\i)^i>f POEMS ERNEST POWELL Class TS Si^ Book Coipghtl^?^ ^'S^ 5 i 3 \ COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. POEMS ERNEST POWELL BOSTON RICHARD G. BADGER I 9 I o COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY ERNEST POWELL All rights reserved 1^1" The Gorham Press, Boston, U.S.A. ©CI.A25:iG5ii CONTENTS My Poems 9 Joy of Life 10 Earth Song 12 They Also Serve Who Only Stand and Wait. 13 Lines to a VioHn 14 Life 16 Motto for the New Century 18 Sabine Boat Song 19 Christmas Morn — Improvisation 20 At the Organ 21 From the Organ Loft 22 Man 24 To Fate 27 Perseverance 28 Friendship 29 To Sidney Lanier 30 To Henry Timrod 31 To Elwood 32 To a Young Girl 33 September 34 Austin 35 Lines to an Organist 38 To Inez 39 Spring 40 At Sunrise— Matins . 42 At Sunset — Vespers 43 Roses 44 3 Lines to My Violoncello 45 Austin Days 47 Song for the New Year 48 Resolution 49 My Star 50 Song 51 Austin Blue-bonnets 52 Mexican Home Song 54 To 56 Opportunity 57 Home V 58 Christmas Morn 59 New Year 61 Song of Trust 62 The Bluebird 6S A Gift 64 My Brothers 65 To the Mockingbird 67 Easter Morn 68 A Rose from Athens 70 Prophecy of Hope 72 From my Window 73 Boy 74 To the Southland 75 Song 78 Sing On 79 Lines to Beauty 80 Lines 82 Album Leaf 83 Song of the Imprisoned Bard 84 To a Young Girl 86 4 Suppose 87 Honeysuckle 88 How a Great and Good Man Lives 89 Southern Nocturne 90 A Secret 92 Night 93 Heart of Mine 94 A Birthday Poem 96 Song 97 Dear Heart 98 Memory f 99 June 100 High Noon 101 A Nocturne 102 To 103 My Creed 104 Autumn Violets 105 To Inez 106 To My Harp * . 107 Autumn Violets 108 Juliette 109 My Poet 110 Love Song 112 To-morrow 113 The Old Year 115 Through the Year 116 POEMS MY POEM If there is naught in anything I write, Of truth or joy, or hope beyond the grave, Then let it sink, all sink, beneath time's wave. And from men's eyes be buried out of sight; But if like knights of old in armor bright. My thoughts go forth to comfort and to save, To shield the weak from harm, to cheer the brave, Then let them live and gather strength and might. The fate of what I sing I know is just, Whate'er it be, whate'er that fate may be; And so I am content, for life is sweet. And so I sing because I must — I must; When beauty takes my hand and walks with me, My heart must either sing or cease to beat. JOY OF LIFE. A thousand hopes are budding in my heart, As roses bud in June, and countless joys Go singing through my soul, as happy birds Go piping through the world. In love with life, The whole green earth becomes a vital thing. And beauty reaches up from clod to star. And glory, like a monarch's robe of state, Is thrown in shining folds about the globe. I cannot pine for olden times and seers, And miss the joy of living well to-day; I dare not yearn for future days to come. And lose the bliss the present offers me. The ancients owned the past, and filled it well; 'Tis now my turn to brim the present up; And brim it up I shall with joy and song — Ay, even as a jar is filled with wine! Some other day 'twas Plato's time to think, Some other day 'twas Shakespeare's time to sing; 'Tis now my time, and think and sing I must. Or miss the very heart of happiness; 'Tis now my time, and live and love I must. Or forfeit all my rights to vital joy; And wheresoever placed beneath the sun, In Marshall or in Rome, it matters not — In India or Greece, 'tis all the same — 10 Wherever green things grow and men are found , Content am I to toil and hope and dream; Content am I to Hve and love and sing. I press my face among the lilac blooms, And know that life is sweeter far than they; I stretch my arms and clasp the mighty trees, And know that life is stronger far than oaks; I gaze at stars that seem so far away. And know that life is higher far than stars ; And last of all and best of all on earth, I look into the hearts and souls of men. And know beyond all doubt that life is good. Containing mighty forces yet untried. I let the fairest blossoms fall to earth, To take the little hands of boys and girls; I turn from stars to read a shining face; I leave my prayers to talk with God in men. What need to know the source of life, its cause ? Fulfilling function here is wisdom's crown: What need to know life's destiny, its end ? To live completely now is bliss supreme 1 11 EARTH SONG. Sunlight and starlight, moonlight and dreaming. Earth, thou art beautiful — real, not seeming; Leaf-green thou art, and ocean-green too, Snow-white thou art, and violet blue; Beautiful earth, thou art real, not seeming! Bird-song and wind-song, love-song and dream- ing, Earth, thou art glorious — real, not seeming; Rose-sweet thou art, and music-sweet, too. Life-sweet, and wine-sweet, and sweet through and through; Glorious earth, thou art reaj, not seeming! Man-love and woman-love, love and its dream - ing, Earth, thou art ravishing — real, not seeming; Life thou hast given me, ecstasy too; Books thou hast blest me with, friends who are true — Ravishing earth, thou art real, not seeming! 12 "THEY ALSO SERVE WHO ONLY STAND AND WAIT." How patiently the lame child waits for me To bear him forth beneath the spreading tree ; And every morn I stoop and kiss his cheek, And pray for greater strength to help the weak; And every day I whisper soon and late, "They also serve who only stand and wait." How gratefully the blind girl takes my hand. When forth I lead her through the pleasant land ; And ever at my heart a prayer I find, For surer strength to lead aright the blind; And every day I whisper soon and late, "They also serve who only stand and wait." How trustingly upon my shoulder now My mother leans, with peace upon her brow; And gently smoothing back her snow-white hair, I pray that I may shield her from all care; And o'er and o'er I whisper soon and late, "They also serve who only stand and wait." 13 LINES TO A VIOLIN Like one who seeks a cloistered cell. His sins on bended knees to tell, I come to thee, with brimming heart, For thou my true confessor art. Sweet violin, sweet violin. I tell thee all, I tell thee all— My joys and sorrows, great and small; And thou alone of all thy kind Canst tranquilize my heart and mind. Sweet violin, sweet violin. No master I, to sway the crowd, AVith wild cascade of music loud, But here between my garret walls, I come to thee when twilight falls. Sweet violin, sweet violin. I touch thee as a lover might His lady's hand, all snowy white; I take thee in my arms and press Thy form with many a fond caress. Sweet violin, sweet violin. My pent-up tears unseen can flow. While thou art singing soft and low — Ay, grief that I have stayed for years 14 Can freely vent itself in tears, Sweet violin, sweet violin. Thou art my truer, higher self. That dreams no dream of fame, of pelf; And oh, I come with brimming heart, For thou my true confessor art, Sweet violin, sweet violin! 15 LIFE These books around my study wall Are very dear — I love them all; These pictures scattered through my room, Good comrades they, that banish gloom; But even books and even art, Can they quite fill — quite fill the heart ? There's something back of books, I know. That makes the wording shine and glow; There's something back of art, I'm sure, A thousand times more fair and pure — Can words, can paint e'er satisfy A living soul, a seeing eye ? You think that Socrates could find Enough in books for heart and mind? Could mighty Caesar sit at home. Though bloody plots were rife in Rome ? And what would Dante, Milton mean. Had they not lived and wrought and seen ? If peerless Shakespeare lived to-day, I think he'd smile and turn away From books and pictures, ink and pen. And plunge in life, to live with men; Could any volume tie him down From active life in London town ? 16 These books around my study wall Are very dear — I love them all; These pictures scattered through my room. Good comrades they, that banish gloom; But even books and even art Can never fill — quite fill the heart. 17 MOTTO FOR THE NEW CENTURY I've carved above my cottage door A motto for the century. And all who pass its threshold o'er May read and enter joyfully. My door forever stands ajar. To welcome men, both great and small; It matters not from whence they aie, A cheerful home awaits them all. The miserable, the mean, the blind, The rich, the poor, the high, the low, A royal welcome all shall find. And loving care each one shall know. In other walks and spheres in life, I might have been a beggar too; Then why not lend in times of strife, A hand to help my brothers through ? I might have been in other spheres, A branded felon, shunned 1 y all; Then why not through these coming years Support the feeble ones who fall ? I've carved above my cottage door This motto: "You are welcome here;'* And all who pass its threshold o'er May read and enter, filled with cheer. 18 SABINE BOAT SONG The moon above, like a maiden in love, Looks timidly down at her face in the stream. While together we two in our open canoe, Glide away from the shore, in a dream, in a dream. Glide away from the shore in a dream. With the moon overhead and the stars overhead. And the moon and the stars in the mirroring stream. Oh, love, we will float in our Indian boat. Away from the world, in a dream, in a dream. Away from the world in a dream. Oh, hark to the song, as we hurry along, The song from the cypress that leans to the stream ; 'Tis the same magic bird that the Indians heard, And called it the bird of a dream, of a dream. And called it the bird of a dream. Oh, love, it is here, in the Southland dear. That the waters are sweetest in life's deep stream ; It is here that we, 'neath the orange tree. Will make it come true, — our dream, our dream, — Will make it come true, — our dream! 19 IMPROVISATION Christmas Morn. Ye organ stops, arranged on either hand. Divinely sweet, majestic, pure and grand, Oh, sing for me as ye have never done! Oh, sing, ye organ voices, every one! For lo! upon this golden sunht morn The Nazarene, the Prince of Peace, is born ! Ye stops, that Bach and Handel knew so well. Ye stops, o'er which blind Milton loved to dwell. Combine for me your purest, deepest chords. To praise the King of Kings, and Lord of Lords ; Combine your richest melodies this morn For lo ! the Prince of Peace on earth is born ! Friend stops, I love ye well and ye love me; Then heed my touch, and let your music be A psalm of praise to him whose listening ear Is ever earthward bent, sweet songs to hear. Oh, sing, friend stops, upon this Christmas morn. For lo! the Prince of Peace, the Christ, is born! 20 AT THE ORGAN All discord now is left behind, All civil strife of heart and mind, And naught exists on earth for me. Save harmony, pure harmony. The cruel word, the poisoned dart. No longer pierce and wound my heart, For here my soul is doubly sure Of all things high, of all things pure. I dream again my dreams of good, I stand where holy men have stood. And thrilled with aspirations high, I reach the foot of Sinai. From crag to crag, from height to height, I climb to realms of purer light. Until on music's highest peak I pause with awe, to hear God speak. And now that He has given me His written law of harmony, I go my way among all men. To redeliver it again. What eye has seen, what ear has heard, I must declare in life, in word; I go e'en now, I leave the keys, — To live, to be, my harmonies! 21 FROM THE ORGAN LOFT. Like one within a pictured hall, Where every type of life is hung, I gaze below unseen by all, On men and women, old and young. The great wide world in minature Now hangs before my eager sight; I see the young with faces pure, I see the old with locks snow white. The sign of grief, the mark of care The stamp of sin in thought and life, I see below me everywhere — A face of peace next one of strife. The widow kneels behind the bride. The babe is on its mother's lap. The young girl smiles in beauty's pride. The old man takes his Sabbath nap. The student glows with youthful fire. Beneath the speaker's upward flight; The saint is touched with high desire, He longs, he prays, for light, more light. At last, I turn and touch the keys— They answer me, they know me well, 22 And through the church deep harmonies Of praise and love begin to swell. In peace the people all depart, The young, the old, the great, the small But whether weak or strong in heart, Oh, there is One who cares for all! 23 MAN Sublimity is yours, ye mountains high, And on your brows ye wear it Hke a crown ; Yet ye are naught, compared to him whose mind Can rear up peaks of thought that touch the stars ; And beautiful ye are, with snow-fed streams That flash like jewels in the morning light, And strong ye are with mountain oaks and pines, That face the winds and storms like heroes old; And yet your snow-fed streams and mountain trees, Oh, what are they compared to bards and seers ? One Homer can outflash your opal streams, One Socrates is stronger than your oaks; And ye, ye restless seas that ever roar. And dash your waves against the jagged rocks — What music can ye make that can compare With Job's immortal strain, or David's song ? And even thou thyself, O Mother Earth, Who art the tender nurse of living things. What wouldst thou be without thy darling child, Whose hands can sow and reap, whose mind can rule ? Thy waters teem with fish, thy groves with birds; The very ground is paved with precious stones; And yet without a living, conscious soul, To delve, to name, to classify, to rule. What meaning would it have, what signify? 24 Remove from thee, O Earth, the works of man. And thou wouldst be a wilderness again, A place devoid of temple, school and home. What wouldst thou be without the chosen one, Who taught the youth of Athens long ago? What wouldst thou be without the Holy One, Who walked by Galilee and healed the sick ? O bloom of blooms ! O fruit of fruits ! O Man ! — Cathedral-building, music-making Man! Thy past is filled with statues, picture books. That beautify the world and make it home; And on this past thy future sjiall uprise, More splendid still, as day surpasses night. If there are no more continents to find. What then ? Are there not many stars unknown ? If Greece and Italy have chiseled well, And painted well, and sung immortal songs, What then ? Are there no other songs to sing. As glorious as ever yet were sung.^ Are there no scenes to tempt the painter's brush ? Are there no forms to tempt the sculptor's hand ? Has even Shakespeare said the final word Concerning life ? Is there naught else to say ? Is there naught else to do upon the earth, To make it purer, sweeter, more like home ? Is law as just as law can be ? Is truth An open, daylight thing that all hearts love ? O bloom of blooms ! O fruit of fruits ! O Man !— Cathedral-building, nature-ruling Man! Thou art the one important fact in time. Thou art the only good, the only bad ! 25 And more and more thou shalt subdue the bad, And more and more thou shalt exalt the good; As light and heat must come from star and sun, The beautiful, the good, must come from thee! 26 TO FATE What though thy hand be placed upon my brow. Restraining me in what I long to do, In life and art, in all things good and true ? O Fate, I'll never yield to thee, I vow; And though thy cruel hand be heavy now, I'll stand erect beneath the heavens blue, And struggle on with hope and courage new; For even thou my spirit canst not cow! I'll stand in rags beneath the stars of night, And sing my song of triumph loud and clear ! I'll drag my broken body to the light Of God's eternal sun, devoid of fear! And oh, I'll wage with thee a lifelong fight, And through it all, O Fate, I'll persevere! 27 PERSEVERANCE I travel on in deep serenity. Along the highway leading to the sun, Unmindful of the little paths that run To right and left; such paths are not for me- And though men sing full many a melody, Enticing me to stay until they're done, I pass them by, and all their pleasures shun^ For lo! I must fulfill my destiny! I travel on, regarding not the strife Of selfish men who labor day and night To carry out their little aims in life; I travel on, because I love the light; And even though I fall with work half-done. In death they'll find my face still towards the sun. «8 FRIENDSHIP Shall all the words of true affection fail. Which I have spoken many times to him ? Shall all the past, the lifelike past, grow dim. And like the waning moon turn deadly pale ? Shall music singing like a nightingale, And poems read, and stories wild and grim. Not speak one clear convincing word to him. Of something sure in life that must avail ? Perhaps at midnight when he sees a star, The clear convincing word of love shall come ; Perhaps at noon, or when the sun sets pure, The high convincing word shall come from far: Though late or soon, the word I know shall come, To prove that love is sure, as God is sure. 129 TO SIDNEY LANIER Although the South has never raised to thee A monument of stone that shall endure. She loves thee none the less, thou poet pure. And in her homes she keeps thy minstrelsy. Although thy name is carved in majesty Above no college hall, young men to lure, Yet in thy native land thy fame is sure. And shall be surer still in years to be. Thou hast a monument not made with hands , That grows in strength and beauty day by day; Thou hast a fame well based on life and art. That shall increase and conquer other lands; But even more than all, thou hast for aye A place, sweet bard, within the South's great heart. 80 TO HENRY TIMROD Sweet southern bard, thy songs are tinted shells, Cast high upon the golden sands of time, And bending low to catch their mournful rhyme, I muse on ocean caves and pearl-strewn cells. What sad and sea melody is this that wells From out their colored depths — what hint of crime — What muffled chords of strife in marching time Are these that o'er my spirit cast their spells ? O bard, thy well-beloved south to-day In beauty stands erect, and year by year Her tender love shall grow in strength for thee, For thou didst comfort her when skies were gray. And oh, in peace or war, unto her ear She holds thy pearly shell of poesy! 31 TO ELWOOD Friend El wood, oftentimes I think of thee, And picture thee beside the master's chair. With manuscript or some old volume rare Spread out to read upon thine ample knee; And whensoe'er this picture comes to me, I bless thy name with something like a prayer; For thou didst read to him with loving care, Ay, thou didst prompt an epic melody! A privilege divine thou didst enjoy, For which a king might well give up his crown; Sweet music touched thine ear without alloy. Enough to call the starry angels down; And high on fame's great roll thy name I find, Because to sightless Milton thou wert kind! 32 TO A YOUNG GIRL Unfolding like a bud beneath the sun. My child, thou growest fairer day by day, And seeing thee my lips unbidden say, "Through life be innocent as now, sweet one. " Come nearer me, and let my fingers run Through silken locks, where sunbeams love to play; My child, thou hast thy angel mother's way. And having it, thy life is well begun. At daybreak, when the dew is on the rose, I plan, I work for thee, where'er thou art; At noontime, when the sun in splendor glows, I sit and think of thee with all my heart; And when, dear child, the stars are over me, I turn my face to God, and pray for thee. SEPTEMBER Although my hair is silvered o'er with gray, And little children climb upon my knee, Yet even now September comes to me. And brings each year desire for books and play; And as I hear the schoolboys day by day Pass by my door with merry songs of glee, I wish again that I a child could be. And all my present sorrow put away. My own neglected books are waiting still, Upon a garret table out of sight. And sometimes when the children climb the hill On which the schoolhouse stands, to read and write, I bring them forth, with many a joyous thrill, And read them once again with deep delight. 34 AUSTIN Written for a Reunion of Schoolmates Perhaps, perhaps we feel for Austin now What Grecians felt for Athens, art's first home; Perhaps, perhaps we understand somehow What Romans must have felt for classic Rome. How fair, how fair is Austin, walled around By cedared hills, where waters laugh and flow! How dear, how dear is Austin, sacred ground. Where first the great of earth we learned to know ! 'Twas here upon the hills, beside the streams. The love of nature filled my glowing heart; 'Twas here I dreamed my first impassioned dreams. And thrilled beneath the spell of poets' art; 'Twas here in Austin, under fragrant trees, That Greece, immortal Greece, enslaved me first; 'Twas here I learned the name of Socrates; 'Twas here that Homer's music o'er me burst. The mighty bard of Stratford found me here. And peopled youth with friends as real as life; I loved with Romeo, knew Hamlet's fear; I wept o'er Caesar's clay, Othello's strife; And when all things seemed beautiful and young, I met sweet Rosalind in boy's attire, 35 And heard the singing words on Portia's tongue, And felt Viola's heart touch mine with fire. 'Twas here that Shelley came, and Poe, and Keats, Who scattered h-rics through my early days. As April sprinkles earth with nameless sweets, As May pours out her gifts in countless ways; And he who walked behind a peasant's plow, And sang of mice and men and daisies fair. Enthralled me here with song, and eyen now His music steals upon me unaware. From out the golden years of early youth, How many yoices rise and greet me here; Some sing of loye, some speak of hope and truth. Some cause a smile, and some a sigh, a tear; The sacred friendships which were here begun With saints and bards, philosophers and seers, Haye thriyen all like flowers in the sun — Haye thriyen — ay! and borne sweet fruit for j^ears. But more than all, and starlike oyer all, I feel, I feel a nameless loye to-day For boyhood friends, for comrades great and small, T\Tio shared for many years both toil and play; WTien life was young and hope went soaring high. They overflowed my little world with joy; \Mien life grows old apace and time goes by. They bless the man through loye they bore the boy. 36 Where'er I turn, where'er my footsteps go, Sweet memories spring up before my feet, Like happy birds that build in grasses low. But soar aloft to sing their carols sweet; The very trees that murmur over me Have poet tongues my heart can understand; A spray of green, or flower from the lea, Is like a written page within my hand. Perhaps, perhaps we feel for Austin now What Grecians felt for Athens, art's first home; Perhaps, perhaps we understand somehow What Romans must have felt for classic Rome. How fair, how fair is Austin, walled around By cedared hills, where waters laugh and flow; How dear, how dear is Austin, sacred ground. Where first the great of earth we learned to know ! 37 LINES TO AN ORGANIST Like sunbeams shining through a window glass, Thy thoughts of heaven through sweet music pass; O master, thou dost touch the organ keys. As David touched his harp a king to please. A few sweet velvet tones are heard at first. And then what chords upon the senses burst! Above the roar of wheels that never cease. Oh, thou dost loudly sing of love and peace. And many weary people hear thy voice, And deep within their hearts they all rejoice; Men turn their faces toward this holy spot. And even skeptics pray, and know it not. Unknown to thee, full many a ragged boy Steals in, and sheds a tear for very joy; Unknown to thee, men purer, stronger grow, While thou art improvising soft and low. Oh, thou dost touch with love the organ keys. Dost banish strife with solemn harmonies; And through it all, the skill, the perfect art, Men feel, O master, feel thy great warm heart! 38 TO INEZ {Tuesday, February 26th) While resting to-day on a fallen tree. In the depths of a leafless wood, I heard the first wild rhapsody Of spring, and my soul understood. 'Tis winter still, but my heart felt June, As I lay in the sun on the tree; For I knew that the wild bird's ravish- ing tune Was sung for his love and for me. I have come, Inez, from the depths of of the grove, With my soul full of melody true, And my heart full of nameless passion- ate love. And the song and my love are for you. 39 SPRING With a bud in her hand and a song in her mouth, She is come, she is here, from her home in the south, And birds fly before her, and sing as they fly. And hope Hke an angel of glory draws nigh; The little blue daisies embroider the ground Wherever the print of her sandal is found. And buttercups, violets, hyacinths — all. Just bloom and bloom where her glances fall, And above and below and around and about, There steals a thrill no heart can shut out. A thrill, did I say? — A passionate strife, A cry of the soul and the body for life ! You know how your lips in African sands Are parched for the waters of cool green lands; You know how your body just aches with pain For the gushing fount and the cooling rain; The thirst of the desert is naught, I swear. To the thirst for life that is everywhere; Oh, rapture of raptures, more life to give! Oh, glory of glories, to love and to live! With a rose in her hand and a song in her mouth. She is come, she is here, from her home in the south, And birds fly before her and sing as they fly, 40 And hope like an angel of glory draws nigh; The soft tender grass that carpets the ground Is a proof that the root of things is sound ; The little green buds are a sign to me That the heart of things is as true as can be; And I know — I know, by the light from above. That back of it all there is life, there is love! 41 AT SUNRISE Matins Another day is now begun, And as I see the rising sun I praise Thy name, O Lord above. And ask Thee now for strength and love, In Chi'ist's dear name. Another day I have from Thee, In which to labor joyfully; Direct me, Lord, in everything. In what I do, in what I sing. In Christ's dear name. Another day, another day, — Oh, show me, gracious Lord, the way In which to do more good, far more. Than ever I have done before, In Christ's dear name. Another day is now begun, And as I see the rising sun, I praise Thy name, O Lord above, And ask Thee now for strength and love, In Christ's dear name. 4^ AT SUNSET Vespers Lord, if I have sinned to-day, By word or thought in any way, 1 ask Thee now on bended knee That Thou wilt hear and pardon me, In Christ's dear name. Or if to-day I've selfish been. By thoughtlessness to brutes or men, I ask Thee now for love divine. To purify this heart of mine, In Christ's dear name. I pray that I may learn to be Each day a little more like Thee; And guide me. Lord, each day to find A broken heart to heal and bind. In Christ's dear name. And oh, if I have sinned to-day, By word or thought in any way, I ask Thee now on bended knee, That Thou wilt hear and pardon me. In Christ's dear name. 43 ROSES Dear heart, there are roses all over the south, Some white as your hand, some red as your mouth; Wherever you wander soft petals unclose, And you smile at the thought that the world is a rose. They climb to your window and peep in your room, They crowd to your doorstep, and burst into bloom. They scatter soft petals wherever you tread — Rose petals, as thick as the stars overhead. There are roses to group in your tall slender vase, There are roses to brighten the invalid's face, There are roses to stand at the altar of God, There are roses and tears for the grave's holy sod. And heart, dearest heart, there are roses to give To the strong, to the weak, as we toil, as we live; I have looked the world over and looked the world through. And roses and love I am bringing to you. 44 LINES TO MY VIOLONCELLO Of all sad instruments that please the ear, O low- voiced violin, thou hast no peer! Ophelia's tears and Desdemona's wrong By thee alone can be expressed in song. Thou hast the plaintive notes of Philomel, When she at midnight sings in some green dell. Thou hast the passion wild of Romeo, When he to Juliet declares his woe. Of all things musical, thou art my choice, O deep-toned violin with sorrow's voice! Strong fingers, chaste and pure, caressing thee. Can conquer savage hearts with melody. For thou dost softly answer all commands. If given thee b}' true and loving hands; Whate'er the heart of man can strongly feel, Oh, thou in fitting music canst reveal. The fire that burns within the bosom's core, Oh, thou in rythmic numbers canst outpour! What ecstacy, what woe, chaste hands can win From thee, from thee, O peerless violin! In deep obscurity I am content To live with thee, my comrade instrument! Fame quickly comes and goes, but thou wilt stay Until these hands that love thee so are clay. 45 Thou art not cold to-day, to-morrow kind, But sympathy in thee I always find; Thy plaintive vibrant voice is ever fraught With nameless passion mixed with dreams and thought; And dear as life itself thou art to me, O violin, O fount of melody! 46 AUSTIN DAYS Oh, beautiful, beautiful Austin days, You bless me still in countless ways; Like birds that come in the early spring You come to my heart, and sing and sing ! Oh, beautiful, beautiful Austin days. For very love I voice your praise! Oh, beautiful, beautiful Austin years, You scatter doubts and banish fears; The voices of friends you bring along, And words of cheer, and laughter and song; Oh, beautiful, beautiful Austin years, You bring to me both smiles and tears! Oh, days and years in Austin spent. You give me peace and sweet content; Like ships that come from over the sea, You come from the golden past to me; Oh, days and years in Austin spent. You give me peace and sweet content! 47 SONG FOR THE NEW YEAR Written jor and Dedicated to my Pupils Oh, let sweet music overflow your heart, As water overflows a marble vase; And singing, ever singing, do your part To make the world a sweeter, brighter place: — A sweeter, brighter place in which to live — And this is hope enough to thrill the breast; A sweeter, brighter place in which to give Your very best, and naught except your best. I never fear too many singing birds Will pass my window as they upward soar; I never fear too many loving words — For this I know: there's always need for more. Be not afraid to stand and face the light. With dreams of good as clear as heaven's ray; Be not afraid to view the stars at night, With aspirations just as high as they. Oh, let sweet music overflow your heart. As water overflows a marble vase; And singing, ever singing, do your part To make the world a sweeter, brighter place. 48 RESOLUTION 'Tis cowardly to shrink and turn away From high ideals, because perchance we fail; 'Tis worse than weak to spend life's golden day, In idly watching for a promised sail. Though all the days of this my little life. Be doomed to set in disappointment's night, Though all my days and years be spent in strife. My soul is still resolved to seek the light. I laugh at failure, as I laugh at fame; They neither prove, nor can the strength of men ; I seek the truth, the all-inspiring flame, That burns the tongue in speech, and guides the pen. I seek the light, because I love the light; I work for men, because I love mankind; And though I fall sore wounded in the fight, I know at last the truth my soul shall find. 49 MY STAR Beneath a beautiful star she stands, A golden lamp within her hands; But over the lamp and under the star, There shines a light more glorious far Than golden lamp or beautiful star. The star and lamp are beacons to all, When the tremulous curtains of midnight fall; But over the lamp and under the star, There shines a light more glorious far — The light of her face — my lamp, my star! 50 SONG Oh, the pearls in the caves down under the sea ! Oh, the caskets of gold in the mountains high! Oh, the beautiful visions that fall over me, Like golden mists from the starry sky, — Oh, the dreams, the dreams, as the years roll by! I will dive to the pearls down under the sea, I will climb to the gold in the mountains high, I will treasure the visions that come to me. And the dreams that fall from the starry sky; I will love, I will sing, as the years roll by. 51 AUSTIN BLUE-BONNETS Are the blue-bonnets wearing their bonnets of blue In Austin now, as they used to do? Are they over the campus and under the hills, And up on the mountains and down by the rills ? Are they waving their beautiful bonnets to-day, As if to say, "Come away, come away?" When the first little bonnets of blue were put on, I knew that my hopes for the honors were gone; My Shakespeare and Milton, with crochetty heads. Were thrown into corners, or under the beds; I shouted good-bye to my Shelley and Keats, And was off to the hills for their sweeter sweets. Oh, the joy of it, love of it, glow of it all. The earth and the sky and the blue-bonnets small ! I whistled and danced like a creature insane, I opened to nature my heart and my brain; Like Siegfried, I talked to the birds of the air; Like Buddha, I conquered all sorrow and care. Where the blue-bonnets bloomed, I knelt on my knees — I reached for the stars, I hugged the green trees — I hugged the green trees, I reached for the stars, I broke through all creeds with their fetters and bars; 5« And my comrades they laughed, and my comrades they sneered, But laughing and sneering I never have feared. Are the blue-bonnets wearing their bonnets of blue In Austin now, as they used to do ? Are they over the campus and under the hills, And up on the mountains and down by the rills ? Across the years, with their sorrow and gloom, I turn my face where the blue-bonnets bloom. 53 MEXICAN HOME SONG O sun-kissed land of Manana, rose-blooming garden of rest, 1 come, I come to thy bosom. As a dove flies home to its nest! The world it is vast, it is mighty. And its wheels of trade never cease. But thou, O land of Manana, Art the cradle, the kingdom, of peace. What a Grecian once felt for his Athens, What a Roman once felt for his Rome, I feel in my innermost being For thee, my Aztec home. I have sighed for thy skies and thy moun- tains, I have yearned for thy valleys and streams, I have wept like a child in the darkness. For thine arms, O Mother of Dreams! Wherever on earth I have wandered. At morn, at noon, at night, I have turned my face to thy temples. As a Persian priest turns to the light. 54 O beautiful land of Manana, glorious kingdom of rest, 1 come, I come to thy bosom, As a dove flies home to its nest! As a dove flies back to the forest, As a dove flies home to its nest, beautiful land of Manana, 1 come, I come to thy breast! 55 TO 'Tis good to see thy strong white hand Outstretched to loose thy brother's band For surely, strong white hands were made For this alone — to help and aid. 'Tis good to see thy firm lips part, With words to cheer thy brother's heart; For surely, lips were made to ope With music words of love and hope. And this is life, ay, this is life — To lessen pain, to lessen strife. O friend, this world of misery Has need of thee, and more like thee! 56 OPPORTUNITY One half-blown rose, with dewdrops bright, Has sweetened all my room; One morning ray of golden light Has banished all my gloom; Oh, may I not do something too. To make some life more sweet and true ? One golden-throated bird near by. Has filled my heart with song; One mountain-peak, majestic, high, Has made my soul more strong; Oh, may I not, with hand and heart. For others do some noble part? One pregnant word of sympathy Has changed my bosom's strife; One pure white hand, outheld to me. Has changed my path in life; Oh, may I not stretch forth again My hand in love to other men? 57 HOME Where rocks the cradle to and fro, And noiseless fingers softly sew. Where prayers are said and songs are sung. Where loving words are on each tongue. Oh, under heaven's sunlit dome. There is no place like home, sweet home ! Where roses bloom about the door. And sunlight falls across the floor. Where reigns a queen by right divine. And over all her glories shine. Oh, under heaven's sunlit dome, There is no place hke home, sweet home! Where God is worshipped morn and night. And brows are touched with holy light. Where every nation's strength is sure. And life and thought are sweet and pure, Oh, under heaven's sunlit dome, There is no place like home, sweet home! 58 CHRISTMAS MORN *'A star has led us here," the wise men said, And low they knelt about the humble bed — "A star from out the east, and even now It stands and shines above this infant's brow; And thus by prophecy and starry sign, We know that this is he of David's line; And royal gifts of gold and myrrh we bring. To him, the Prince of Peace, the infant King! "Foretold by prophets old and holy seers, He comes to glorify the future years. And he shall lead mankind as yonder star Has led us here from home and country far. What though within a manger rests his head ? Angelic hosts are singing o'er his bed! What though he sleeps within a stable dim? The ends of earth shall come and kneel to him!" The wise men worshipped God, and went their way. Rejoicing on the infant's natal day. And taking up their praises year by year, Unnumbered voices sing them far and near; They sing them till the globe is circled round, With hymns of praise and symphonies of sound, They sing them till the world forgets its mart. And turns toward Bethlehem with yearning heart. 59 O brothers, look! The east is like a rose, That opens wide and all its crimson shows! Behold, behold! The morn is come again! The holy morn of peace, good will to men! And this is now the day, the chosen time. To meditate on all things high, sublime: And this the morn to claim your brotherhood With all the great of earth, and all the good! Your golden dreams ,0 brothers, where are they ? — Recall and vitalize your dreams to-day; And countless hopes with which your days are rife. Embody them in action, give them life, The kindness meant for other friends and years Is needed now, to stay earth's falling tears, And lives of gladness, planned for realms above, Are needed here, with all their joy and love. Oh, look across the years to where he lies. The Babe of Bethlehem, with smiling eyes, And pledge again and dedicate anew Your lives to him and all things just and true! Oh, look upon the Christ Child newly born. And worship God and bless this holy morn! Behold, behold! Upon the infant's face There shines a love divine for all man's race ! 60 NEW YEAR Like him who stood on Pisgah's sunHt peak, And viewed the land his people were to seek, I stand to-day upon the peak of time. And view the coming year with hope sublime. All former years shall render up to me Their true account, that I may wiser be; Ay, like a casket filled with jewels bright. The past shall open wide, and me invite. The work that lies before me half-begun, May yet with love and patience be well done; The discords that have wounded many a friend. Oh, thanks to God! may yet with music blend. To-day upon the topmost crag of time, I stand and view the world with hope sublime; Of all the countless years since time began. This year may be the brightest one to man! 61 SONG OF TRUST Somehow, somewhere, in regions now unknown. All truth, all light, shall be my own, my own! And though that longed-for goal is distant far. There shines before my eyes a guiding star. Behold the planets how they hang in space. Each rolling orb within its own bright place; Shall I not trust that God whose hands uphold Ten thousand starry worlds of purest gold ? Behold the universe from sun to clod; Each atom speaks of God, eternal God! Shall I not strive to carry out his plan. And stand before his face a perfect man ? Behold, behold this sunlit world of ours. With all its joys and cares, its thorns and flowers ! Shall I not serve its God with hand and heart, By nobly doing here and now my part? Whate'er befalls, my trust in God shall be As changeless as his mercy is to me; Whate'er befalls, my hands shall labor on. For God, for men, until their strength is gone 62 THE BLUEBIRD Splashing the dew with vibrant wings. The bluebird lights upon the bough That shades my window ledge, and sings— Ah! hear him now! Turning his head from side to side. And flirting his wing like a delicate fan. He warbles of love to his little bride, As only he can. The niche above my window there, Just large enough for a tiny nest. Is the cozy home of this loving pair, Their place of rest. And if April should ever forget to bring My beautiful birds of blue along, Alas! there'd be less joy in the spring, And for me less song. 63 A GIFT A beautiful gift I had to-day, Fom a dear old friend not far away — The apple tree at the side of my room Through the open window tossed me a bloom. It fluttered in like a butterfly, And fell on the poems of Shelley near by, And I knew in a flash, as I never had known. That beauty somehow will find out its own. If you doubt my story, just come and look; On the table there is the open book. And on the book is a delicate bloom. The gift of my friend, the tree by my room. 64 MY BROTHERS (" To all men with working hands and singing hearts.") And is it but an idle theme, A poet's hope, a dreamer's dream, That we, in our place and time, May do and leave some work sublime — Some work that even foul decay Shall leave untouched, unharmed for aye. Some pyramid of tongue or pen. That shall exist for future men. Some work of love that shall endure, To make the unborn ages pure ? My brothers, O my brothers all, To us the past and future call ! Ay, we are heirs of mighty men — Of Shakespeare, with his golden pen. Of Milton, with his organ keys. Who played divinest harmonies. Of Burns, whose tender Scottish eye Shed tears to see a daisy die. Of Browning and his mated dove, Who sweetly joined their notes of love; And shall we speak their tongue and ours Unworthily, with meaner powers? And shall we leave undone our part, In great affairs, in life, in art? 65 The past is rich, ay, rich in all That men hold dear, both great and small; And yet the past has left undone Far more to win than it has won. E'en Shakespeare did not put in art The full deep life of one poor heart; E'en Milton did not fully sing The beauty of a single spring. The world's as new from star to clod As when it left the hand of God; And brothers, O my brothers all, To us these stars, these planets call! TO THE MOCKING-BIRD Sing to me tenderly, bird of the night, Sing to my passionate heart of dehght; Tell me the secret of forest and grove, Now while the stars in the heavens are bright- Tell me of love. Deep in the amorous vines overhead, Just where the blossoms are red, deepest red, There thou art singing of love in the night, Soothing thy little ones tucked in their bed, Safe out of sight. Sweet is thy voice as a Dorian flute. Played to the sound of Apollo's own lute; Sweet is thy rapturous song of the south, Sweet as the wine of a nectarous fruit Pressed to the mouth. Here in the forest thou reignest alone. Carelessly perched on a dew-spangled throne ; Here thou art first to welcome the spring. Thrilling the wood with a ravishing tone; Here thou art kina:. 67 EASTER MORN *' Then said Jesus unto them. Be not afraid. Matt, xxviii. 10. golden morn, uprising from the sea, 1 fall upon my knees to welcome thee ! Of all the days that come and go each year, Thou art the rightful king, with but one peer. The East herself, with fingers chaste and white. Hath crowned thee with a crown of jewels bright; And drawn about thy shoulders fold on fold, The sun hath thrown a robe of dazzling gold ; But gems and gold are naught, O morn, are naught Compared with what thy rosy dawn hath brought — The Christ, the Christ is risen from the dead. And Mary hears his voice, "Be not afraid," — Be not afraid, be not afraid, for lo! The grave hath lost its sting and death its woe! Ten thousand times ten thousand chiming bells, Proclaim thy bright approach o'er hills and dells. Cathedrals gray with age wide open stand. And mighty organs peal with music grand, Young boys arrayed in garments long and white Are singing with their faces toward the light. And thou, O morn, adorned with lilies fair. With psalms and prayers art welcomed everywhere ; 68 But bells and chapels, songs and flowers sweet, To what thy dawn hath brought are incomplete - The Christ, the Christ is risen from the dead, And all men hear his voice, "Be not afraid," — Be not afraid, be not afraid, for lo! The grave hath lost its sting and death its woe! 69 A ROSE FROM ATHENS A rose from Athens — can it be! And you — you brought it home to me My friend, Aladdin's lamp or ring- Could do for me no oreater thino-. r>' I touch my Attic rose, and lo! It comes — the (Jreece of long ago! I press its leaves — and through the years Fair Athens like a star appears! I'he marble temples, how they shine! How like to men the statues fine! The pipes and flutes, oh, how they play — In Athens all is joy to-day! Adown the golden steps of time, ^riiey come with harps, the bards sublime; And through the years their music falls, Like water over mountain walls; The Tragic Three, I feel, I know — What heart could doubt their golden flow ?- This Eschylus, this Sophocles, And this and this Euripides! The flutes again, the harps and flutes, And wine goes round, with luscious fruits, 70 And heroes, sages, artists, all. The victories of (jreece recall. J3ut who is yonder man who stands Upon the street, with lifted hands ? 'Tis said he bli<;hts the Attic youth, — Again 'tis said he teaches truth. The sunlight catches liiin just now. And glorifies his face and brow, And o'er the strife and greed for pelf, I catch these accents: "Know thyself!" I'his Attic rose which you have brouirhl. Restores the golden age of thought; My friend, Aladdin's lamp or ring Could do for me no jireater thin