':i^r 
 
 PS 3545 
 .H753 
 P6 
 1906 
 Copy 1 
 
Class 
 
 Book Jii&dPis 
 
 Copyright N?._/5lOfe_._ 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
Genevieve Hale Whitlock 
 At the age of four 
 
Poems 
 
 BY 
 
 GENEVIEVE HALE WHITLOCK 
 
 With an Introductory Sketch 
 
 BY 
 
 ALEX. F. IRVINE 
 
 NEW HAVEN 
 
 CLIFFORD E. H. WHITLOCK 
 
 I906 
 
LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
 Two Copies Received 
 
 NOV 80 1906 
 
 C Copyritfit Entry 
 CUSS /\ XXc'.No. 
 COPY B. 
 
 
 \4 0k> 
 
 Copyright, 1906, 
 
 BY 
 
 CLIFFORD E. H. WHITLOCK 
 
 THE GRIFFITHS-STILLINGS PRESS 
 BOSTON 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Memorial v 
 
 Poems of the Soul : — 
 
 " God can Forgive Us All but Our Despairing " i 
 
 The Creed . . . : I 
 
 Beyond 2 
 
 I Have Lived, I Have Loved, I Have Suffered 2 
 
 . The Ministry of Suffering 3 
 
 The Night Cometh 3 
 
 The Hills of God 4 
 
 En Avant 5 
 
 The Loaves and The Fishes 5 
 
 With an Everlasting Love 6 
 
 So Calm and Peaceful 7 
 
 " Three Great Gifts I Off sr Thee " 7 
 
 Christmas 8 
 
 " Yea, I Will Uphold Thee " 10 
 
 " Ask and Receive " „ n 
 
 An Easter Lily 12 
 
 This Day Cometh Never Again 14 
 
 " As a Little Child " 15 
 
 Is it True That God Doth Care ? 16 
 
 Hope On 17 
 
 " To Make Life's Vision Life's Event " 19 
 
 Victorious 19 
 
 " Now and in the Hour of Death " 20 
 
 Dawn 21 
 
 " The Lord is Good " . 21 
 
 " Even-Tide " 23 
 
 Ole Death 24 
 
 Love and Obey 25 
 
 " I Will Never Leave Thee nor Forsake Thee " 25 
 
 iii 
 
Contents 
 
 " The Greatest of These " 26 
 
 Unto the Hills 27 
 
 " Faithful in Least " 28 
 
 Arise, Shine for Thy Light is Come 30 
 
 "Thy Will be Done" 31 
 
 The Daughter of the King 31 
 
 " For Your Heavenly Father Knoweth That Ye Have 
 
 Need of All These Things " 32 
 
 " For All Things " ^3 
 
 Easter 34 
 
 " Behold I Stand at the Door " 36 
 
 The Vow 38 
 
 Morning 39 
 
 " Take My Life " 39 
 
 Peter, after Calvary 41 
 
 Who Loved Much 42 
 
 " Mignonette " 46 
 
 " Lo, I am with You, Alway " 47 
 
 It is God's Way — His Will Be Done 48 
 
 Morning Praise Song 49 
 
 Hast Thou no Song to Sing ? 50 
 
 God's Love 51 
 
 Poems of Humanity : — 
 
 Patience of the Poor 53 
 
 Each in His Own True Place 55 
 
 A Voice in the Valley 56 
 
 " The Greatest Thingin the World " 57 
 
 At Eventide 57 
 
 Not Death, but Life 58 
 
 As was but Meet 58 
 
 The Builders 59 
 
 Courage 60 
 
 The Boatman's Song 60 
 
 The Field is the World , 61 
 
 The Organ Grinder's Prayer 62 
 
 iv 
 
Co n ie n t s 
 
 The Highlander's Prayer 64 
 
 Only a Mother 65 
 
 Sings an Angel Bright 66 
 
 As a Man Thinketh, so is He 67 
 
 A Lament 67 
 
 Lilacs 69 
 
 Poems of Love : — 
 
 If Love 72 
 
 " Heart's-ease " 72 
 
 Truth 73 
 
 The Bride 74 
 
 The Blush Rose 74 
 
 After 76 
 
 The Human Heart 76 
 
 A Song of Love 77 
 
 Per Aspera Ad Astra 78 
 
 If Some Day 80 
 
 Her Answer 81 
 
 Edelweirs 82 
 
 " Afar from Shore " 85 
 
 A Field of Clover 86 
 
 When we Love 87 
 
 Hearts 88 
 
 Love and Death 88 
 
 " A Day With Thee " 89 
 
 How do I Love Thee, Love ? " 90 
 
 The Soldier's Wooing 91 
 
 The Whispering Wind in the Pines 92 
 
 Revolt 93 
 
 Poems of Childhood : — 
 
 Nature's Child Message 95 
 
 Because My Mother Loves Me 96 
 
 A Child's Christmas Carol 96 
 
 To a Child 98 
 
 v 
 
Contents 
 
 Geraldine at School 99 
 
 Patriotism 100 
 
 In the Cathedral 100 
 
 To a Chinese Child-Wife 102 
 
 A Child's Wish 1 03 
 
 * Mother's Boy " 104 
 
 Poems of Persons and Places : — 
 
 Nathan Hale 105 
 
 A Path Through the Woods 108 
 
 Milton no 
 
 O, Beautiful, My Country ! 112 
 
 The Cuban Mother 114 
 
 Retrospection 117 
 
 Norwalk — 1651-1901 118 
 
 San Domingo 121 
 
 Bicentennial Poem 121 
 
 VI 
 
The birth-place of 
 
 Genevieve Hale Whitlock 
 
 Wilton, Conn. 
 
Genevieve Hale Whitlock. 
 
 October 5, 1875, anc ^ March 1, 1903, are the mile- 
 stones which mark the earthly footprints of Genevieve 
 Hale Whitlock. 
 
 Over the circumstances and conditions of birth as 
 children we have no choice, but when the right of a 
 child to be well born is recognized by parents, we call 
 such a child " fortunate." 
 
 Miss Whitlock was well born. She came into pos- 
 session of a mental and moral heritage and a home at- 
 mosphere in which it was as natural for a soul to grow 
 Godward as it is for the flowers of the meadow to grow 
 by the help of sun and soil and moisture. 
 
 A home by the quiet country roadside — an old mill 
 by the stream, beyond the stream a wooded hillside, 
 and stretching away out in front, broad meadow-lands 
 with varying hues of winter and summer color. 
 
 The intellectual atmosphere of the home and the ro- 
 mantic and picturesque surroundings were entirely con- 
 ducive to the highest development of the naturally vivid 
 imagination of the child. 
 
 The child was a little dreamer. She played alone. 
 At a very early age she began to write stories — ro- 
 mances. Her first attempt at verse was made when 
 
 vii 
 
Genevieve Hale Whitlock 
 
 she was twenty, and she contm until strengf '. 
 
 her. Her poems are her best biogi^phy. T 
 rescripts of her heart life. 
 
 About a year after the death of her father, vw 
 mature Christian character Miss Whitlock united with 
 the church at the age of nineteen, and a year later 
 she entered upon her literary career as a writer for 
 " The South Norwalk Sentinel." 
 
 She had a journalistic bias. It was a joy for her to 
 write, and she wrote joyfully, though often with tears. 
 Those who knew her intimately observed an element 
 of melancholy, but one of the distinctive features of her 
 writings, both of prose and poetry, is the utter absence 
 of a pessimistic note. 
 
 It is true that " love's strength standeth in love's 
 sacrifice, and he who suffers most hath most to give." 
 Her thought was balm to wounded spirits ; perhaps it 
 was because it was the essence of her own breaking 
 and sorrowful heart. This characteristic was not con- 
 fined to her written thoughts, but was even more evi- 
 dent in the wonderful pervasive atmosphere of love 
 which surrounded her personality. In an atmosphere 
 like this, criticism dulls its edge. The impersonal cen- 
 ter is innocuous to the trivialities which worry and per- 
 plex the more personal, — the seeker after applause. 
 This impersonal element was at once her glory and her 
 defeat. Glory in things eternal and defeat in the 
 ephemeral — the things of an hour. Her defeat also, in 
 that it obscured her from the multitude. Few people 
 knew her. Her friends in the church, her associates 
 
 viii 
 
Genevieve Hale Whitlock 
 
 he press, ant ; rj *eat number of social acquaint- 
 ,, were utterly unacquainted with her. 
 oul of that type is never known, save by the few 
 
 o live on the same plane. 
 
 Her work as a reporter was always more than a frail 
 body like hers could bear ; and though of the highest 
 order, it brought her, especially in the larger cities, a 
 merely nominal remuneration. 
 
 Two pathways were open to Miss Whitlock, either of 
 which would have brought her a measure of success. 
 One to follow the path preferred for her by her friends. 
 To teach school, perhaps, or prepare for some perfunc- 
 tory social service of a kindred nature. To be as other 
 gifted girls — to enjoy society. To " put her talent to 
 a better use." The other pathway, to write the kind 
 of sensational journalism so much in demand in these 
 days. 
 
 Many of her friends failed to understand why she 
 chose a pathway all her own. To do her own work — 
 to be herself. She had no apology to offer. She 
 never explained, but the secret of her choice was a be- 
 lief which colors all her writings and pervaded the 
 atmosphere of her life — a belief in the religion of 
 Jesus Christ. 
 
 It was her devotion to Christ — her will — her 
 powerful will to make him first, that led her to repeat 
 the experience of Rose La Touche. She differed from 
 the experience of Ruskin's pupil in this, that she was 
 first the bride of poverty, and then the bride of death 
 — nay, rather the bride of Christ. 
 
 ix 
 
Genevieve Hale W hi 1 1 o c k 
 
 Responding to a midnight knock at our door one 
 stormy winter's night, we found her, weary and wet 
 and weak. She had been among the striking Italians, 
 listening to their story of wrong and oppression until 
 the cars had ceased to run, and she was unable to walk 
 home. Thrice blessed the roof which shelters such a 
 visitor ! 
 
 Like Beecher, she had " a bent for the under dog." 
 She loved the poor — not as a doler-out of alms, but 
 as one of them. Only such — so it seems to me — ever 
 find the truest way to help. Some time before she 
 passed away she seemed to have discovered her place 
 in the realm of thought as it relates to the question of 
 poverty. " Mother," she said joyously, triumphantly, 
 and with a most engaging smile, " I know what I 
 am — I am a Christian Socialist ! " She seemed so 
 happy to discover a solution of the problem of her re- 
 lationship to the want and misery of the world. There 
 was a ring of the sweetest defiance in it too — as 
 though she looked into the future, and saw the cour- 
 age needed in her adoption of a creed as yet de- 
 spised and rejected by the majority of church people. 
 From this avowal her pen seemed more than ever 
 before to carry added love and sympathy. 
 
 She too was of the overworked and underpaid, but 
 no word of complaint ever escaped her lips. Her 
 sufferings were poignant — her disappointments keen. 
 Nevertheless she ever chanted the beauties of the pure 
 and true, and, like the character of Dante's portrayal, she 
 could have gone through hell conscious only of the 
 
Genevieve Hale Whitlock 
 
 good I Such souls are rare — so rare ! No one will 
 ever take her place. Her songs are here. They 
 breathe the pure spirit of one of whom the world was 
 not worthy. One who gave all, and in return got so 
 little ! 
 
 It was ever thus — but for such souls there is no 
 death. Though dead, she still speaketh ; though 
 absent in the body, she is with us in spirit — the spirit 
 of service. 
 
 ALEX. F. IRVINE. 
 
 New Haven, February, igo6. 
 
 XI 
 
POEMS OF THE SOUL. 
 
 " God can forgive us all but our despairing." 
 
 Remember that, O man ! 
 All sins are naught to doubt of His all-caring, 
 
 Or fear of His great plan. 
 
 The Creed. 
 
 " I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Maker of 
 Heaven and Earth." 
 
 " I believe in God." Ah, restless heart, be still. 
 
 All shall be well. 
 
 God lives ; He is ; not a name written in a book. 
 
 Nay, Heaven and Hell 
 
 Lie prostrate at His feet ; come joy or dole, 
 
 I believe in God ; rest there, unresting soul. 
 
 "In God the Father." Not as King alone 
 We bend before Thy throne, 
 O sovereign Majesty 1 
 
 But God the Father ; we, Thy children all, 
 In childlike confidence naught can appall, 
 Acknowledging in awe Divinity, 
 Yet finding even in Infinity 
 A love embracing all that it hath made, 
 Draw near, as suppliants — yet not afraid. 
 
 i 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 Father Almighty, King of worlds and men, 
 Maker and Molder, Majesty Divine, 
 Beyond the long-reaching hand of finite time — 
 All cycles one to Thine omniscient ken ; 
 Lord of all lords, stilling the deathless sea, 
 Life of all lives, who find their source in Thee, 
 The unmeasured Life, most perfect Trinity, 
 Who wast and art and evermore shall be — 
 God, I believe in Thee. 
 
 Beyond. 
 
 j 
 
 Somewhere, I know, lie 
 
 Thy plains of peace ; 
 
 There shall my soul 
 
 Find its glad release ; 
 
 There shall I gladly lay 
 
 Life's burden down ; 
 
 There leave me my cross 
 
 For a glorious crown. 
 February, 1903. 
 
 I have lived, I have loved, I have suffered, 
 And now, and now, what if I die ? 
 What is death but the opened secret ? 
 What is death but the answering, Why ? 
 
 What is death but the passing over ? 
 
 What is death but the glad release ? 
 
 What is death but the victor's triumph ? 
 
 What is death but the paean of peace ? 
 1902. 
 
 2 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 The Ministry of Suffering. 
 
 Full forty days our weary Lord did bear 
 The nameless terrors of the Wilderness; 
 Drear days of fasting, and long nights of prayer, 
 But, after those, the Spirit's power to bless. 
 
 The Night Cometh. 
 
 If I should die before my work is done, 
 
 If I should die, 
 And stand before Thy great throne up on high, 
 
 Most blessed One, 
 What could I say to Thee, when Thou shouldst ask 
 
 Me of my work ? 
 
 How could I face Thee, feeling that I had 
 
 Some part let shirk ? 
 How could I face Thee, 
 Knowing that I'd left 
 
 Some part undone ? 
 
 The time is short. O give me of thy strength, 
 
 Most blessed Son, 
 That I may labor prayerfully in all, 
 
 Nor faithless be, 
 So that with gladness, I may meet Thine eyes, 
 
 Beyond Life's sea. 
 
 3 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 The Hills of God. 
 
 To climb Thy hills, O God, 
 
 Thence, looking down 
 Behold the peaceful plain ; 
 
 The quiet town ; 
 Thy sun-bathed vales, 
 
 Where love and duty meet 
 The opening day 
 
 With welcome smile to greet. 
 But oh ! Thy hills, 
 
 Thy glory lingers there ; 
 Their cloudless peaks 
 
 Are dipped in radiance rare. 
 From them the soul 
 
 Breathes in celestial air. 
 
 To climb ! and then to turn 
 
 With willing feet, 
 My humble place within 
 
 The vale to seek. 
 There to work out Thine ends 
 
 With stronger grace, 
 For having climbed the hills 
 
 And seen Thy face. 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 En Avant. 
 
 Soul, thou'rt like to ship that glideth lovingly, 
 On the bosom of the river floating free ; 
 Ship, remember that thy goal is the sea. 
 
 Soul, thou'rt like to bird that flieth to his nest 
 When the evening sun low lieth in the west ; 
 Bird, beware thee lest the fowler mar thy rest. 
 
 Soul, thou'rt like to flower that turneth to the sun 
 When the red morn radiant burneth, glowing one ; 
 So, my soul-flower, turn thou also to thy Sun. 
 
 Soul, thou'rt like to traveler weary, home in sight, 
 Whence there cometh sound of music, glow of light ; 
 Traveler, faint not, lest thou lose thy dear delight. 
 
 The Loaves and the Fishes. 
 
 Christ, I have so little, 
 And that so little good, 
 
 1 would bring Thee gifts that are rich and great, 
 But I fail in the thing I would. 
 
 My son, I know thy longing, 
 
 And the grandeur of thy wish ; 
 
 But the thing thou hast, is the thing I need. 
 
 Bring me thy loaves and fish. 
 
 5 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 With an Everlasting Love. 
 
 God loves me — oh, the overpowering thought, 
 
 He loves — loves even me, 
 
 Loves knowing me ! 
 
 Lo, not a drop of blood pours through my veins, 
 
 Nor single strand of hair upon my head, 
 
 But he hath numbered it. 
 
 Oh, wondrous thought, 
 
 Oh, divine, perfect thought, 
 
 To think, He knows and loves, 
 
 To think that knowing, He still can love I 
 
 Others there are who love me, knowing less ; 
 
 They see my better side. 
 
 I do not show to them for very fear 
 
 The evil that I hold within my heart. 
 
 I doubt me, oh, I doubt they still could love, 
 
 But He, my God, He readeth every thought. 
 
 Lo, as an open book my soul doth lie 
 
 Before Him. 
 
 Nothing hid, nothing too deep for 
 
 His all-seeing eye. 
 
 And yet He loves. 
 
 Oh, I have wandered far from such great love. 
 Yea, I have lost my way, and stumbled 
 Mid crags and pitfalls of a ragged road. 
 
 6 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 Yet can I be so lost it shall require 
 
 More than this thought to 
 
 Bring me back to God ? 
 
 He loves me — yea, with everlasting love. 
 
 So Calm and Peaceful. 
 
 The quiet, quiet City of the Dead, 
 
 So calm and peaceful, so serene they lie, 
 
 Why should I shrink away 
 
 At thought to be one of their company ? 
 
 "Three Great Gifts I Offer Thee." 
 
 Came to me one day, 
 
 Angel guest from Heaven astray. 
 
 " Three great gifts I offer thee ; 
 Choose thou now among the three." 
 
 " This " — before my dazzled sight 
 Jewels caught and held the light. 
 
 " Second, this," — he held on high 
 Laurel wreath that does not die. 
 
 11 Lastly this." It was a cross. 
 Clear its meaning — pain and loss. 
 
 7 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 Yet, in letters, writ in blood, 
 
 " Love to men," all plainly showed. 
 
 And around it, 
 
 While glory shone above it, 
 
 Gleamed a crown. 
 
 " Wealth, or fame, or — love divine ! 
 Choose thou — but one is thine." 
 
 Wealth I craved, and fame I loved, 
 Yet my trembling heart was moved, 
 
 And I chose the crown that day, 
 For my Lord had passed that way. 
 
 Winnipauk, June 15, 1900. 
 
 Christmas. 
 
 Once on a morn, in a manger old, 
 
 A Child was born ; and they brought their gold 
 And their spices sweet to lay at His feet : 
 
 And wise men came with a rev'rent will, 
 Journeying far over vale and hill, 
 
 To the little town where the star stood still. 
 
 8 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 And they knelt in the lowly stable there, 
 
 While the cattle gazed with a wondering stare 
 
 On the Virgin Mother so pure and mild, 
 Who held in her arms the Holy Child. 
 
 And they brought their tribute unto Him, 
 The Child they found in the manger dim. 
 
 Centuries pass, and He who came, 
 
 The homeless Child and heir of shame, 
 Ruleth now with a mighty power. 
 
 Kingdoms and Empires bring their dower. 
 Pontiff and potentate bend at His feet ; 
 
 And the world repeateth the story sweet — 
 How the Lord of all from His home on high 
 
 Stooped for a sinful world to die — 
 Came unto men His life to give, 
 
 Lived as a man that men might live. 
 
 And His church is mighty, and fair, and strong, 
 
 And the riches of nations to Him belong ; 
 And they who serve Him wax wise and great, 
 
 And the noblest land is the Christian state, 
 For the Cross hath conquered, and high we raise 
 
 The sign despised of ancient days, 
 For the Christ Child reigneth, and low at His feet 
 
 The wise world's kingdoms lay offerings meet. 
 
 But still He comes to the hearts of men — 
 Lo, He speaks and He waits — and speaks again - 
 
 Softly and still as the little Child 
 
 Who was born on Christmas of Mary mild. 
 
 9 
 
Poems of the S o it I 
 
 And who shall find for Him room within, 
 Shall shrived be from his ev'ry sin, 
 
 And strong, yea, and safe shall He journey on, 
 Till, at last, life's burden and battle done, 
 
 Full blest and blissful he enters in 
 
 To the royal realms of the saved from sin. 
 
 Then praise ye the name of the Holy Child 
 Who was born of old unto Mar) 7 mild ; 
 
 And praise ye the love which in hearts of men 
 Forever yearns to be born again. 
 
 a 
 
 Yea, I Will Uphold Thee." 
 
 If I should lay me down some blessed night, 
 Gently. with folded hands, as children do, 
 And, lying thus, should softly " fall on sleep," 
 
 To wake no more at all till I should hear 
 The tender word of Jesus, " Welcome home," 
 Would it not be sw r eet, full sweet, my weary heart ? 
 
 But, and if I should drag through weary years, 
 Seeking in vain for rest, and learning how 
 To daily die, while learning, too, to live — 
 
 10 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 If I should come to call for Death, 
 To seek him, as youth seeks the wine of Life, 
 Yet be denied this greatest boon of all 
 To die ? What then ? 
 
 Ah ! then, altho' too hard for human strength to en- 
 dure, 
 Too hard for tongue to give it utterance, 
 But still, though fire sore should burn and pain destroy 
 This earthly tabernacle, 
 I could wait — 
 
 Knowing that when, for earth, all's said and done, 
 My blessed Lord doth wait to welcome home 
 His wounded, suffering, sin-hurt, weary child — 
 And so, or soon or late, I bide His time. 
 
 June i, 1900. 
 
 " Ask and Receive." 
 
 What shall I ask for to-day, Lord, 
 From out Thy bounteous store ? 
 
 Riches and honors and baubles bright, 
 These, or — something more ? 
 
 Nay, I will ask for to-day, Lord, 
 From out Thy boundless store, 
 
 To know and to do Thy will aright — 
 Just this, and nothing more. 
 
 WlNNIPAUK, July 5, I9OO. 
 
 II 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 An Easter Lily. 
 
 There was a man who believed not God or Heaven, 
 Who walked with eyes downcast on dirt of earth, 
 Or, raising them, saw not in stars or sun 
 The proof of Him Who is. 
 
 This man had one dear thing, a little child, 
 A weakly, wailing babe, a fading flower. 
 It died ; he buried it ; buried his heart, too. 
 
 Then on their grave planted a tiny seed, 
 Tending it while it sprang, a wee small blade, 
 Breaking the earth to rise. 
 
 It grew and grew, enlarging and unfolding, 
 Till, lo, in April days, just when the sun 
 Of gladsome Easter Sunday rose in might, 
 One fullest bud did open, tall and light, 
 An Easter lily, wondrous and white. 
 
 The man looked on and marveled. Easter joy 
 Was over all the world. The church-bells pealed ; 
 In Heaven celestial choirs repeated, 
 11 He is Risen." 
 
 But one of Heaven's own, the Angel of Love, 
 Gazing with deep eyes on the earth below, 
 Saw the man, sad-eyed, bending o'er a grave ; 
 
 12 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 Then knelt unto the Lord upon the throne, 
 
 Asking, " How can I sing ? With murmur and moan, 
 
 Standing disconsolate by a low gravestone, 
 
 Is one who needeth help ; dear Lord, I go — " 
 
 The dear Lord looked upon him lovingwise, 
 And answered, " Go — if soul hath need of thee ; 
 Thy song shall be the sweeter for thy deed." 
 
 And so the Angel stood beside the man, 
 
 Bending beside his grave disconsolate, 
 
 And whispered, " God is love, I come from God. 
 
 " Seest thou this lily, how from smallest seed, 
 Sunk in the earth, it grew so white and fair ? 
 E'en so thy child hath risen. Harken there ! 
 For even now before our dear Lord's throne — 
 Dost hear ? — thy babe's voice in heavenly song 
 
 " Mingleth with angels' in the jubilee : 
 1 The Lord is risen, yea from death is free, 
 No more in tombs our loved ones caged be, 
 For them and us our Lord brings victory.' " 
 
 The man raised up his eyes, his inner ear 
 Had caught the sound of harmony divine. 
 " It is my child/' he cried, " my babe is there ! 
 Lord, now I believe, forgive, accept my prayer," 
 While Easter sun shone radiant everywhere. 
 
 1 3 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 This Day Cometh Never Again. 
 
 This day cometh never again to thee. 
 
 Oh ! use it well. 
 The words thou shalt speak, the deeds thou shalt do, 
 
 Are for heaven or hell. 
 
 Thou mayst lift a brother from sin and woe 
 
 To the plains of peace, 
 Or bring to a soul that is bound in chains 
 
 Joy of release. 
 
 Then boldly forth to the battle's front ; 
 
 Thy God is there. 
 And flay down thine enemies, one by one, 
 
 In watch and prayer. 
 
 Be strong and brave in the Lord's own might, 
 
 Be true to-day, 
 And then when the quiet night doth fall, 
 
 Thou shalt peaceful pray. 
 
 Go fight thy battle and win thy soul ; 
 
 'Tis for heaven or hell. 
 Lo, this day cometh not again to thee. 
 
 Oh I use it well. 
 
 February, 1903. 
 
 14 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 "As a Little Child." 
 
 I sat and thought 'mid twilight gloom ; 
 
 The dying fire turned slowly gray ; 
 I mused — these creeds innumerable, 
 
 How can they lead the selfsame way ? 
 
 For one believes this, another that, 
 
 And each doth scorn his neighbor's faith. 
 
 Which is the truth, which shall we praise ? 
 So many creeds, such devious ways. 
 
 Then, tripping through the twilight, came 
 My sweet-eyed maid and touched my hand. 
 
 " Mother," she cried, " this troubles me. 
 Help me, I cannot understand." 
 
 And laying on my lap her book, 
 With knitted brow she bent to see ; 
 
 A problem 'twas she had to solve — 
 So strange to her, so clear to me. 
 
 I pointed out the devious ways 
 
 By which the answer might be brought; 
 Her vexed look changed to gladsome rays 
 
 Of light which showed the clearer thought. 
 
 The problem done, she came again, 
 With smiling look and lightest tread. 
 
 " Those different ways all bring one end — 
 You've made it easy now," she said. 
 
 IS 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 Again I turned to dying fire ; 
 
 The falling embers blazed in flame ; 
 These differing ways shall bring one end, 
 
 So that they lead to one great Name. 
 
 So thought I, musing on my child, 
 Who, puzzled, came to me for light ; 
 
 I, too, might grasp through varying creeds, 
 God's hand to lead me through the night. 
 
 Is it True That God Doth Care? 
 
 I look from my lofty window 
 
 On the busy street below. 
 Like the waves of a surging ocean 
 
 Move the street-tides to and fro, — 
 
 The tides of the little people 
 
 On their little ways intent, 
 Of the restless little people, 
 
 On their devious errands bent. 
 
 And the noise of the passing traffic 
 Comes up to me faintly there ; 
 
 And I question, " Doth He hear it — 
 
 The God who heareth prayer? " 
 
 16 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 And I wonder if the labor 
 
 And the tread of the hurrying feet 
 Send up from these marts of madness 
 
 An offering for Him meet. 
 
 All these weary little travelers, 
 
 And the burdens that they bear — 
 
 Doth One see and note their sorrows ? 
 Is it true that " God doth care " ? 
 
 Then I turn from the 'wildering mazes 
 To the peaceful stars above, 
 
 And they send me back the answer, 
 " It is true, for God is Love." 
 
 And I leave my lofty window 
 
 With an holy sense of rest, 
 For I feel the Love which foldeth 
 
 Every traveler to its breast. 
 
 Hope On. 
 
 I sat in November twilight, 
 
 Under a leaden sky ; 
 Through its bare brown branches the maple 
 
 Seemed sadly to sob and sigh. 
 
 i7 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 And I said, " O Lord, I am weary ! 
 
 This dull world drags me down. 
 How can I, through its sinning, 
 
 E'er hope to reach my crown ?" 
 
 Then methought I heard Him saying, 
 " After strife comes victory ; 
 
 Just beyond this vale of suffering 
 Lies the Kingdom of the Free. 
 
 " Pause not, O soul, nor waver! 
 
 Rest in mine endless grace. 
 I am thy strength and saver, 
 
 Thy sure abiding-place. 
 
 " And in this blessed home-land 
 They wait to welcome thee — 
 
 All saints and holy martyrs 
 In the Kingdom of the Free. 
 
 " They, too, have borne these sufferings, 
 They, too, have travailed sore ; 
 
 But now they rest in glory, 
 The weary journey o'er." 
 
 18 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 "To Make Life's Vision Life's Event." 
 
 To make life's vision life's event, 
 O lofty souls and heaven-sent, 
 
 This is your mission true ! 
 To give great gifts the gods have lent 
 To weave the dream through vast event, 
 
 This is your work to do. 
 
 To make life's vision life's desire — 
 A harder fate for hearts of fire, 
 
 Who strive but may not win ; 
 Yet they, too, find their end and way, 
 For growing patience day by day, 
 Through growing trust in God their stay, 
 
 Shall shrive them from all sin. 
 
 Norwalk, Conn. 
 
 Victorious. 
 
 Be strong to hope, O heart of mine ! 
 
 Look not on life's dark side, 
 
 For just beyond these gloomy hours, 
 
 Rich, radiant days abide. 
 
 Let hope, like summer's rainbow bright, 
 
 Scatter thy falling tears, 
 
 And let God's precious promises 
 
 Dispel thy anxious fears. 
 
 J 9 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 For every grief a lethe comes, 
 For every toil a rest. 
 So hope, so love, so patient bear ; 
 God doeth all things best. 
 
 " Now, and in the Hour of Death." 
 
 Hear us, O Christ, 
 While we draw the last low breath. 
 Now, though scarce we dream of death, 
 Now, while the life-tide rushes nigh, 
 When the watchers sadly sigh, 
 Hear us, O Christ ! 
 
 We need Thee then, 
 
 Christ, we know we'll need Thee then, 
 
 When the love of simple men 
 
 Lonely leaves us by the door, 
 
 We shall need Thee, Jesus, more. 
 
 But 'tis now we need Thee most, 
 Compassed by a mighty host 
 To withdraw us down to hell. 
 Help Thou us, and all is well. 
 Leave Thou us, and we are lost 
 
 Save us, we are ship-wrecked, lost, 
 By the power of wind and wave. 
 20 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 Save us, now, for Jesus' sake ! 
 In the hour of death, oh, hear us ! 
 Now, O Saviour, be Thou near us ! 
 Grant to have great strength to save, 
 Be but near to make us brave. 
 
 Dawn. 
 
 A rare, pale pink now lights the east, 
 Yet ruddier red it grows, 
 And now in burning cardinal 
 Its golden glory glows. 
 
 On the still world the bird-songs ring — 
 
 Fit is their glad employ ; 
 
 The sun is up — sing, bird-hearts, sing— 
 
 And thou, my soul, for joy. 
 
 O glad, new wonder of the world ! 
 
 O old earth born anew i 
 
 O fair day, glad day, day of God I 
 
 What dost thou call me to ? 
 
 "The Lord is Good." 
 
 " The Lord is good ; " it rolleth down the ages 
 
 In accents meet. 
 " The Lord is good ; " no saga's song nor sage's 
 
 E'er half so sweet. 
 
 21 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 " The Lord is good ; " He bringeth out His People 
 
 From Egypt's hand, 
 And setteth them beside the shining rivers 
 
 Of Canaan's land. 
 
 " The Lord is good ; " He giveth daily manna 
 
 For daily need. 
 From out His bounteous storehouse of rich graces 
 
 His children feed. 
 
 " The Lord is good ; " 'tis writ in salient cipher 
 
 On yonder shining stars ; 
 The Lord is good ; it speaks in accents tender 
 
 From sunset's crimson bars. 
 
 " The Lord is good ; " the evening and the morning 
 
 Sing forth His praise. 
 The Lord is good ; He raiseth righteous nations 
 
 In length of days. 
 
 " The Lord is good ; " my soul, repeat the story 
 
 Yet o'er and o'er, 
 And when thou thinkest thou hast learned it fully, 
 
 Go learn it more. 
 
 " The Lord is good ; " it rolleth down the ages. 
 
 My soul, repeat 
 This word than which no saga's song nor sage's 
 
 Is half so sweet. 
 
 22 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 " The Lord is good ; " beyond earth's tortuous 
 pathways 
 He holds a home, 
 A palace fair, a most celestial mansion, 
 For all His own. 
 
 New Haven, February, 1903. 
 
 « Even-Tide." 
 
 The day is done, and we are weary ; 
 
 Christ, we come to Thee. 
 Life is lonely, hearts are dreary ; 
 
 Christ, we come to Thee. 
 
 Thou, who knowest all our sorrow, 
 
 Lord, we come to Thee ; 
 For sweet rest unto the morrow, 
 
 Lord, we pray to Thee, 
 
 That thou'lt lead us on to winning 
 
 Heaven's high destiny, 
 That thou'lt save us from our sinning, 
 
 Christ, we pray to Thee. 
 
 The day is done, and the night draws near, 
 O Christ, we come to Thee ! 
 
 Life may be lonely, heart shall not fear, 
 For, Christ, we still have Thee. 
 
 2 3 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 Ole Death. 
 
 Ole Death he cum, he cum at las', 
 I fight him hard an' I fight him fas', 
 
 But Ole Death he cum. 
 He cum der fust, w'en I was a kid ; 
 Me Mammy took me an' run an' hid. 
 She run long way, she hide so deep, 
 Ole Death c'udn't fin' his little brack sheep. 
 
 But now he cum. 
 
 He cum agen w'en I wus a lad, 
 I run der streets — I verry bad. 
 One day two hosses knocked me flat; 
 Ole Death he thought he had me pat, 
 But not dat time. 
 
 He cum agen now I'se a man. 
 
 Here, wife, cum quick an' hoi' mah han'. 
 
 Ole Death am here. 
 I knows him well, dat ugly face 
 Has haunted me in many a place — 
 In dark nights w'en I'se been all 'lone, 
 I've seen it wid a heart like stone. 
 But now, good Lawd, I've run mah race, 
 I trust mah soul ter thy good grace. 
 
 Is dat yoh, Death ? Cum in, I pray. 
 I'se looking fer yer all der day. 
 24 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 " I'se ready ? " Yes ; hoi' tighter, wife ; 
 You've been a good girl all yoh life. 
 Ben' yoh head down an' kiss me, so. 
 Ah ! now, dear God, I'se ready to go. 
 Cum on, Ole Death. 
 
 Love and Obey. 
 
 I asked to-day, 
 
 " What can I do for Thee, dear Lord ? 
 
 Grant me but one directing word. 
 
 I'd walk through fire, 
 
 I'd traverse seas, might I but please." 
 
 I heard Him say, 
 
 " Of what avail to traverse seas ? 
 
 Though burned with fire thou shalt not 
 
 please. 
 Yet — would'st thou find the perfect 
 
 way ? 
 Hark ! this I ask of thee each day : 
 Love and obey ! " 
 
 " I Will Never Leave Thee nor 
 
 Forsake Thee." 
 
 Christ is thy rock of sure defense, 
 Thy strong tower of pre-eminence. 
 Oh ! trust thou in His excellence, 
 My soul, my soul. 
 
 2 5 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 Then falter not though storms assail, 
 Nor fear to breast the chastening gale. 
 He'll hold thee up, pause not, 
 Nor quail, my soul. 
 
 Christ is thy rock of sure defense, 
 Thy fortress of strong permanence. 
 Oh ! trust thou in His excellence, 
 For aye, my soul. 
 February, 1903. 
 
 " The Greatest of These." 
 
 Kingdoms may perish, and thrones decay, 
 Monarchs may live out their little day, 
 Prophets anointed may speak from above, 
 But the greatest, the greatest of these is love. 
 
 Men may labor with toil-worn hands, 
 Slaves may drudge amid arid sands. 
 What shall it matter soon or late — 
 Only this, do they love or hate ? 
 
 With tongues of angels or speech of men, 
 What shall it profit us, now or then, 
 Though gifts of sacrifices sore we bring, 
 Or with glad hosannas we greet the King ? 
 
 26 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 Weary and heartsick or glad and elate, 
 When we kneel at last by the golden gate, 
 Only one word from our King above : 
 " Pilgrim from earth, hast thou learned there Love ? " 
 
 Unto the Hills. 
 
 "The ideals are calling, and what do they say? 
 Leave, leave thy moorings, and come, come away ; 
 Follow us, follow us, thus shalt thou find 
 Blessing and honor and sweet peace of mind." 
 
 The ideals are calling, calling alway ; 
 
 The ideals are calling, but what do we say ? 
 
 " The way is too hard, and the path is too steep, 
 
 Yet wait but a little, we'll follow like sheep." 
 
 The ideals are calling us into our rest. 
 Oh, why do we linger, unshriven, unblessed ? 
 Oh, why do we falter with hearts fit to break ? — 
 The ideals are calling, " Awake, man, awake 1 " 
 
 Oh, follow the ideals wherever they lead ; 
 Thus only shalt realize thy manhood indeed ; 
 Go, follow the ideals up hill and down dale — 
 Or lose them. Be fearful ; for then what avail ? 
 Wouldst follow the ideals nor faint by the way ? — 
 The Master of ideals gives grace day by day. 
 
 27 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 " Faithful in Least." 
 
 11 What shall I do to serve Thee, Lord, 
 
 Most pleasingly ? " 
 I looked and listened long. 
 
 No vision bright nor word of might 
 
 Came unto me. 
 
 Then pondering in my heart, 
 
 What work to do, 
 I thought of one great deed — 
 
 So fair and true 
 The world would see, and, 
 
 Pausing to admire, 
 Breathe the celestial fire 
 
 And warm the heart anew. 
 
 I started forth to do my deed 
 
 So fair and true ; 
 But on the way my Lord's 
 
 Sweet tones I heard, 
 
 " Not this for you." 
 
 So back I went unto my humble place 
 
 With fear and shame. 
 " Am I not worthy even that to do ? " 
 
 I asked — in vain. 
 
 No answer came unto my querulous quest, 
 
 And 'neath the rod 
 I trod with throbbing feet the trackless path 
 
 That leads to God. 
 
 28 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 But one day, having learned 
 
 Some little lore 
 Of patience sweet, 
 
 I knelt again, more meekly 
 
 Than of yore, 
 
 At His dear feet. 
 
 " Dear Lord," said I, " that thing 
 
 For which I longed, 
 Must I forego it still ? 
 
 I would do something worthy 
 Of Thy name 
 If 'tis Thy will." 
 
 " My child," He spoke in accents 
 
 Thrilling sweet, 
 " I know thy love — 
 
 Thinkest not the incense of 
 A patient life 
 Doth rise above? 
 
 " As for that thing thou plannedest 
 
 For my joy 
 In willing mood, 
 
 Dear child, that plan of 
 Thine could only cloy 
 
 My kingdom's good. 
 
 " Here where I put thee, here 
 Thou servest best ; 
 
 29 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 Believe and be still ; 
 
 If I have other work for thee, I shall 
 Make known my will." 
 
 So here I bide, seeking to 
 
 Believe and love, 
 And please Him, too, 
 
 In little, lowly acts, though 
 Nothing great 
 He bids me do. 
 
 I work, and wait, and pray, 
 
 With fervent prayer, 
 That I may be 
 
 Accounted faithful ; then, when 
 Work is done, 
 His face to see. 
 
 Arise, Shine ! for Thy Light is Come. 
 
 Is the night dark ? Doth sin and death around thee 
 Subdue thy joy and hide the rising day ? 
 Faint not, nor falter, nor give way to moaning ; 
 Look up, for lo ! the better way 
 Thy Lord hath writ it in the precious Volume. 
 He knows the darkness of thine earthly night. 
 On Calvary's Cross He felt the awful blackness, 
 And He doth bid thee now, 
 " Be thou the light." 
 
 3° 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 Arise, and shine ; the world awaits thy shining. 
 The tired world, the sin-sick, weary world 
 Waits for thy candle with its light beams turning 
 To 'ruminate the darkness of its night. 
 
 << 
 
 Thy Will be Done." 
 
 I do not care how hard the way, 
 If it but lead to perfect day. 
 How can I care how rough the road 
 So that it lead me to my God ? 
 Then lead me, Saviour, day by day, 
 Not where I would, but in Thy way. 
 
 The Daughter of the King. 
 
 She is a woman, holy, blest ; 
 This tired world comes to her for rest ; 
 But those who're nearest love her best, 
 This Daughter of the King. 
 
 There are those who envy not her lot; 
 'Tis fair, they grant, and without blot, 
 Yet much of joy she knoweth not, 
 Tho' Daughter of the King. 
 
 She saith : " Tho' days with pain be rife, 
 Yet naught I fear of stain or strife. 
 Surely mine is a happy life — 
 I'm Daughter of a King." 
 
 3 1 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 " And though some burdens I must bear, 
 Yet always I may breathe a prayer, 
 And One, I know, doth always care 
 For Daughter of the King." 
 
 And so she sings along her way, 
 Nearing her palace day by day, 
 Nor fears to work as well as pray, 
 This Daughter of the King. 
 
 " For Your Heavenly Father Knoweth 
 
 That Ye Have Need of All These 
 
 Things." 
 
 He knoweth, yes, my Father knows, 
 That I have need of many things ; 
 
 The daily bread, home, friends, even clothes, 
 Each day its flowing measure brings. 
 
 But if the measure fail or fall, 
 
 I must not murmur nor repine. 
 My Father knows ; it is enough. 
 
 The bounteous hills of God are mine. 
 
 And all their stores are for my good, 
 And some day they will come to me. 
 
 Be patient, then, O doubting heart ! 
 Thy Father knows — enough for thee. 
 32 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 "For All Things." 
 
 For life and love, for work and play, 
 For a child's glad laugh and a sunny day, 
 We praise thee, O God. 
 
 For the joys we know and the tears we weep, 
 For the pain that will not let us sleep, 
 We praise thee, O God. 
 
 For sweet June days and friendships fair, 
 For bleak December's chilling air, 
 We praise thee, O God. 
 
 For youth and the rich, rare days of youth, 
 For truth and the lasting trust of truth, 
 We praise thee, O God. 
 
 For joys and sorrow, gain and loss, 
 For the crown beyond and the daily cross, 
 We praise thee, O God. 
 
 For the babe's first kiss and the dying breath, 
 For death in life and the life in death, 
 We praise thee, O God. 
 
 For all things work for our perfect good, — 
 Yea, all that we have not understood, — 
 
 33 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 And the dregs of life are as life's red wine, 
 If they but show us the life divine. 
 
 So we dare not choose and we will not care, 
 But now or then, or here or there, 
 We'll trust thee always and everywhere, 
 And praise thee, O God. 
 
 Easter. 
 
 Lo, the stone's rolled away ! 
 'Tis the world's Easter day ! 
 For the Lord is arisen, 
 He hath broken death's prison, 
 While the angel of vision 
 Stands ward at the door. 
 
 " Why weepest thou, Mary ? 
 No longer here tarry 
 For he is not here. 
 In love and in pity 
 Speed on to the city, 
 Go tell his disciples 
 The Lord draweth near." 
 
 Along the white highway, 
 Nor pausing for by-way, 
 So swiftly sped she ; 
 The trees bending over 
 34 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 Made a leafy green cover ; 
 The flowers from their places 
 Turned up smiling faces ; 
 To her glad news bringing 
 They seemed to be singing ; 
 " Lo, out of death's prison 
 Our Sun is arisen 
 To shine evermore ; 
 
 'Tis He Who hath made us, 
 'Tis He Who life gave us ; 
 We bend low before Him, 
 We praise and adore Him 
 Who reigns evermore." 
 
 On, on to the city, 
 
 In love and in pity, 
 
 So swiftly she sped 
 
 To where sad watch keeping, 
 
 In care their souls steeping, 
 
 His weary disciples 
 
 Mourned lonely their dead. 
 
 Unto them told the story 
 How the great King of Glory 
 Hath conquered Death's night. 
 "From the grave He hath risen, 
 'Tis no foolish vision, 
 The stone's rolled away. 
 Lo, His feet shod with light ! 
 Lo, He walketh in might ! 
 'Tis His glad rising day." 
 
 35 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 O, sad souls in prison 
 To you is the vision, 
 Come out from your night. 
 Why weeping here tarry ? 
 Go speed ye with Mary, 
 Go find ye the light. 
 The glad news then bear ye 
 To where, steeped in care, ye 
 Shall find His sad children 
 Alone with their night. 
 
 O, tell it for glory, 
 Yea, shout the glad story — 
 He reigneth in might. 
 For us He hath risen, 
 Yea, opened Death's prison, 
 The grave's conquered quite. 
 And He dies nevermore, 
 And we love and adore 
 While we live in his light. 
 
 " Behold I Stand at the Door." 
 
 Hark 1 dost not hear 
 A sound so clear ? 
 The Lord Christ knocks ; 
 Let Him in. 
 
 36 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 Lo, thy house will He 
 
 Make full fair within, 
 
 Sweep out old rubbish, 
 
 And relics of sin ; 
 
 'Tis the Lord Christ knocks, — 
 
 Let Him in. 
 
 'Tis the Saviour waits ; 
 
 Give Him place. 
 
 Look how the smile on His face, 
 
 Reflecteth God's grace. 
 
 'Tis for thee, fallen son of thy race ; 
 'Tis thy Saviour waits, 
 Give Him place. 
 
 The Lord Christ stands 
 
 At thy door. 
 
 O sad soul, say whenever before 
 
 Did ever so regal guest deign 
 
 To plead with thy poor heart 
 
 For place to reign ? 
 
 How long will thou keep Him standing without, 
 O strange, hard heart, 
 With thy stubborn doubt ? 
 He waits, O, heart, 
 Do thy part. 
 
 37 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 The Vow. 
 
 I gave to God my youth and trust, 
 A little gift, but all I had ; 
 He blessed the gift, I wore it, while 
 My soul went singing through the night, 
 And I was glad. 
 
 Come evil day, O, woe is me, 
 How shall I shrive me from my sin ? 
 I look without, I look within, 
 No help I find, no flooding sea 
 To bring my lost pearl back to me. 
 
 I took the gift I gave to God, 
 The pearl that He restored to me, 
 Grasped it as it had been my own 
 And hurled it on the abyssmal stone. 
 
 I took the consecrated pearl — 
 O wine divine, O precious life — 
 Away from me the gift did hurl. 
 O woe supreme, O deathless strife. 
 
 O Heaven, pierce this dreadful night 
 With but one streak of gleaming light, 
 Lest I should lose myself in night 
 Eternally. 
 
 38 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 Morning. 
 
 The mists of the morning rise grandly from off the 
 
 mount'nous hills, 
 The glory of God has come to earth and the heart of 
 
 Nature thrills, 
 The rivers leap up gayly and the little laughing rills ; 
 While every bird from its tree top its hymn of matins 
 
 trills. 
 
 Rise up, O man, and haste thee from out thy dwelling 
 
 place ! 
 Rise up, O man, and meet thy God in the morning face 
 
 to face ! 
 O ope thy heart to His heart divine, and gird thee for 
 
 thy race, 
 For the glory of God has come to earth and the fullness 
 
 of His grace. 
 
 " Take my Life." 
 
 Not this, not this, my Lord, 
 
 Some other thing to thee I'll bring. 
 
 As my heart-offering, 
 
 Laying it on thy shrine, 
 
 Making it thine ; 
 
 But this, my heart's delight, 
 
 My joy by day or night, 
 
 O Lord, not this ! 
 
 39 
 
Poems of the S o tc I 
 
 'Tis this I need, my child, 
 
 Just this dear very thing ; 
 
 Bring me but this and thou shalt blessed be, 
 
 Now and through eternity, 
 
 And not thyself alone. 
 
 To other hearts that moan, 
 
 Thou shalt come bringing love, 
 
 To raise their thoughts above, 
 
 Giving of thine own joy 
 
 Without alloy ; 
 
 O, blessed thou shalt be, 
 
 Yea, blessing all that see, 
 
 If thou bring this to me. 
 
 O, then, take this, dear Lord, 
 This very thing — 
 My glad heart-offering ; 
 I bring Thee but thine own, 
 Break Thou this heart of stone 
 With Thy divine, great love, 
 That it may ever move 
 In answer to Thy word. 
 Then take my best, dear Lord, 
 My choicest, dearest thing ; 
 Lo, gladly now I bring 
 My very heart's delight, 
 My joy by day or night — 
 I offer Thee 
 Who lovest me. 
 
 4.0 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 Peter, after Calvary. 
 
 O Lord, indeed I am a sinful man, 
 Yea, lowest of all sinners, Lord, am I. 
 
 fearful, horrid blackness of my soul, 
 
 Thee to deny ! For what ? A servant's sneer. 
 How could I do it — how ? I cannot tell ; 
 
 1 loved Thee so, O Lord, so truly loved — 
 But I was weak — the moment came — I fell ; 
 Fearing Thy cross, despairing of Thy crown 
 
 I cared not what I did, for all seemed lost. 
 
 Yet had'st Thou warned me of this very thing ; 
 Had I but harkened to Thy gentle word, 
 All had been well — but no — too good to be ; 
 Peter is Peter and must play the fool 
 Though he regret it all his after days. 
 
 Can'st Thou forgive — I know Thou can'st forgive, 
 For Thou art alway gentle, O my Lord, 
 Thy sad heart breaks for mortal weakness known, 
 For mortal frailty which Thou sharest unscathed ; 
 Thou can'st forgive — but, Lord, can'st Thou forget? 
 
 I gaze upon Thy face and my heart breaks ; 
 I see a line upon Thy thorn-scarred brow — 
 But dare not ask Thee : " Lord, whence came that 
 
 line ? " 
 For knowing the answer : " Tis a line of pain ; 
 It came because my Peter played me false." 
 
 4i 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 O Lord, could I erase that sad, sad line — 
 That line that had not been were't not for me — 
 Then could I breathe once more, to feel my Lord 
 Did trust me — could forget I played Him false 
 In that dread hour when most He needed faith. 
 
 Then let me live, O Lord, for only this — 
 
 let me live, nor slay me with Thy look, 
 So I may prove, in trying days to come, 
 
 1 am not Peter false, but Peter true ; 
 
 To be that thing Thou sawest in my soul 
 
 When Thou did'st give me my new name, " a rock," 
 
 Peter — a rock — strong, steadfast for his Lord. 
 
 Who Loved Much. 
 
 I slept ; in vision fair my soul did stray 
 
 Before a great white throne ; and angels there — 
 
 But nearer than the angels are the forms 
 
 Of those who came from earth ; a goodly company, 
 
 With robes all white and upward-glancing eyes 
 
 And brows that shone in saintly purity. 
 
 Then each one came with tale of foe and fear 
 And bowing low before the Immaculate One, 
 And worshipping the Ever- Worshipful Son 
 Poured out his soul in His all-listening ear. 
 
 42 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 Then He did answer as the case did call, 
 To one a word of hope, of joy, reward ; 
 Sorrow for some that they had lost so dear, 
 And tenderest sympathy for each and all. 
 As : "I have known thy burdens, felt thy loss, 
 Yea, suffered like as thee ; thy life I lived in all, 
 Tasted its myrrh, lifted its grievous cross ; 
 Well do I feel for thee ; yet — it is past ; 
 Rejoice, O soul, O weary soul, rejoice ; 
 Earth's over now, the victory is won ; 
 Rest then, forevermore ; rest, and rejoice." 
 
 Then, while I watched (hushed, and in awe I stood) 
 Came, treading softly, with clasped hands, full slow, 
 The spirit of a woman, meek and low ; 
 All humbly walked she, nor dared raise her eyes 
 To Him who sat, the King, enthroned wise. 
 
 "Why, thus so meek," I murmured in surprise, 
 For sooth, in all that throng, no cleaner robe, 
 No clearer brow I saw. 
 
 Far off this pure soul passed, saintlike and high, 
 As one who would be called ere she drew nigh. 
 
 Then sweeter far than holiest dream of earth, His 
 
 voice I heard : 
 " Who art thou, blessed spirit, that thou drawest nigh, 
 With faltering step and dreary, heart-drawn sigh ? 
 Thinkest 'tis meet that one almost divine, 
 With garments spotless white and fair as thine, 
 Should pause, afraid. Who art thou ? 
 Speak — lo, I command thee, speak." 
 
 43 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 With that, so low, I scarce could catch the word, 
 The answer came : " Lord, I am naught but this : 
 A sinner lost on earth, unfit for bliss." 
 Then lower yet, hands clasped and eyes unseen, 
 " O Lord, O King divine, a Magdalene." 
 
 I trembled fearing, for I was of earth, 
 
 Nor part had I in all this heavenly place ; 
 
 I looked for holy anger in His face, 
 
 And dreadful anathema barring grace. 
 
 Lo, when He spake I heard in dull amaze 
 
 His voice ; so kind, so heavenly kind it was : 
 
 " Ah, Magdalene, I know thee well, 
 
 Thou speakest truth — a sinner saved from hell — 
 
 " For life was hell to thee and each dark day 
 But saw thee farther on thy darksome way ; 
 Yet saved by love, yea, saved indeed thou art, 
 And blessed art thou ; I have watched thee long 
 And now I crown thee with the victor's palm. 
 
 " O Magdalene, thou wast forgiven much ; " 
 
 Low dropped her head ; her tears fell down like rain ; 
 
 " Yet thou hast loved much. 
 
 Yea, loved e'en them who loved thee not again, 
 
 Who trampled on thy soul with bitter words, 
 
 Casting the stone of righteous Pharisee ; 
 
 As who should pray with level-glancing eyes ; 
 
 ' We thank thee, Lord, that we are not as she, 
 
 Our robes being white and clean.' Yet know they not 
 
 That 'neath the All-seeing eye, they are more vile 
 
 In their self -righteousness than such as thee." 
 
 44 
 
P o e m s of the Soul 
 
 He paused. " Thy sin was great — yet mercy still is 
 
 greater, 
 Greatest, love, which washed thy garments white. 
 Now enter in, O soul, who lovest much, 
 My kingdom fair has room for many such, 
 Enter thou in, eternal joy be thine." 
 
 Then, from the waiting choir about the throne, 
 
 Of angels and archangels breathing song, 
 
 There stepped forth to obey the Lord's command, 
 
 Two shining ones. These had no need of grace, 
 
 Yet taking Magdalene by either hand — 
 
 " Sister," they said, — and unshamed kissed her face. 
 
 Then led her, pure, perfected e'en as they, 
 
 Through those blest spirits standing near the throne, 
 
 No whiter soul in all that shining throng. 
 
 Lo, the sweet vision faded from my sight, 
 
 My soul returned to earth and earth's sad plight ; 
 
 Yet still I heard repeated o'er and o'er, 
 
 The singing of the angels, as of yore 
 
 They may have sung o'er hills of Bethlehem. 
 
 And lo, the constant burden of their song 
 
 Was this, and only this, repeated long, 
 
 Repeated o'er and o'er with tuneful touch, 
 
 But this : " She loved, our sister loved much." 
 
 Then all the halls of heaven caught the sound, 
 And echoed and re-echoed it around ; 
 While Sons of Morning joining in their train 
 Worlds upon worlds took up the sweet refrain, 
 
 45 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 Then I, sad son of earth, did ponder long : 
 
 O, earth, old earth, when wilt thou learn the song, 
 
 When wilt thou learn, though right can ne'er hide 
 
 wrong, 
 Though sin be sin and death to sin belong, 
 That love is yet more strong ? 
 
 " Mignonette. " 
 
 'Tis so that sometimes in our early youth, 
 When we have all the gifts God gives to man, 
 Health, joy and love and sweet, impassioned hope, 
 We raise our eyes toward Heaven and cry in pain, 
 
 "Lo, I am cursed." 
 Because, forsooth, one good we think we lack, 
 We follow sadly in some Strange God's track, 
 
 Leaving all else. 
 
 Then, when long years have brought their train of woe, 
 And naught remains of all that once we knew, 
 When joy and youth and friends and hope have fled, 
 And we allnearingto that narrow bed, 
 Where all we loved are laid, 
 
 We pluck a flower out from the rock's rough ridge — 
 A tiny flower with fragrance very faint, 
 So faint we needs must bring it very nigh, 
 
 To note the scent at all — 
 And then we say, forgetting all the way, 
 The weary way, the lonesome, dreary way, 
 
 Our feet have tread, 
 
 46 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 " Ah, God, how sweet this flower, 
 How sweet, how very sweet this little flower," 
 And doth God frown, remembering all the flowers, 
 The exquisite flowers, the radiant perfumed flowers, 
 He gave in that lost spring-time ? 
 
 O nay, not so, for He is very kind ; 
 
 He smiles instead that at the last 
 
 We have learned patience ; 
 
 Yet gazing backward far along our way 
 
 Where, crushed and trampled 'neath our feet they lay, 
 
 So scornful we did fling them, recking naught 
 
 Of autumn's day — 
 His smile's exceeding sad, to think we were so long 
 
 In learning it. 
 
 "Lo, I am with you, Alway." 
 
 Alone, alone, I meet thee Destiny, 
 Nor brother, wife nor child may go with me. 
 They love, but cannot reach my bitterest woe, 
 They cannot drink the cup that I must know, 
 Alone, alone, I go. 
 
 Yet, not alone am I ; 
 
 Though wild the tempest, turbulent the sea, 
 
 There's One shall go with me ; 
 
 Held by His hand, I walk the waters sure. 
 
 Lo, in His life-boat I am safe, secure. 
 
 47 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 Though lightnings dazzle and though thunders roll, 
 Though great waves rising up would whelm my soul 
 This is my comfort — He the crucified 
 Stands ever by my side. 
 
 Then rest, soul, rest, rest and be satisfied — 
 
 For not alone I go ; 
 
 Yea, to the end He steadfast will abide. 
 
 Out of My Night. 
 
 Out of the night that darkly bound me down, 
 
 Engulfing, cruel, a hideous, black-browed thing, 
 
 I, in my place of dead'ning dull despair, 
 
 Standing on sand that gave beneath my feet, 
 
 Felt on a sudd'n a tender reaching Hand, 
 
 Heard in that moment a divinest Voice — 
 
 Felt the pierced places where the nails had been — 
 
 Heard that most heav'nly Voice in one word, " Come" — 
 
 Then all my night changed to a glorious day, 
 
 Lit by the great Sun's all-suffusing ray. 
 
 It is God's Way — His Will Be Don< 
 
 PRESIDENT McKINLEY'S DYING WORDS. 
 
 As ships that lie at anchor in the bay, 
 Or float them slowly through still summer seas, 
 Sometimes our lives drift idly, gladly, gay ; 
 We lift our faces to the favoring breeze, 
 Enjoy the present, nor the future seize, 
 And thank kind Heaven for a sunlit day — 
 How easy then " Thy will be done " to say. 
 
 48 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 Then comes the tempest, wild the rough winds rage, 
 
 Full fiercely riseth up th' encircling sea, 
 
 Reaching out arms of death to draw us down, 
 
 Down, down to our destruction and our doom. 
 
 Our ship is sinking and we see our end ; 
 
 As drowning men, we clutch at every straw 
 
 That offers help, yet all alike are vain. 
 
 Our ship sinks, we are lost, O, happy he 
 
 Who, in such crisis of mortality, 
 
 Clings still to faith he knew in other days — 
 
 Those sunlit days when all the way being clear 
 
 He floated calmly over Life's glad seas — 
 
 Who still can say, though Death's waves o'er him roll, 
 
 " It is God's will — His way — be still, my soul." 
 
 Morning Praise Song. 
 
 Lord God, omnipotent, 
 
 Here would we raise 
 Richest of offerings 
 
 Unto thy praise ; 
 Hear us, accept us, and help us, 
 
 O Thou who rulest our days. 
 
 For thy past favors, 
 
 Manifold ever, 
 For present blessing 
 
 On present endeavor, 
 Accept the tribute we gratefully bring, 
 
 Bowing before Thee, our Savior and King. 
 
 49 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 Hide not thy face from us, 
 
 Though all else flee, 
 Richer than kings of earth 
 
 Have we but Thee ; 
 Bathed in the light of thy countenance, 
 
 Valiant and happy are we. 
 
 Father, triumphantly, gladly we raise 
 
 Here, on thine altar 
 Our tribute of praise ; 
 
 Spread peace among us, 
 Smile Thou upon us, 
 
 O blest Creator, the light of our days. 
 
 Hast Thou No Song To Sing ? 
 
 'Tis summer time and all the birds sing praises, 
 
 That God is good. 
 The rocks ring royal tribute down the ages 
 
 That God is good. 
 
 The tiny rills that ripple through the meadows 
 
 Sing story sweet, 
 While west winds whispering softly in the shadows, 
 
 The tale repeat. 
 
 And thou, my soul, canst thou sit dumb, despairing 
 
 Hast thou no song to sing ? 
 Tho' bird and leaf and tree, 
 
 With all His creatures 
 
 Their off 'rings bring ? 
 
 So 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 God's Love. 
 
 A leaf lay lonely on the jagged rock 
 
 That juts into the sea ; 
 
 The little waves ran up and played with it — 
 
 Unceasingly. 
 They lifted it ; they held it to their hearts — 
 
 Caressingly ; 
 Then made as though they fain would bear it out 
 Unto the surging sea. 
 
 But all for naught ; 
 
 For passed they forth again so restlessly, 
 
 The little leaf still lay there, lone and lorn ; torn, in pain, 
 
 Yet clingingly, immovably, 
 Upon the cragged rock it faced the sea. 
 Then suddenly 
 
 Came one wave, greater far than all before, 
 One long wave, strong wave, dashing on to shore 
 
 All furiously ; 
 In arms of foam it clasped the lonely leaf, 
 
 Impassionedly ; 
 And holding it, enfolded it, 
 
 All graciously. 
 In strong, great arms of love did bear it out, 
 Far out to sea. 
 
 So to my life the little waves did come continuously. 
 The unheeded waves of daily joy and gloom 
 Alternately ; 
 
 5i 
 
Poems of the Soul 
 
 And still unto my rock of self 
 
 I clung so sullenly. 
 A heart-torn thing, a wounded thing at strife, 
 I clung for life to that which had no life. 
 
 Yet, as I lay there, lonely and unblessed, 
 
 All eagerly 
 There came a wave from God's great ocean wide, 
 An engulfing wave, in an effulgent tide, 
 
 O, blessedly, 
 It surging in did tear my very soul 
 
 Resistlessly 
 From that rough rock 
 Where I so long did bide 
 
 Unrestingly. 
 Then lifting me a helpless, happy thing, 
 In folding arms of love so patiently 
 It bore me out ; 
 Forever more to be, 
 On His wide sea ; 
 In love to lose myself 
 
 Infinitely. 
 
 52 
 
POEMS OF HUMANITY. 
 
 Patience of the Poor. 
 
 They are so very patient — Christ's dear poor — 
 
 As constant day by day 
 They go about the heavy task appointed 
 
 Their plodding way. 
 They make no murmur, though the heart be weary, 
 
 The body weak : 
 They do the world's work — and their hire for doing ? 
 
 Bread, and a place to sleep. 
 
 Sometimes the bread is hard, the place a cellar ; 
 
 If so, what then ? 
 " It is our fate," they say, and shrug their shoulders, 
 
 Then bend again 
 To wheel or loom, to melting iron and anvil, 
 
 'Tis all of one ; 
 Full many are the forms; they matter little, 
 
 So that the work is done. — 
 The work is done, and sometimes the tired workers 
 
 Fain finished work would be, 
 To rest a little ere the Great Consumer 
 
 Call from the Farther Sea. 
 
 It may not be ; at wheel and loom and anvil 
 The work goes on. 
 
 53 
 
Poems of Humanity 
 
 The worker faints, but murmurs in his swooning, 
 
 " My work, 'tis not yet done," 
 Then rises heavily and in position 
 
 Catches the turning wheel — 
 11 I will, I must," for hard he feels his fellow 
 
 Upon his heel. 
 He needs the spur ; it goads him on to action ; 
 
 To die ? 'Twere sweet ; 
 But wife and children ; at the door a creature 
 
 That does not bleat — 
 That does not bleat, but shows his teeth full grimly ; 
 
 Then what to do ? 
 He makes no question ; while the life-blood courses 
 
 He toils. And you ? 
 
 You have heard my song, nor found it merry — 
 
 I meant not that you should. 
 Are you a child to dream of lords and ladies 
 
 In some Enchanted Wood ? 
 You are no child ? You bear the stamp of manhood ? 
 
 God's noblest stamp ! 
 Then bring all powers of mind and soul illumined 
 
 By Science' lamp — 
 Bring them to bear upon this fateful question, 
 
 The problem of the poor 
 Who have no better hope than just to labor 
 
 And to endure. 
 O Light, shed down Thy rays to help us solve it ! 
 
 For, sure, 'tis strangely sad 
 That they who do our work should have so little 
 
 To make them glad. 
 
 54 
 
Poems of Humanity 
 
 Each in His Own True Place. 
 
 I wake in the early morning 
 
 With a sense of sorrow and pain ; 
 
 My soul is sick with the struggle — 
 My body faint 'neath the strain. 
 
 Then I hear the tread of the workers 
 
 Below in the busy street ; 
 The heavy roll of the drayman's cart, 
 
 The patter of hast'ning feet ; 
 
 The brave halloa of a worker 
 
 As he hails his fellow-man, 
 The cheery call of a factory girl, 
 
 The click of the milkman's can. 
 
 They are up and about before me. 
 
 Then what am I but a churl 
 To lie in my bed so weakling 
 
 When the world has begun to whirl ? 
 
 I will rise and gird for the battle, 
 With a prayer to the God of grace 
 
 For strength to stand, as the workers stand, 
 Each in his own true place ; 
 
 With a prayer to the God of battles, 
 
 Who will not say me nay, 
 For strength to work true, as the workers do, 
 
 Each in his place to-day. 
 New Haven, February, 1903. 
 
 55 
 
Poems of Humanity 
 
 A Voice in the Valley. 
 
 A man walked in the valley 
 As the sun was sinking low — 
 
 In the valley of the shadow, 
 And his spirit sighed with woe. 
 
 And he thought, " My life is dreary, 
 
 Sorrows weigh me down ; 
 Who am I that I should fight them, 
 
 Fight them all alone ? " 
 
 Then a voice spake to his soul 
 
 (Voice of evil power), 
 Tempting, " End this life of trial, 
 
 End it now, this hour." 
 
 And the soul in that dark valley 
 
 Harkened to the voice, 
 And to lose the heavy burden 
 
 Almost he made choice. 
 
 Suddenly, through deepening twilight, 
 
 Rang a glad, sweet song, 
 And it plead in accents tender, 
 
 " Man, be strong, be strong." 
 
 Grander, clearer, rose the music 
 Up to heaven's high dome, 
 
 Till he thought the angels murmured, 
 " Man, be strong, be strong." 
 
 56 
 
Poems of Humanity 
 
 Then he turned his slow steps homeward 
 As the moon rose o'er the hill, 
 
 And he answered bird and angels, 
 " Yea, I will, I will." 
 
 "The Greatest Thing in the World." 
 
 The way is weary, I am lone, 
 
 I feel the rue ; 
 The night comes on, the dark falls drear. 
 
 What shall I do ? 
 
 A breeze-blown whisper from the height, 
 
 Far, far above, 
 Brings back the answer sweet as light, 
 
 " Hast thou learned love ? " 
 I bend my gaze — my shame so keen — 
 
 To answer "Nay." 
 Then gentlest whisper thrills my soul, 
 
 " Go learn to-day ! " 
 
 At Eventide. 
 
 Across the purple distance of the hills 
 
 A veil falls gently down. The sun sets clear. 
 
 The rivers and the little rippling rills 
 
 Speed on more softly as the night draws near. 
 
 57 
 
Poems of Humanity 
 
 All Nature's calm and still ; our souls repose 
 In breath of twilight as of perfumed rose. 
 
 The tired day's done ; o'er Summer's fevered brow, 
 Night lays her cooling hand with benediction now. 
 
 New Haven, February, 1903. 
 
 Not Death, but Life. 
 
 Lily fair ! with the heart of gold, 
 Wherefore droopest thine head ? 
 
 Thinkest thou yet on the distant wold, 
 And the still pool's cool green bed ? 
 
 Lily fair ! thou art better here, 
 Sharing thy fragrance sweet. 
 
 Only in filling other lives, 
 Shall thy life be complete. 
 
 As Was but Meet. 
 
 The day was night to me ; 
 
 In dreary, darksome way I wandered long — 
 
 No light ahead ; 
 I needs must mark my steps with groping feet. 
 
 58 
 
Poems of H u m ani ty 
 
 Then, suddenly, I met a child at play, 
 Who smiled upon me blessedly and gay, 
 
 As trusting all the world ; 
 Then I smiled back with hopeful look akin, 
 
 As was but meet. 
 
 When, lo, in answer to that simple act, 
 My sun came out with glory as of Heaven, 
 And all my path shone radiant with light. 
 
 The Builders. 
 
 The verse refers to the building of the First M. E. Church of 
 South Norwalk. 
 
 Bravely they build and well, 
 
 Singing in time, 
 Who in their house shall dwell 
 
 Fear-free for clime. 
 
 Brick upon brick they lay 
 
 Tautly and true. 
 Not for an hour, a day, 
 
 Their work they do ; 
 
 Not for the hour, the day, 
 
 His house he rears — 
 Nay, but the workman true 
 
 Works for long years. 
 59 
 
Poems of Humanity 
 
 Bravely they build and sure, 
 
 Sing as they climb. 
 Long shall their work endure, 
 
 Tested of Time. 
 
 Would'st thou too, build, my soul, 
 
 Structure sublime ? 
 Song work is strong work, 
 
 And this conquers time. 
 
 Courage. 
 
 Fishes must brave the waves, birds use their wings ; 
 
 And man ? Shall he let go the loftier things ? 
 
 Honor and action, power o'er things and self, 
 
 Are not these worth the struggle ? Paltry pelf — 
 
 Silver and gold that glitter for a day — 
 
 Shall these engage the soul that rather may 
 
 Mount on the wings of Freedom to the skies ? 
 
 Our very self that lives though matter, dies. 
 
 Nay, let us flay that that would keep us down, 
 
 And struggle, struggle, e'er till we have won our crown. 
 
 The Boatman's Song. 
 
 Sail on, my soul, to thy great destiny, 
 
 Be not afraid : 
 The stormy winds that sweep thy life's rough seat 
 
 Are but thine aid. 
 
 60 
 
Poems of Humanity 
 
 They lift thy little boat 
 
 And bear it on ; 
 
 High ride the waves ; 
 Thou hast no helper like the winds of God, 
 
 Who thy boat saves. 
 
 God, who is over all, and underneath 
 
 His saving arms — 
 He who hath loved thee with a lasting love 
 
 Through storm or calms — 
 
 Shaft guide thee safe, until 
 
 Thy haven gained, 
 
 Thine oars laid down, 
 Thou shalt be paid for all life's turbulence, 
 
 To see thy crown. 
 
 The Field is the World. 
 
 Not with the brawl of battle, 
 Not with the roll of drum, 
 
 Not with the shout of conquest, 
 Should a Christian nation come. 
 
 Not by the conq'ring hero, 
 Not by the armed men brave, 
 
 Not by the stir of conflict, 
 Can a Christian nation save. 
 61 
 
Poems of H u m an i t y 
 
 Only the Christful Gospel, 
 
 The strong, sweet song of peace, 
 
 Only the Herald from Heav'n 
 Shall bring their souls release. 
 
 11 Go to this heathen nation 
 
 And plead with them in prayer ; 
 
 Teach them all things commanded, 
 I shall be with you there." 
 
 So spake the Christ long years ago, 
 So speaks His Church to-day ; 
 
 Go to the Filipinos, 
 
 But go to preach and pray. 
 
 Then who will bear the message, 
 And who will sing the song ? 
 
 Who from the far, strong people 
 Will haste the Word along ? 
 
 Winnipauk, Conn. 
 
 The Organ Grinder's Prayer. 
 
 My hair is swiftly turning gray, 
 
 My soul has lost its fire, 
 Yet I dream of thee, sweet Italy, 
 
 My loved Italia. 
 
 62 
 
Poems of Humanity 
 
 My step, I know, is weak and slow, 
 
 My heart I cannot speak. 
 The days of youth, I've passed them far — 
 
 I have no home to seek. 
 
 Yet, Italy, thy skies I see, 
 
 Thy smiles they warm me still ; 
 
 And oft in sleep I dream of thee, 
 Thine every vale and hill, 
 
 And think of when, a boy, I strayed 
 Through all thy vineyards fair, 
 
 And with one black-eyed maiden played, 
 With darkly waving hair. 
 
 Italia, my heart is sick, 
 
 Is sick for love of thee. 
 Italia, Italia, thy shores 
 
 When shall I see ? 
 
 And she, who made thy skies more fair, 
 And gladdened every sight — 
 
 My glorious, mine only love, 
 With soul so pure and white — 
 
 When shall I see her face again, 
 
 Or may it never be ? 
 For, though I search mine own dear land, 
 
 And sail o'er every sea, 
 
 63 
 
Poems of Humanity 
 
 That form shall never greet mine eyes, 
 That smile ne'er give me life ; 
 
 O Padre, Dios, mercy show! 
 My heart with pain is rife. 
 
 Italia, my heart is sick, 
 
 Is faint for love of thee ; 
 My hopes, my joys, have left me long, 
 
 My heart is o'er the sea. 
 
 Padre, grant this boon I crave ! 
 That on the Sacred Shore, 
 
 1 find my love and Italy, 
 
 To part, dear God, no more. 
 
 The organ-grinder bowed his head, 
 His life-long prayer was o'er. 
 
 He found his love, his Italy, 
 To part, oh, nevermore ! 
 
 The Highlander's Prayer. 
 
 My heart is with the hill countree, 
 
 My happy home of hills, 
 Where calm and fair life journeyed on, 
 
 Secure from Lowland ills. 
 64 
 
Poems of Humanity 
 
 I sojourn in the valleys, 
 
 Afar from my dear home. 
 The reeking air, the dismal swamps, 
 
 Remind me that I roam. 
 
 I am aweary, O my God, 
 
 Of strenuous Lowland strife ! 
 
 Take me, when here my work is done, 
 To Heaven's bright Hills of Life. 
 
 Yet 
 
 She 
 
 Only a Mother. 
 
 Found life a supreme mystery, 
 Was not well up in history, 
 Knew nothing of astronomy, 
 Ignored all trigonometry, 
 Not once took the lecture-stand, 
 Nor ever tried to rule the land. 
 
 Where she passed, the daisies smiled; 
 If she looked on little child, 
 Straightway it did run to her. 
 When God sent a son to her, 
 Looking through her clear eyes' light, 
 He learned to read the world aright ; 
 Learned to spurn all things unholy ; 
 Learned of her to keep his soul. 
 
 65 
 
He 
 
 Poems of Humanity 
 
 Growing thus to man's estate, 
 Fellowed with the good and great ; 
 Chose a wife just like his mother, 
 Could not care for any other. 
 
 "Jv "nF "Jr * Tv tv 
 
 Well, she died, as women will, 
 Folded tired hands, meek and still, 
 Breathed her last, at set of sun, 
 Rested after work all done. 
 And they wrote upon her grave, 
 Simply this : " This woman gave 
 So-and-So unto the world — 
 He whose flag was never furled — 
 While he lives, our land is blest. 
 Sweetly may his mother rest." 
 And she rested, soft and low, 
 For she would have had it so. 
 
 Sings an Angel Bright. 
 
 Through days of sorrow and nights of pain, 
 Sings an angel bright, to the heart and the brain : 
 
 " Hope, little children, hope. 
 There's a work to do, there's a life to live ; 
 There are sad hearts to succor, there's joy to give ; 
 
 So hope, little children, hope. 
 66 
 
Poems of Humanity 
 
 " Though the heart be weary, the way be long, 
 There is work by day, in the night a song ; 
 So hope, little children, hope." 
 
 As a Man Thinketh, so is He. 
 
 Think well, O man ! thy life is in thy thoughts. 
 
 Each thought's a guide ; some lead to heaven, some 
 
 hell. 
 Choose thou the good, and they shall bring thee on 
 Out of thy doubts and fears and lower life 
 Into the gracious glories of the skies. 
 Majestic fullness shall wait on thy steps, 
 And all thy paths be peace, 
 And joy and love shall hover round thee 
 Throughout all thy days, 
 Think thou but well. 
 
 A Lament. 
 
 O, for the one-time gladness, 
 O, for the stainless joy, 
 O, for the soul of whiteness 
 And the heart I had, as a boy. 
 
 67 
 
Poems of H u m an i t y 
 
 O, to hear the robins singing, 
 As I used to hear them then, 
 Or to feel that simple pleasure, 
 Never given to wiser men 
 When I made the willow whistle, 
 And tried it on the hill, 
 And heard the answering echo 
 From the old deserted mill. 
 
 Just to feel the sun-warmed water, 
 Of the bubbling little rill, 
 While it kissed my tanned-up ankles 
 As I fished below the mill. 
 Just to feel one little moment 
 All the wondrous thrill of joy, 
 When I gathered in a " shiner," 
 O, what 'tis to be a boy ! 
 
 Ah ! 'tis different, sadly different, 
 Now I am a grown-up man, 
 Not for me to play the truant, 
 Business holds me — she who can. 
 Should I think to go a-fishing, 
 I might lose a pile of gold. 
 All my clerks have their vacation 
 Business holds me — let her hold. 
 
 Yet — I don't know — what it's all for 
 Heaping up the dollars high, 
 I would give one big stack of 'em 
 For a piece of pumpkin pie. 
 68 
 
Poems of Humanity 
 
 Pumpkin pie, the real old pumpkin 
 Kind that mother used to make, 
 " Mother, tell me, isn't this 
 The day you mostly always bake ? " 
 
 " Sinking fast " the doctor murmured, 
 " His mind wanders," said the nurse. 
 
 Lilacs. 
 
 It's only a lilac bloom, 
 With it's manifold flow'rets sweet, 
 But it carries me back in thought, 
 Where I knelt at Mother's feet 
 
 On a sultry night in June, 
 By a cot all smooth an' white ; 
 I'm hard on th' dollars an' cents r 
 But I can't forget that night. 
 
 And th' lilac brings it back, — 
 They wuz ther' by the winder wide, 
 An' their deliket, sweet perfume 
 Stole in on the south wind's tide. 
 
 Purple an' white they hung 
 On the casements either side, 
 An' a branch of the wondrous white 
 Stole in thru th* winder wide. 
 
 6 9 
 
Poems of Humanity 
 
 An' their shadow fell on th' floor, 
 Where th' moonbeams traced it out ; 
 O, the lilac brings it back 
 An' less of th' man's fierce doubt 
 
 Finds lodge in my heart ternight, 
 Fer th' old flowers subtle scent ; 
 Some say es thers no Heav'n et all — 
 Then I wonder where she went — 
 
 My mother, so glad thet night, 
 Thet " Our Father " I cud say — 
 I wuz but a bit of a lad 
 But I'd tried fer many a day 
 
 Ter say th' pray'r thru right — 
 From th' child's own op'ning call, 
 To th' " glory forever, Amen " 
 Thet magnifies it all. 
 
 But of 'en an' of 'en I'd stuck 
 
 On " temptation " too intent 
 
 ( I've not forgotten how mother looked 
 
 When I asked her w'at it meant). 
 
 Th' tears stood in her eyes, 
 
 An' her face wuz sober an' sad 
 
 "My child, would God you need never know," 
 
 But then agen, more glad, 
 
 " But this I must trust to One 
 Who by His gracious power, 
 Can save my child from th' shoals of sin, 
 An' them thet seeks to devour." 
 
 70 
 
Poems of H u m an i ty 
 
 I'm not sech a very good man, 
 Religin I don't perfess, 
 But this I know, by the lilac's scent, 
 Thet whatever of happiness 
 
 Whatever of peace an' love 
 
 Have followed my way in life 
 
 It's been those times when I didn't ferget, 
 
 Right mid th' bustle an strife, 
 
 To offer a bit of th' prayer, 
 
 My mother heard me thet night 
 
 Where th ? lilac leaves were traced on th' floor, 
 
 By th' moonbeams mellow light. 
 
 May 25, 1901 
 
 7i 
 
POEMS OF LOVE. 
 
 If L 
 
 ove. 
 
 If Love grows cold by waiting, who can blame ? 
 Can fires burn on, which have no fuel to feed ? 
 Or lights still 'lumine, when their oil is spent ? 
 
 Shall scattered rose-leaves rise and bloom once more ? 
 Or birds sing, though the heart hath been plucked out ? 
 Then, if Love dies while waiting, who can blame ? 
 
 " Heart's-ease." 
 
 My heart is a garden, love, 
 
 Blooming so free ; 
 Great lilies white, and roses red, 
 
 Bloom there for thee. 
 
 Strange it may be, for I know not how it is, 
 Of all the gorgeous radiance, 
 One little flower I wis ; 
 
 It groweth in my garden, fairer than the rest. 
 Would you know the name, dear, 
 That I love the best ? 
 
 72 
 
Poems of Love 
 
 Modest is it, lowly, seeking not for fame. 
 Would you know the flower, dear ? 
 " Heart's-ease " is its name. 
 
 Truth. 
 
 Heart, O Love, if I had loved you less — 
 Or, failing that, had held back half my heart ; 
 Had I but been more niggard in the giving, 
 You would have treasured more the gift I gave. 
 
 1 was not so : too generous, too ready, simple fool, 
 To lavish all I had on him I loved. 
 
 Till you, not knowing how a precious thing 
 
 Could be so lavished 
 
 (Though women have done so since Mary's time, 
 
 Who poured the ointment, 
 
 Best, and all she had, 
 
 Over the feet of Him her soul adored), 
 
 Thought : " I am weary of this spendthrift thing," 
 
 And said to me : 
 
 " This love has little grown ; " 
 
 And broke my heart, and crushed it with that saying. 
 
 Yet, I do know it was my fault in all 
 
 With small pretense of giving little love, 
 
 Always a little less, than I received, 
 
 I was not so, could not be so, it seemed. 
 
 73 
 
P o e m s of Love 
 
 The Bride. 
 
 And I am thine, all thine ! 
 
 Long have I waited for this happy time. 
 
 No barrier now, to mar our lives' devotion, 
 
 No world-wide gaze to check true hearts' emotion. 
 
 God and the Church have blessed us ; we are one ; 
 
 That hath been said which may not be undone. 
 
 The sacrament that binds our lives to-day 
 Shall bless us as we go our married way. 
 Wait, dear, a moment. I am thine, all thine. 
 No sadness marks the giving, 'tis divine, 
 Yet — just a moment's tribute to the past. 
 
 Is it not wonderful, having waited long, 
 
 That now, at last, we sing our wedded song ? 
 
 The past is gone 1 I am a maid no more. 
 
 " Your wife ! " A fairer crown no queen e'er wore. 
 
 Your arms invite me ; yes, my love, I come, 
 
 Your willing, happy bride, to my dear home. 
 
 The Blush Rose. 
 
 A Rosebud opened her leaves to the light ; 
 The morning Sun, as he climbed the height, 
 
 74 
 
Poems of Love 
 
 Espied her there, though she strove to hide. 
 " I greet thee, my own true love ! " he cried. 
 
 He pressed a kiss on her pallid cheek; 
 It found her fainting, it left her weak ; 
 But her petals anon were seen to glow. 
 " I love him ! " she murmured, soft and low. 
 
 11 Why, Blush Rose! Blush Rose ! " the flowers cried, 
 " Your lover is gone, and he would not bide." 
 And she folded her petals, and breathed a sigh 
 For her heart's true love, no longer nigh. 
 
 And when day deepened to eventide, 
 " O foolish Rosebud ! " the roses cried, 
 " He's a fickle fellow, your lover gay, 
 With a smile, a kiss, and a moment's stay." 
 
 Her fair face flushed with a maiden's pride. 
 " He will come again ! " she bravely cried ; 
 And the Rosebud woke from a dream of bliss 
 When another dawn brought her lover's kiss. 
 
 Now with hope fulfilled, her petals bright 
 Blushed a deeper red in the Sun's true light, 
 As again she whispered, in accents sweet, 
 " I love him 1 " her joy was all complete. 
 
 75 
 
Poems of Love 
 
 After. 
 I took a holy love, 
 
 A perfect, pure, and benedictioned thing, 
 Trampled it under my all-crushing feet 
 Till it was dead. 
 And then I called to Heaven, 
 Moaning and pleading for my ruined love. 
 Pleading and calling for the joy I'd known, 
 The pure and perfect joy that I had known, 
 But all in vain. 
 
 When love is dead, what power can give back life ? 
 Then kill not love. 
 
 The Human Heart. 
 
 She said : " This love thou bringest me, I cannot have, 
 
 'Tis human love, a common thing enough. 
 
 What all men offer and all women take. 
 
 But I — I'm set apart from things like this — 
 
 Ahl no, my work, my life lies otherwhere. 
 
 Go to some other woman with your love. 
 
 My life, such paltry playthings lies above. 
 
 He said : " But there were other days to come." 
 For chosen work, her hands she found not strong. 
 The days dragged strangely and the nights were long. 
 Her heart said: "Love alone makes women strong." 
 She said : " Forgive me, God, for I was wrong." 
 Forgiveness came, but still the days dragged long. 
 
 76 
 
Poems of Love 
 
 A Song of Love. 
 
 (Dedicated to St. Valentine.) 
 " And they sang of love amid the trees to the music of harp 
 and viol." 
 
 Love is the streamlet, 
 
 It runs to the sea ; 
 Love is a segment 
 
 Of Eternity ; 
 Love is the question 
 
 And love the reply ; 
 Love is the shadow — 
 
 Yet for it we die. 
 
 Love is a rose 
 
 With many a thorn ; 
 Love is the goal 
 
 To which we are born ; 
 Love is a scale 
 
 With many a note ; 
 Love is a song 
 
 From nightingale's throat. 
 
 Love is sweet music 
 
 Hard to define ; 
 Love is life's mascot; 
 Love is life's wine. 
 Then love, love, love, let us love while we may, 
 For love is a sun that turns night into day. 
 
 77 
 
Poems of Love 
 
 Love is the center 
 
 And love is the pole ; 
 Love is a child 
 
 That is hard to control ; 
 Love is a thought 
 
 That dieth unborn ; 
 Love is the midnight 
 
 And love is the morn. 
 
 Love is the east 
 
 And love is the west ; 
 Love is the valley 
 
 And love is the crest ; 
 (Love is the hope that 
 
 My heart lovest best.) 
 
 Then love, sweet love, 
 Let us love while we may, 
 
 For 'tis love, only love, 
 That lightens earth's way ; 
 
 And 'tis love, dear love, 
 Turns our Winter to May. 
 
 Per Aspera Ad Astra. 
 
 She — 
 Nay, ask me not ; I may not love thee now; 
 My sin, my sin 1 It shuts the gates on me 
 Of my once Paradise. 
 
 78 
 
Poems of Love 
 
 To love thee ? I did love thee — love thee well — 
 
 Yet knew not then how Heav'n itself did dwell 
 
 With me — while I loved thee. 
 
 Now, O, my heart, O, poor desolate heart, 
 
 It is too late — too late ! Thou hast burnt out thy 
 
 fires — 
 To love or hate is not for thee. 
 For, in false name of love, what hast thou done ? 
 A sin 'gainst all love underneath God's sun. 
 
 (She turns to go) 
 
 He — 
 
 But I love thee ; dost hear ? I love thee, wife. 
 How can I help it that I love thee still ? 
 I would not help it, love doth rule my will. 
 Such love as ours can't die for sin or strife — 
 
 (Opens his arms) 
 
 If thou must suffer, suffer here — my wife I 
 
 She, holding back — 
 So — thou would'st take me back — to love and life — 
 To be once more thy loved and loving wife ? 
 And is it true ? Dost thou love me like this ? 
 Had I but known — O, height on height 
 
 of Bliss 1 
 
 (She pauses — thinks) 
 
 It may not be ; I love thy name too well 
 To smirch it with the unholy fires of hell. 
 Farewell, I go ; I thank thee ; and I go ; 
 
 79 
 
Poems of Love 
 
 Yet — ere I go — I kneel to kiss thy feet, 
 For showing me how God loves, high and sweet. 
 (She kneels — he raises her) 
 
 He — 
 Thou shalt not go — thou dost forget, my wife, 
 That when I wed thee, t'was for life, for life ! 
 Not even sin can set thee free of this, 
 That thou art mine — e'en since our bridal kiss. 
 Thou wilt go ? Then, love, it shall be with me ; 
 We'll seek our own in shores far over sea — 
 While love grows strong unto Eternity. 
 
 If Some Day. 
 
 If some day we should meet 
 
 'Mid passing throng, 
 Th' hast'ning crowd that 
 
 Surges all day long — 
 And eye should glance to eye 
 
 And face to face — 
 Tho' ships but speaking on a 
 
 Sea of space — 
 What, my beloved, would'st thou 
 
 Find in me, 
 Those things which past all 
 
 Else thy soul would seek — 
 Truth, righteousness, and all 
 
 High purity, 
 80 
 
Poems of Love 
 
 With love grown strong and 
 
 Holy yet most meek ? 
 O love, my love, I would it 
 
 Might be so 
 That all my best that inmost 
 
 Glance might know ; 
 For that one look I'd keep 
 
 My soul all pure, 
 That thou mightest find 
 
 The things that do endure. 
 
 Her Answer. 
 
 (" Do You Love Me, Dear ? ") 
 
 O, ask not bird in yon high nest to tell 
 
 The joy she feels in him that makes her life — 
 
 But sooner bid her, love, that song to swell 
 Than put this strangest question to your wife. 
 
 Or rather ask that orb that beams in heaven 
 If it could shine without the sun's warm glow, 
 
 Than ask thine own, the heart to thee long given, 
 Whether it beats for thee, as long ago. 
 
 That day when first thou put me, dear, love's question, 
 When first I promised, love, thy life to share — 
 
 Hast thou forgotten, heart o' mine, my answer, 
 
 Or canst thou believe thine own hath ceased to care ? 
 
 81 
 
Poems of Love 
 
 Ah, do I love thee ? doth sea love the sunset, 
 When all its glories flood the western sky ? 
 
 Doth sailor love the restless, rushing billows — 
 Or do we love dear friends no longer nigh ? 
 
 Dost believe I love my children, who around me 
 Hide in my gown as thou dost ope the door ? 
 
 Ah, would'st thou know a mother's love — thou canst 
 not — 
 Faith, I do love them, yet — / love thee more ! 
 
 More than our nestlings with their soft caresses, 
 Though they do bind us close by ties most sweet, 
 
 More than the home-loves of my own lost childhood — 
 Though they have left an aching sadness meet. 
 
 More than all else that life can give, my darling, 
 Heart of my heart, my soul's tide sets to thee ; 
 
 I sometimes fear I'd love thee more than Heaven 
 But then, my heart recalls Who gave me thee. 
 
 Edelweiss. 
 
 A maiden fair came out of the West, 
 
 The sunny West ; 
 And one white flower she held to her breast, 
 
 To her snowy breast. 
 
 82 
 
Poems of Love 
 
 A youth so brave sailed down from the North, 
 
 From the frozen North ; 
 With sails full white he sailed forth, 
 
 Sailed gaily forth. 
 
 They met where the sun line melts the snow, 
 
 The youth and the maid ; 
 He knelt at her feet, full meek and low, 
 
 Yet unafraid. 
 
 " Sweet maid," he said, " I kneel to woo, 
 
 Yet must I know — 
 The flower thou holdest to thy breast — 
 
 Is't pure as snow ? 
 
 " For all my days I've sought full fain 
 
 A perfect wife ; 
 A woman whose soul knows naught of stain, 
 
 Nor yet of strife." 
 
 The maiden heard and bent her head 
 
 In modest guise ; 
 Then raised her eyes to his ardent gaze 
 
 With strange surprise. 
 
 "If so they be, then doest thou well 
 
 To ask of me, 
 That the flower at my breast and the heart within 
 
 Should spotless be. 
 83 
 
Poems of Love 
 
 " But if thou has dragged in the dust of earth 
 
 Those milk-white sails ; 
 If thy feet have followed the truant heart 
 
 Where pleasure hails ; 
 
 " Then rise from thy knees and go thy way, 
 
 Forget thy quest 
 For the maiden heart, the stainless flower — 
 
 That guards my breast." 
 
 He rose at her word, but his eyes were aglow 
 
 With love-joy's light ; 
 " Oh, come to my arms, my beautiful bride, 
 
 My heart's delight. 
 
 11 Full many a day have I skimmed the seas 
 
 Since I sailed forth 
 In my trusty bark with its glistening sails, 
 
 From the frozen North. 
 
 " All the long way have I sought for thee, 
 
 My peerless rose ; 
 And the thought of thee has kept my heart 
 
 As th' Alpine snows. 
 
 " And my sails so white, they are spotless still 
 
 As the gleaming ice 
 Where the traveler seeks with tireless feet 
 
 The edelweiss." 
 
 84 
 
Poems of Love 
 
 She met with her eyes the truth that shone 
 
 In his speaking face. 
 11 Take thine own," she said, 
 
 And held out her hands with a royal grace. 
 
 Then they crossed the snow-line into the sun 
 
 The maid and the youth ; 
 And hand in hand, till their journey's done 
 
 They walk with Truth. 
 
 "Afar from Shore." 
 
 Out where the deep life-currents 
 
 Flow magically swift, 
 Out with the deep life-currents 
 
 My little boat shall drift ; 
 What reck I for the shallows 
 
 Or waves that lap the shore — 
 Out 'mid the deep life-currents 
 
 I'll sail forever more. 
 
 Dear heart, wilt thou come with me 
 
 Far from the world's wild strife ? 
 Sweet heart, wilt thou sail with me 
 
 And taste the joy of life ? 
 We'll leave the Little People 
 
 To their smooth and narrow bays, 
 While far out on the billows 
 
 We live out halcyon days. 
 
 85 
 
Poems of Love 
 
 Just thou and I together, 
 
 Naught else but sea and sky, 
 God's angels guarding o'er us, 
 
 The sea-gulls swooping by ; 
 We'll gaze with rev'rent faces 
 
 At each new-rising sun, 
 We'll court sweet noon-day graces, 
 
 We'll bless the day that's done. 
 
 While sea and sky implore us, 
 
 Come, love, our bark we'll shift 
 Out where the deep life-currents 
 
 Flow steadily and swift. 
 Nor pause we for the shallows, 
 
 Nor heed the cries from shore, 
 But far out 'yond the Narrows, 
 
 Sail on forever more. 
 
 A Field of Clover. 
 
 A field of clover in the morning sun, 
 
 Lay glowing, red and white ; 
 The labor of the day had bare begun, 
 
 The world was scarce alight. 
 
 Adown the path two happy lovers came, 
 The gay birds sang o'erhead — 
 
 So may they sing, so may the world be glad, 
 When those who love are wed. 
 
 TT TT TT * TT Tl * 
 
 86 
 
Poems of Love 
 
 Another morn — the first is not forgot, 
 
 Yet far away it seems ; 
 And all its beauty haunts one trembling heart, 
 
 It cometh back as dreams. 
 
 ^L, Jt. JZ- 4fc JZ; X .At, -it 
 
 TT -)r *7v" -TT "TT -7T -Tr "TT 
 
 And he, who wandereth far 'mid maze of men — 
 
 Doth he remember, too ? 
 Ah, clover fields and birds and fair, bright morns, 
 
 Are not for men to rue ! 
 
 When We Love. 
 
 This earth's the borderland of Eden 
 
 When we love, 
 And all its airs are perfume laden 
 
 When we love. 
 
 We look from Pisgah's lofty mountain 
 
 When we love, 
 And drink of youth's perpetual fountain 
 
 When we love. 
 
 O bird ! thou tellest thy mate sweet story — 
 
 Knowest thou love ? 
 Our hearts like thine shall sing of glory 
 
 For we love. 
 
 Angel, watching o'er us ever, 
 
 Thee and me, 
 Guard our steps that we may never 
 
 Parted be, 
 
Poems of Love 
 
 Till we join in thy sweet strain 
 
 In heaven above, 
 That glad music whose refrain 
 
 Is always love. 
 
 Hearts. 
 
 You have trodden on hearts for many a day, 
 
 My coquette ; 
 By the spilt blood of hearts we may trace your way, 
 
 O, coquette ; 
 Beware, lest some heart rise and blockade thy path — 
 Hearts are weak in their anguish, but great in their 
 
 wrath ; 
 Hearts have ghosts, too, my beauty, and ghosts bring 
 
 regret ; 
 Look out ! For things trampled on may not stay set ; 
 Beware, then, coquette ! 
 
 Love and Death. 
 
 Love and Death are strangely blended, 
 Ere our time to love is ended 
 
 Cometh Death. 
 When we love, we die to prove it 
 Where Love lives, comes Death to move it. 
 
 By a breath. 
 88 
 
Poems of Love 
 
 "A Day With Thee." 
 
 A day with thee is a day divine, 
 
 My own ; 
 'Tis the rarest pleasure my caresome life 
 
 Hath known ; 
 Whether skies be bright or clouds bedim 
 
 Their glory, 
 A day with thee is a fair and perfect Story. 
 
 One day with thee, my love, 
 
 Is better, sweeter 
 Than all glad days of all the year — 
 
 Completer — 
 Than the keenest pleasure, if 
 
 Thou hast not cared, 
 Than rarest treasure, if 
 
 By thee unshared. 
 
 A day with thee ! the very sun 
 
 Shines brighter ! 
 A day with thee — the air itself 
 
 Grows lighter ! 
 A day with thee — the birds are 
 
 Gayly singing 
 Sweet nature's truest, gladdest 
 
 Aspect ringing. 
 
 89 
 
Poems of Love 
 
 A day with thee — God grant such days 
 
 Be many, 
 And more, that they may never lack 
 
 In any 
 Of those sweet graces, 
 
 Which one day did crown, 
 Of which I write — you know 
 The date, my own. 
 
 " How Do I Love Thee," Love ? 
 
 " How do I love thee," Love ? 
 
 As angels love in heaven ; nay, not so ; 
 
 And even, methinks, angels themselves might kneel 
 
 To know the joy which loving thee, I feel. 
 
 For this is how I love thee, sweet, my own, 
 
 With all the full uprising of my heart, 
 
 My woman's heart which floweth out to thee 
 
 In one continual never-ebbing tide, 
 
 So calm, so peaceful, so divinely wide, 
 
 Flowing so gently from my life's rough shore, 
 
 I would go on thus loving evermore ; 
 
 Asking not overmuch, " Dost thou love me ? " 
 
 So glad, so perfect-blessed in loving thee. 
 
 90 
 
Poems of Love 
 
 The Soldier's Wooing. 
 
 To L. M. L. 
 
 He: " All thy gifts combine to please, 
 Sweet Louise; 
 By thy gray eyes' steady light, 
 Twin stars shining through my night ; 
 By thy soul as pure as dew, 
 By thy heart so woman-true, 
 By high thoughts all clear and grave, 
 By a life full fair and brave ; 
 By kind deeds to high and lowly, 
 By all things that make thee holy — 
 Dear Louise, I've loved thee long, 
 Thou couldst make my life a song. 
 Dear Louise, I love but thee, 
 Tell me, Sweet, couldst thou love me ? " 
 
 She : " In my heart I long had made 
 
 Place for friendship pure and grave. 
 In this bower, an earthly Heaven, 
 Highest seat to you I'd given ; 
 Nothing more you claimed as due, 
 Nothing more I gave to you. 
 But — our land rose up in might, 
 Battling for the rule of right, 
 Then I heard War's fierce alarms, 
 Heard the call ' To arms ! To arms ! ' 
 And you went 'mid deathly harms. 
 Swiftly did my soul awaken, 
 Friendship's dream was rudely shaken, 
 
 9 1 
 
Poems of Love 
 
 Fain would I have bid you stay, 
 Yet I said, O Heart, obey ! 
 'Tis thy country calls to-day, 
 So — I sent you on your way." 
 
 Here she paused, nor more would speak, 
 Rare the rose-hue dyed her cheek, 
 Till he, smiling, swift did say : 
 11 Hast thou loved me since that day? 
 Tell me, dear, O Sweetheart, say 1 " 
 
 Did she answer w T ith a word ? 
 Was it that or song of bird, 
 Or a branch by breezes stirred ? 
 Did she answer ? Who shall say ? 
 Something told him " Yes " that day. 
 
 The Whispering Wind in the Pines, 
 
 Ah ! distant sea, do you send to me 
 A word through the whispering pines ? 
 
 A word that none but my heart can hear, 
 A message not writ in lines ? 
 
 And what is the message you bring to me, 
 O whispering wind in the pines, 
 
 A whisper of wealth, a whisper of health, 
 A whisper of strange weird signs ? 
 92 
 
Poems of Love 
 
 Do ye speak to my soul of days that are flown, 
 
 Of joys that shall come no more ? 
 Do ye tell of summers past and gone, 
 
 Do ye call back winter's hoar ? 
 
 Ah 1 true, but your voice was once of these, 
 
 Ye spoke in a sere, sad note ; 
 But now, but now, my whispering pines, 
 
 Tell, tell what the fates have wrote. 
 
 And this is the answer they carry to me, 
 The whispering winds from the seas ; 
 
 And this is the message that's borne to my heart 
 By every sighing breeze. 
 
 " I love, I love, I love but thee, 
 
 My heart is forever thine, " 
 And it's whispered high and it's whispered low, 
 
 By the winds that breathe through the pines. 
 
 And ever the glad refrain repeats 
 
 The whispering wind in the pine, 
 And ever I number my glad heart beats 
 
 Which echo. " Forever thine ! " 
 
 Revolt. 
 
 Is it for hearts to disobey ? 
 Down you vagabond, down, I say ! 
 I have work to do, I have watch to keep, 
 There is naught for you but to lie and sleep, 
 
 93 
 
Poems of Love 
 
 I have chosen to work and to walk alone. 
 Peace, have done with your senseless moan. 
 
 Why are you clamoring long and shrill ? 
 Why do you leap when the road is still ? 
 Are there steps too distant for human ear, 
 Steps that only a heart can hear ? 
 Heed them not for my will shall rule, 
 Curse you, then, for a restless fool. 
 I must go alone — but the path is steep, 
 And the dark has visions — I pray you sleep 1 
 
 94 
 
POEMS OF CHILDHOOD 
 
 Nature's Child Message. 
 
 What doth the brook say, 
 Winding the wood ? 
 
 Dear little child, be good, 
 Be good. 
 
 What doth the sun say, 
 
 Shining all day ? 
 Dear little child, 
 
 Forget not to pray. 
 
 What saith the robin, 
 
 With his little red breast ? 
 Dear little child, in 
 
 God is our rest. 
 
 What from his haunt, 
 Saith the sad bobolink ? 
 
 Dear little child, 
 Think, alway, think. 
 
 95 
 
Poems of Childhood 
 
 Because My Mother Loves Me. 
 
 A little child stood singing by the brook. 
 " Why singest thou so, my little one ? " I asked. 
 Then gazing up with tender eyes to mine, 
 11 Because my mother loves me," she replied. 
 
 So may I sing beside the stream of life, 
 Unheeding of the stones that break its flow ; 
 And questioned, how my heart will let me sing- 
 Be ever ready with the rapt reply 
 " Because of One who loves me there on high." 
 
 A Child's Christmas Carol. 
 
 A child was laid in a manger, 
 And the careless world passed by ; 
 A child was laid in a manger, 
 And that was Christmas day ; 
 Then glory to God in the highest, 
 And peace to men of good-will, 
 For the Child is born, 
 And love is come, 
 And it bids our hearts "be still." 
 
 The Child He grew to manhood, 
 And the people heard Him speak ; 
 He laid His hands on the children's heads 
 He " glorified the meek." 
 
 96 
 
Poems of Childhood 
 
 He touched the eyes of the blind man 
 
 And lo, the dark was light ; 
 
 He healed the sick, He saved the lost, 
 
 The dead rose up at His might. 
 
 Then glory, glory, glory to God, 
 
 And peace to men of good-will, 
 
 For the Child is born, 
 
 And love is come 
 
 To bid sad hearts " be still." 
 
 Then came a day when the Child was slain, 
 
 (Ah ! the world grew dark at the sight :) 
 
 The sun was veiled, the earth did quake : 
 
 At noon-day was no light. 
 
 On a heavy cross they nailed Him, 
 
 On the cruel cross He died ; 
 
 And the people whom He had loved and taught 
 
 Stood mocking there at His side. 
 
 Yet glory to God in the highest, 
 
 And to men of good-will be peace ; 
 
 For the child must die 
 
 That Love be born 
 
 To bring sad souls release. 
 
 In Joseph's tomb they buried him, 
 Sweet Son of Mary's grace ; 
 The few who loved Him mourned in vain 
 No more to see His face. 
 
 Three long days passed, the sad world wept, 
 But Hope did wake again, 
 
 97 
 
Poems of Childhood 
 
 For He rose from the tomb, He rose in might, 
 
 The One so cruelly slain. 
 
 Then glory, glory, glory to God, 
 
 And men of good-will rejoice ! 
 
 For the Child is King, 
 
 He reigns in love — in love we list to His voice. 
 
 He died that He might conquer death, 
 
 He rose to show us heaven, 
 
 He reigns to bring a glad release 
 
 To souls by sin-chains riven. 
 
 Then glory, glory, glory to Thee 
 
 Thou Son of Mary, mild, 
 
 Thou art in the heavens high 
 
 And I am but a child ; 
 
 Yet will I remember Thee 
 
 And keep thy gentle will, 
 
 That Thou may'st smile on me 
 
 From Heaven's holy hill. 
 
 To a Child. 
 
 Little child, little child, what art thou ? 
 
 A flower from God's own garden of young souls, 
 
 Transplanted strangely in rude soil of earth ; 
 
 A leaf swayed to and fro by lightest breeze ; 
 
 A pearl brought up from waters infinite ; 
 
 The lily-of -Heaven's valley, yea thou art, 
 
 So fair, so fragrant, yet so lightly crushed. 
 
 9 8 
 
Poems of Childhood 
 
 Yea, thou art all of these, but more thou art, 
 O, greatly more, my little child divine. 
 Thou art a star seeking thy place-to-be 
 In God's great solar system constellar ; 
 Within thy soul thou hast the germ of life 
 That shall evolve an archangel or demon, 
 God's own, thou art, of His infinity 
 A wondrous, growing, changing, deathless part. 
 
 All this, thou art, O little child, and more — 
 Yea, more than I can see, or seeing, write — 
 All they who touch thee, do it reverently. 
 
 Geraldine at School. 
 
 Do you know a girl with dark brown hair, 
 And lithe little figure beyond compare, 
 And eyes that look you through and through, 
 Pure as the skies in their native blue, 
 A girl that all the way is true ? 
 That's Geraldine. 
 
 Do you know a flower with a bright little face ? 
 Do you know a child with a bird's own grace ? 
 With a song on her lips, from morning till night, 
 Because God made her soul all white ? 
 That's Geraldine. 
 
 99 
 
 LOFC. 
 
Poems of Childhood 
 
 Patriotism. 
 
 " What kind of a Fourth, little Jack ?" said I, 
 
 With an aunt's anxiety. 
 He smiled, then showed me a dimpled arm, 
 
 And his rolled-up-trouser's knee. 
 " I burned me here and I'm blistered there, 
 
 And here's where I fell," said he. 
 
 " See ! the burn's all red and the blister's white ; 
 
 And it's blue where I bruised my knee. 
 But wasn't it nice that I had them all — 
 
 All my country's colors, three ? 
 
 " Very nice, I presume, little lad," said I, 
 
 Withholding my sympathy — 
 " Gee-whiz ! didn't I send off a pile o' cracks — 
 
 'Twas a grand old Fourth !" said he. 
 
 In the Cathedral. 
 
 In dim corner of the old Cathedral, 
 
 Where God's sun had never, never shone, 
 
 Once was cut a window, gay and golden, 
 Orange, green, and purple, red like wine. 
 
 ioo 
 
Poems of Childhood 
 
 Here with many cuttings keen and perfect 
 
 Was inscribed a Latin-lettered text, 
 Long it was and failing to decipher, 
 
 Many a soul, full-wearied, turned and vext. 
 
 One day came a child of five short summers, 
 
 Golden hair all tossing in the breeze ; 
 Spied the dust on low sill of the window, 
 
 " Here I'll write a sermon, if you please." 
 Paused with eyes upraised unto Heaven — 
 
 Angel eyes astray from their own home — 
 " Tell me, God, what shall I write for sermon ? " 
 
 Did God answer — does He hear His own ? 
 
 Kneeling down, with straight and chubby finger, 
 
 Wrote, as once our Lord did, in the dust. 
 11 God so loved the world He gave His dear Son 
 
 'Lasting life to give to all that trust." 
 11 There, my sermon's done," he laughing murmured ; 
 
 Danced upon his way with shout of joy, 
 Stole a sunbeam through the glass, all golden, 
 
 Like a halo o'er the boy. 
 
 Strolled a stranger through the old Cathedral, 
 Worn and weary — sin-sore, too, was he. 
 
 " Here I came a lad," he murmured sadly, 
 " Many, many years have passed since then ; 
 
 For I've wandered from my Father's dwelling, 
 There's no hope for such as me, I ken." 
 
 IOI 
 
Poems of Childhood 
 
 Roving eye took in the glowing window, 
 
 " This is new since here I knelt of old, 
 Let me read what says — the light shines dimly — " 
 
 Nearer went to seek for hidden gold. 
 Found the text of Latin fair inscribed. 
 
 " For the scholar," sighed and turned aside, 
 Caught a glimpse of what the child had written, 
 
 Paused a moment longer to abide. 
 
 " God so loved the world He gave His own Son — " 
 The same that I learned here in days long past, 
 
 " That those who believe might find through Him the 
 Saviour, 
 The life of blessedness that ever lasts." 
 
 To a Chinese Child-Wife. 
 
 Sad little slave with the bounden feet, 
 And the trebly-bounden soul, 
 
 I look on thee from happier place 
 And shudder at thy dole. 
 
 No joy in life thou seemest to know, 
 Beaten and bruised and shamed, 
 
 Trampled of man — thy daily lot 
 A torture still unnamed. 
 
 102 
 
Poems of Childhood 
 
 Little child-woman with mournful eyes, 
 Bound fast in Custom's chains. 
 
 Turning to gods man wrought in stone 
 For solace for thy pains, 
 
 God pity thee and send thee soon 
 The message sweet and bright, 
 
 Of One, the sympathizing Christ, 
 Who makes the darkness light. 
 
 A Child's Wish. 
 
 Oh ! I wish that I were a little cloud 
 
 Up in yon fair blue sky, 
 A soft, white, fleecy Summer cloud, 
 
 How proudly I'd sail me by. 
 
 They are like white sheep on a blue, blue hill, 
 With their wool all soft and light, 
 
 Or like white-capped waves 
 
 On the deep blue sea, 
 
 All calm in the sun's clear light. 
 
 When I say my prayer 
 E'er I lay me down 
 
 To-night, on my pillow white, 
 I'll ask dear God 
 To make me a cloud 
 
 E'er shall dawn the morning bright. 
 103 
 
Poems of Childhood 
 
 " Mother's Boy." 
 
 We hear a good deal nowadays about 
 the mother's girl — 
 She's winsome, sweet and most demure, 
 Her smooth hair doesn't curl ; 
 
 I wish that some one'd say a word 
 about our " mother's boy," 
 He's all that's noble, brave and true, 
 He's mother's pride and joy. 
 
 He builds the fire and brings the coal, 
 
 And splits up all the wood ; 
 He rocks the baby when it cries 
 
 And minds it till it's good. 
 He goes to school and learns a lot, 
 
 But he knows well how to play ; 
 He'll be President yet — you mark my 
 word, 
 
 Or the country '11 rue the day. 
 
 Yes, we hear a whole lot nowadays 
 about that " mother's girl," 
 She's a dear, delightful, winsome 
 thing, 
 She's just a little pearl, 
 
 But I wish that some one'd say a 
 word about our mother's boy — 
 He's mother's strong, brave, right-hand man 
 Who brings her daily joy. 
 104 
 
POEMS OF PERSONS AND 
 PLACES. 
 
 Nathan Hale. 
 
 DEDICATED TO THE NORWALK CHAPTER, D. A. R. 
 
 Our land lay weak and wounded ; 
 
 They called for a volunteer, 
 For a service sorely needed, 
 
 For a service lone and drear. 
 
 There stood in line to harken 
 
 Strong men all bravely bred ; 
 
 And each man listened silently, 
 
 And each man shook his head. 
 
 They were men who heard the summons, 
 But none would answer the call, 
 
 Till one rose up among them, 
 The youngest of them all. 
 
 Said he : " This mission lowly, 
 
 We like it not at all ; 
 Yet is't not service holy 
 
 To follow duty's call ? 
 
 I05 
 
Poems of Persons and Places 
 
 And with our country needing, 
 Shall true sons say her nay ? 
 
 E'en though the heart be bleeding, 
 Be my part to obey." 
 
 Love asked him, " Art thou ready ? " 
 Love said, " And must thou go ? 
 
 So young, so gay, so gallant, 
 Behold, the dead lie low." 
 
 For Love, so sweet and human 
 His heart held tender place ; 
 
 Yet more than love of woman 
 He loved his land, his race. 
 
 Not his the halting footstep, 
 
 Not his the length 'ning face ; 
 
 But forth upon his errand 
 
 He sped with youth's glad grace. 
 
 His work so soon was ended, 
 
 His sun so early set ; 
 They reared the ghastly gallows 
 
 While yet the dew lay wet. 
 
 In light of early morning 
 
 They raised the hero there ; 
 
 Without an arm to lean upon, 
 Without a psalm or prayer. 
 106 
 
Poems of Persons and Places 
 
 Up spake the brutal hangman, 
 
 " What now, O spy, wilt say ? 
 
 Dost beg for British mercy ? 
 
 Dost plead an hour's delay ? " 
 
 Clear as a bell the answer, 
 
 ''Only one boon I'd pray, 
 
 Sweet country, on thine altar 
 More than one life to lay." 
 
 In light of early morning 
 
 They left his body there ; 
 While never a heart wept o'er him — 
 
 With never a psalm or prayer. 
 
 With never a heart to lean upon, 
 With never a sob he died ; 
 
 But God is God ; his fruitful life 
 Its seed hath scattered wide. 
 
 And sometimes a rugged school-boy, 
 
 Who cons the story o'er, 
 Thrills to find an answering echo 
 
 In his soul to his of yore. 
 
 And sometimes a weeping woman, 
 
 In the shadow of Death's dark vale, 
 
 Closes her white lips tighter 
 
 And murmurs the name of Hale. 
 107 
 
Poems of Persons and Places 
 
 And sometimes the man of action 
 Is girded to mightier thought, 
 
 As he hears the patriot's story, 
 
 And thinks what God hath wrought. 
 
 And so, in Heaven's sweet ruling, 
 
 The hero hath his way ; 
 And in the lives of others 
 
 He gives his own to-day. 
 
 A Path through the Woods. 
 
 It is covered with drifting snow, 
 
 The path through the woods ; 
 The wild winds over it blow. 
 
 It is steeped in a twilight light, 
 
 The path through the woods ; 
 It is silent as death's dark night, 
 
 The path through the woods. 
 Once it was all leaf strown, 
 
 That path through the woods. 
 Once it was mellow with tone, 
 
 That path through the woods ; 
 With sweet birds o'er it singing 
 And light feet o'er it ringing 
 Life and hope were ever springing 
 
 'Round that path in the woods. 
 1 08 
 
Poems of Persons and Places 
 
 There are times when I think of it sadly, 
 
 That path through the woods : 
 There are days when I think on it gladly, 
 
 That path through the woods. 
 For, though snow and winter bound it 
 And no birds sweetly sound it, 
 Yet my heart doth linger round it. 
 
 For this I believe undoubting, 
 That that which hath been, routing 
 All foes of change and shadow, 
 Shall conquer in the ending. 
 Shall greet our souls when, wending 
 Our way through the world's undying, 
 We meet what's underlying. 
 We understand the meaning 
 Of all that once was seeming ; 
 When merging from the shadow 
 Which now our souls doth cover, 
 We bless the powers supernal 
 For light which is eternal, 
 For life that's ever vernal. 
 
 South Norwalk, Conn. 
 
 109 
 
Poems of Persons and Places 
 
 Milton. 
 
 " O, God, I'm blind. I cannot see Thy stars ; 
 
 The glory of Thy sunset's golden bars, 
 
 The wild, swift circling of a sea-gull's flight, 
 
 The moon-lit waves that lap the shore at night, 
 
 The ships that quiet anchor in the bay, 
 
 The sun's red-rising, marking anew day, 
 
 The gladsome smiling of a child at play — 
 
 All this I am denied. 
 
 And not for me the great hill's distant peak, 
 
 All lit with lights that of Thy glory speak. 
 
 Nay, cloud-bound moor, shut out from height or sea, 
 
 Even this, O God, for one short hour to see ! 
 
 I am so blind ; oh ! for one little night 
 
 To stand and count thy stars, straining my sight ; 
 
 Here, the sweet evening star and there, Saturn, 
 
 And there great Jupiter, his light did burn, 
 
 And here I singled out The Milky Way. 
 
 And far beneath them all the clouds at play 
 
 Did hide the full-orbed moon from curious gaze; 
 
 Then hurrying, hie them on their errant ways, 
 
 Leaving her lonely in her mild surprise 
 
 With loveliness to feast our worshipping eyes. 
 
 All this, though I recall, 'tis not the same, 
 
 O, God, how blind ! I strain mine eyes till pain 
 
 Doth hold them in a vise — but all in vain. 
 
 O, God, I want my sight, give me my sight again." 
 
 no 
 
Poems of Persons and Places 
 
 Then God spake unto Milton from on high: 
 
 11 O, prayer, praying idly lest thou die 
 
 In fearful fervor of thine anguish rare, 
 
 Behold, and learn how God doth answer prayer. 
 
 O man, O Milton, thou wouldst see my stars, 
 
 Take thou the vision of the universe ; 
 
 Thou wouldst behold the great sun's crimson bars, 
 
 Rise thou and hear me false archangels curse. 
 
 And think of blindness, which of these is worse 
 
 To see created things and seeing be 
 
 So blind within, thou can'st not heaven see, 
 
 Or to behold my great infinity ? 
 
 Think on these things in thine infirmity, 
 Then take thy pen and write for sight-less men 
 The things I give thee, write, 
 And fill thy spirit with infinity. 
 Till thou dost know my heaven and my great sea 
 Learn thou the secret's deep of heaven and hell. 
 Find thou the place primeval man did dwell. 
 Tell how a world died in sin and shame, 
 Because it reverenced not my holy name. 
 
 Tell how, at last, to Paradise again 
 My love shall yet that wand'ring world regain. 
 Sing with the angels, O, blind Milton, sing, 
 Of deathless themes that through the ages ring, 
 And as thou singest, think then how thou prayed 
 For sight to see the hills, and shadows laid 
 
 in 
 
Poems of Persons and Places 
 
 Across the grass ; the sinking sun to mark. 
 And now thine angel guard. Milton, hark. 
 'Tis thine to walk in deepest earthly night 
 Take thou and live the gift I give, soul-sight." 
 
 The Voice stilled. Milton waited, so 
 
 " My prayer is answered," breathed he, bending low. 
 
 O, Beautiful, My Country! 
 
 O, beautiful, my country, 
 
 Thy flag shall ever be ! 
 Long hath it waved unfaltering 
 
 From Great Sea to Great Sea — 
 But now its proud unfurling 
 
 Holds the islands of the sea. 
 
 Through weary years of bondage 
 
 They sought for liberty ; 
 They cut their way from forests 
 
 To the plain lands of the free, 
 And there, at last, they found thee — 
 
 O, homeland, dear to me. 
 
 O, beautiful, my country, 
 
 Thou has not far to seek 
 For a divinest mission — 
 
 The strong unto the weak ; 
 
 112 
 
Poems of Persons and Places 
 
 Reach out thy great hand gravely, 
 Smile down with tender eyes — 
 
 " To aliens ? " No, thy brothers, 
 Fret not them anywise. 
 
 O, beautiful, my country, 
 
 But be thou only true, 
 And this shall be thy guerdon 
 
 To bring them life anew ; 
 To lift these people groping 
 
 In superstition's night, 
 To thine own loftier placing 
 
 In holy freedom light. 
 
 O, beautiful, my country, 
 
 Faint not in anywise ; 
 The nations look unto thee — 
 
 There's asking in their eyes. 
 'Tis Liberty that knights thee, 
 
 And shalt thou dare to fail ? 
 Her eyes — one look for love's sake 
 
 Then forth — ! Thy Holy Grail ! 
 
 O, beautiful, my country, 
 Our hearts are all with thee, 
 
 We know thy strength and glory, 
 Thy magnanimity. 
 
 We know, too, thou art passing 
 Through thy Gethsemane. 
 
 11 3 
 
Poems of Persons and Places 
 
 It is thy time of testing, 
 
 Thine hour of travail great ; 
 And the child that shall be born thee, 
 
 Shall they call it Love or Hate ? 
 All the nations look unto thee, 
 
 'Tis the day of Destiny ; 
 O, strong, O, brave, my country 
 
 Bring forth World-Liberty 1 
 
 New Haven, Dec. 10, 1900. 
 
 The Cuban Mother. 
 
 " Come closer, darling, closer, 
 Closer to thy mother's breast ; 
 Ah ! my loved one, ah, my sweet one, 
 If I could but give thee rest ; 
 If I could but give thee nurture 
 As I gave in days of yore." 
 Foolish mother — dying infant - 
 Seest thou not that life is o'er ? 
 
 Aye, she sees it, her eyes behold it, 
 Yet scarce feeleth she the pain ; 
 All her thoughts and all her anguish 
 Are with him — the lately slain. 
 Yea, with him, her dead child's father, 
 He who bore the Cuban sword 
 Bravely through the smoke of battle — 
 Pausing not for his reward. 
 
 114 
 
Poems of Persons and Places 
 
 And she sees — the Cuban mother — 
 With a vision keen as death — 
 How he fought nor ever faltered 
 Till he drew his dying breath. 
 Murmuring madly, speaking slowly, 
 Faintly murmuring as he died : 
 "Tell her, tell her, how I loved her, 
 She, my gracious, peerless bride. 
 
 Tell her that for her I bore it, 
 
 All the insult, all the pride ; 
 
 That for her I rose against it ; 
 
 That for her I fought and died 
 
 Praying that, if God should pity " — 
 
 And his dying eyes stared wild — 
 
 "I might save her — my beloved — 
 
 Save my darling and the child. 
 
 From the hands of those vile wretches 
 
 Fit for torturing, torturing pain — 
 
 From the hands of hell's own bloodhounds 
 
 From the volunteers of Spain ! 
 
 " But " — his gaze took in the guardsman, 
 And the fellow shook and quailed 
 For its look was straight and awful — 
 " But, I failed ; Great God, I failed ! 
 Failed to save them, Heaven deliver ! 
 Vengeance grant, though Thou be mild." 
 (See the shaking soldier quiver) ; 
 Hark ! he murmurs " Wife " and " Child." 
 
 "5 
 
Poems of Persons and P lac t 
 
 That was how the insurgent father 
 Rendered up his soul to God ; 
 Now the child has followed after ; 
 Surely she has felt the rod. 
 And the Cuban mother gazing, 
 Blankly gazing into space 
 In a mute and maddening sorrow 
 Murmurs " Vengeance comes apace." 
 
 For she hears from o'er the water 
 Sound of sob and moan of pain ; 
 Sound of helpless, groaning women, 
 Fellow victims they of Spain, 
 And she hears adown the ages, 
 Justice, with her stern demand 
 Saying, " I do hear thy moaning 
 And require it at their hand. 
 
 " Rachel, weeping for her children," — 
 Victims of the oppressor Spain, 
 Though their blood doth stain th' island 
 Or is sunken with the Maine ; 
 Whether in the land of freedom 
 Women taste their bitter rue 
 Or in fair Antillan island — 
 Surely they must have their due. 
 
 Whether mother in the north-land 
 Calls and calls, and calls again 
 For her boy, her stalwart sailor 
 Sunken with the brave ship Maine ; 
 
 116 
 
Poems of Persons and Places 
 
 Or in Cuba — desolated, 
 Widowed, childless, all alone 
 Taunted, tortured wife and mother 
 Feels her heart — nay feels a stone I 
 
 Lifts her eyes to God in Heaven ; 
 Prays and moans and prays in vain ; 
 Waiteth, waiteth, alway waiteth 
 For the vanquisher of Spain. 
 
 Stamford, Conn., April 12, 1898. 
 
 Retrospection. 
 
 Old House, where the lilacs blow, 
 'Neath thy maples bending low, 
 'Wildering roses white and red, 
 Showering petals on my head ; 
 But a memory thou art ; 
 Yet thou bringest to my heart, 
 Something sweeter than thy flowers — 
 Far, faint thoughts of boyhood's hours 
 And a mother's perfect face, 
 'Lumined with celestial grace, 
 Making holy, all the place. 
 
 Winnipauk, Conn., August, 1900. 
 
 117 
 
Poems of Persons and Places 
 
 Norwalk — 165 1 — 1901. 
 
 How now, O noble Red Men, 
 Are your spirits with us still ? 
 
 Do they brood above our valleys, 
 Do they linger on the hill ? 
 
 Build ye yet at night your camp-fires 
 As ye built in days of yore ? 
 
 Sit ye still in solemn circles, 
 
 While ye con your war tales o'er ? 
 
 Do ye mourn our peaceful hillsides, 
 And our cold, calm commerce life ? 
 
 Do ye shake your locks for action, 
 For the war-whoop and the knife ? 
 
 Around the weird Ischoda 
 Do ye meet with faces still ? 
 
 Tell me, should I rise at midnight, 
 And climb the crested hill ; 
 
 Should I find ye, oh, great chieftains, 
 Who ruled here long ago — 
 
 Ponus and grave Patonah, 
 And brave Mahackemo ; 
 
 Naramake, Owenoke, 
 
 With savage Winnipauke, 
 And the son of Wachamanne, 
 
 Sachem last of the Mohawk ? 
 118 
 
Poems of Persons and Places 
 
 If I found ye, free-born Red Men, 
 Would it be with black, bent brow, 
 
 Mourning for thy tribe's traditions, 
 While the council fires burn low ; 
 
 Mourning for thine ancient rulers, 
 And thy fearless, care-free life, 
 
 For thy trystless, trackless forests, 
 For the war trail's noiseless strife ? 
 
 Should I get me up at midnight, 
 
 And seek thy council fire, 
 Tell me, tell me, grave Patonah, 
 
 Should I find thy sons gone higher ; 
 
 Find at last they had evolved 
 
 From their sanguin'ous, savage lease ? 
 Find the tomahawk low buried -- 
 
 In its place the pipe of peace ? 
 
 Oh, if tired of civic brawling, 
 And the strain of social strife, 
 
 I should seek thy camp at midnight, 
 Thirsting for thy freer life, 
 
 Should I find, oh, Wachamanne, 
 
 And brave Mahackemo, 
 That the sure, swift years had taught thee 
 
 What we all needs some day know ? 
 119 
 
Poems of Persons and Places 
 
 And thou, stern-browed Naramake, 
 Hast thou found the truer way ? 
 
 The chiefest chief among you now — 
 Isn't he who best can pray? 
 
 Red Men, have the centuries shown you, 
 Through their clearer, shining light, 
 
 That the noblest — yea, the strongest, 
 Is not he whose hands can fight — 
 
 Is not he whose hands can throttle 
 Fiercest foes that 'fest his way, 
 
 But that soul, who, patient striving, 
 Conquers self from day to day ? 
 
 Who, each day, in spirit rising, 
 
 Climbeth ever higher heights, 
 Breathes each morn a purer ozone, 
 
 Sees each dawn a clearer light ; 
 
 Feeleth e'er his soul expanding 
 
 Liker to that Spirit Great, 
 Whom afar ye followed, Red Men, 
 
 While ye still had room for hate ; 
 
 Whom of old afar ye followed. — 
 
 In your council seats above 
 Have ve drawn a little nearer, 
 
 Have ye learned His name ? — 'tis Love. 
 120 
 
Poems of Persons and Places 
 
 San Domingo. 
 
 As some sweet dream of long-forgotten days, 
 Some glint of past existence rich and rare, 
 
 Thy form comes back to me through Memory's maze, 
 O Island, strangely fair. 
 
 I love thee for thy luxury of life, 
 
 For sweet extravagance of Nature's hand ; 
 
 For singing birds and calyxed colors rife, 
 And mystic airs that come like fairy wand 
 
 Bearing a spell of magic in their breath, 
 Stealing our hearts out ere we are aware, 
 
 Till, when the day of parting comes like Death, 
 We leave them at thy shrine, O Strangely Fair ! 
 
 Bicentennial Poem. 
 
 1701 — » YALE — 1901. 
 
 Wide are thy gates, O Yale ; they enter in ; 
 The lofty and the learned, from near and far, 
 Led by thy light, as Wise Men by the Star ; 
 From all our land — yea, shores far over sea 
 Send to thy birth's day those who bend the knee. 
 
 121 
 
Poems of Persons and Places 
 
 Look, lo they come 1 with aspect grave and grand 
 Philosophy and Art joined hand in hand, 
 Strong men of science and of learned lore — 
 Whose hearts are thine and shall be evermore. 
 
 Student and warrior, bookworm meeting brave, 
 Religion's minister — with judges grave, 
 Doctor and lawyer, statesmen of renown — 
 They who through toil of years have won their 
 
 crown — 
 And with them goodly throng of ardent youth, 
 Their eager footsteps following light and truth, 
 Who striving still, still labor to attain 
 The heights where Fame shall some day write 
 
 their name. 
 
 And with them one, chosen of God to rule 
 A nation suddenly bereft and lone, 
 A nation headless through a godless fool — 
 The dupe of knaves, of Antichrist the tool ; 
 Lured on to darkness by a Press impure — 
 So Judas kissed and made his victim sure, 
 A soldier-statesman, strong and unafraid, 
 By war's wild wrongs nor civil ills dismayed — 
 A man 'mong men and fond of manly worth, 
 Columbia's son and citizen of earth, 
 Roosevelt — who knows nor caste, nor clique, 
 
 nor clime, 
 But only man as man, whate'er his time, 
 Yea, man as brother, whatsoe'er his breed — 
 Son of the Over- All, higher than any screed. 
 
 122 
 
Poems of Persons and Places 
 
 And here, they say, we wandered 'neath thine 
 
 elms, 
 (Not yet the little god our hearts did sway) 
 But day by day we strengthened Friendship's 
 
 bonds — 
 Friendships the long, long years may not decay ; 
 And idly gossiped of the present, past, 
 But most of all of glowing days to be, 
 When we should fill the places of renown 
 And bring our laurels all, dear Yale, to thee. 
 To thee, dear mother, whom we loved so well, 
 Who guided us through foolish days of youth, 
 Who took us by the hand and led us on — 
 At thy full founts we drank deep draughts of 
 
 truth. 
 
 Of science, and of Christliness we learned — 
 Who saw'st that God had married these in one, 
 Nor thought, for all the wisdom of the schools, 
 To show thyself a wiser than His Son. 
 
 Through years of steady growing and of gain, 
 Lenient to youthful follies, though rebuked, 
 Thou didst inspire us ever to attain, 
 Showed us the good whichever way we looked ; 
 Till, in the fulness of our manhood's prime, 
 All proudly gazing on thy well-formed youth, 
 Thou sent'st us forth to battle tide and time — 
 Reminding still : " The goal of life is Truth." 
 
 123 
 
Poems of Persons and Places 
 
 Thou sent'st us forth from out thy peaceful halls, 
 Oh ! hard the parting : — yet thou mad'st it true, 
 Nor bade us linger — " Lo, thy work it calls, 
 Then go — and dare — and bring me honor due ; 
 Nor careless of my fame, however far, 
 Thy wandering feet shall bear thee from my 
 door." 
 
 We went ; the long, long years have passed be- 
 tween ; 
 
 We come again, O Mother Yale, to thee ; 
 
 The long, long years — they've not had power to 
 wean 
 
 Our thoughts, our prayers, our hopes apart from 
 thee ; 
 
 And now thou stand'st to greet thy son's return, 
 
 We feel thine arm outreached all tenderly ; 
 
 Thy heart for us, as ours for thee, doth yearn. 
 
 God grant it so through all the years to be. 
 
 And here the elms beneath whose shade we 
 
 played — 
 Those summer eves — they come at Memory's 
 
 call, 
 Or through the campus arm in arm we strayed — 
 Familiar scenes — yet time hath hallowed all : 
 For some are gone we loved in those past years, 
 Gone far beyond the thrill of life's strange pain, 
 Their souls we seek with silent, unsought tears — 
 Our spirits call to them — they call in vain. 
 
 124 
 
Poems of Persons and Places 
 
 Yet — here the halls which Science brooded o'er, 
 And there the temple where Art reigned supreme ; 
 In yonder house we learned of ancient lore, 
 This quiet corner's where our poet did dream. 
 And still there stands, all dark, and dread, and 
 
 drear, 
 The 'bode of Secrecy, light's dreadful bier — 
 Where children hurried by when sun had set 
 With scurrying feet and vague, delicious fear. 
 
 And now, our ancient haunts revisited, 
 Hands clasped we'd feared to never hold again, 
 Friendships re-formed, old classmates gazetted, 
 The hour of parting comes — 'tis quick with 
 
 pain. 
 Fain would we pause ; but Old Time may not 
 
 bide; 
 Farewell ; we wander far ; the world doth lure ; 
 O Mother, bless us e'er we leave thy side — 
 That and thy parting kiss shall keep us pure. 
 
 We may not linger in thy classic halls ; 
 Our time is short ; we battle wrongs that be ; 
 The day speeds onward and our work it calls — 
 Yet, e'er we go ; we'd pledge anew to thee : 
 O Mother Yale, we are thy children true ; 
 'Twere hard to pay the debt which thee we owe ; 
 Where'er we go our hearts shall wear thy blue, 
 Loyal to thee we'll be where'er we go. 
 
 125 
 
Poems of Persons and Places 
 
 O Mother Yale, we praise thee for the past — 
 The priceless past, wherein thou taught us true — 
 If life shall lease us aught that is to last, 
 That thing we'd render thee — it is thy due. 
 And may the future bring thee all its best — 
 The glorious future, with its gift of years, 
 The untried future, wherein we shall rest, 
 But thou go on, triumphant over fears. 
 
 Go on, great Mother, neither haste nor rest, 
 Strong and serene, blessing and ever blest; 
 Go on — nor ever let thy faith to fail ; 
 We know thou hast the light that shall not pale ; 
 We love thee for that light — thy vast avail : 
 God brighten it through all thy years, O Yale. 
 
 126 
 
NOV SO 1906 
 
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