PS 3507 .R35 G7 1921 Copy 1 pf THE GREY VALLEY NICHOLAS DRAKE v.o Hz COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT, THE GREY VALLEY BY Nicholas Drake 1921 RICHMOND, VA. BROWN PRINT SHOP, INC. PRINTERS COPYRIGHT, 1921 BY NICHOLAS DRAKE 'Cf.A627985 J iiF&trat^ tijta Itttl^ b00k to mjj SfatljFr anh iiotlj^r FOREWORD The poems contained in this little volume, with a few exceptions, have previously appeared in The Times- Dispatch, or in The Richmond Evening Journal. There- fore, I have set aside this page for the purpose of thanking Mr. S. T. Clover, the former editor of The Journal, and Mr. H. E. Warner, of The Times-Dispatch, for their many courtesies. NICHOLAS DRAKE. CONTENTS Page His Voice 9 The House Is Still 10 Where Fancy Lives 11 His Scraggy Dog 12 From the Dead 13 Song-Thrush 14 The Old Man 15 Easter 16 Throbbing of the Funeral Drums 17 Looking Forward 18 First Flowers: From a Persian Myth 19 Life's Pictures 20 Summer's Eve 21 Children's Time 22 On Easter Morn 23 Asrael 24 Faith 26 The Thoroughbred 27 THE GREY VALLEY His Voice In sunset glow and in each gleam The stars portray at night. In every ripple of the stream That leaps to greet the sight, And in the petals of the rose Which nestles by the thorn There is a Voice which swells and flows To souls of men reborn. They understand, the sons of man, And sons of God become, When turning from the sordid plan They hear in summer's hum The Voice which spoke in Galilee, Which told of life and love: For sights and sounds on land and sea Are words from God above. 10 The Grey Valley The House Is Still Aye, they have all gone to bed, The house is dark and still, And their thoughts of day have fled Away and o'er the hill — ' O'er the hill of dusky gray That into valleys fold, To the place where children play Who now are nearly old. Yes, they have all gone to bed. The men who once were boys — And, perhaps, again they tread The field of youthful joys. And the frowzy pup leads on To Staple's swimmin' hole. Where no fancy garb is worn When leaping from the knoll. Aye, they have all gone to bed. The house is dark and drear — But they list to sounds long dead That rise again in air, And someone mayhap, is seen As she stands near the door Of the gabled house of green Where once they lived of yore. The Grey Valley 11 Where Fancy Lives When night's bleak frost is in the air, And luna's sheen is bright and cold, I think no more of daily care, Nor feel the grip of toil's hold; For then I dream the dreams God gives To souls of men of work and play Who seek the place where Fancy lives On dusty shelves midst shadows gray. Give me a book and quiet nook And fast I'll sail for old Cathay — Then on I'll go and gently look Upon the maids of Mandalay. As gales from north lands outside blow Give me a stirring tale at home And o'er the snow I'll gaily go E'en though I trek my way to Nome. 12 The Grey Valley His Scraggy Dog The old, old mutt, the scraggy dog He left when he went away Goes the round of the old-time haunts — From the church to dance hall gay. While merry throngs pass by, he stands With his head hung down, forlorn, And seems to say in doggish way, "My master and god is gone." A whistle he hears in the night That seems as his comrade's call. Yet, still it lacks a note he knows. So back goes he to his stall. But he will find the one he seeks There, perhaps, in Realms of Right, When answers he the call he knows. As it comes through gates of light. The Grey Valley 13 From the Dead You are the dead; we are the souls who live! O, comrades, save thy tears, thy laughter give- Tomorrow thou and I again shall tread The fields we love — but not among the dead! For life is mine, and I before thee stand A friend and leader to a better land. They say we died; let this now be thy trust: The body's evil only turns to dust! Among the clouds of white and by thy side Live those who drink of life — the men who've died! So dry thine eyes, ye who are still in pain, And keep the faith, for we shall meet again. 14 The Greij Valley Song-Thrush OJ^ten I've heard the mavis-bird Singing the sweetest lay, Yet when I hear again each year His happy song of May My spirit fills with new-born thrills And free I feel and gay. I love the rare enchanting air Pandean-pipes now play, And every tale told in the vale In memory-mine shall stay — But heard o'er all is the clear love call The mavis chants today. The Grey Valley 15 The Old Man They saw not the smile within, nor the fire That burned behind his lusterless gray eyes; They only saw his age, his tattered garb, His battered hat and worn-out, shineless shoes; And when he passed the door they pitied him. I wonder why it was he pitied them? 16 The Grey Valley Easter The earth's bright carpet now is down And zephyrs sweep it clean, While overhead the tree tops spread Their gowns of tinted green; With rhythmic notes the air is filled As nature croons and hums — And pixies dance o'er earth's expanse When Spring's sweet spirit comes. How well the season fits the day When He from death arose, And found the clime of life sublime, Free from all worldly woes. Because of Him all fears are stilled, Golgotha now is past, For visions bright of lands of light Belong to us at last. The Grey Valley 17 Throbbing of the Funeral Drums Another hero dead ? Another Soul fled from earth ? Dead? No! His soul still lives, and To us gives new strength To meet the foe. Back of the firing-line. Back of the struggle comes The sobbing and throbbing Of the funeral drums. Ah, mothers, those sons of you born, Do they seem from you forever shorn? You know they are not lost, but still You murmur, "Gone." Though it is miles away, she sees The procession as it comes. And she hears the sobbing and throbbing Of the funeral drums. I try to comfort her And her pain to allay. And she hears me not. Yet she hears far away The sobbing and throbbing Of the funeral drums. 18 The Grey Valley Looking Forward Lift thine eyes, O, World, From ashes and from dust; Behold the flag unfurled In which the nations trust, God will be our guide. To lead to pastures fair. We know He will provide For us His children there. Sheathed is now the sword. No more we view the night; Wreathed are the graves, 0, Lord, We see the future bright. The grim past now is dead And there beyond the tears, Caused by the fields dyed red. Rise blessed future years. The Grey Valley 19 First Flowers: From a Persian Myth When Ahura-Mazdao Directed man to cut The breast of Earth loud cries Arose to the angels Asking intercession For Armati, goddess Of the Earth and giver Of increase; but knowing The Almighty wisdom Of Ahura-Mazdao, The Omnipotent God, The Giver of All Life, His glorious angels Sorrowfully refused. Yet Ahura-Mazdao, Seeing the pain of Earth, Hearing Armati in Anguish, determined to Compensate her, though He "Would not alleviate Her pain, as men must raise Food by plowing the ground; Therefore, He took perfume From the pots of incense That ever in heaven Burn — ^which gives forth sweet smells — And, combined with carmine Taken from the setting Sun, made a wondrous work Named Flowers, and gave to Suffering Armati, Who, smiling through her tears, Clasped them to her bosom. 20 The Grey Valley Life's Pictures When life's pictures are painted And the last touches made, When we have toned the high lights And brightened all the shade, Will the good, loving Master Judge each work side by side? Or will He merely rule by How hard the painter tried? Will He value each painting By the size of the frame? And before passing judgment Look for the painter's name? Or will He judge each painting. Will He the worth decide. By hov/ well it is finished and How hard the painter tried? The Grey Valley 21 Summer's Eve The hills that rise against the skies God's altars are and free, While swaying trees are praying trees, All bending reverently; And the notes heard from each wild bird Songs are divine in praise, Pulsing in air with that hymn rare The brook forever plays. All nature sings of greater things Than those which mankind sees. For fancy's flight, too great for sight. Leaps to angelic keys; And he who hears the song of years On rippling nights in June, Up from the sod to greet his God Rises with soul in tune. 22 The Grey Valley Children's Time Christmas is for children, As often has been said, And all the decorations So gay, of green and red, Are just to greet Saint Nick, Who brings the children toys, And nothing means to us — The grown-up girls and boys! Children's time, children's time, O, surely 'tis the truth; It is just the time of times For carefree, singing youth. So let's put old age out, While bringing in the toys, And let us sing today. And just be girls and boys. The Grey Valley 23 On Easter Morn This morn saw I pass slowly by A bier black as very night — No soul save I and a passerby Saw the grim and ghastly sight. Turning, asked I of the passerby, "Why are no tears this morn shed For him who lies with vacant eyes Yonder, cold and dead?" The passerby to me drew nigh And smiled as He clearly said: "Why should tears fall upon the pall? There Death lies dead." 24 The Grey Valley Asrael Last night a beautiful Angel hovered o'er me In my dreams. Within his Hand he held a goblet Of gold, and his waist was Encircled by a small Girdle with a phoenix Embroidered upon it. My imagination Had never conceived the Thought before there was such A wonderful being, Even in realms above; Though often I pondered About the land beyond — Of Elysium I IncessantljT^ thought — yet The fairest thought of mine Could not match the fairness Of the angel standing Before me ... I questioned Him, "Who art thou?" And the Spirit answered, saying, "I am Asrael, the Angel of Death." Surprised, This beautiful soul was None other than the hard. Grim Reaper. Again spake I: "Then why come ye as One who brings hope and life? The Grey Valley 25 Is this disguise meant for An evil purpose of Thine ? The cup of gold is Filled with a bitter drink Which takes the life of man. Perhaps." But he replied, "The golden vessel that I have contains precious Elixir." I pondered Awhile this strange speech of His . . . Then truth came to me, I cried, "Thou, Asrael Art the Angel o^ Life!" tS The Grey Valley Faith Sitting on yon bare tree Sings the gay opechee, Thinking not of sorrow, Nor of snows of morrow, Thinking of life and love. Singing there, without care, On the bough above. Little bird, you shame me, With faith you inflame me, Today, I, too, shall sing. Forgetting everything. Excepting life and love. For His arm saves from harm Those who look above. The Grey Valley 27 The Thorougrhbred When the cur is spent and torn He will whimper, beg and moan, And he will lie on his back on the ground; But the thoroughbred doesn't know When he is licked by a foe, And he will stand till the end of the round. So, when you're bruised and you're worn It will take nerve to keep on — But that is the test of a thoroughbred; And they will say you have grit If you don't grumble and quit — If you don't lie down— until you are dead! J-'BRARY OF CONGRESS J) 015 908 038 9 •