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 PRESS: 
 
 M. S. HARDIE 
 
 OU BUQU E 
 
UBRARY of CONGRESS 
 
 Two CoDies Received 
 JAN 11 1907 
 
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ENTERED ACCORDING TO ACT OF CONGRESS 
 IN THE YEAR iqob BY 
 
 ROSE McGOVERN 
 
 IN THE OFFICE OF THE 
 LIBRARIAN OF CONGRESS AT WASHINGTON, D. C. 
 

A lover of art, with timid steps I come 
 To where the myriad candles pierce the gloom; 
 Sated my soul, with rare incense and perfume. 
 My heart, with maddening rapture, almost numb. 
 A sacred quiet prevails, my lips are dumb 
 And obdurate; 'tis in vain I bid them say 
 The words prepared so carefully yesterday: — 
 That I fain would linger here 'till life is done. 
 
 Frail, indeed, is the offering that I dare 
 To place, O Art, before thy glorious shrine, 
 So many priceless gifts have been offered there, 
 But I've loved so much, so long, reject not mine. 
 And I will but live to make thy throne more fair, 
 But live for thee, for I am forever thine. 
 
 R. M. 
 
Nocturnal Song. 
 
 All the night, crape-wrapt and shrouded, 
 Starless, moonless, phantom -crowded; 
 Wild, with culprit winds that rioted and frolicked 
 wantonly; 
 Sang a bird voice, clear, unbroken. 
 Just outside my window, open. 
 From the branches, sturdy, oaken, of the leaf encum- 
 bered tree. 
 Sang in accents, rippling, silvern, all the livelong 
 night to me. 
 
 In my dreams restless and haunted. 
 
 Canny, ghostly, shadow-daunted; 
 Fraught with visions strange and fearful, inexplicable 
 to me; 
 
 Like the limpid, dovelike cooing 
 
 Of a stream thro' woodlands flowing 
 Or a lost wind idly blowing down old ways of mystery, 
 Did I hear the ebbing, swelling of that tide of melody. 
 
 Out of sleep, awake I started. 
 Wide-eyed listened, rapture hearted. 
 Struck with wonder deep and fervent thus to hear at 
 midnight's shrine. 
 Thro' the blackness gladly trilling. 
 Soul-inspiring and nerve-thrilling. 
 Heaven-born and glory -filling, that sweet voice su- 
 preme, divine. 
 Singing in the night's wild fury, with a courage most 
 sublime. * 
 
From my eyelids drooping, dreary 
 Fled the shade of slumber, weary; 
 And with strong, impatient fervor that was not to be 
 denied, 
 I in deepest, fullest accord, 
 Crept noiselessly and all unheard. 
 Lured onward by that song and bird, to the casement, 
 
 swinging wide 
 Leaned far out into the darkness heard the elements' 
 mad ride. 
 
 Heard the elements' wild raging. 
 Heard the war that earth was waging. 
 Winds let loose from nature's power, rains that 
 splashed upon the sod; 
 But above it all the singing 
 Rose from branches tossing, swinging. 
 O'er the tumult clearly ringing like a message from 
 
 the God, 
 Sweet enough to stir with gladness hearts e'en lifeless 
 as a clod. 
 
 Straightway I forgot the storming. 
 In my veins the blood went warming. 
 Rose my spirit, rapt with music, o'er the blackness of 
 the night; 
 Round my heart flow'r wreaths were twining. 
 It was day, the sun was shining. 
 And the darkness and the whining, all were merged 
 
 in dazzling light. 
 And my soul fled from my keeping, soared unto the 
 summits bright. 
 
 lo 
 
Long I leaned there hesitating, 
 Deeply pond'ring, meditating, 
 Learning from that song a lesson I shall never more 
 forget; 
 Ah! I thought, how oft I'd rested 
 Safely hid, all unmolested. 
 While the wind fury-invested raved around and madly 
 
 swept; 
 When I might have cheered the darkness like a 
 vagrant I have slept. 
 
 Thanks, thanks, thou midnight singer lone, 
 For thou hast brought the lesson home. 
 Never more in life I'll waver or shrink from duty's 
 call; 
 Tho' wind and storm rave all around me, 
 From my tottering, swaying tree, 
 Happiest songster, just like thee, I shall sing in spite 
 
 of all. 
 Give to cheer, my little portion, tho' that portion 
 may be small. 
 
 <5o6 !^a6c the ^orl6 for !Jtte. 
 
 Ho! Spring is here with zest and cheer, 
 
 The skies above bend blue, 
 
 From voiceless clod to realms of God, 
 
 Old earth is born anew. 
 
 Now palpitant with robins' chant 
 
 And thrushes tremolo, 
 
 Throbs fast the air, lo! everywhere 
 
 Green verdure starts to show. 
 
 II 
 
My hearts' as wild as any child, 
 
 Just like the winds that come 
 
 Like love's own breath, to wake froci death 
 
 The frozen, cold and numb. 
 
 Deep in my veins confusion reigns 
 
 And I am glad and free. 
 
 For I tell you believe 'tis true 
 
 God made the world for me. 
 
 Yes, for my eyes He bent the skies. 
 
 Molded this earthly sphere. 
 
 Cast it afar, 'twixt orb and star 
 
 To whirl on year by year. 
 
 For me He flings, for me He swings 
 
 The censer lights that shine; 
 
 For me He trails thro' woodland vales 
 
 The rivers silvery line. 
 
 For me, His hand has decked the land 
 
 And piled the hills on high; 
 
 To make me dream the sunset scheme 
 
 Glows in the western sky. 
 
 For me you know, the dew-drops glow. 
 
 The violet droops its head. 
 
 For me the sun gold webs hath spun, 
 
 For me the rose is red. 
 
 You ask me why the God on high. 
 
 The Master should bestow 
 
 From His white throne on one alone 
 
 The beauty here below. 
 
 Tho' strange it seems to human beings. 
 
 Still I assert, proclaim. 
 
 That skies are blue for me, not you. 
 
 For me alone stars reign. 
 
 12 
 
For 'neath the sun there is no one 
 
 In climate far and near, 
 
 Who dreams the dreams or sees the scenes, 
 
 Or hears the things I hear. 
 
 And ev'ry word that God unheard 
 
 Has writ in tree or flow'r, 
 
 I read aright, for man's delight, 
 
 To show His love and pow'r. 
 
 And that is why the God on high. 
 
 All kind and graciously 
 
 In space has whirled this wondrous world 
 
 And given it to me. 
 
 So day may wane and night may reign 
 
 And clouds bedark the air. 
 
 The winds may crash and rain-drops splash, 
 
 I heed it not nor care. 
 
 For blood is red and swift the tread, 
 
 When youth is glad and free, 
 
 'Tis life's springtime, the world is mine, 
 
 God made it all for me. 
 
 Zh Wall from tlje '2>eptl)5. 
 
 Maybe somewhere the skies are clear, 
 Somewhere, perhaps roses bloom, 
 Maybe somewhere birds are singing, 
 Maybe somewhere it is June. 
 
 But we in the din and tumult. 
 We, the reeking, crowded herds, 
 What do we know of the roses, 
 What do we know of the birds. 
 
 13 
 
Does ever a bud or blossom 
 Or a June-tide glow for us, 
 Do we ever pause to admire 
 The maidenly rose-buds blush ? 
 
 For we are earth's little-gifted, 
 The stupid, the brainless crew. 
 Unconscious of joy in nature, 
 Blind to the bliss of the blue. 
 
 Does blood that is pale with hunger 
 Be filled with a love of art, 
 Can the gleam of a star or flow'r 
 Bring dreams to a bitter heart? 
 
 Can the sunset's gorgeous colors 
 Set brains that are dead on fire, 
 Enthuse our shrunk souls with rapture. 
 Low lives with a high desire ? 
 
 Maybe somewhere it is summer, 
 Maybe somewhere it is June, 
 But we the lowly must labor 
 And live in the deepest gloom. 
 
 Somewhere the fortunate revel 
 In the world God made for men; 
 They say we are blind and bestial, 
 Say we are none of their kin . 
 
 Somewhere there are children happy, 
 And ours are but soulless things, 
 Brainless and bereft of laughter 
 By care that poverty brings. 
 
 O God in a world of pleasure 
 What moments have we to play, 
 
 14 
 
And here are our souls neglected, 
 For what heart have we to pray ? 
 
 Here are the children You gave us, 
 And here are our squalid dens; 
 We're kept in the mire forever. 
 We die where our life begins. 
 
 We who have bartered our children's 
 And our own honor for bread; 
 Who shrink from the hell of living. 
 Shrink from the hell of the dead. 
 
 Lashed close to the wheel of slav'ry. 
 Bred up in the haunts of sin, 
 You ask why our souls are stupid, 
 You ask why our brains are dim. 
 
 Barred out from your halls and temples 
 Because we are soiled with mud. 
 You ask why our hearts are vicious, 
 You ask why we thirst for blood. 
 
 Maybe somewhere the skies are blue. 
 Somewhere, perhaps, roses bloom. 
 Maybe somewhere birds are singing, 
 Maybe somewhere it is June. 
 
 But we in the dust and clamor, 
 We, the sweat-drenched, weary herds, 
 What do we know of the roses ? 
 What do we know of the birds ? 
 
 O what was our crime, great Master? 
 Aye, what was our wrong or sin, 
 That our days should be da3-s of sorrow, 
 Our lives so dark and dim ? 
 
 15 
 
O why should we have no talents ? 
 Why should we possess no brains ? 
 And why should we get the drudgery 
 And the others get the gains ? 
 
 We know not which way to journey, 
 Know not what to dare or do, 
 Black-souled in death's dark hour, 
 God, what shall we say to You. 
 
 We who are bearing no treasures 
 
 Or banners or sheaves of wheat, 
 
 But bodies and souls frayed and wasted 
 
 lu a struggle for food to eat. 
 
 O God, when You come to judge us. 
 We shrink, yet we hope and trust. 
 Thou know'st the odds we were fighting, 
 Thou knowest we know Thou art just. 
 
 Mature Cove. 
 
 Oh! my heart and soul delights, 
 
 In fair nature's lovely sights. 
 And I am mighty glad to live, to love and dream; 
 
 For there's joy intense, untold. 
 
 In each tint of red or gold. 
 In every blooming flower and starry beam. 
 
 O my spirit soars and sings 
 
 At the upward flash of wings. 
 Far above me, into the blue mists of the sky. 
 
 And my eyes will never tire 
 
 Of the sunset's rainbow fire, 
 Or of eastern splendor when the dawn is drawing nigh. 
 
 i6 
 
There is rapture in the stream , 
 
 Singing, whisp'ring, in its dream, 
 A wondrous glory in the waterfall's mad dash; 
 
 And the foaming of the wave 
 
 Makes my spirit, O so brave. 
 How it warms my blood to hear the wind's wild crash! 
 
 O, I joy to watch twilight 
 
 Deepen into darker night. 
 And to see the dewdrops glisten on the flowers; 
 
 And my soul is glad to hear. 
 
 O'er the meadows, crystal, clear. 
 The dulcet chime of bells, in distant convent tow'rs. 
 
 There is beauty in the stars, 
 And the moonlight fleecy bars, 
 
 That thrills my soul, with a happiness, divine; 
 And the starlight agleaming. 
 Far sends, my heart adreaming 
 
 To some beauteous, angel-peopled height sublime. 
 
 O I never do feel sad, 
 
 And I never am so glad 
 As when the gentle buds and blossoms are in bloom. 
 
 When the lily and the rose 
 
 And the humble violet grows 
 And the air is heavily freighted with perfume. 
 
 It is then I like to stray 
 
 Down the wooded rugged way. 
 Where kindly Mother Nature rules with wondrous art; 
 
 O the joy to scan and trace 
 
 In each childlike flower-face 
 The clear reflection of a pure and stainless heart. 
 
 17 
 
And tbo' others grieve and sigh 
 When the tender blossoms die, 
 
 When summer time begins to wane and groweth old; 
 It is then my eye delights 
 In the gorgeous hues and sights 
 
 And I love the Autumn forest's bright gleaming gold. 
 
 Even in the summer's death, 
 
 Even in the winter's wrath. 
 Even in the wind's wild fury or winter snow, 
 
 There is beauty half divine, 
 
 There are lessons most sublime, 
 Lessons every human heart should read and know. 
 
 O I love Thee, Nature queen. 
 With my heart and soul supreme. 
 
 And all ardently I worship before thy shrine. 
 For I know it is thy voice 
 Makes my heart and soul rejoice, 
 
 That thy rich plentitude of glory all is mine. 
 
 Who is there who'd grieve or sigh, 
 
 Who is there who'd long to die, 
 With the earth so filled with beauty and with love ; 
 
 For this world with joy is rife. 
 
 And most beautiful is life. 
 If we would only trust the Father up above. 
 
 Sing, my heart, in cheer tonight 
 
 That my eyes can see the light, 
 And that my soul can drink the beauty on life's way; 
 
 For 'tis good to hope, forgive, 
 
 It is joy to love and live 
 In this grand and glorious world of ours today. 
 
 i8 
 
Ol)e World's Wa^. 
 
 You tell me that in the past now vanished, 
 
 In days departed, days forever fled, 
 Your heart was broken, life's joy was banished, 
 
 That there your young life's dream lies cold and 
 dead; 
 With a white pained face 3'ou sit there sighing. 
 
 Yes, sit there sadly and you dream the while 
 Of that past grave where life's hope is lying, 
 
 You speak of it to me, and yet I smile. 
 
 'Tis an old story your heart is crying, 
 
 And a common drama rehearsed by all; 
 But 'tis the world's way to laugh in dying, 
 
 To laugh and be merry whate'er befall. 
 What fev'rish folly to sit there dreaming 
 
 Of a sorrow past and a lost delight, 
 While the future's rich red wine is streaming, 
 
 While the Star of Hope is shining bright. 
 
 What use to sigh while the world rejoices. 
 
 For it heeds thee not but to mock thy groans, 
 And exultantly its heartless voices 
 
 Will pit 'less laugh to scorn thy tears and moans. 
 Arise with others and hide your sorrow 
 
 Behind a face that's all a cheerful smile; 
 Laugh on and live for a hopeful morrow, 
 
 Laugh and live tho' 5'our heart be dead the while. 
 
 Oemptatlon. 
 
 Above my head the clouds loom deep and black. 
 The night is coming, fast recedes the day, 
 Upon the chasm's verge, trembling, I pause; 
 And God, my God, seemeth so far away. 
 
 19 
 
So far away across the gloom of night, 
 
 No more mine eyes can see a gleam of light, 
 
 Or my heart feel His presence, sweet delight. 
 
 How long can I wait here in darkness alone, 
 "With freezing veins, and fearful, lagging steps? 
 How long before the reeling earth gives way 
 And lets me plunge into the awful depths ? 
 
 How long before the clouds unchecked will shed 
 Their rain and storm on my unsheltered head 
 And beat me to the dust beneath their tread ? 
 
 Not long, e'en now the raindrops start to fall. 
 From cavern depths strange voices to me call, 
 And night intense and deep, broods over all. 
 
 Why is it thus, why did my footsteps stray, 
 While others o'er the bright-lit paths move on? 
 Will those black clouds above me ne'er disperse, 
 And will this darkness never end in dawn ? 
 
 Why is it thus, O God why didst Thou go 
 And leave me to the winds and depths below, 
 The dark, abysmal depths my soul dreads so? 
 
 Where art Thou in this hour, my hour of grief, 
 Great King, Who gave me life. Who died for me; 
 Thou, Who for love of this frail heart endured 
 The passion and deep woe of Calvary ? 
 
 Where art Thou, Lamb, for me blood-drenched and 
 slain, 
 
 Thou Who hast known all sorrow and all pain ? 
 
 Shall all this Goodness bleed and die in vain ? 
 
 Alas! out of the night there comes to me, 
 '* Thou hast forsook the path He marked for thee; 
 " Thou art the recreant child, all goodness He." 
 
 20 
 
Thou art all goodness, yes, all mercy, too, 
 Unto Thy hands I trust this will of mine; 
 Come to me here, for I am weak and faint, 
 Dispel the gloom and let the fair stars shine. 
 
 Come to me in the darkness of the night 
 With all Thy strong and deep-enduring grace; 
 Come, for abysmal voices call to me, 
 Come ere I fall into that dark embrace. 
 
 With all my strength, O God, where e'er Thou be, 
 Out of the utmost depths I cry to Thee, 
 Victim of Calvary, come, O come to me. 
 
 The crown of genius is too oft a crown of thorns, 
 Each piercing deep into the throbbing brain; 
 Thrice crucified is he who feels its weight. 
 He knows all passion depths, the dregs of pain. 
 
 Like Him of old Who died on Calvary, 
 
 He pours his precious blood, empties his heart 
 
 Upon a world of stone, gives all in all 
 
 Only to hear the jeering mob depart. 
 
 He has his hours of agony and thirst. 
 And drinks the gall-filled cup the hating throng 
 Holds to his lips, unflinching, for there's One 
 Who gives him strength divine, and he is strong. 
 
 He has his hours of agony, and when 
 Death comes with kindly hand to end it all 
 The worlds that mocked and oft derided him, 
 Above his lonely sepulcher adoring fall. 
 
 21 
 
In the west, rose-hued and blushing, 
 Wine-steeped, paint-daubed, crimson flushing, 
 
 Full of magic incantation, full of wonder, mystery, 
 Fades the long day, worn and weary. 
 Leaves the world to darkness dreary, 
 
 Darkness somber, sable, death-like, full of weird solemnity. 
 
 For a moment, falt'ring, quiv'ring, 
 
 One last ray thro' darkness shiv'ring 
 And the Monarch of the Heavens in another world resides; 
 
 Then I bend mine ear to listen. 
 
 While the stars above me glisten, 
 And the moon resplendent, lustrous, from her western 
 palace glides. 
 
 Bend mine ear to listen quietly, 
 
 As I pause to listen nightly, 
 For a strain of dulcet music long familiar unto me, 
 
 Charged with rapture, wondrous, fearful. 
 
 Holy, solemn, joyful, tearful. 
 Bringing to the rustic toilers messages of joy to be. 
 
 O'er the lonesome woodlands, slowly. 
 
 O'er the desert valle3'S, lowly. 
 Swelling to a strong symphon}^ dying to a plaintive throb, 
 
 Now a requiem 'tis singing, 
 
 Now a tale of old 'tis ringing. 
 Now it is a note of laughter, now a stifled, repressed sob. 
 
 Far across the meadows sloping. 
 Thro' the night my heart goes groping, 
 Groping to a grey-walled Abbey, prominent against the 
 sky; 
 
 22 
 
Prominent, supreme and stately, 
 
 Rearing up sober, sedately, 
 
 In its cold, forbidding grandeur, proof against all worldly 
 cry. 
 
 Silent when the world is raving, 
 
 Cheating, striving, toiling, craving. 
 
 Peaceful in the heated clamor, in the tumult and the blare, 
 
 Heedless of the worldly teeming. 
 
 Heedless of the shams and scheming, 
 
 In those walls a heaven is reigning, heav'n born of praise 
 and prayer. 
 
 From that tower, upward rearing, 
 When the death of day is nearing, 
 And the darkness comes from mansions where the black- 
 robed Goddess dwells, 
 I can hear that deep-toned ringing. 
 Graceful, tuneful, throbbing, swinging, 
 Music stirring, heart-felt, blissful, of those Monastery 
 Bells. 
 
 Always when the dawn is trembling 
 
 On earth's edge, her light assembling. 
 Piercing thro' the deeps and thickets, crevices and vales 
 and dells, 
 
 I am roused from slumber's dreaming 
 
 By the clear persistent teeming. 
 By the echoes godly, holy of those Monastery Bells. 
 
 Pause and listen to their quav'ring, 
 
 To each note so strong, unwav'ring, 
 Pause and tell me what they're chiming so intense and 
 fervently; 
 
 Is it of the present flying. 
 
 Or the days before us lying. 
 That they chant in alien accent a mystic prophecy ? 
 
 23 
 
Is it of the ages olden, 
 That they speak in language golden, 
 Of red wars and coward traitors, monarchs heartless and 
 unjust ? 
 Do they tell of monasticisni, 
 Clan and sect and feudalism, 
 When the blood of faithful martyrs stained a deep dark 
 red the dust? 
 
 Do they sing of brave crusaders. 
 
 Vandals lawless, vile marauders, 
 Do they tell of lord and vassal and of knights of chivalry, 
 
 Do they tell of tournament, 
 
 Victories, triumphs, heaven-sent, 
 Do they sing of ancient cities and of lands beyond the 
 sea ? 
 
 Bells within your depths resounding. 
 
 Trembling, swelling, leaping, bounding, 
 I can hear the clash of battle and the bugles martial call; 
 
 I can hear the cries of terror, 
 
 Vict'ry won in spite of horror. 
 And the voice of God so mighty, strong, predominant o'er 
 all. 
 
 I can read the olden story 
 
 Of God's Church, her wrongs and glory, 
 Glory that endures forever and forever it will last; 
 
 I can hear a small voice saying, 
 
 God still lives. He still is swaying. 
 He will triumph in the future, as He triumphed in the past. 
 
 Bells of morning, noon and evening, 
 Send your music clashing, cleaving, 
 Down earth's ev'ry nook and valley, into ev'ry clime and 
 zone; 
 
 24 
 
Tell the patient, toiling slowly 
 Up the hillside, tell the lowly, 
 That the God, Who reigns in Heaven, still looks down 
 upon His own. 
 
 Tell the honored, tell the branded. 
 Tell the clean and the foul-handed. 
 Tell the ignorant and knowing, tell the mighty and the 
 high, 
 That the King of might and power, 
 Still is Master of the hour, 
 Still He keeps guard o'er His people from that watch- 
 tower in the sky. 
 
 Tell the penitent, heart moaning, 
 In sack-cloth and ashes groaning, 
 For the sins of reckless passion and the deeds of dark un- 
 right; 
 Tell him that the God is living, 
 Gentle, loving, and forgiving. 
 He will meet him, He will greet him, He will strive and 
 make him white. 
 
 Ring across the moor and headland, 
 
 Thro' the thicket and the woodland, 
 To the hives of human toilers, tell the cities of the land 
 
 That the God, Who smote Gomorrah 
 
 And her sister unto sorrow, 
 Still has pow'r to crush another who is deaf to His com- 
 mand. 
 
 Bells of shadows, drooping, lifting, 
 Fifty years thro' life's scenes shifting, 
 Have yon hills, and plains, and valleys heard your paens 
 and sad knells ? 
 
 25 
 
Fifty years your fervent chiming 
 Thrilled the heart whose day was dying, 
 Fifty years you've tolled your message, faithful Monas- 
 tery Bells. 
 
 In the years before us looming, 
 
 Far or near, O bells, 3'our tuning 
 Will go ringing thro' our heart-chords when the shades of 
 twilight fall; 
 
 And 'twill set us meditating, 
 
 Pond'ring, musing, contemplating, 
 'Till each fibre of our being is wrapt up in holy thrall. 
 
 And again we will go groping 
 Far across the meadows sloping. 
 To that sober grey-walled Abbey on a gentle green-clad 
 crest; 
 Once again behold that tower 
 Gilded in the sunset's dower, 
 Once again our hearts besoothed by the sense of peace 
 and rest. 
 
 Bells of shadows, drooping, lifting. 
 Ever more thro' life's scenes shifting, 
 
 Just like the crystal air waves, that you have awakened 
 into swells; 
 Ev'ry wave of thought emotion 
 You have stirred in life's heart-ocean 
 
 Will spread on and live forever, Happy Monastery Bells. 
 
 Out Wzst 
 
 Vague, indistinct, and gilded by romance. 
 
 As sunset gilds the river when at rest. 
 
 The dream of boyhood's adventurous heart. 
 
 The hope of bankrupt youth, supreme Out West. 
 
 26 
 
Land of the greenest fields and bluest skies, 
 Where whirls the snow or rolls the golden seas, 
 Land of the reddest lips and brightest eyes, 
 Land of the unchecked sun and wanton breeze, 
 Land of the open plains and open ways. 
 Of lofty bold-browed mounts with icy crest, 
 Where Nature schemes to thrill and overcome 
 The trav'ler's heart with awe, superb Out West. 
 
 Land of the careless life, the free wild life. 
 Dare-devil deed and chivalrous enterprise. 
 Land of the wondrous cowboy and his herds, 
 Land where the gypsy roams and coyote cries. 
 Land, strange land, of the deep vast solitudes, 
 Land of the motley types, the worst and best, 
 Of long clear nights and the stars and plains. 
 Land of untrammeled flight. Out West, Out West. 
 
 Land of the stoutest hearts and strongest men. 
 Broad-chested, strong-muscled, our hope and stay, 
 Fused with spirit of plain and solid hills, 
 Masters of toil and brawn and dare are they. 
 Land of the lonely life, the rugged way, 
 Land of the hardship, toil and crucial test, 
 Land of the brave, strong mothers, truest loves. 
 Land of storied romance, peerless Out- West. 
 
 Ol)at i>ear 016 Oown. 
 
 In that dear old town the sun goes down 
 
 Tonight just as of old; 
 I can see the glow as long ago 
 
 Of hues both red and gold; 
 That dear old town I love it so. 
 
 27 
 
As if in a dream I see the green 
 
 Where often times I played, 
 The shady wood where the old church stood, 
 
 Where oft in youth I prayed; 
 These thoughts of old they do me good. 
 
 From the old church tow'r this twilight hour 
 
 The bell rings on the air; 
 I can hear that strain, almost again, 
 
 For I know 'tis ringing there; — 
 O the past is gone and regret vain. 
 
 Down all life's ways thro' the mist and haze 
 
 I seem to ever hear 
 The ebb and swell of that dear bell. 
 
 Its music soft and clear, 
 'Twill ring till death and then, ah well! 
 
 Perhaps my eyes from the vaulted skies 
 
 May oft look gladly down 
 On the winding streams and the sunset scenes 
 
 And lights of that old town, 
 Where once I dreamed my childhood dreams. 
 
 Om Xjt^bo Sang. 
 
 A vein of intense joy ran thro' his lines, 
 
 A spell of keenest mirth, of gayety. 
 No shadow but all mellow, glad sunshine. 
 
 That lured our souls to dreams of ecstasy; 
 And as I read oft times I've thought some hand 
 
 Gifted by heav'n had caught from woodland shade 
 The notes of some rich-throated songster-band. 
 
 Transformed them into words of hope, that made 
 
 28 
 
All thinscs on earth more beautiful and glad, 
 And so one day my heart began to long 
 
 For just one glimpse of him, whose music had 
 
 Filled all my life with mirth, with joy and song. 
 
 For oh, how glad and calm must be, I thought. 
 
 The face of him, who never sang of care, 
 The life of him whose fertile brain had wrought 
 
 All things that were most wonderful and fair. 
 But when in his retreat I stood, and found 
 
 No glimpse of perfect happiness, ah! no, 
 Nor glint of sunshine bright, but all around 
 
 Signs of struggle with penury and woe; 
 
 My eyes grew dim with burning unshed tears, 
 
 My soul so faint with grief scarce could I stand, 
 So much in life we ne'er can comprehend, 
 
 So much there is, we cannot understand; 
 For he who sang the livelong day of joy 
 
 And sweetest songs of gladness and of glee. 
 Was bowed with grief, his face was seamed with lines 
 
 Of bitter strife, despair and misery. 
 
 Ol^e 016 Soldier. 
 
 There's only one thing can quicken 
 The slow blood in nn- veins, 
 'Tis the soldiers' tread 
 And the flag o'er head. 
 And the bugles clear, martial strains. 
 
 Then from my brow the frosts of age 
 Melt swift like winter's snow; 
 
 And my eyes grow bright 
 
 With the fire of fight. 
 And I live in the long ago. 
 
 29 
 
O hopes of youth are long time spent, 
 And strength no longer mine; 
 But my dim eyes fill, 
 And my numb nerves thrill 
 At the sight of that blue clad line. 
 
 Now the cry and clash of battle 
 
 Are stilled, and freedom's breath 
 Blows over the land, 
 And the brave old band 
 Are joining the ranks of death. 
 
 But I'm sure one thing can summon 
 The life back to my veins, 
 'Tis the soldier's tread. 
 And the flag o'erhead. 
 And the bugle's triumphant strains. 
 
 Star of 3*rope. 
 
 O Star of Hope shine bright for those 
 Who mourn beside their dead; 
 Show them the path between the stars 
 That leads to Christ o'er head; 
 Shine for the lonely, loveless ones 
 Who walk their ways apart. 
 For those who toil down rugged roads 
 And know the aching heart. 
 
 Shine for the empty lives that ne'er 
 Have known love's tender pain; 
 For hearts that loved with truest love, 
 But loved alas in vain; 
 
 30 
 
For lowly, struggling ones of earth, 
 The hardened hands that toil, 
 For lives bedarked by poverty, 
 By ceaseless care and moil. 
 
 Shine for the guiltless brow that wears 
 
 Another's brand of wrong, 
 
 The weaker one who patient bears 
 
 The burdens of the strong; 
 
 For the heart that strives and struggles 
 
 To heights supreme and grand, 
 
 Only to fail and fall just when 
 
 The prize is close at hand. 
 
 Shine on the dim, benighted mind 
 
 That gropes in darkest night; 
 
 Gleam where the shades of passion tense 
 
 Blind eyes unto the right; 
 
 Gleam on the hard unrighteous soul 
 
 Close chained in toils of sin, 
 
 Show him that Heart of kindest Love, 
 
 The God Who died for men. 
 
 Not in the mellow gold of day, 
 
 Not on hearts that are glad. 
 
 But shine through blackness of the night, 
 
 Shine on hearts that are sad. 
 
 Not for the saint with hallowed brow. 
 
 Or minds with knowledge bright. 
 
 But for the sinner, the ignorant, 
 
 Shine star with strongest light. 
 
 31 
 
Iffope. 
 
 Not the clouds or shades of the present, 
 Not the doubts or fears do I see; 
 Not the pall that darkens the day-light, 
 Or the gloom that envelops me. 
 
 But far on the slopes of the future, 
 The light of a star and the sign 
 That presages a glad tomorrow. 
 And joys that are yet to be mine. 
 
 "dje il^ream of 3ulleti iDubuque. 
 
 This is the dream he dreamed, who sleeps 
 
 In death's unbroken calm without the mart, 
 Upon a noble height where wild, free sweeps 
 
 Of winds, west-born, dear to his rugged heart, 
 Caress bis lonely grave, and to him bear 
 
 The sad notturno of the mighty stream. 
 The stream he loved, that sings and sings fore'er 
 
 Of forest's pristine grandeur, camp-fire's gleam. 
 A joyous dream, what time the hills that rise 
 
 Broad, full-breasted, should clasp a city's form, 
 Throbbing with rich, red blood of enterprise, 
 
 With pride and courage, zest and vigor warm, 
 Unto their mother hearts, when primal vale 
 
 Should yield to human conquest and mandate, 
 And where the Savage lurked and carved his trail, 
 
 A city's venial stream should swift pulsate. 
 
 II. 
 
 This is the dream he dreamed, long days 
 Beside the river, days of perfectness, 
 
 32 
 
When sunlight lost itself in untrod ways 
 
 And earth was fair in virgin loveliness; 
 When the myst'ry of ancient wilds, untamed, 
 
 Gave zest to life and made the blood fast flow, 
 When rugged hills and flood-worlds, all unchained, 
 
 Flourished in sturdy grandeur, youthful glow. 
 Days that he roamed afar, sought and explored 
 
 The heart of unknown vales, scaled lofty steeps, 
 Delved in the depths of earth, brought wealth, long 
 stored 
 
 To light of day from dark, abysmal deeps. 
 Days when he lived with Nature, laughed in glee, 
 
 Heard her ev'ry heart-beat, drank from her veins 
 The spirit of the wood, untrammeled, free; 
 
 The spirit broad, of boundless hills and plains. 
 Days when winds of the east, winds of the west. 
 
 When the wail of river and woodland voice 
 Were pregnant with prophecies, hopeful, blest, 
 
 That thrilled his soul and made his heart rejoice. 
 
 III. 
 
 This is the dream he dreamed long nights, 
 
 Deep in the forest's still, somnific gloom; 
 As from the wigwam door he watched the lights 
 
 Flash far above, he heard the night-bird croon 
 Unto her young, and thought of his lost joys. 
 
 Of home delights, dead with his yesterday. 
 And ever he mused and listed to the noise 
 
 Of prophet tongues in sportive winds at play; 
 Sweeping across the level, open plain. 
 
 Or rustling in the frondage of the trees, 
 That swayed like some impassioned mortal frame, 
 
 Convulsed with grief or rage in fate's mad breeze. 
 
 33 
 
Afar lie heard the river, caught the gleam 
 
 Of opalescent waves, pearl-edged and clear. 
 With love intense, he loved the great, wide stream 
 
 In that vast calm, it was his solace, cheer. 
 How oft it sang to him as on it crept 
 
 Along its course, 'twixt banks alternate low, 
 Then steep and high, or else anon it slept, 
 
 'Mid fertile plains, where lily-lined and slow 
 It reveled 'mid Arcadian dells then fast. 
 
 By city gates and country hamlets fair. 
 Until in greater deeps 'tis lost at last. 
 
 Is lost in the gulf's broad expanse fore'er. 
 Sang of a far-off world, of brighter skies. 
 
 Of flow'r, vine, rich fruitage, sunnier lands, 
 Mirth and music, gleam of flashing eyes. 
 
 The clasp, the vibrant thrill of meeting hands. 
 Sang of a heartless woman's deep deceit. 
 
 Of youth's strong passion, unrequited, vain; 
 Then hate, renunciation and retreat 
 
 From social haunts, to wood and field and plain. 
 Sang of the old love, false, sang of the darling new 
 
 Love of the madd'ning stir of liberty. 
 Sang of the vision far that held his view, 
 
 Sang of triumph hid in futurity. 
 
 IV. 
 
 This is the dream he dreamed alway 
 
 By the camp fire's lurid and flick'ring flame, 
 Until his moody heart grew glad and gay, 
 
 Until his blood ran riot in each vein. 
 He saw beyond the mists and battle-fires 
 
 On the slopes of seven hills, tow'r-topped, supreme, 
 Tier upon tier, a city's roofs and spires 
 
 Loom up against the blue of skies, serene. 
 
 34 
 
And gleaming in the sunset's final ray, 
 
 Religion's blest retreats, white shining walls. 
 Thrones where proud knowledge held her regal sway, 
 
 Where science and art kept court in classic halls. 
 He saw those marble founts with master care 
 
 Reared by the hands of Prelates mitre-crowned, 
 Purple-robed, godly shepherds, fountains where 
 
 The tired souls might well appease and drown 
 In waters cool, aye evermore might still 
 
 Their thirst divine, where plastic minds of youth 
 Could sip the precious draught, could drink their fill 
 
 Of life's nectar, eternal life, in truth. 
 He saw the patriot sons, he heard their names 
 
 Go ringing thro' the land; it stirred his heart; 
 He heard the convent bells, cathedral chimes. 
 
 The blare and brawn, the clash of city mart. 
 
 V. 
 
 This is the dream he dreamed, the tale 
 
 His seeing eye read clear in ev'ry strain 
 Of vagrant winds, in ev'ry sigh or wail. 
 
 In rustling leaf and ripple of the plain. 
 Sweetly the dreamer sleeps upon the height, 
 
 A height love-wrapt and bathed in silver mist; 
 Decked by the tender tears of gray tvv'ilight. 
 
 And oft by fleecy starlight soothed and kissed. 
 Over him lilts the wind and shines the moon, 
 
 Over him droops the wings of Goddess Past; 
 And the river chants and the song-birds croon 
 
 Of the dream he dreamed, realized at last. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Sleeping he dreams, and dreaming hears 
 
 The din, the clash and clamor so close by; 
 
 35 
 
Nestled 'mid hills, a city that rears 
 
 Minaret, tower and steeple to the sky. 
 All thro' the day the factories' seething mart, 
 
 The chime of Angelas at nightfall, dim. 
 The stir, leap and throb of a mighty heart, 
 
 A city bearing his name, that honors him. 
 This is his dream, so strange, so true, so fair, 
 
 The dream of the wood in realistic truth; 
 He sleeps, and the winds sing to him fore'er, 
 
 This is the dream you dreamed, Dubuque. 
 
 VII. 
 
 City of happy homes and shrines and bowers, 
 
 Of halls far-famed, and life and strength untold, 
 City of long bright days and twilight hours, 
 
 Of everlasting hills and sunshine gold. 
 Perchance within the shadow of thy walls 
 
 Hunger and want with woe and strife are blent, 
 And wrong and grief may trespass in thy halls, 
 
 Still city of hills thou art magnificent. 
 Great in thy honored sons whose names appear 
 
 High on the college walls, and scrolls of state. 
 In classic abode, in peace and progress rare; 
 
 In brotherhood, harmony, and concord, great. 
 Grand in all these, but grander far, forsooth. 
 
 In the spires and glitt'ring crosses that proclaim 
 Thy faithfulness to the shepherds of thy youth, 
 
 Who built thee on a rock, nor built in vain. 
 Sunshine upon thy heights forever more; 
 
 Joy be thine, prosperity and truth; 
 Ideal of him who sleeps without thy door 
 
 And dreaming dreams of thee, peerless Dubuque. 
 
 36 
 
<Bo Slow, yti^ JFeet <bo Slow. 
 
 The joys are mine, of summer time, — 
 The pleasure, gleam and glow ; 
 
 Fair warblers sing, and joy-bells ring ; — 
 Go slow, my feet, go slow. 
 
 Nature in green is wrapt, a queen, 
 
 The brooklets, purling, flow, 
 And blue o'erhead the skies are spread ; — 
 
 Go slow, my feet, go slow. 
 
 The world all round with flow'rs is bound, 
 The winds chant soft and low. 
 
 What joy supreme ! what bliss serene ! — 
 Go slow, my feet, go slow. 
 
 Too soon, alas ! will summer pass, 
 
 Too soon will winter's snow 
 Glisten and gleam where flow'rs did dream ;- 
 
 Go slow, my feet, go slow. 
 
 Too soon will fade from nook and shade 
 
 The comrades I love so ; 
 And clouds on high will dark the sky ; — 
 
 Go slow, my feet, go slow. 
 
 O thought forlorn, too soon life's morn 
 Will lose its gleam and glow ; 
 
 Then storms will reign, of grief and pain ; 
 Go slow, my feet, go slow. 
 
 'Tis then this heart will feel the smart 
 
 Of chilling winds that blow. 
 And sorrow's sway will dim my way ; 
 
 Go slow, my feet, go slow. 
 
 37 
 
O, summer, stay with me, I pray, — 
 How fast the moments go ! 
 
 Go slow, heart mine, go slow, old time; 
 Go slow, my feet, go slow. 
 
 Fair nature sleeps and o'er her downy couch 
 
 The Mistress Night faithful love vigils keep; 
 While vagrant winds, like pirate ships of old. 
 
 Roam back and forth across the trackless deep. 
 The crystal dewdrops, iridescent gleam. 
 
 The humid air with fragrance is replete, 
 Silence prevails so tragical and tense 
 
 That one can almost count the flow'r hearts beat. 
 
 The peace of God is brooding o'er the world 
 
 Like benediction after vesper hymn; 
 The voice of earth is hushed in sweet repose. 
 
 And ev'ry heart is filled with love of Him. 
 Far off a tremor seems to shake the stars, 
 
 A breath of air full-fraught with sweet incense, 
 A whir of passing wings, invisible, 
 
 And then a space of mystery intense. 
 
 Perchance it is the upward flight of souls 
 
 Gliding among the wheeling orbs sublime. 
 
 Unto the opened gates, whence comes that breath 
 Of incense sweet, that peace of God divine. 
 
 Of old, O people, you worshipped the Christ 
 Who died on the Sacred Tree ; 
 
 Of old you adored the Nazareth King 
 Who poured out His blood for thee. 
 
 38 
 
Of old you have prayed and sang at His feet, 
 Laid down your gifts at His throne ; 
 
 You asked for His love, and gave Him your love, 
 Then He was your God alone. 
 
 You read of the pangs and pain He endured 
 
 That you might dwell up above ; 
 And often you mourned and bitterly wept 
 
 At the thought of the stricken Dove. 
 
 For then was the time your hearts were warm 
 
 And true to the very core ; 
 But this is the age of " progress " and "science," 
 
 And Christ is your God no more. 
 
 You who have prayed ev'ry prayer in your hearts. 
 
 Gave ev'ry gift you could claim, 
 No longer look up to His kindly face, 
 
 No longer mention that Name. 
 
 And you say, " Why should we still cling unto 
 
 The God of the days of yore, 
 We've Bacchus, Venus and Mammon today. 
 
 And what need have we of more ? 
 
 Of old, O people, you worshipped the Christ, 
 
 The Holy, the Pure and Bright ; 
 Today, O people, you worship the gods 
 
 Of lust and greed and unright. 
 
 Of old you were kept to the clean, white ways 
 
 Of righteousness, joy and peace ; 
 Today you are loosened as animals 
 
 To roam, to revel and feast. 
 
 For Mammon has sated your avarice. 
 
 And Venus your passion fed, 
 And Bacchus has smiled and oft you have sipped 
 
 At his table the wine, rich and red. 
 
 39 
 
You have bartered your souls to heap up gold, 
 
 But treasures that you forgot, 
 Luxury, revel and wealth you may have, 
 
 But joy and peace you have not. 
 
 And what of the Christ who suffered and died, 
 The God you have known of old. 
 
 Before you gave way to passion's desire 
 And to the mad thirst for gold ? 
 
 Think not He sleeps, or that justice is mute, 
 Well shrink you before His rage. 
 
 For God still is God, and you still fools. 
 The fools of a maddened age. 
 
 jOa'^' iDreams. 
 
 Though wisdom points the hand of biting scorn, 
 And calls thee idle vag'ries, thieves of time ; 
 
 Though heartless fate crushes my ev'ry hope, 
 
 Still will I cling to thee, day-dreams of mine. 
 
 I do not know if what they say be true. 
 
 That ye are false and fickle as the wind ; 
 
 I do not know, but unto me it seems 
 
 That fate is cruel and you alone are kind. 
 
 For this I know, when life is dark and drear. 
 And when my heart is lonely and so sad, 
 
 Ye come, hope-winged, and show me future paths 
 Bedecked with dewy flow'rs, and I am glad. 
 
 40 
 
At dead of night, while still I weary toiled, 
 
 Taxing my brain 'till, rebel-like, it fought ; 
 Despair was settling o'er me like a pall. 
 
 When suddenly, far down the hall of thought, 
 I heard in dreamy mood a low, sweet voice, 
 
 A voice that, ever nearing, louder grew ; 
 Spell-bound I listened, half in hope and fear 
 
 That deepened as that voice e'er nearer drew. 
 
 Soon, like a fleecy cloud, a gauzy veil 
 
 Of incense, rich, sweet-smelling, filled the air; 
 A ghostly hand brushed swift across my brow. 
 
 And then it fled away, I know not where. 
 A ghostly touch, it set my soul on fire 
 
 And charged my blood with force, with power and 
 might. 
 Deep down in my brain strange forms found birth, 
 
 Strange forms that whirled around me in the night. 
 
 I felt a thrill, unhuman, stir my being ; 
 
 No other joy shall e'er as joyous be ; 
 The harpstrings of my soul vibrated, glad, 
 
 A rush of heav'n-born light, and then, ah me ! 
 I who in the still watches of the night 
 
 Had sought in hopelessness, despair and grief 
 In vain, to cull from thistle groves one flower, 
 
 From desert sands the rarest fruit to reap— 
 
 Seized the idle pen, in frenzied passion wrote 
 
 In words the living thoughts, the sacred strains, 
 
 That welled up from the fountains of my soul ; 
 Wrote until the radiant, roseate flames 
 
 Of palid day flashed on the cold, grey world ; 
 Then, only then, I dropped the trusty pen, 
 
 41 
 
And, weary, read what hastily I wrote. 
 
 The magic words, — it dawned upon me then 
 
 As daylight dawned, as darkness flitted past. 
 
 When the world of toil rose up from tranquil rest ; 
 
 Dawned upon me as the daylight on the world, 
 
 That Inspiration, unknown, had been my guest. 
 
 Before, I had thought her cold and proud, 
 I shunned her companionship, but now 
 
 I haste to clasp, in mine, the trembling hands, 
 I stoop to press a kiss upon her brow. 
 
 And murmur sweetest words of sympathy. 
 For I have suffered too, and well I know 
 
 How all her life is changed to blackest night, 
 How all her soul is steeped in bitter woe. 
 
 Ah, yes! her heart, like mine, has felt the pangs 
 Of parting pain, has knelt in grief beside 
 
 A coffined form, has kissed the cold dead lips 
 Of one who had been all her joy and pride. 
 
 She, too, has watched that still form borne away. 
 Has watched all hope, all happiness ebb slow 
 
 From out her heart, and leave it lone, — 
 
 Ah, yes! I too have suffered and I know. 
 
 Before, I thought her proud, but now it seems 
 Our suffering hearts beat as in unison; 
 
 The past is gone, tonight we two are friends, 
 A common grief and care has made us one. 
 
 42 
 
Some lure us up to lofty mountain peaks, 
 
 Where angels come to rest in passing flight, 
 
 Where incense-laden winds delicious roam 
 
 And voices of Heav'n heard when all is quiet. 
 
 Some call us down the shadow-dappled vale, 
 
 Haunted by grief, with dewy tears bestrewn; 
 
 And others teach our wayward feet to tread 
 
 The calm white roads to peace, life's sweetest boon. 
 
 Some shake our souls with royal pomp and pride. 
 
 Some thrill our hearts with battle's martial strain. 
 
 Some quench the smold'ring flames of wrath and rage 
 And light the fire of genius in our brain. 
 
 Some lure us down the flow'r fringed dells of June, 
 And bind us with the poppies' drowsy thrall; 
 
 Some make us laugh, some cause our tears to flow, 
 And yet, our hearts revere and love them all. 
 
 Ah, heart of mine, I wish I knew 
 
 Where the gods, superfluous, 
 Where nymphs and fairies hastened to 
 
 When they fled away from us. 
 No more Olympus knows the rush 
 
 Of white wings 'neath Grecian skies. 
 No more those voices tremulous 
 
 Are heard where lonely Hellas lies. 
 
 43 
 
Where are the troubadours, so true, 
 
 And the knights all chivalrous ? 
 Where are the bards whose names live thro' 
 
 Lapse of time and tide and crush ? 
 Where are the monarchs, false and flush, 
 
 Warriors in their iron guise. 
 Where are the women of the blush, 
 
 Or the maidens with down-cast eyes ? 
 
 Where are the cities that once grew 
 
 Apace with progress marvelous, 
 Ninevah, Tyre, and Babylon, too? 
 
 Lo! they've crumbled into dust. 
 Nothing on earth is left for us 
 
 But to vent our woe in sighs; 
 Nothing of romance but a crust. 
 
 Nothing in life but realities. 
 
 Tell me, my friend, your pinings hush. 
 
 Not for gods I care, all-wise, 
 But where are the women of the blush. 
 
 And the maidens with down-cast eyes. 
 
 "D^e (Tomln^ of Summer. 
 
 Where is Summer, is she coming ! " 
 
 Cries the longing, waiting earth ; 
 And all life with joy is humming. 
 
 While each heart beats high with mirth. 
 Impatiently we wait the hour 
 
 When her loving form appears. 
 When her graceful footsteps echo 
 
 And fall on the list'ning ears. 
 
 \ 
 
 44 
 
Waiting stand the green-clad maples 
 
 In an attitude erect ; 
 From their branches float the song-notes 
 
 And the hum of each insect. 
 Waiting are the drooping willows, 
 
 Glist'ning 'neath the burning sun 
 Silent stand the ancient oak trees 
 
 Waiting for the queen to come. 
 
 'Mong the beds of fragrant flowers 
 
 Softly sounds the wild bee's hum ; 
 Thro' the green and leafy tree-tops 
 
 Breaths of southern breezes come. 
 In the dark and flow'r-gemmed forest, 
 
 Low the violet hangs its head, 
 Patient, waiting for her coming, 
 
 List'ning for her gentle tread. 
 
 I among those anxious comrades 
 
 Watch and wait with silent fears ; 
 When among the dewy verdure, 
 
 Lo ! her magic form appears. 
 And I dream of Summer's beauty. 
 
 Of the fields of golden grain. 
 Cornfields tossing in the sunlight, 
 
 And the reapers' dulcet strain. 
 
 Of the green and rip'ning apples 
 
 Hanging from the sturdy boughs. 
 Of the cattle grazing quietly 
 
 On the hillside's dark green brows. 
 Of the rolling, sea-like hayfields, 
 
 Shining with the ev'ning dew, 
 When the day is swiftly dying 
 
 And the red has tinged the blue. 
 
 45 
 
Of the sweet and fragrant roses 
 
 That fair Summer brings, I dream ; 
 Of the notes of busy songsters 
 
 And the ripple of the stream ; 
 And I think with delectation, 
 
 As I stroll thro' leafy ways, 
 What joy and happiness it is 
 
 To live those bright June days. 
 
 :A <&o6 3fat!) 1>itb for X5bee. 
 
 Thou art so long inured to wicked ways, 
 
 So steeped in shame, iniquity and crime. 
 
 That Nature with true hand upon thy face 
 And in thy deep set eyes has writ a sign 
 
 So deeply carved that time can ne'er erase, 
 A danger signal for all men to see; 
 
 Branded as one to be despised, and yet 
 A God hath died for thee. 
 
 Slinking along with lowered, drooping head, 
 Thro' the long corridors of dark and gloom; 
 
 You who have made of human souls a prey. 
 
 You who have dragged down virtue to its doom. 
 
 No sin thou'st left unsinned or law unbroke. 
 No depths left unexplored, and yet, ah me! 
 
 They say, and who shall say it be not true, 
 A God hath died for thee. 
 
 Here in this prison world's relentless walls, 
 
 Its iron-barred cells and brooding sense of crime; 
 
 Where vengeance-seeking ghosts and pale remorse 
 Stalk heavily thro' the halls in step with time. 
 
 46 
 
Look far ahead the shades of blackness loom, 
 What gift can future years on thee endow ? 
 
 Silence that speaks, despair too deep for hope, 
 A garb of sin and shame, a branded brow. 
 
 Think sin-calloused heart of thy boyhood's dream; 
 
 Where is thy manhood's worth and purity? 
 Where is the mother's prayer, the hopes she built? 
 
 Where is that grand ideal you meant to be ? 
 Think, crime-soaked, sodden brain, if yet there is 
 
 Of light one single solitary ray; 
 You who have schemed so oft — what now, what now, 
 
 What gleam of joy is left for you today? 
 
 What now is left for j-ou of branded brow, 
 You who to depths of infamy so fell ? 
 
 What is there left for you but hopeless death. 
 Death and the awful flames and fires of hell? 
 
 What else is left, what else is left for you? 
 And yet, some how, it seemeth unto me 
 
 There must be hope and rescue at the last. 
 Since God hath died for thee. 
 
 Far in the north the white clouds scud away 
 
 Like sails en route to some far foreign shore. 
 Sending a fond farewell, a last " good-bye " 
 
 Back o'er the foaming waves — the cannon's roar. 
 Forth from his purple prison leaps the sun 
 
 And beams upon the world with frownless face ; 
 And soon the rain-soaked hills and submerged vales 
 
 Are steaming 'neath his steady, earnest rays. 
 
 47 
 
The swallow, from the shelter of the eaves; 
 
 Soars thro' the refreshed air with eager glee ; 
 And from the vines that trail far up the oak 
 
 A robin chants a solo merrily. 
 The forests, like Golconda's mines, are rich 
 
 With jewels of ev'ry color, shape and size ; 
 But ev'ry lazy wind that wanders by 
 
 Snatches with greedy hands some of the prize. 
 The rose that drooped beside the garden wall 
 
 And bent beneath the heavy, straight downpour, 
 Has raised her head to greet that placid sky, 
 
 Far brighter and happier than before. 
 
 Ob<i 4^ro6lsal5. 
 
 They have wandered away. 
 They have followed the ray, 
 
 The gleam of a fleeting star; 
 Far out where the pale grey 
 King of mis'ry holds sway. 
 
 And where life's great heart-breaks are, 
 
 They have hearkened, it seems, 
 To wild thoughts and mad schemes 
 
 Till their vein-blood caught afire; 
 Or they listed to dreams 
 That lured them down streams 
 
 Where they were lost in the mire. 
 
 O, how often we hear, 
 
 From our ways clean and clear, 
 
 Wild laughter, a moan or a sigh; 
 And we shed not a tear. 
 But we snicker and sneer, 
 
 'Tis well, let them die, let them die. 
 
 48 
 
But what know we of them, 
 And how dare we condemn 
 
 They, who walk in gloom of night; 
 We, who know not what pow'r 
 In a weak, weary hour, 
 
 Hath lured them from ways of right. 
 
 O, we know not the bane, 
 Or the burden of shame. 
 
 Or how oft their scarred hearts yearn; 
 O, we know not how fain 
 They would cry in their pain, 
 
 Help, help us, God, to return. 
 
 Our 3o^s anb (Blfts. 
 
 Who asks for deeper joys than these? 
 The sun and sky, the flowers and trees, 
 The fragrant scent of clover seas. 
 The varied notes of birds and bees. 
 And lilt and toss of summer breeze. 
 Who asks for deeper joys than these? 
 
 Who asks for greater gifts than these, 
 A happy heart and mind at ease. 
 And love of God who oversees 
 Our ev'ry want, tends to our pleas. 
 And leads us safe o'er stormy seas. 
 Who asks for greater gifts than these ? 
 
 The poet knows where Darkness goes 
 When from earth it flits 'way, 
 
 Where the shadow falls of its palace walls. 
 Beyond the realm of Day. 
 
 49 
 
He knows how deep the seasons' sleep, 
 
 Of nature's mother love, 
 Each tiny beat of the flower-hearts sweet, 
 
 The call of dove to dove. 
 
 Of day's swift hush, and timid blush, 
 
 The fleeting steps of night, 
 Of the moonlight beams and starry gleams, 
 
 The fleecy cloudlet's flight. 
 
 He knoweth, too, why tears of dew 
 
 Gleam oft in twilight's eyes. 
 Bach woe and grief of the flower and leaf, 
 
 The shore's forsaken cries. 
 
 He knows the lone lament and groan 
 
 Of winter's empty nest. 
 The mournful tale that night winds wail. 
 
 The sea-song of unrest. 
 
 The poet knows of human woes. 
 
 How high the tidal wave 
 Of fierce passion rolls within human souls 
 
 How high life's storms may rave. 
 
 He knows how care the heart-strings wear, 
 
 The joy, yet pain, of love. 
 How selfish or how low, our thoughts may go. 
 
 Or else how high above. 
 
 And so he sings of all these things : — 
 
 Of beauty, sorrow, love, 
 Ambition's fires and high desires, 
 
 Of blissful realms above. 
 
 And from this store of nature lore, 
 
 This wealth of hoarded gold, 
 He inspires in truth the hot blood of youth, 
 
 Makes glad the heart of old. 
 
 50 
 
^\rUst5* Souls. 
 
 Somewhere between the worlds there is a world 
 That whirls unseen, unrecorded by men, 
 Only the Great Creator knows in what part 
 Of that vast sea above, complex and dim. 
 It runs its course; in an hour inspired 'twas wrought, 
 As a pure receptacle, where heaven's thought 
 Should be congealed into white artists' souls, 
 Holy as heav'n, as tender and divine, 
 Fairer than all the other souls of earth. 
 More passionate, beauty-loving and sublime; 
 Of heav'n-born they see beyond earth's paltry gleam, 
 Hear songs we hear not, dream dreams we dare not 
 dream. 
 
 Vl^boni tb<i ^orl6 Selects. 
 
 How smiles the world upon the fool who jests. 
 
 On those who laugh and cater to her pride, 
 Rewards with lavish hand her flatterers, 
 
 Knriches those who linger at her side. 
 How laughs the world, abderian-like, with those 
 
 Who scorn the thrall of precept and who drain 
 The chalice of pleasure to the dregs thrice o'er. 
 
 World-votaries who follow in pride's train. 
 
 How frowns the world on him who seeks to raise 
 
 Downfallen virtue to its native height; 
 How scorns the heel that crushes serpent heads 
 
 The strong white hand that upholds truth and right. 
 Ah, yes, she gives her smiles in opulence. 
 
 Riches, profuse, to flatterer and slave, 
 Reserves her hate for moralist and priest, 
 
 For those who teach and those who seek to save. 
 
 51 
 
How has the world forgotten Him, Whose Voice 
 
 Has but to speak and wind and wave obey; 
 How has the world forgotten Him, Who smote 
 
 Sodom and Gomorrah to death, one day. 
 He, Who brought forth with mere power of tongue 
 
 Mankind, all living creatures from a clod; 
 How has the world forgotten Him, Who rules, 
 
 How has the world forgot its Master, God. 
 
 Out of tbe tiftlsbt. 
 
 Out in the still dreary blackness 
 
 Of the lone midnight hour I heard 
 
 A voice in the low wind singing, 
 
 And the depths of my heart were stirred. 
 
 All day in my toil I'd pondered. 
 
 Perplexed o'er the problems of life, — 
 
 The mystery of care and sorrow. 
 
 Oyer wrongs, oppression and strife. 
 
 Why is it, I cried in my yearning, 
 
 In a world by a just God wrought. 
 
 The lives of the good and righteous 
 
 With woe and suffering are fraught ; 
 
 While the lives of unjust and evil 
 
 Seem painless and happy and free, 
 
 Devoid of all care and crosses. 
 
 All peace and happiness seem to be ? 
 
 O, why must the righteous suffer ? 
 
 And all vainly my frail heart strove 
 To find one gleam in the darkness. 
 
 Pierce thro' the thick cloud- walls above. 
 
 52 
 
And now, when the day is over, 
 
 Night broods o'er the land, the sea, 
 
 A voice in the wind is calling, 
 
 And whispering these words unto me :- 
 
 " Bear up, O heart, and despair not 
 
 Tho' sorrow come to thee, be still ; 
 Join me tonight on a journey 
 
 Down the centuries past until 
 
 We come to a hill on whose summit 
 
 The cross of all crosses, bright gleams, 
 
 Behold, on it hangs a victim 
 
 His life-blood is flowing in streams." 
 
 ** Bow down 'fore that cross, O ingrate, 
 'Tis the God of angels and men, 
 Who sufifers for you, — His faithful 
 
 Should be proud to suffer for Him." 
 
 '* Since, for your sake, on dark Calv'ry 
 
 The passion and pain He hath stood, 
 Suffer, and help your Redeemer 
 
 To bear mankind's ingratitude." 
 
 Sonnet. 
 
 Friendship is to love, as water to wine, 
 
 One soothes the wounds of woe and gently heals 
 All care; happy, indeed, is he who steals 
 
 From its cool depths a draught for joy divine, 
 
 And strength is his that stands all tests of time. 
 But, ah! for him who in his life-blood feels 
 The crimson liquor's heat, who blinded reels 
 
 Altern, thro' joy and tears, clouds and sunshine, 
 
 53 
 
He knows the bliss of earth's lost paradise, 
 The fire of hell, its fury and red heat. 
 
 And yet a very heaven round him lies — 
 
 The earth — and all whirls conquered at his feet. 
 
 Love is impulsive, friendship cool and wise, 
 
 Love old and yet new, half bitter and half sweet. 
 
 (Taprice of (Benlus. 
 
 One still, dark night, some hours before the dawn, 
 Thro' the deep thickets of the upper world 
 The long bright wings of genius flashed unfurled, 
 
 And circled over earth, looked down upon 
 
 Millions of slumb'ring creatures here below. 
 On faces calm, firm and intelligent, 
 Some ignorant, ambitious, and all content ; 
 
 Sleeping they dreamed of genius ; could they know 
 
 How near he hovered, how many a hand 
 
 Would be outstretched to capture and to hold 
 This spirit of caprice, with wings of gold ; 
 
 But on he swept above the sweeps of land. 
 
 Over many a heart that worshipped him, 
 By many a palace and college where 
 Skillful nets were carefully laid to snare 
 
 Him as he passed ; he only laughed at them 
 
 And hastened on unto a hovel low. 
 
 Where hunger and privation held their sway ; 
 
 Where want was king and sorrow known alway, 
 And life a constant day of deepest woe. 
 And there he came to earth and rev'rently 
 
 Bent down to press a kiss, (then softly smiled,) 
 
 On the brow of a wretched, base-born child 
 That slept amid the rags contentedly. 
 
 54 
 
Sonnet. 
 
 It slumbered in his heart for years : — 
 
 The poetry, — its words of fire ; 
 
 And slumbered yet, had not life's lyre 
 Been swept by bitter woe and tears ; 
 And evermore in hopes and fears 
 
 We hear him chant his wondrous songs, 
 
 So fraught with joy, to list'ning throngs, 
 And steeped with heav'n each heart that hears. 
 Such songs of hope, so pure and sweet, 
 
 Were never heard in life's great mart, 
 Had not the touch of sorrow deep 
 
 Dispelled life's dream ; the soul of Art 
 Had never beat had not stern grief 
 
 Unlocked the fountains of the heart. 
 
 O^e Valley. 
 
 Dear valley 'mid the hills, I loved you so, — 
 Your sweet tranquility and calm ; 
 
 I loved your evening peace and morning glow. 
 The chime of bells when day was gone. 
 
 My soul was permeated with the sense. 
 
 The rhapsody of rest's delight, 
 Afar from worldly strife and struggles tense 
 
 That thrive apace upon the height. 
 
 Within pastoral nooks, or 'long the stream 
 That ripples in thy heart all day, 
 
 I would be well content to stroll and dream 
 My life's slow-moving hours away. 
 
 55 
 
Dear valley, forest-born and picturesque, 
 I love thee and wish with thee to stay, 
 
 But from the mountain height, from yonder peak, 
 An unknown voice lures me away. 
 
 All day bright wings have hovered up above, 
 And lights have shimmered brilliantly ; 
 
 All day strange hands have beckoned me to rove, 
 To climb the steep away from thee. 
 
 Dear valley 'mid the hills, farewell ; I go, — 
 
 I must obey that voice divine. 
 The calm content, the halcyon, sunny glow 
 
 Of peace shall never more be mine. 
 
 But I shall dream of thee when far away. 
 Of dawn and dusk and warm sunshine, 
 
 Of a rippling stream and meadows green. 
 Of homing birds and bells that chime. 
 
 Farewell, dear vale ; I give thy joy for care. 
 
 Thy calm for battle's bitter fray, 
 Thy blissful rest for strife ; tho' there should be 
 
 Dark death in this, I must away. 
 
 TLlfe. 
 
 Hast thou not heard the scientist and the sage 
 Who roam tradition's track, scan Heaven's page, 
 Who dig and delve, lay bare the heart of things, 
 And stoop to question ev'ry plant that springs ; 
 Who sweat and toil with martyrism true, 
 Self-sufficient, all-wise, and mighty few? 
 Hast thou not heard of men who slave, forsooth, 
 To glean for us poor ignorant the truth ? 
 Hast thou not heard their sophistries, 
 
 56 
 
Vain cavilings of science, its fallacies ? 
 They who would know how out of emptiness 
 And darkest night and space all fathomless, 
 "Whence out of non-existence came this thing, 
 Mystic creation — Life ; from what pure spring 
 Hast come, or was it by some inner power 
 It wrought itself in that far ancient hour ? 
 Or else, was Heaven the prolific source. 
 And the God above the strong, life-giving force ? 
 
 O, mighty men, they say that you are wise. 
 Perchance it is thy splendor that blinds thine eyes, 
 For we who are not famous plainly see 
 The things that are not manifest to thee. 
 We have not searched tradition's musty page. 
 We have not questioned science, inquired of sage ; 
 Explored no nooks, have sought not here or there, 
 But in our hearts we found the answer there ; 
 Yes, there, deep in the center of our being, 
 We found the path that leads, more felt than seen, 
 A path that spans all space, all things forsooth, 
 Unto Life's source, Eternal Life and Truth. 
 
 Spring, 
 
 O, let's laugh in glee. 
 For the streams are free ; 
 
 Let's shout, for the songsters sing ; 
 Aye, frolic and play, 
 Be glad while we may, 
 
 For the year, the year's at Spring. 
 
 Let us roam the dells 
 Where the wood nymph dwells, 
 And laugh, for the rose is red ; 
 
 57 
 
We'll sip its perfume, 
 
 We'll dance 'neath the moon, 
 
 Ere the summer time has fled. 
 
 Now comes Autumn's chill, 
 But let us laugh still, 
 
 Tho' the year's a lifeless thing ; 
 The rose in our veins 
 Still a blush red reigns, 
 
 And our hearts, our hearts are Spring. 
 
 Only a dead leaf flutt'ring in the wind, 
 
 A sapless, senseless thing, 
 Driven down to the dust; ah, nevermind, 
 
 It had its fling. 
 
 The summer long upon the topmost bough 
 
 It frolicked 'neath the sky ; 
 Danced briskly with the sun and wind, and now. 
 
 Now let it die. 
 
 IJRvocatlon. 
 
 Great Sun of the Eternal Day, 
 
 In Thy vast ecliptic moving on. 
 One boon of Thee I beg and pray : 
 
 When hope and trust are gone. 
 And on my weary head, bowed low, 
 
 Descends the storm-cloud's wrath, 
 Then, Light of darker worlds below 
 
 Gleam o'er my path. 
 
 58 
 
stars of the Peerless Firmament, 
 
 In Thy lesser Orbits moving on, 
 Thy splendor and Thy lustrous light 
 
 Reflected from the Greater Sun ; 
 When in the soul-glooms of despair 
 
 I grope, and stumble ev'ry step, 
 Then, Stars, from Thy celestial sphere, 
 
 Gleam o'er my path. 
 
 Solar System of Lights Divine, 
 
 Hope of the world's eternity, 
 Pow'rs of that realm unseen, unknown. 
 
 Judges of years that are to be, 
 When on my life's bright da)' falls low 
 
 The om'nous umbra of dark death. 
 Then, O then, heav'nly Galaxy, 
 
 Gleam o'er my path. 
 
 Long lines of blended gold and rose and green. 
 The rainbow hues of Autumn's languid reign. 
 
 Above, the opal sky, cloudless, serene, 
 
 And far unto the wood a sweep of plain. 
 
 Afar the shivering sea of beaten gold 
 
 Whose pearl-edged waves besiege the white-washed 
 shore ; 
 Waves that reflect the sunset, fold on fold, 
 
 And answer back its gleam with gleams galore. 
 
 Long purple shadows troop across the world, 
 
 And deepen into black, white-edged, then fall 
 
 Into the hollow of the hills, where, curled 
 
 In tranquil sleep, dream flow'rs beyond recall. 
 
 59 
 
Long rows of beryl and roseate ribbons gleam 
 Across the turquoise blue of western sky; 
 
 Like furnace fires across the gloom they stream 
 'Til in the treetops tremulous they die. 
 
 How like death torches they quiver and leap, 
 Or roses strewn around the dead day's bier ; 
 
 Silence o'er all save the voice of the winds 
 
 Bemoaning the sad heart-break of the years. 
 
 Z5ran5ml3ratlon. 
 
 Only the soul of Springtime 
 
 In its flight to Summer's breast, 
 
 A whir of wings above us, 
 
 A gleam of light in the west. 
 
 The lapse of but a moment, 
 Yet Spring forever is gone. 
 
 Its dear form has departed. 
 
 Its soul with Summer lives on. 
 
 Transient soul of the seasons, 
 
 Of decades and centuries grey, 
 
 Pause in your transmigration. 
 Let Summer forever stay. 
 
 I3l)e Victory. 
 
 Within the fastness of my soul I fought 
 
 Life's stormy battles for many a long day; 
 
 There I struggled with enemies who sought 
 To rob me of peace, to steal my joy away. 
 
 60 
 
Deep in those depths I battled all alone 
 
 For the world of my struggle never knew; 
 
 My face as calm, as passive as a stone 
 
 Revealed not the secret safe from view. 
 
 The world saw not the line of armored foes, 
 It heard not the bugle's battle cry or call. 
 
 Saw not the flashing bayonets deal their blows. 
 
 Saw not the fierce foemen fighting, reel and fall. 
 
 Long I toiled with my gleaming sword in hand 
 
 Thro' the conflict's smoke, thro' tumult, battle flame; 
 
 Now 'tis done, on the scene of war I stand 
 
 And gaze upon mine enemies, wounded and slain. 
 
 Victory is won, yet no cheers I hear, 
 
 But my heart beats all triumphant as I tread 
 
 Across the fields from smoke and flame now clear 
 To gather swords and bury all the dead. 
 
 In £ver^ Clfe. 
 
 Across the broad white page of life, sublime, 
 An ominous shadow quivering falls, 
 A shadow dense, that deepens and appals 
 
 And darker grows as onward rolleth time; 
 
 Shadow of a cross on a hill divine. 
 
 Of a Calvary awful, lone and drear. 
 Dark as Egyptian night and full of fear. 
 
 And in its sky no stars of courage shine. 
 
 A cross on which once in our lives we die 
 But rise again in glory, happiness. 
 
 While in the dark sepulcher silent lie 
 
 Forever dead our thoughts of selfishness; 
 
 Stifled fore'er the soul's repining sigh. 
 We rise again to labor and to bless. 
 
 6i 
 
^aternltY. 
 
 She comes, the Angel Spring ; a graceful hand 
 Is spread in benediction o'er the land ; 
 And, lo ! the barren mother smiles thro' tears 
 Upon her newborn children, and she hears 
 Their voices in the laughing stream set free, 
 Daedalion notes, the south wind's melody. 
 
 And her great heart grows warm with mother-love, 
 
 As with maternal care she bends above 
 
 Many a tiny crib and green fringed cot 
 
 In solitude unseen, but not forgot ; 
 
 Where little hearts pulsate with new found life 
 
 And eyes just oped blink helpless in the light ; 
 
 From couch to couch she flits with restless tread, 
 And dreams not of the children long since dead ; 
 Gone are the lines of care from cheek and brow. 
 The falt'ring step is quick and fearless now ; 
 Behold her waving tresses of fair hair. 
 No hint of last year's snow is hidden there. 
 
 See in the depths of her once mournful eyes 
 The joy of young motherhood leaps and dies; 
 The transient spring has swiftly come and gone, 
 But, lo, the mother's children still live on. 
 Rejoice, O throbbing earth, rejoice to see 
 The joys thy toil and travails brought to thee: — 
 
 Sweet flow'r forms, half human, half divine, 
 That cling to thee; whose waxen fingers twine 
 Around thy heart, and eyes of lustrous depths 
 That gaze at thee, the warmth of perfumed breaths 
 Across thy brow ; the touch of lips that press 
 Thine own with childhood's love and trustfulness. 
 
 62 
 
And all the night and all the glad spring day, 
 You hear them sing and prattle, hear them say: 
 Mother, where art thou ; mother, come to me." 
 Rejoice, O Earth, in thy maternity. 
 
 Tired and world-weary, forsaken shore, 
 
 I come to while away the hours with thee, 
 To cheer thy heart and watch the stately ships, 
 
 White-winged, sail o'er the opalescent sea; 
 Far out the careless wavelets skip and play. 
 
 The while they mock thy plaintive calls of woe; 
 To other shores more newly sweet and wild 
 
 They journey, leaping, laughing as they go. 
 
 What reck they of pain their absence brings thee, 
 
 They have forgot the hours wherein ye played; 
 Heartless, yes, as old friends sometimes are. 
 
 So has it been since this old world was made. 
 Since time began, friends have proved faithless 
 
 And mother hearts have yearned and sighed in vain, 
 But always comes a time when wanderers. 
 
 Repentant, seek the dear home love again. 
 
 So still thy sad moan, dear shore, heart lone. 
 
 For when the day of toil and strife is done 
 And far beyond the portals of the west 
 
 Sinks the last bright vestige of the sun. 
 Then tired of their constant revels and mad play. 
 
 Wearied by their long journey, fruitless quest, 
 The waves repentant will return to thee, 
 
 Return unto thy arms to dream and rest. 
 
 63 
 
Across the world's great lyre has swept 
 
 A quav'ring chord of sweetest melody; 
 A paen for Summer's longed-for birth ; 
 
 But for the passing Spring no threnody 
 Is trilled ; for in our transient joy 
 
 New found, no note of grief or care shall ring, 
 Nor pain, for richer days are ours. 
 
 Arise, my heart, arise ; be glad and sing ; 
 For on yon horizon bright. 
 
 Regal and fair, in royal robes of state, 
 Surrounded b}' courtiers, she comes. 
 
 Goddess trancendent, on whose will we wait. 
 
 The harpstrings of her soul had thrilled 
 
 With faith's sweet melody divine ; 
 Her lips had breathed its prayers and hymns, 
 
 Its doctrines stern, its truths sublime. 
 Her youthful heart had felt the pangs 
 
 Of earthly care ; her shoulder knew 
 A heavy cross ; the clouds were dark. 
 
 But hope's bright star shone ever thro'. 
 
 Her heart had pained with sorrow 'tense. 
 
 Had flamed and burned with wrath and hate, 
 But not for long, for none could dare 
 
 Usurp the home of firm, true faith. 
 The fountains of her soul had filled 
 
 With joy and gladness ; she had known 
 Ambition's fire, the call of fame. 
 
 And thro' it all she walked alone. 
 
 64 
 
For, tho' her life had known most things, 
 
 Both sad and glad, sent from above, 
 Yet never had her heart been thrilled 
 
 Or stirred or waked with human love. 
 But on a day she knelt alone 
 
 Within the chapel, wrapt in prayer, 
 She softly heard, as in a dream, 
 
 A voice from heaven fill the air. 
 
 '* My child," and in her heart she felt 
 
 Sink deep the words of Him so blest ; 
 " I have sent crosses, trials and pain ; 
 All patiently you bore the test. 
 Ivong have you waited for that gift. 
 
 Sweetest of all my hands bestow, 
 And now I give, but not of earth. 
 
 For love divine your heart shall know." 
 
 E'en as she heard she felt her soul 
 
 Swell with the plenteous reward ; 
 And bowing low, humble, replied 
 
 In gratitude, " I thank Thee, Lord." 
 The voice was hushed, yet still she knelt 
 
 Thro' the long hours in silent prayer, 
 And when she rose her shining face 
 
 Proclaimed the love that rested there. 
 
 Now 'midst His chosen ones she walks, 
 
 Clad in the robes His beloved wear, 
 Toils in the vineyard of her Lord, 
 
 Bringing lost souls back to His care. 
 Forever wrapt in dreams of bliss. 
 
 She gladly serves her King above ; 
 For she who knew life's cares before 
 
 Hath found all things are sweet in love. 
 
 65 
 
^ealUatlon. 
 
 I saw your face once in a dream, long, long ago; 
 I saw it as tonight all smiling and aglow 
 With truth and tenderness, I saw your beaming eyes 
 As limpid, pure and bright as far off summer skies. 
 
 I felt the gleaming beauty of the night, supreme, 
 The mystery of the dark, the sunset's dying gleam; 
 And musingly I heard the wavelets rippling sing 
 Against the rocks, in the far off towers the church bells 
 ring. 
 
 Within the liquid deeps of sky there was the glow 
 Of twinkling stars, in that old dream long, long ago; 
 'Twas but a dream, yet I saw the fleet shadows play, 
 Just as tonight, across your face then flit away; 
 The tremulous zephyrs caressed your broad, calm brow, 
 I heard your solenm pledge of friendship firm and now 
 Beneath the young moon's rich amorous rays I know 
 And realize that olden dream dreamt long ago. 
 
 Ah, yes, tonight I feel your loving hands in mine, 
 And deep within my heart I know that for all time 
 I have one friend to stand by me in weal or woe, 
 While stars come out and sunset light dies sure and slow. 
 
 Remote from that world where man's discordant voice 
 Controls life's tidal waves, all day I dream. 
 Deep in a realm where things are what the}' seem 
 
 I rove and revel 'mid rare Arcadian joys. 
 
 Sweet woodland comrades, afar from city noise, 
 Afar from blare and brawn and traffic's fray. 
 Fain with thee I'd be fore'er and aye. 
 
 Live with thee, and love with thee, with thee rejoice. 
 
 66 
 
For in thy primal beauty and calm retreat, 
 
 And in the dulcet strains that you have sung, 
 
 I cannot trace the echo of deceit 
 
 As in the chattering of the human tongue. 
 
 For know the truest words men's lips repeat, 
 The truest that a mortal's lips can frame, 
 Within them course unseen, a hidden vein 
 
 Of treachery, of falsehood and of vile deceit. 
 
 So scorning the best that such as they can give, 
 And bidding their company farewell, 
 I betake me to the flow'r-damasked dell 
 
 Where all life's higher thoughts may thrive and live. 
 
 When night broods o'er me, dark even as the tomb. 
 And somber clouds loom sullen-faced and gray. 
 
 It is the star that cleaves the purple gloom 
 And points the God-marked way. 
 
 And when the cross presses too heavily 
 
 And all my boasted strength and pow'r are gone, 
 It is the hand that's firmly clasped in mine 
 
 That helps me safely on. 
 
 And when my rebel heart would recreant turn 
 To go the roads of evil and unright. 
 
 It is the steel-barred gate that stays my step 
 And keeps me to the light. 
 
 Aye, Faith, thou art the upward lure that draws 
 Our souls to heaven with magnetic pow'r; 
 
 Soul-nectar, sweet indeed unto our lips. 
 Thou strength of death's dark hour. 
 
 67 
 
ballade. 
 
 You tell me as you serve the while, 
 
 A votary at fashion's shrine, 
 That to be pleasing and in style 
 
 You must not murmur once or pine, 
 But ever let your laughter chime 
 
 Above the others ringing high, 
 Drink deepest of the rich, red wine, 
 
 Laugh loudest where the others sigh. 
 
 O, search earth's ev'ry nook and isle 
 
 For pleasures, guiltless or malign. 
 What matters it if spiced with guile, 
 
 A little trickery or crime ? 
 "What matters if those hearts of thine 
 
 Should bleed, in anguish stricken lie? 
 Are you not fashion's children fine ? 
 
 Shall you not laugh altho' you die? 
 
 Go tread, fair fools, your gaudy mile. 
 
 For Fashion's brow your laurels twine; 
 On her low altar heap and pile 
 
 The souls One meant to be divine. 
 But ask not this frail heart of mine, 
 
 That you have passed oft careless by, 
 To tread with you to pleasure's time ; 
 
 You travel fast ; I cannot fly. 
 
 Ah, yes, fair, jeweled friends of mine, 
 Too weak for you I fear am I, 
 
 For I must smile when my lips incline. 
 Must cry when I want to cry. 
 
 68 
 
TCeave tl)e >i^orl6 a kittle t^etter. 
 
 Leave the world a little better 
 
 With each setting of the sun ; 
 Whether 'tis a load you've lifted 
 
 Or a battle fought and won. 
 Whether 'tis a sin 3^ou've trampled 
 
 Or a height that you have scaled, 
 Leave the world a little better 
 
 When the light of day has failed. 
 
 Leave your mind a little richer 
 
 By some truth that you have gleaned, 
 By some lesson you have mastered 
 
 Or some dream that you have dreamed. 
 Leave some heart a wee bit gladder 
 
 By a smile that you bestowed ; 
 Leave some home more bright and cheerful, 
 
 And more smooth and clear some road. 
 
 Never let a day slip by you 
 
 Which bears not in letters deep 
 
 Some good deed as testimony 
 
 That you have not been asleep. 
 
 Leave the world a little better 
 
 When your life-work here is done, 
 Whether 'tis a picture painted 
 
 Or a song that you have sung. 
 When your life-work here is ended. 
 
 When its tasks are laid aside, 
 Leave the world a little better 
 
 For your having lived and died. 
 
 69 
 
Mew fial\)S, 
 
 Strike out new paths into new lands, 
 
 New forests dark and dim ; 
 Drink from new founts, climb lofty mounts 
 
 Where man hath never been. 
 
 Tread dells no mortal trod before. 
 Dells with rare treasures strewn ; 
 
 Pluck wondrous flow'rs from hidden bowers, 
 And sip their sweet perfume. 
 
 Strike out new paths ; Alas! for him 
 
 Who is content to tread 
 The same old way, day after day, 
 
 Where millions trod who're dead. 
 
 "^b^re ^rc tbe Stars Oonlgbt ? 
 
 Where are the gleaming stars tonight ; 
 
 The jewels of the sky ? 
 I see no glimmer of their light 
 
 Shines from the courts on high. 
 
 The glow you see in the distance 
 
 Is but a city light ; 
 We want not the artificial ; 
 
 Where are the stars tonight ? 
 
 The relentless clouds above us 
 In flight skim heedlessly ; 
 
 Perhaps they obscure the luster 
 Of the stars we long to see. 
 
 Where are the gleaming stars tonight. 
 That high and noble band ? 
 
 70 
 
No more their glory or tbeir deeds 
 Illuminate the land. 
 
 O, where are the world's great masters; 
 
 Prophets sublime of old ? 
 Tho' starlight still falls around us 
 
 'Tis not of purest gold. 
 
 O, tell me, ye clouds above us, 
 Will ne'er again the glow 
 
 Of heavenly stars delight us 
 Like those of long ago ? 
 
 And tell me, O, tell me truly. 
 Clouds of greed and unright, 
 
 Do you account for the absence 
 Of those true stars tonight ? 
 
 ^ Conel^ (Brave. 
 
 Swept by the soft and southern winds, 
 
 Caressed by the shadows grey, 
 Wept o'er by crystal dews of night. 
 
 Kissed by the sunbeams of day ; 
 Under the shade of stately trees 
 
 So sturdy and stanch and brave, 
 Afar from the tumults of life, 
 
 There is a desolate grave. 
 
 Over that low, green mound the stars, 
 When all the world's asleep, 
 
 With faithful hearts and sleepless eyes 
 Their vigil of true love keep ; 
 
 And whisper in tenderest tones 
 
 Prayers that stars only can pray, 
 
 71 
 
While night weeps tears of glittering dew, 
 And the low wind chants alway. 
 
 The moon shines on the marble stone 
 
 That marks where a hero dreams ; 
 Where e'er it falls like a flashing jew'l 
 
 The light of a dewdrop gleams ; 
 The raindrops fall and autunm leaves 
 
 Are tossed in the blasts that rave, 
 And snows of winter wrap in white 
 
 The form of that lonely grave. 
 
 Thus ever and ever the years go by 
 With the changeless tide of time, 
 
 A lonely grave in the churchyard old, 
 And a grave in this heart of mine. 
 
 "Pioneers 
 
 While battle fires were burning bright 
 On summit, primeval and crest, 
 
 The hardy pioneers built their homes 
 Amid the wildwoods of the west. 
 
 There in the depths of forests old, 
 
 'Spite of hardships and privation. 
 
 They founded in this unknown world 
 Homes, the strongholds of a nation. 
 
 Long since their toil has ceased in death, 
 Brave men of " ye olden days," 
 
 But while we live America's sons 
 
 Shall give to them their love and praise, 
 
 72 
 
Today 'midst all the peerless stars 
 In the world's vast constellation, 
 
 Our Country shines in bold relief 
 A great and all-honored nation. 
 
 Then in our songs of love and joy 
 In all our lusty vig'rous cheers 
 
 For heroes bold and warriors old 
 
 Let's not forget the brave pioneers. 
 
 Z\n Aspiration, 
 
 Not on the mountain heights I long to sing 
 
 To royal throngs who tread the rose-fringed way, 
 
 But in the vale where unknown flowers spring 
 
 'Tis there that I would chant my humble lay. 
 
 Not to thrill the world with songs of power 
 With songs of war or battle's fierce behest; 
 
 But let me sing in the twilight hour 
 
 One hymn to lure the weary hearts to rest. 
 
 Not a people's homage, lauding voice, 
 
 But heartfelt gratitude, just this to gain, 
 
 And I forever more would glad rejoice, 
 
 O'er songs I had not sung or trilled in vain. 
 
 Not to praise the great or renowned my pen, 
 Or the exploits of heroes famed in lore; 
 
 But of the life lived flawless to the end. 
 Of this will I sing forever more. 
 
 73 
 
^ouritei? In Vain. 
 
 He journeyed afar to seek for fame, 
 
 For the glamor, gleam and glow 
 Of world's renown and an honored name, 
 
 For he scorned to walk below. 
 He journeyed for fame ; the road was long — 
 
 Many he met on the way : — 
 Peace, joy and content, and hope so strong ; 
 
 He passed them all in a day. 
 
 When in the twilight he still walked on; 
 
 Love softly came to implore, 
 He raised his staff and swift cried, " Begone." 
 
 Love fled to return no more. 
 Ah, yes ; he passed them all heedless by — 
 
 Life's joys and pleasures so bright. 
 Ahead, above in the future sky, 
 
 He saw the glow of fame's light ; 
 Its fickle rays lured him ever on 
 
 'Til the light grew dim and pale ; 
 He sought for fame, but the road was long, 
 
 And his strength began to fail. 
 
 He toiled for long, but, Alas ! Alas! 
 
 The road to an ending came. 
 He toiled and struggled a whole life thro' 
 
 And found not name or fame. 
 
 So, tired in spirit, in body broke. 
 He turned his face and his step 
 
 To seek for one he had passed by — Hope — 
 And, lo ! found disgrace and death. 
 
 74 
 
4^e!tlteitce. 
 
 Out of the darkness of this sable night 
 That looms around me near and far, 
 
 Jesus of Bethlehem, I cry to Thee, 
 
 Grant unto me, sweet Babe, one star, 
 
 To guide me 'cross the mist-wrapt dreary plain. 
 To lead me on past wood and wold 
 
 Unto Thy crib, as history relates, 
 
 Journeyed three royal Kings of old. 
 
 And tho' I bring with me no costly gifts 
 No gold or myrrh, no frankincense, 
 
 I bear with me a heart well filled with love 
 Of Thee, and humble penitence. 
 
 J\. Simple Clfe. 
 
 Seventy years of a useful life, 
 
 Of plebian toil and muscular strife; 
 
 Seventy years, lived day after day, 
 
 On the same old place, in the same old way. 
 
 Contented and glad, the whole year 'round 
 He tilled and toiled on his small plot of ground; 
 Mended the fences, kept off the weeds. 
 Gathered his harvest or planted the seeds; 
 Helped his neighbor with strong arm and sure, 
 All who came hungry, were fed at his door. 
 
 True he knew naught of pictures or books. 
 
 Save those that he read in skies and in brooks; 
 
 Beyond the vale where in youth he played, 
 
 His feet ne'er journeyed, his thoughts seldom strayed. 
 
 75 
 
Unlearned in music, unlearned in art, 
 'Twas wonderful songs he heard in his heart. 
 Guiltless of life's shams and frauds and snares, 
 He prayed for all men each night in his prayers. 
 
 Seventy years lived day after day 
 On the same old place, in the same old w^ay, 
 Making his garden, breaking the sod. 
 Loving his neighbor and praising his God. 
 
 Seventy years of a clean, white life, 
 Of plebian toil and muscular strife; 
 Untraveled, unlearned, yet who shall sneer 
 At the clean white life that has ended here ? 
 
 The stars will beam again, just as tonight, 
 And be reflected in the crystal dew ; 
 
 The world with wondrous splendor be bedight. 
 The skies above bend just as clear and blue. 
 
 The wind will chant again its lullabys. 
 
 The night be full of rapture and of bliss ; 
 
 And many other harvest moons arise 
 As lustrous and as beautiful as this. 
 
 But ne'er again shall glimmering star or moon 
 Seem unto me so wonderfully bright ; 
 
 Never again in all life's plenilune 
 
 Shall my heart know a fairer, sweeter night. 
 
 Our hearts will beat again, just as tonight. 
 
 With joy new born; our kindred souls will soar 
 
 Above the things of earth; our eyes will see 
 A glimpse of perfectness; but nevermore 
 
 76 
 
Shall such excessive happiness be ours, 
 
 Or shall our souls be borne so far above; 
 
 But once in life we taste of heav'n; 'tis when 
 First we know the sacred joy of love. 
 
 TIf Souls Return. 
 
 Soul of my soul ! tho' death has reft the chains 
 
 That bound our faithful hearts as one, 
 Tho' naught of me but lifeless clay remains, 
 
 Weep not, for, sweetheart, I shall come 
 Again to you, if true the saying be 
 
 That souls departed hover near; 
 Yea, I shall surely come unseen to you, 
 
 Shall guard you from life's harm and fear. 
 
 When the red dawn flow'rs forth within the east, 
 
 Enmeshed within its beams I'll hide 
 And linger at your window lovingly, 
 
 Glad and content and satisfied ; 
 And when you smiling come, deep in the strands 
 
 Of your gold hair I'll rest and trace 
 Each perfect curve, each dimple madd'ning sweet, 
 
 And the flawless contour of your face. 
 
 And I will kiss your lips, caress your brow, 
 Gaze into your eyes yearning and sad, 
 
 And reading there your love still true to me 
 Will flit away content and glad. 
 
 And when the grey, star-spangled twilight comes 
 And draws its bourneless curtains low; 
 
 When earth is tender with tears of dew. 
 Then, darling mine, be sure to go 
 
 77 
 
Down to the rippling fount where oft of old 
 We two kept tryst ; — I'll speak to thee 
 
 In ev'ry murmur of the winds and leaves, 
 In every sob of the sea. 
 
 'Twas long ago, upon a night like this, 
 A night all wrapt in tender memory; 
 
 We stood beside the little garden gate 
 
 And watched the darkness fall upon the sea ; 
 
 We heard the dreamy tinkling of the bells 
 
 Slow swinging in the far-ofif woodland dells. 
 
 You said, " Good-bye," just as the first faint star 
 
 Gleamed from the heavens, half azure, half grey. 
 
 I clasped your hand with heart too full for words, 
 And you went down the violet bordered way ; 
 
 I bent my head to murmur low one prayer. 
 
 And " God be with you," floated on the air. 
 
 Your footsteps rang against the gravel walk, 
 I heard you whistle gaily an old tune; 
 
 We little knew the parting was for e'er 
 Alas ! for me, I found it out too soon. 
 
 There was no sign then writ on earth or sky 
 
 To tell my heart it was the last good-bye. 
 
 And 3'et it seemed a strange, sad meaning clung 
 Unto the words, so careless yet so sweet, 
 
 That filled my soul with strange presentiment, 
 
 That caused my heart to faster throb and beat; 
 
 But heedless you went down the dusky row 
 
 Of poplar trees that wavered to and fro. 
 
 78 
 
Long after in the rose-gold light I leaned 
 
 Upon the slanting gate, and strove to hear 
 
 Your last faint footfall echo die away, 
 
 The last glimpse of your figure disappear, 
 
 And when I could not hear or see you more 
 
 I passed up the narrow pathway to the door. 
 
 'Twas long ago, but many nights since then 
 
 I've stood beside that gate and watched the gleam 
 
 Of sunset die beyond the shining sea — 
 
 Have lived that parting o'er as in a dream. 
 
 Yes, there I've stood and watched your form depart, 
 *' Good-bye " still thrilling softly in my heart. 
 
 ZX Worl6 of ya^ Own. 
 
 O, I have a world of my own, 
 
 A world I have carved from my brain ; 
 Like a royal queen on her throne 
 
 In the midst of my kingdom I reign. 
 O, the sun shines so brightly all day, 
 
 And the clouds, O the clouds never loom. 
 And always the birds are singing, 
 
 And 'tis always the month of June. 
 
 Its plains are so level and green , 
 
 Its mountains colossal and high, 
 And its rivers so clear and bright 
 
 They dazzle the on-looker's eye. 
 The woodlands are full of cool springs, 
 
 Of plants, trees and leafy bowers ; 
 In every nook the song-bird sings, 
 
 The roadways are lined with flow'rs. 
 
 79 
 
O, I have a world of my own, 
 
 A world I have peopled with men 
 Who're brave as chivalrous knights of old, 
 
 Strong muscled and might}' of limb. 
 True men of great hearts and great minds, 
 
 Whose love is untarnished and pure, 
 Willing to die for the right. 
 
 Steadfast in their faith, and secure. 
 
 A world where the women are fair 
 
 And blushing and sweet as the rose; 
 A world where the maidens are pure 
 
 And meek as the lily that grows; 
 A world I have dotted with homes 
 
 Where happiness reigns all supreme, 
 Where peace presides all undisturbed. 
 
 And love is sole ruler and queen. 
 
 O, not in a prosaic sphere, 
 
 O, not in the tumult and strife, 
 But in a dream world of my own. 
 
 Contented I live out my life. 
 Not where the dark figures of greed 
 
 Or hate or dishonor doth reign ; 
 'Tis a jolly old world of my own, 
 
 A world I have carved from my brain. 
 
 O, somewhere a voice is calling to me ; 
 It rings in the forest, wails in the sea ; 
 Somewhere, but, soul of mine, where can it be? 
 
 I can hear it all day, like the call of a dove, 
 Invisibly drifting, now here and now there, 
 
 8q 
 
Afar on the hilltop, in valley or grove, 
 
 'Til it seems to be echoing everywhere; 
 
 Half-pleading, half-luring, it persuades my soul 
 To hark to its summons, to hasten away ; 
 
 And so thro' the woodland's dark thickets I roam, 
 
 In the gold mists of morn and the brightness of day. 
 
 O, somewhere a voice is calling to me; 
 It rings in the forest, wails in the sea ; 
 Somewhere, but, soul of mine, where can it be? 
 
 All the night, when the surges are lapping the shore 
 
 And the wanton wind dissipates in the pines, 
 I start from the meshes of shadowy dreams 
 
 To hear indistinctly down the tall, ghostly lines 
 Of silvery-leafed poplars that voice, vague and low, 
 
 A-touching and thrilling my heart's ev'ry chord. 
 It melts me to tears or o'erwhelms me with joy. 
 
 And sometimes, O often, it thrusts sharp like a sword, 
 
 O, somewhere a voice is calling to me ; 
 It rings in the forest, wails in the sea ; 
 Soul of mine, soul of mine, what can it be ? 
 
 O, ye dreams I have dreamed, are you calling me back ? 
 
 O, you loved, now dead in eternity, 
 Somewhere in the shadows and mists all around, 
 
 Speak quickly and tell me, if it is destiny. 
 Is it a saddened call from the way I have lost ? 
 
 The way of the cross, that my feet should have trod ? 
 Is it love, hope or sorrow, contentment or hate ? 
 
 And I trembled to think, but perhaps it is God. 
 
 O, somewhere a voice is calling to me ; 
 It rings in the forest, wails in the sea ; 
 Soul of mine, soul of mine, what can it be? 
 
O, you who have once stood at the cross-roads of life, 
 
 O tell me if you have half-dreamily heard 
 Somewhere, afar off o'er the white, winding lanes, 
 
 A voice, strangely limpid, whose every note stirred 
 Ev'ry chord in your heart, ev'ry wave in your soul, 
 
 And filled your heart-blood with a strong, quench- 
 less flame, 
 And if you have heard it, perhaps you can tell 
 
 Whence conieth that calling, from highway or lane. 
 
 O, somewhere a voice is calling to me ; 
 It rings in the forest, wails on the sea ; 
 Somewhere, but, soul of mine, where can it be ? 
 
 Together we have smiled, have laughed and played 
 
 And danced with merriment in life's sweet spring ; 
 Together watched the flowers flash from earth, 
 
 And heard the homing birds their first notes sing. 
 We've watched the opal skies grow deeper blue, 
 
 The streamlets burst their chains of ice and snow ; 
 Together have endured all grief and pain. 
 
 All joy and mirth that childhood's heart can know. 
 
 Together summer hours we whiled away. 
 
 The long, delicious, drowsy days of June ; 
 Have wandered 'neath its silent, lovely stars. 
 
 And watched the deep'ning luster of the moon. 
 We've known the zephyr's touch, the scorching blast ; 
 
 Have plucked the rose and felt its stinging thorn ; 
 Together we have gladdened 'neath the sun, 
 
 Together faced the fury of the storm. 
 
 82 
 
And now the autumn comes and we are old 
 
 And tired with all our wondering and dreams ; 
 The flow'rs are dead, the days are growing cold ; 
 
 No longer on us falls the sun's warm beams. 
 The autumn-quiet is brooding over all ; 
 
 Ivone and sad the dells we roamed together, 
 Behind us lies the long and distant path 
 
 That we've trod in bright and stormy weather. 
 
 But, tho' the rose is dead, the rose we loved, 
 
 Tho' leaf and bud are withered, lifeless, dead ; 
 Tho' birds no longer sing for our sweet joy, 
 
 And skies once bright are dark and grey o'erhead, 
 We are not sad, ah, no ! our hearts are glad 
 
 As hand in hand again we quietly roam 
 Together down the rose-gold sunset lane 
 
 Whose windings lead to peace of God and home. 
 
 Ste:p5 on tl)e Stairs, 
 
 Now some toil up unto the gleaming light, 
 
 Some sink into the depths of black despair; 
 
 How often in the stilly hours of night 
 
 We hear their footfalls on the winding stair. 
 
 With slow, sure step, with firm, metallic tread 
 
 That goes ringing thro' the night's solemn gloom, 
 
 The upward toilers strive, while far below 
 
 The millions hasten downward to their doom. 
 
 Alas ! how much easier to descend 
 
 The great winding stairs of life, — to go down, — 
 Than it is to climb upward or ascend 
 
 Step by step to the winning of the crown. 
 
 83 
 
Hear how patient the steps go up and up, 
 
 In the shadow of evil and unright, 
 Step after step each white and fearless face 
 
 Is stead'ly drawing nearer to the light. 
 
 Note, however, the downward troops increase 
 As eagerly they onward push and press ; 
 
 What care they for the heights of joy or peace? 
 
 What care they for the things that cheer and bless ? 
 
 Down, ever down, to where the caverns yawn, 
 Millions of footsteps echo day and night ; 
 
 Down where their eyes will never see the dawn, 
 Down where their eyes will never see the light. 
 
 Alas ! for the gleaming of sun-kissed heights, 
 For the upward lure of beauty or song ; 
 
 Alas ! for preacher and for moralist 
 
 Striving to conquer and subdue the wrong. 
 
 Alas ! for the work of women and men ! 
 
 Alas ! for the prayers the goodly pray. 
 For the army still goes marching down to sin, 
 
 An army growing stronger day by day. 
 
 84 
 
JAN 11 >90/ 
 

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