers of my weary soul 
 To seeking hence a higher goal. 
 My mood of exultation thrills 
 My purer, inner self and fills 
 My mind with thoughts without alloy. 
 And all the seriousness of joy. 
 I want to think, to freely breathe 
 The inspiration there beneath 
 Those noble peaks that kiss the sky 
 Where sunset's splendor's loath to die. 
 I want to dream, to be alone, 
 Where Silence speaks in undertone. 
 I gaze on forest depths below, 
 Then up to where the heavens glow, 
 I view the hazy, solemn heights 
 While passing day in glory lights 
 The splendor of the mountain tops. 
 
 A light tap at my cabin door. 
 
 The won'drous landscape is no more! 
 
 Page One Hundred Nine 
 
THE PASSING OF WINTER 
 
 There is a sound beneath the ground 
 Where sleep the lowly flowers, 
 
 They feel the rays of sunny days 
 Or hear the welcome showers 
 
 That come to call them, one and all, 
 To crown this world of ours. 
 
 Each day the sun his course will run 
 
 Across the heavens higher. 
 And drive the cold from out the wold 
 
 As Spring is drawing nigher. 
 Chill days must go, and this we know, 
 
 When Winter winds retire. 
 
 Some early dawn will burst upon 
 My sight a wond'rous glory 
 
 Of bird on wing and winds that bring 
 Death to old Winter hoary. 
 
 Then up the stream like golden gleam 
 Will swiftly dart the dory. 
 
 The joys of earth will spring to birth 
 
 On hillside and in hollow, 
 I think of then how down the glen 
 
 Will swiftly sweep the swallow. 
 And how I long for wood and song, 
 
 Those brighter days to follow! 
 
 Page One Hundred Ten 
 
WHEN TWILIGHT COMES 
 
 When twilight gathers on the hills, 
 
 Descends upon the quiet woods, 
 Dark vistas of the forest gloom 
 
 Are peopled then with phantom moods. 
 The daylight fades and shadows creep, 
 
 The stars come out, the moon rides by, 
 They tell of darkness deeper still, 
 
 While o'er the leaves the night-winds 
 sigh. 
 
 From forest depths and mountain side 
 
 Come myriad voices of the night 
 To softly blend with evening hymn 
 
 That floats to nearby dusky height. 
 Clear above these low-breathed tones 
 
 Comes plaintive call of whip-poor-will. 
 The bats like ghostly spirits flit 
 
 Among the trees on yonder hill. 
 
 Gone are the brook and forest aisles, 
 The woodland music, leaf and bird, 
 Close in a city my heart yearns 
 - For Nature's voices once oft heard, 
 To roam once more in forest shade. 
 
 Far from the turmoil to abide. 
 To sleep at last by river's brink, 
 
 Or 'neath the trees on loved hillside. 
 
 Page One Hundred Eleoen 
 
DAYS OF YOUTH 
 
 Days of Youth, O Days of Youth, 
 Long since you have passed by, 
 
 1 dream of you by day and night, 
 And breathe for you a sigh, 
 
 For drifting far you are more dear 
 
 As shining stars on high 
 More radiant seem though far away, 
 
 More treasured than if nigh. 
 
 O Days of Youth, bright days of Youth, 
 
 I long for you tonight, 
 Come back to me from the dim past, 
 
 Turn back, O stop your flight; 
 Bring back those care-free happy hours, 
 
 Green fields and babbling brook, 
 And all the other priceless joys 
 
 With dreaming days you took. 
 
 Days of Youth, past Days of Youth, 
 When memory bids me look 
 
 1 see the hills and meadows green 
 
 Beyond where runs the brook; 
 The trees glassed in its tranquil flow, 
 
 And still beyond, the lake. 
 Where dips and curves the graceful swift, 
 
 And ducks glide midst the brake. 
 
 Page One Hundred Twelve 
 
O Days of Youth, glad Days of Youth, 
 
 There are no flowers now 
 That bloom as fair as they did then; 
 
 In orchard every bough 
 Gave forth rare perfume not found since, 
 
 A myriad flowers then 
 Spread o'er the woodland, hill and field, 
 
 Made Paradise of fen. 
 
 O Days of Youth, blithe Days of Youth, 
 
 I hear, or seem to hear 
 The cricket and the katydid 
 
 In shady thicket near; 
 No music now is half so sweet 
 
 As this, and song of bird. 
 Before you left and took with you 
 
 The sweetest music heard. 
 
 O Days of Youth, flown Days of Youth, 
 
 They're gone, forever gone! 
 They heeded not my plaintive call, 
 
 But drifted calmly on 
 Like shadows of a lovely dream 
 
 I never more shall see. 
 Except in dreamy visions dim. 
 
 Dead days so dear to me! 
 
 Page One Hundred Thirteen 
 
AUTUMN 
 
 O Autumn, bringing with you death 
 
 And sadness — ^for all things must die! 
 You lightly touch with magic breath 
 
 The fields, the woods and pathless sky; 
 The maple trees are burning bright, 
 
 The poplars wear a crown of gold, 
 A whisper wind comes very light 
 
 And bids the leaves let go their hold. 
 
 O twilight of the dying year. 
 
 When golden dreams again set sail 
 From out the tremulous atmosphere. 
 
 And languor's fine-spun velvet veil 
 Lifts to reveal a heavenly bower. 
 
 When lonely silence fills the wood. 
 With here and there an exile flower 
 
 Where once a thousand comrades stood. 
 
 No longer sing the merry birds 
 
 From leafy bough and tangled brake, 
 The breeze is writing liquid words 
 
 Upon the surface of the lake 
 That in the writing quickly sink 
 
 Into the shadows of the deep, 
 The passes onward toward the brink 
 
 And bids the lilies "Go to sleep." 
 
 Page One Hundred Fourteen 
 
O give me Autumn's pensive haze, 
 
 When wakes again some olden dream, 
 A golden thread through all the days, 
 
 A song that's sung by lake and stream. 
 O Autumn beautiful, sublime 
 
 That I might thy companion be. 
 While drifting down the stream of Time, 
 
 Until I'd reach the endless sea! 
 
 Page One Hundred Fifteen 
 
I DREAM OF YOU 
 
 Deep azure eyes and auburn hair, 
 A bosom like the lilies fair, 
 
 Adorned with gleaming pearls, 
 A heart divine and ever true, 
 I dream of you, love, often do, 
 
 When morn the day unfurls. 
 
 When brambles bearing load of care 
 Spring 'long my pathway everywhere, 
 
 When threat'ning clouds hang low. 
 When thoughtless hand blots out the blue, 
 I dream of you, love, yes I do, 
 
 When all seems dark below. 
 
 As through this weary world I roam, 
 Now near, now far away from home. 
 
 Throughout the country wide. 
 Or when I'm sailing on the blue, 
 I dream of you, love, ever true. 
 
 While drifting with the tide. 
 
 When twilight fades and winds repose, 
 And clouds are tinted like a rose. 
 
 Comes sadness uncontrolled. 
 And brings fond memories of you, 
 I dream of you then, yes I do, 
 
 A sunny dream all gold. 
 
 Page One Hundred Sixteen 
 
SADLY I PONDER 
 
 How sadly I ponder 
 When gazing at yonder 
 Rich forest leaves turning 
 And flaming and burning 
 The Autumn sky under. 
 
 The wild wold is calling 
 Me down where the falling 
 Leaves rustle and scatter, 
 I hear the birds chatter 
 Where blue jays are calling. 
 
 Now gone are the lilies, 
 Way down where the rill is 
 Asleep 'neath the ruin 
 Of grassed, and blue in 
 The distance the hill is. 
 
 A mild breeze is blowing, 
 Wihile thistles are sowing 
 Their seed in the lowlands 
 On guard every tree stands; 
 How soon 'twill be snowing! 
 
 Page One Hundred Seventeen 
 
PRAIRIE LANDS 
 
 The glories of the plains of old, 
 Like that of Ichabod are gone, 
 
 Save in the far Northwest, we're told. 
 Are miles of prairies stretching on. 
 
 A land ne'er trod by hoof iron-shod. 
 Nor touched by steel of plow or hoe; 
 
 True prairie grass above the sod. 
 Is waving ever to and fro. 
 
 Within those grand old hills, away 
 Beyond the dim horizon blue, 
 
 Are dreams held of another day. 
 
 When all the world was wild and new. 
 
 When western heavens were aflame, 
 And slowly went the red sun down, 
 
 The bison by the thousands came, 
 
 Like warriors bold, in black and brown. 
 
 The frightened deer or antelope. 
 
 With gray wolves fast upon their trail. 
 
 Came rushing down the bracken slope, 
 Through shadows dim and moonlight 
 pale. 
 
 Page One Hundred Eighteen 
 
In Spring was heard the rush of wings 
 Of water-fowl, by marsh and bay, 
 
 Like far and distant thundering 
 Before a storm on Summer's day. 
 
 The beaver built in creek or lake, 
 
 The sly fox prowled along the shore, 
 
 The prairie-hen rose from the brake, 
 Those distant days that are no more. 
 
 Eternal change, as years roll on, 
 The bison, wolf and timid deer 
 
 Have vanished, are forever gone. 
 Far, far beyond those prairies sere. 
 
 The ceaseless winds forever flow 
 Across the dreamy landscape there. 
 
 They wave the tall grass to and fro 
 As though in search of treasurer rare. 
 
 For many changeless miles they come 
 Across the plains, with odors rare 
 
 Of grasses, flowers and resin-gum, 
 Then pass on to we know not where. 
 
 The thought comes to us as we scan 
 The land brave pioneers trod, 
 
 "How insignificant is man. 
 
 How absolute the might God!" 
 
 Page One Hundred Nineteen 
 
WHEN LIFE IS DONE 
 
 Low in the West 
 The crimson sun 
 
 Is passing now, 
 The day is done. 
 
 Oft have I watched 
 
 The sunset die 
 Beyond the hills 
 
 As night drew nigh. 
 
 How many more 
 Years will it be, 
 
 Before its course 
 Has run for me? 
 
 What will betide 
 
 Twixt now and days 
 When last I'll see 
 
 Its dying rays? 
 
 I do not care, 
 
 I would not know 
 I only would 
 
 That I might go 
 
 Serenly like 
 
 The sinking sun, 
 As I pass out 
 
 When life is done. 
 
 Page One Hundred Twenty 
 
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