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 | Poems of problems |  |
9
ARROW AND BOW
It is easy to stand in the pulpit or in the closet to kneel
And say—“God do this; God do that—
“Make the world better; relieve the sorrows of man; for the sake of thy son
“Oh forgive all sin.” Then having planned out God's work, to feel
Our duty is done.
It is easy to be religious this way.
Easy to pray.
And say—“God do this; God do that—
“Make the world better; relieve the sorrows of man; for the sake of thy son
“Oh forgive all sin.” Then having planned out God's work, to feel
Our duty is done.
It is easy to be religious this way.
Easy to pray.
It is harder to stand on the highway, or walk in the crowded mart;
And say “I am He; I am He;
“Mine the world burden; mine the sorrows of men; mine is the Christ work
“To forgive my brother's sin; and then to live the Christ part
And never to shirk.
It is hard for you and me
To be religious this way.
Day after day.
And say “I am He; I am He;
“Mine the world burden; mine the sorrows of men; mine is the Christ work
“To forgive my brother's sin; and then to live the Christ part
And never to shirk.
It is hard for you and me
To be religious this way.
Day after day.
10
But God is no longer in heaven; we drove him out with our prayers;
Drove him out with our sermons and creeds, and our endless plaints and despairs.
He came down over the borders, and Christ too came along;
They are looking the whole world over to see just what is wrong.
God has grown weary of hearing his praises sung on earth;
And Jesus is weary of hearing the story about his birth;
And the way to win their favor, that is surer than any other,
Is to join in a song of Brotherhood and praises of one another.
Drove him out with our sermons and creeds, and our endless plaints and despairs.
He came down over the borders, and Christ too came along;
They are looking the whole world over to see just what is wrong.
God has grown weary of hearing his praises sung on earth;
And Jesus is weary of hearing the story about his birth;
And the way to win their favor, that is surer than any other,
Is to join in a song of Brotherhood and praises of one another.
No, God is no longer in heaven; He has come down on earth to see
That nothing is wrong with the world He made; THE WRONG IS IN YOU AND ME.
He meant the earth for a garden spot, where mill and factory stand;
Childhood he meant for growing time; but look at the toiling hand!
Woman was meant for mother and mate; now look at the slaves of lust.
And the good folks shake their heads and say “We must pray to God and trust.”
God has a billion books of our prayers unopened upon his shelves,
For the things we are begging of him to do, He wants us to do ourselves.
That nothing is wrong with the world He made; THE WRONG IS IN YOU AND ME.
He meant the earth for a garden spot, where mill and factory stand;
Childhood he meant for growing time; but look at the toiling hand!
Woman was meant for mother and mate; now look at the slaves of lust.
And the good folks shake their heads and say “We must pray to God and trust.”
11
For the things we are begging of him to do, He wants us to do ourselves.
Jehovah, Jesus, and each soul in space
Are one, and undividable: Until
We see God shining in each neighbor's face
And find Him in ourselves and hail Him there,
Let us be still.
What use is prayer,
How can we love the whole, and not each part?
How worship God, and harbor in the heart
Hate of God's members (for all men are that).
Too long our souls have sat,
Like poor blind beggars at the door of God.
He never made a beggar—We are kings!
Let us rise up, for it is time we trod
The mountain-tops; time that we did the things
We have so long asked God to do.
He waits for you
To look deep in your brother's eyes and see
The God within;
To hear you say “Lo, thou art He; Lo, thou art He.”
This is the only way to end all sin.
The difficult, one way.
Are one, and undividable: Until
We see God shining in each neighbor's face
And find Him in ourselves and hail Him there,
Let us be still.
What use is prayer,
How can we love the whole, and not each part?
How worship God, and harbor in the heart
Hate of God's members (for all men are that).
Too long our souls have sat,
Like poor blind beggars at the door of God.
He never made a beggar—We are kings!
Let us rise up, for it is time we trod
The mountain-tops; time that we did the things
We have so long asked God to do.
He waits for you
To look deep in your brother's eyes and see
The God within;
To hear you say “Lo, thou art He; Lo, thou art He.”
This is the only way to end all sin.
The difficult, one way.
A prayer without a deed is an arrow without a bow-string;
A deed without a prayer is a bow-string without an arrow.
The heart of a man should be like a quiver full of arrows,
And the hand of a man should be like a strong bow strung for action.
The heart of a man should keep his arrows ever ascending,
And the hand and the mind of a man should keep at a work unending.
12
The heart of a man should be like a quiver full of arrows,
And the hand of a man should be like a strong bow strung for action.
The heart of a man should keep his arrows ever ascending,
And the hand and the mind of a man should keep at a work unending.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
13
HUSKS
She looked at her neighbour's house in the light of the waning day—
A shower of rice on the steps, and the shreds of a bride's bouquet.
And then she drew the shade, to shut out the growing gloom,
But she shut it into her heart instead. (Was that a voice in the room?)
A shower of rice on the steps, and the shreds of a bride's bouquet.
And then she drew the shade, to shut out the growing gloom,
But she shut it into her heart instead. (Was that a voice in the room?)
‘My neighbour is sad,’ she sighed, ‘like the mother bird who sees
The last of her brood fly out of the nest to make its home in the trees’—
And then in a passion of tears—‘But, oh, to be sad like her:
Sad for a joy that has come and gone!’ (Did some one speak, or stir?)
She looked at her faded hands, all burdened with costly rings;
She looked on her widowed home, all burdened with priceless things.
She thought of the dead years gone, of the empty years ahead—
(Yes, something stirred and something spake, and this was what it said:)
The last of her brood fly out of the nest to make its home in the trees’—
And then in a passion of tears—‘But, oh, to be sad like her:
Sad for a joy that has come and gone!’ (Did some one speak, or stir?)
She looked at her faded hands, all burdened with costly rings;
14
She thought of the dead years gone, of the empty years ahead—
(Yes, something stirred and something spake, and this was what it said:)
‘The voice of the Might Have Been speaks here through the lonely dusk;
Life offered the fruits of love; you gathered only the husk.
There are jewels ablaze on your breast where never a child has slept.’
She covered her face with her ringed old hands, and wept and wept and wept.
Life offered the fruits of love; you gathered only the husk.
There are jewels ablaze on your breast where never a child has slept.’
She covered her face with her ringed old hands, and wept and wept and wept.
15
SISTERS OF MINE
Sisters, sisters of mine, have we done what we could
In all the old ways, through all the new days,
To better the race and to make life sweet and good?
Have we played the full part that was ours in the start,
Sisters of mine?
In all the old ways, through all the new days,
To better the race and to make life sweet and good?
Have we played the full part that was ours in the start,
Sisters of mine?
Sisters, sisters of mine, as we hurry along
To a larger world, with our banners unfurled,
The battle-cry on lips where once was Love's old song,
Are we leaving behind better things than we find,
Sisters of mine?
To a larger world, with our banners unfurled,
The battle-cry on lips where once was Love's old song,
Are we leaving behind better things than we find,
Sisters of mine?
Sisters, sisters of mine, through the march in the street,
Through turmoil and din, without and within,
As we gain something big do we lose something sweet?
In the growth of our might is our grace lost to sight?
As new powers unfold do we love as of old,
Sisters of mine?
16
As we gain something big do we lose something sweet?
In the growth of our might is our grace lost to sight?
As new powers unfold do we love as of old,
Sisters of mine?
17
ANSWER
O well have we done the old tasks! in the old, old ways of earth.
We have kept the house in order, we have given the children birth;
And our sons went out with their fathers, and left us alone at the hearth.
We have kept the house in order, we have given the children birth;
And our sons went out with their fathers, and left us alone at the hearth.
We have cooked the meats for their table; we have woven their cloth at the loom;
We have pulled the weeds from their gardens, and kept the flowers in bloom;
And then we have sat and waited, alone in a silent room.
We have pulled the weeds from their gardens, and kept the flowers in bloom;
And then we have sat and waited, alone in a silent room.
We have borne all the pains of travail in giving life to the race;
We have toiled and saved, for the masters, and helped them to power and place;
And when we asked for a pittance, they gave it with grudging grace.
We have toiled and saved, for the masters, and helped them to power and place;
18
On the bold, bright face of the dollar all the evils of earth are shown.
We are weary of love that is barter, and of virtue that pines alone;
We are out in the world with the masters: we are finding and claiming our own!
We are weary of love that is barter, and of virtue that pines alone;
We are out in the world with the masters: we are finding and claiming our own!
19
THE SILENT TRAGEDY
The deepest tragedies of life are not
Put into books, or acted on the stage.
Nay, they are lived in silence, by tense hearth.
In homes, among dull, unperceiving kin,
And thoughtless friends, who make a whip of words
Wherewith to lash these hearts, and call it wit.
Put into books, or acted on the stage.
Nay, they are lived in silence, by tense hearth.
In homes, among dull, unperceiving kin,
And thoughtless friends, who make a whip of words
Wherewith to lash these hearts, and call it wit.
There is a tragedy lived everywhere
In Christian lands, by an increasing horde
Of women martyrs to our social laws.
Women whose hearts cry out for motherhood;
Women whose bosoms ache for little heads;
Women God meant for mothers, but whose lives
Have been restrained, restricted, and denied
Their natural channels, till at last they stand
Unmated and alone, by that sad sea
Whose slow receding tide returns no more.
Men meet great sorrows; but no man can grasp
The depth, and height, of such a grief as this.
In Christian lands, by an increasing horde
Of women martyrs to our social laws.
Women whose hearts cry out for motherhood;
Women whose bosoms ache for little heads;
Women God meant for mothers, but whose lives
Have been restrained, restricted, and denied
Their natural channels, till at last they stand
Unmated and alone, by that sad sea
Whose slow receding tide returns no more.
20
The depth, and height, of such a grief as this.
The call of Fatherhood is from man's brain.
Man cannot know the answer to that call
Save as a woman tells him. But to her
The call of Motherhood is from the soul,
The brain, the body. She is like a plant
Which buds and blossoms only to bear fruit.
Man is the pollen, carried by the wind
Of accident, or impulse, or desire;
And then his rôle of fatherhood is played.
Her threefold knowledge of maternity,
Through three times three great months, is hers alone.
Man cannot know the answer to that call
Save as a woman tells him. But to her
The call of Motherhood is from the soul,
The brain, the body. She is like a plant
Which buds and blossoms only to bear fruit.
Man is the pollen, carried by the wind
Of accident, or impulse, or desire;
And then his rôle of fatherhood is played.
Her threefold knowledge of maternity,
Through three times three great months, is hers alone.
Man as an egotist is wounded when
He is not father. Woman when denied
The all-embracing rôle of motherhood
Rebels with her whole being. Oftentimes
Rebellion finds its only utterance
In shattered nerves, and lack of self-control;
Which gives the merry world its chance to cry
‘Old maids are queer.’
He is not father. Woman when denied
The all-embracing rôle of motherhood
Rebels with her whole being. Oftentimes
Rebellion finds its only utterance
In shattered nerves, and lack of self-control;
Which gives the merry world its chance to cry
‘Old maids are queer.’
In far off Eastern lands
They think of God as Mother to the race;
Father and Mother of the Universe.
And mayhap this is why they make their girls
Wives prematurely, mothers over young;
Hoping to please their Mother God this way.
Since everywhere in Nature sex is shown
For procreative uses, they contend
Sterility is sinful. (Save when one
Chooses a life of Saintship here on earth,
And so conserves all forces to that end.)
21
Father and Mother of the Universe.
And mayhap this is why they make their girls
Wives prematurely, mothers over young;
Hoping to please their Mother God this way.
Since everywhere in Nature sex is shown
For procreative uses, they contend
Sterility is sinful. (Save when one
Chooses a life of Saintship here on earth,
And so conserves all forces to that end.)
Here in the West, our God is Masculine;
And while we say He bade a Virgin bring
His Son to birth, we think of Him as One
Placing false values on forced continence—
Preparing heavens for those who live that life—
And hells for those who stray by thought or act
From the unnatural path our laws have made.
And while we say He bade a Virgin bring
His Son to birth, we think of Him as One
Placing false values on forced continence—
Preparing heavens for those who live that life—
And hells for those who stray by thought or act
From the unnatural path our laws have made.
Mother of Christ, thou being woman, thou
Knowing all depths within the woman heart,
All joy, all pain, oh send the world more light.
Enlarge our sympathies; and let our minds
Turn from achievements of material things
To contemplation of Eternal truths.
Space throbs with egos, waiting for rebirth;
And mother-hearted women fill the earth.
Mother of Christ, show us the way to thin
The ranks of childless women, without sin.
Knowing all depths within the woman heart,
All joy, all pain, oh send the world more light.
Enlarge our sympathies; and let our minds
Turn from achievements of material things
To contemplation of Eternal truths.
22
And mother-hearted women fill the earth.
Mother of Christ, show us the way to thin
The ranks of childless women, without sin.
23
THE TRINITY
Much may be done with the world we are in,
Much with the race to better it;
We can unfetter it,
Free it from chains of the old traditions;
Broaden its viewpoint of virtue and sin;
Change its conditions
Of labour and wealth;
And open new roadways to knowledge and health.
Yet some things ever must stay as they are
While the sea has its tide and the sky has its star.
A man and a woman with love between,
Loyal and tender and true and clean,
Nothing better has been or can be
Than just those three.
Much with the race to better it;
We can unfetter it,
Free it from chains of the old traditions;
Broaden its viewpoint of virtue and sin;
Change its conditions
Of labour and wealth;
And open new roadways to knowledge and health.
Yet some things ever must stay as they are
While the sea has its tide and the sky has its star.
A man and a woman with love between,
Loyal and tender and true and clean,
Nothing better has been or can be
Than just those three.
Woman may alter the first great plan.
Daughters and sisters and mothers,
May stalk with their brothers
Forth from their homes into noisy places
Fit (and fit only) for masculine man.
Marring their graces
With conflict and strife
To widen the outlook of all human life.
Yet some things ever must stay as they are
While the sea has its tide and the sky has its star.
A man and a woman with love that strengthens
And gathers new force as its earth way lengthens;
Nothing better by God is given
This side of heaven.
Daughters and sisters and mothers,
May stalk with their brothers
Forth from their homes into noisy places
Fit (and fit only) for masculine man.
24
With conflict and strife
To widen the outlook of all human life.
Yet some things ever must stay as they are
While the sea has its tide and the sky has its star.
A man and a woman with love that strengthens
And gathers new force as its earth way lengthens;
Nothing better by God is given
This side of heaven.
Science may show us a wonderful vast
Secret of life and of breeding it;
Man by the heeding it
Out of earth's chaos may bring a new order.
Off with old systems, old laws may be cast.
What now seems the border
Of license in creeds,
May then be the centre of thoughts and of deeds.
Yet some things ever must stay as they are
While the sea has its tide and the sky has its star.
A man and a woman and love undefiled
And the look of the two in the face of a child,—
Oh, the joys of this world have their changing ways,
But this joy stays.
Nothing better on earth can be
Than just those three.
Secret of life and of breeding it;
Man by the heeding it
Out of earth's chaos may bring a new order.
Off with old systems, old laws may be cast.
What now seems the border
Of license in creeds,
May then be the centre of thoughts and of deeds.
Yet some things ever must stay as they are
While the sea has its tide and the sky has its star.
A man and a woman and love undefiled
And the look of the two in the face of a child,—
Oh, the joys of this world have their changing ways,
But this joy stays.
Nothing better on earth can be
Than just those three.
25
THE WELL-BORN
So many people—people—in the world;So few great souls, love ordered, well begun,
In answer to the fertile mother need!
So few who seem
The image of the Maker's mortal dream;
So many born of mere propinquity—
Of lustful habit, or of accident.
Their mothers felt
No mighty, all-compelling wish to see
Their bosoms garden-places
Abloom with flower faces;
No tidal wave swept o'er them with its flood;
No thrill of flesh or heart; no leap of blood;
No glowing fire, flaming to white desire
For mating and for motherhood:
Yet they bore children.
God! how mankind misuses thy command,
To populate the earth!
How low is brought high birth!
26
Left on the sands to fertilise,
She is the means through which the race goes on.
Not so the first intent.
Birth, as the Supreme Mind conceived it, meant
The clear, imperious call of mate to mate
And the clear answer. Only thus and then
Are fine, well-ordered, and potential lives
Brought into being. Not by Church or State
Can birth be made legitimate,
Unless
Love in its fulness bless.
Creation so ordains its lofty laws
That man, while greater in all other things,
Is lesser in the generative cause.
The father may be merely man, the male;
Yet more than female must the mother be.
The woman who would fashion
Souls, for the use of earth and angels meet,
Must entertain a high and holy passion.
Not rank, or wealth, or influence of kings
Can give a soul its dower
Of majesty and power,
Unless the mother brings
Great love to that great hour.
27
THE PRICE HE PAID
I said I would have my fling,
And do what a young man may:
And I didn't believe a thing
That the parsons have to say.
I didn't believe in a God
That gives us blood like fire,
Then flings us into hell because
We answer the call of desire.
And do what a young man may:
And I didn't believe a thing
That the parsons have to say.
I didn't believe in a God
That gives us blood like fire,
Then flings us into hell because
We answer the call of desire.
And I said: ‘Religion is rot,
And the laws of the world are nil;
For the bad man is he who is caught
And cannot foot his bill.
And there is no place called hell;
And heaven is only a truth
When a man has his way with a maid,
In the fresh keen hour of youth.
And the laws of the world are nil;
For the bad man is he who is caught
And cannot foot his bill.
And there is no place called hell;
And heaven is only a truth
When a man has his way with a maid,
In the fresh keen hour of youth.
And money can buy us grace,
If it rings on the plate of the church:
And money can neatly erase
Each sign of a sinful smirch.’
For I saw men everywhere,
Hotfooting the road of vice;
And women and preachers smiled on them
As long as they paid the price.
If it rings on the plate of the church:
And money can neatly erase
Each sign of a sinful smirch.’
28
Hotfooting the road of vice;
And women and preachers smiled on them
As long as they paid the price.
So I had my joy of life:
I went the pace of the town;
And then I took me a wife,
And started to settle down.
I had gold enough and to spare
For all of the simple joys
That belong with a house and a home
And a brood of girls and boys.
I went the pace of the town;
And then I took me a wife,
And started to settle down.
I had gold enough and to spare
For all of the simple joys
That belong with a house and a home
And a brood of girls and boys.
I married a girl with health
And virtue and spotless fame.
I gave in exchange my wealth
And a proud old family name.
And I gave her the love of a heart
Grown sated and sick of sin!
My deal with the devil was all cleaned up,
And the last bill handed in.
And virtue and spotless fame.
I gave in exchange my wealth
And a proud old family name.
And I gave her the love of a heart
Grown sated and sick of sin!
My deal with the devil was all cleaned up,
And the last bill handed in.
She was going to bring me a child,
And when in labour she cried
With love and fear I was wild—
But now I wish she had died.
For the son she bore me was blind
And crippled and weak and sore!
And his mother was left a wreck.
It was so she settled my score.
And when in labour she cried
With love and fear I was wild—
But now I wish she had died.
29
And crippled and weak and sore!
And his mother was left a wreck.
It was so she settled my score.
I said I must have my fling,
And they knew the path I would go;
Yet no one told me a thing
Of what I needed to know.
Folks talk too much of a soul
From heavenly joys debarred—
And not enough of the babes unborn,
By the sins of their fathers scarred.
And they knew the path I would go;
Yet no one told me a thing
Of what I needed to know.
Folks talk too much of a soul
From heavenly joys debarred—
And not enough of the babes unborn,
By the sins of their fathers scarred.
30
MEDITATIONS
HIS
I was so proud of you last night, dear girl,
While man with man was striving for your smile.
You never lost your head, nor once dropped down
From your high place
As queen in that gay whirl.
While man with man was striving for your smile.
You never lost your head, nor once dropped down
From your high place
As queen in that gay whirl.
(It takes more poise to wear a little crown
With modesty and grace
Than to adorn the lordlier thrones of earth.)
With modesty and grace
Than to adorn the lordlier thrones of earth.)
You seem so free from artifice and wile:
And in your eyes I read
Encouragement to my unspoken thought.
My heart is eloquent with words to plead
Its cause of passion; but my questioning mind,
Knowing how love is blind,
Dwells on the pros and cons, and God knows what.
My heart cries with each beat,
‘She is so beautiful, so pure, so sweet,
So more than dear.’
And then I hear
The voice of Reason, asking: ‘Would she meet
Life's common duties with good common sense?
Could she bear quiet evening at your hearth,
And not be sighing for gay scenes of mirth?
If, some great day, love's mighty recompense
For chastity surrendered came to her,
If she felt stir
Beneath her heart a little pulse of life,
Would she rejoice with holy pride and wonder,
And find new glory in the name of wife?
Or would she plot with hell, and seek to plunder
Love's sanctuary, and cast away its treasure,
That she might keep her freedom and her pleasure?
Could she be loyal mate and mother dutiful?
Or is she only some bright hothouse bloom,
Seedless and beautiful,
Meant just for decoration, and for show?’
Alone here in my room,
I hear this voice of Reason. My poor heart
Has ever but one answer to impart,
‘I love her so.’
And in your eyes I read
Encouragement to my unspoken thought.
My heart is eloquent with words to plead
Its cause of passion; but my questioning mind,
Knowing how love is blind,
Dwells on the pros and cons, and God knows what.
31
‘She is so beautiful, so pure, so sweet,
So more than dear.’
And then I hear
The voice of Reason, asking: ‘Would she meet
Life's common duties with good common sense?
Could she bear quiet evening at your hearth,
And not be sighing for gay scenes of mirth?
If, some great day, love's mighty recompense
For chastity surrendered came to her,
If she felt stir
Beneath her heart a little pulse of life,
Would she rejoice with holy pride and wonder,
And find new glory in the name of wife?
Or would she plot with hell, and seek to plunder
Love's sanctuary, and cast away its treasure,
That she might keep her freedom and her pleasure?
Could she be loyal mate and mother dutiful?
Or is she only some bright hothouse bloom,
Seedless and beautiful,
Meant just for decoration, and for show?’
Alone here in my room,
I hear this voice of Reason. My poor heart
32
‘I love her so.’
HERS
After the ball last night, when I came home
I stood before my mirror, and took note
Of all that men call beautiful. Delight,
Keen, sweet delight, possessed me, when I saw
My own reflection smiling on me there,
Because your eyes, through all the swirling hours,
And in your slow good-night, had made a fact
Of what before I fancied might be so;
Yet knowing how men lie, by look and act,
I still had doubted. But I doubt no more,
I know you love me, love me. And I feel
Your satisfaction in my comeliness.
I stood before my mirror, and took note
Of all that men call beautiful. Delight,
Keen, sweet delight, possessed me, when I saw
My own reflection smiling on me there,
Because your eyes, through all the swirling hours,
And in your slow good-night, had made a fact
Of what before I fancied might be so;
Yet knowing how men lie, by look and act,
I still had doubted. But I doubt no more,
I know you love me, love me. And I feel
Your satisfaction in my comeliness.
Beauty and youth, good health and willing mind,
A spotless reputation, and a heart
Longing for mating and for motherhood,
And lips unsullied by another's kiss—
These are the riches I can bring to you.
A spotless reputation, and a heart
Longing for mating and for motherhood,
And lips unsullied by another's kiss—
These are the riches I can bring to you.
But as I sit here, thinking of it all
In the clear light of morning, sudden fear
Has seized upon me. What has been your past?
From out the jungle of old reckless years,
May serpents crawl across our path some day
And pierce us with their fangs? Oh, I am not
A prude or bigot; and I have not lived
A score and three full years in ignorance
Of human nature. Much I can condone;
For well I know our kinship to the earth
And all created things. Why, even I
Have felt the burden of virginity,
When flowers and birds and golden butterflies
In early spring were mating; and I know
How loud that call of sex must sound to man
Above the feeble protest of the world.
But I can hear from depths within my soul
The voices of my unborn children cry
For rightful heritage. (May God attune
The souls of men, that they may hear and heed
That plaintive voice above the call of sex;
And may the world's weak protest swell into
A thunderous diapason—a demand
For cleaner fatherhood.)
Oh, love, come near;
Look in my eyes, and say I need not fear.
In the clear light of morning, sudden fear
Has seized upon me. What has been your past?
33
May serpents crawl across our path some day
And pierce us with their fangs? Oh, I am not
A prude or bigot; and I have not lived
A score and three full years in ignorance
Of human nature. Much I can condone;
For well I know our kinship to the earth
And all created things. Why, even I
Have felt the burden of virginity,
When flowers and birds and golden butterflies
In early spring were mating; and I know
How loud that call of sex must sound to man
Above the feeble protest of the world.
But I can hear from depths within my soul
The voices of my unborn children cry
For rightful heritage. (May God attune
The souls of men, that they may hear and heed
That plaintive voice above the call of sex;
And may the world's weak protest swell into
A thunderous diapason—a demand
For cleaner fatherhood.)
Oh, love, come near;
Look in my eyes, and say I need not fear.
34
DIVORCED
Thinking of one thing all day long, at night
I fall asleep, brain weary and heart sore;
But only for a little while. At three,
Sometimes at two o'clock, I wake and lie,
Staring out into darkness; while my thoughts
Begin the weary treadmill-toil again,
From that white marriage morning of our youth
Down to this dreadful hour.
I fall asleep, brain weary and heart sore;
But only for a little while. At three,
Sometimes at two o'clock, I wake and lie,
Staring out into darkness; while my thoughts
Begin the weary treadmill-toil again,
From that white marriage morning of our youth
Down to this dreadful hour.
I see your face
Lit with the lovelight of the honeymoon;
I hear your voice, that lingered on my name
As if it loved each letter; and I feel
The cling of your arms about my form,
Your kisses on my cheek—and long to break
The anguish of such memories with tears,
But cannot weep; the fountain has run dry.
We were so young, so happy, and so full
Of keen sweet joy of life. I had no wish
Outside your pleasure; and you loved me so
That when I sometimes felt a woman's need
For more serene expression of man's love
(The need to rest in calm affection's bay
And not sail ever on the stormy main),
Yet would I rouse myself to your desire;
Meet ardent kiss with kisses just as warm;
So nothing I could give should be denied.
Lit with the lovelight of the honeymoon;
I hear your voice, that lingered on my name
As if it loved each letter; and I feel
The cling of your arms about my form,
Your kisses on my cheek—and long to break
The anguish of such memories with tears,
But cannot weep; the fountain has run dry.
We were so young, so happy, and so full
35
Outside your pleasure; and you loved me so
That when I sometimes felt a woman's need
For more serene expression of man's love
(The need to rest in calm affection's bay
And not sail ever on the stormy main),
Yet would I rouse myself to your desire;
Meet ardent kiss with kisses just as warm;
So nothing I could give should be denied.
And then our children came. Deep in my soul,
From the first hour of conscious motherhood,
I knew I should conserve myself for this
Most holy office; knew God meant it so.
Yet even then, I held your wishes first;
And by my double duties lost the bloom
And freshness of my beauty; and beheld
A look of disapproval in your eyes.
But with the coming of our precious child,
The lover's smile, tinged with the father's pride,
Returned again; and helped to make me strong;
And life was very sweet for both of us.
From the first hour of conscious motherhood,
I knew I should conserve myself for this
Most holy office; knew God meant it so.
Yet even then, I held your wishes first;
And by my double duties lost the bloom
And freshness of my beauty; and beheld
A look of disapproval in your eyes.
But with the coming of our precious child,
The lover's smile, tinged with the father's pride,
Returned again; and helped to make me strong;
And life was very sweet for both of us.
Another, and another birth, and twice
The little white hearse paused beside our door
And took away some portion of my youth
With my sweet babies. At the first you seemed
To suffer with me, standing very near;
But when I wept too long, you turned away.
And I was hurt, not realising then
My grief was selfish. I could see the change
Which motherhood and sorrow made in me;
And when I saw the change that came to you,
Saw how your eyes looked past me when you talked,
And when I missed the love tone from your voice,
I did that foolish thing weak women do,
Complained and cried, accused you of neglect,
And made myself obnoxious in your sight.
The little white hearse paused beside our door
36
With my sweet babies. At the first you seemed
To suffer with me, standing very near;
But when I wept too long, you turned away.
And I was hurt, not realising then
My grief was selfish. I could see the change
Which motherhood and sorrow made in me;
And when I saw the change that came to you,
Saw how your eyes looked past me when you talked,
And when I missed the love tone from your voice,
I did that foolish thing weak women do,
Complained and cried, accused you of neglect,
And made myself obnoxious in your sight.
And often, after you had left my side,
Alone I stood before my mirror, mad
With anger at my pallid cheeks, my dull
Unlighted eyes, my shrunken mother-breasts,
And wept, and wept, and faded more and more.
How could I hope to win back wandering love,
And make new flames in dying embers leap,
By such ungracious means?
Alone I stood before my mirror, mad
With anger at my pallid cheeks, my dull
Unlighted eyes, my shrunken mother-breasts,
And wept, and wept, and faded more and more.
How could I hope to win back wandering love,
And make new flames in dying embers leap,
By such ungracious means?
37
And then She came,
Firm-bosomed, round of cheek, with such young eyes,
And all the ways of youth. I who had died
A thousand deaths, in waiting the return
Of that old love-look to your face once more,
Died yet again and went straight into hell
When I beheld it come at her approach.
Firm-bosomed, round of cheek, with such young eyes,
And all the ways of youth. I who had died
A thousand deaths, in waiting the return
Of that old love-look to your face once more,
Died yet again and went straight into hell
When I beheld it come at her approach.
My God, my God, how have I borne it all!
Yet since she had the power to wake that look—
The power to sweep the ashes from your heart
Of burned-out love of me, and light new fires,
One thing remained for me—to let you go.
I had no wish to keep the empty frame
From which the priceless picture had been wrenched.
Nor do I blame you; it was not your fault:
You gave me all that most men can give—love
Of youth, of beauty, and of passion; and
I gave you full return; my womanhood
Matched well your manhood. Yet had you grown ill,
Or old, and unattractive from some cause
(Less close than was my service unto you),
I should have clung the tighter to you, dear;
And loved you, loved you, loved you more and more.
Yet since she had the power to wake that look—
The power to sweep the ashes from your heart
Of burned-out love of me, and light new fires,
One thing remained for me—to let you go.
I had no wish to keep the empty frame
From which the priceless picture had been wrenched.
Nor do I blame you; it was not your fault:
You gave me all that most men can give—love
Of youth, of beauty, and of passion; and
I gave you full return; my womanhood
Matched well your manhood. Yet had you grown ill,
Or old, and unattractive from some cause
(Less close than was my service unto you),
38
And loved you, loved you, loved you more and more.
I grow so weary thinking of these things;
Day in, day out; and half the awful nights.
Day in, day out; and half the awful nights.
39
THE UNWED MOTHER TO THE WIFE
I had been almost happy for an hour,
Lost to the world that knew me in the park
Among strange faces; while my little girl
Leaped with the squirrels, chirruped with the birds
And with the sunlight glowed. She was so dear,
So beautiful, so sweet; and for the time
The rose of love, shorn of its thorn of shame,
Bloomed in my heart. Then suddenly you passed.
I sat alone upon the public bench;
You, with your lawful husband, rode in state;
And when your eyes fell on me and my child,
They were not eyes, but daggers, poison tipped.
Lost to the world that knew me in the park
Among strange faces; while my little girl
Leaped with the squirrels, chirruped with the birds
And with the sunlight glowed. She was so dear,
So beautiful, so sweet; and for the time
The rose of love, shorn of its thorn of shame,
Bloomed in my heart. Then suddenly you passed.
I sat alone upon the public bench;
You, with your lawful husband, rode in state;
And when your eyes fell on me and my child,
They were not eyes, but daggers, poison tipped.
God! how good women slaughter with a look!
And, like cold steel, your glance cut through my heart,
Struck every petal from the rose of love
And left the ragged stalk alive with thorns.
And, like cold steel, your glance cut through my heart,
40
And left the ragged stalk alive with thorns.
My little one came running to my side
And called me Mother. It was like a blow
Between the eyes; and made me sick with pain.
And then it seemed as if each bird and breeze
Took up the word, and changed its syllables
From Mother into Magdalene; and cried
My shame to all the world.
And called me Mother. It was like a blow
Between the eyes; and made me sick with pain.
And then it seemed as if each bird and breeze
Took up the word, and changed its syllables
From Mother into Magdalene; and cried
My shame to all the world.
It was your eyes
Which did all this. But listen now to me
(Not you alone, but all the barren wives
Who, like you, flaunt their virtue in the face
Of fallen women): I do chance to know
The crimes you think are hidden from all men
(Save one who took your gold and sold his skill
And jeopardized his name for your base ends).
Which did all this. But listen now to me
(Not you alone, but all the barren wives
Who, like you, flaunt their virtue in the face
Of fallen women): I do chance to know
The crimes you think are hidden from all men
(Save one who took your gold and sold his skill
And jeopardized his name for your base ends).
I know how you have sunk your soul in sense
Like any wanton; and refused to bear
The harvest of your pleasure-planted seed;
I know how you have crushed the tender bud
Which held a soul; how you have blighted it;
And made the holy miracle of birth
A wicked travesty of God's design.
Yea, many buds, which might be blossoms now
And beautify your selfish, arid life,
Have been destroyed, because you chose to keep
The aimless freedom, and the purposeless,
Self-seeking liberty of childless wives.
Like any wanton; and refused to bear
The harvest of your pleasure-planted seed;
I know how you have crushed the tender bud
Which held a soul; how you have blighted it;
41
A wicked travesty of God's design.
Yea, many buds, which might be blossoms now
And beautify your selfish, arid life,
Have been destroyed, because you chose to keep
The aimless freedom, and the purposeless,
Self-seeking liberty of childless wives.
I was an untaught girl. By nature led,
By love and passion blinded, I became
An unwed mother. You, an honoured wife,
Refuse the crown of motherhood, defy
The laws of nature, and fling baby souls
Back in the face of God. And yet you dare
Call me a sinner, and yourself a saint;
And all the world smiles on you, and its doors
Swing wide at your approach.
I stand outside.
By love and passion blinded, I became
An unwed mother. You, an honoured wife,
Refuse the crown of motherhood, defy
The laws of nature, and fling baby souls
Back in the face of God. And yet you dare
Call me a sinner, and yourself a saint;
And all the world smiles on you, and its doors
Swing wide at your approach.
I stand outside.
Surely there must be, higher courts than earth,
Where you and I will some day meet and be
Weighed by a larger justice.
Where you and I will some day meet and be
Weighed by a larger justice.
42
FATHER AND SON
My grand-dame, vigorous at eighty-one,
Delights in talking of her only son,
My gallant father, long since dead and gone.
‘Ah, but he was the lad!’
She says, and sighs, and looks at me askance.
How well I read the meaning of that glance—
‘Poor son of such a dad;
Poor weakling, dull and sad.’
I could, but would not, tell her bitter truth
About my father's youth.
Delights in talking of her only son,
My gallant father, long since dead and gone.
‘Ah, but he was the lad!’
She says, and sighs, and looks at me askance.
How well I read the meaning of that glance—
‘Poor son of such a dad;
Poor weakling, dull and sad.’
I could, but would not, tell her bitter truth
About my father's youth.
She says: ‘Your father laughed his way through earth:
He laughed right in the doctor's face at birth,
Such joy of life he had, such founts of mirth.
Ah, what a lad was he!’
And then she sighs. I feel her silent blame,
Because I brought her nothing but his name.
Because she does not see
Her worshipped son in me.
I could, but would not, speak in my defence
Anent the difference.
He laughed right in the doctor's face at birth,
Such joy of life he had, such founts of mirth.
Ah, what a lad was he!’
And then she sighs. I feel her silent blame,
Because I brought her nothing but his name.
Because she does not see
Her worshipped son in me.
43
Anent the difference.
She says: ‘He won all prizes in his time;
He overworked, and died before his prime:
At high ambition's door I lay the crime.
Ah, what a lad he was!’
Well, let her rest in that deceiving thought,
Of what avail to say, ‘His death was brought
By broken sexual laws,
The ancient sinful cause.’
I could, but would not, tell the good old dame
The story of his shame.
He overworked, and died before his prime:
At high ambition's door I lay the crime.
Ah, what a lad he was!’
Well, let her rest in that deceiving thought,
Of what avail to say, ‘His death was brought
By broken sexual laws,
The ancient sinful cause.’
I could, but would not, tell the good old dame
The story of his shame.
I could say: ‘I am crippled, weak, and pale,
Because my father was an unleashed male.
Because he ran so fast, I halt and fail.
(Ah, yes, he was the lad!)
Because he drained each cup of sense-delight
I must go thirsting, thirsting, day and night.
Because he was joy-mad,
I must be always sad.
Because my father was an unleashed male.
Because he ran so fast, I halt and fail.
(Ah, yes, he was the lad!)
Because he drained each cup of sense-delight
I must go thirsting, thirsting, day and night.
Because he was joy-mad,
I must be always sad.
Because he learned no law of self-control,
I am a blighted soul.’
Of what avail to speak and spoil her joy.
Better to see her disapproving eyes,
And silent, hear her say, between her sighs,
‘Ah, but he was the boy!’
I am a blighted soul.’
Of what avail to speak and spoil her joy.
44
And silent, hear her say, between her sighs,
‘Ah, but he was the boy!’
45
THE REVEALING ANGELS
Suddenly and without warning they came—
The Revealing Angels came.
Suddenly and simultaneously, through city streets,
Through quiet lanes and country roads they walked.
They walked crying: ‘God has sent us to find
The vilest sinners of earth.
We are to bring them before Him, before the Lord of Life.’
The Revealing Angels came.
Suddenly and simultaneously, through city streets,
Through quiet lanes and country roads they walked.
They walked crying: ‘God has sent us to find
The vilest sinners of earth.
We are to bring them before Him, before the Lord of Life.’
Their voices were like bugles;
And then all war, all strife,
And all the noises of the world grew still;
And no one talked;
And no one toiled, but many strove to flee away.
Robbers and thieves, and those sunk in drunkenness and crime,
Men and women of evil repute,
And mothers with fatherless children in their arms, all strove to hide.
But the Revealing Angels passed them by,
Saying: ‘Not you, not you.
Another day, when we shall come again
Unto the haunts of men,
Then we will call your names;
But God has asked us first to bring to him
Those guilty of greater shames
Than lust, or theft, or drunkenness, or vice—
Yea, greater than murder done in passion,
Or self-destruction done in dark despair.
Now in His Holy Name we call:
Come one and all
Come forth; reveal your faces.’
And then all war, all strife,
And all the noises of the world grew still;
And no one talked;
And no one toiled, but many strove to flee away.
Robbers and thieves, and those sunk in drunkenness and crime,
Men and women of evil repute,
46
But the Revealing Angels passed them by,
Saying: ‘Not you, not you.
Another day, when we shall come again
Unto the haunts of men,
Then we will call your names;
But God has asked us first to bring to him
Those guilty of greater shames
Than lust, or theft, or drunkenness, or vice—
Yea, greater than murder done in passion,
Or self-destruction done in dark despair.
Now in His Holy Name we call:
Come one and all
Come forth; reveal your faces.’
Then through the awful silence of the world,
Where noise had ceased, they came—
The sinful hosts.
They came from lowly and from lofty places,
Some poorly clad, but many clothed like queens;
They came from scenes of revel and from toil;
From haunts of sin, from palaces, from homes,
From boudoirs, and from churches.
They came like ghosts—
The vast brigades of women who had slain
Their helpless, unborn children. With them trailed
Lovers and husbands who had said, ‘Do this,’
And those who helped for hire.
They stood before the Angels—before the Revealing angels they stood.
And they heard the Angels say;
And all the listening world heard the Angels say;
‘These are the vilest sinners of all;
For the Lord of Life made sex that birth might come;
Made sex and its keen compelling desire
To fashion bodies wherein souls might go
From lower planes to higher,
Until the end is reached (which is Beginning).
They have stolen the costly pleasures of the senses
And refused to pay God's price.
They have come together, these men and these women,
As male and female they have come together
In the great creative act.
They have invited souls, and then flung them out into space;
They have made a jest of God's design.
All other sins look white beside this sinning;
All other sins may be condoned, forgiven;
All other sinners may be cleansed and shriven;
Not these, not these.
Pass on, and meet God's eyes.’
Where noise had ceased, they came—
The sinful hosts.
They came from lowly and from lofty places,
Some poorly clad, but many clothed like queens;
They came from scenes of revel and from toil;
From haunts of sin, from palaces, from homes,
From boudoirs, and from churches.
They came like ghosts—
47
Their helpless, unborn children. With them trailed
Lovers and husbands who had said, ‘Do this,’
And those who helped for hire.
They stood before the Angels—before the Revealing angels they stood.
And they heard the Angels say;
And all the listening world heard the Angels say;
‘These are the vilest sinners of all;
For the Lord of Life made sex that birth might come;
Made sex and its keen compelling desire
To fashion bodies wherein souls might go
From lower planes to higher,
Until the end is reached (which is Beginning).
They have stolen the costly pleasures of the senses
And refused to pay God's price.
They have come together, these men and these women,
As male and female they have come together
In the great creative act.
48
They have made a jest of God's design.
All other sins look white beside this sinning;
All other sins may be condoned, forgiven;
All other sinners may be cleansed and shriven;
Not these, not these.
Pass on, and meet God's eyes.’
The vast brigade moved forward, and behind them walked the Angels,
Walked the sorrowful Revealing Angels.
Walked the sorrowful Revealing Angels.
49
THE NEW YEAR SHIP
Across wide seas of space, from God's own bay,
Straight to the shores of earth it ploughed its way,
And came, full rigged, to anchor in the night.
Its sails lie clean against the morning light;
And on the bridge old Captain Time is standing,
Proud of the brave new craft he is commanding.
Straight to the shores of earth it ploughed its way,
And came, full rigged, to anchor in the night.
Its sails lie clean against the morning light;
And on the bridge old Captain Time is standing,
Proud of the brave new craft he is commanding.
My heart runs dockward, crying, ‘Ship ahoy!
What cargo do you carry—pain or joy?
Before the crew of Days shall come ashore,
Bearing each one his portion of your store—
Tell me what things are hidden in your hold?’
What cargo do you carry—pain or joy?
Before the crew of Days shall come ashore,
Bearing each one his portion of your store—
Tell me what things are hidden in your hold?’
There is no answer. Yet I do make bold
To prophesy some things Time keeps for me
In that great New Year ship.
To prophesy some things Time keeps for me
In that great New Year ship.
50
First there will be
Keen Winter mornings, when the sun and frost
Wage bloodless battle, with their daggers crossed.
The wind will act as second for the sun,
While trees stand steadfast for the other one.
Ah! such rare sport!
Keen Winter mornings, when the sun and frost
Wage bloodless battle, with their daggers crossed.
The wind will act as second for the sun,
While trees stand steadfast for the other one.
Ah! such rare sport!
There will be Spring's return,
When in old hearts young blood again will burn,
And young buds deck old trees; while in the skies
Vast dawns and sunsets startle and surprise
A waking world to wonder.
When in old hearts young blood again will burn,
And young buds deck old trees; while in the skies
Vast dawns and sunsets startle and surprise
A waking world to wonder.
There will come
Roses so beauteous they strike one dumb;
(A perfect rose is beauty's final word!)
While in their scent old memories are stirred
Of other scenes and times.
Roses so beauteous they strike one dumb;
(A perfect rose is beauty's final word!)
While in their scent old memories are stirred
Of other scenes and times.
Then Autumn's brush
Shall paint the earth before the final hush
That means a dying year. Ah! Captain Time,
You cannot cheat me of these gifts sublime,
(And countless others that I have not told).
Whatever else you bring me—or withhold.
Shall paint the earth before the final hush
That means a dying year. Ah! Captain Time,
You cannot cheat me of these gifts sublime,
(And countless others that I have not told).
Whatever else you bring me—or withhold.
51
THINKING OF CHRIST
Thinking of Christ, and hearing what men say
Anent His second coming some near day;
Unto the me of Me, I turned to ask,
What can we do for Him, and by what task,
Or through what sacrifice, can we proclaim
Our mighty love, and glorify His name?
Anent His second coming some near day;
Unto the me of Me, I turned to ask,
What can we do for Him, and by what task,
Or through what sacrifice, can we proclaim
Our mighty love, and glorify His name?
Whereon myself replied (thinking of Christ):
Has not God's glory unto Him sufficed?
What need has He of temples that men raise?
What need has He of any songs of praise?
Not sacrifice nor offerings needs He.
(Thinking of Christ, so spake Myself to me.)
Has not God's glory unto Him sufficed?
What need has He of temples that men raise?
What need has He of any songs of praise?
Not sacrifice nor offerings needs He.
(Thinking of Christ, so spake Myself to me.)
The rivers from the mountain do not try
To feed the source from which they gain supply;
They pay their debt by flowing on and down,
And carrying comfort to the field and town.
They scatter joy and beauty on their course,
In gratitude to the Eternal Source.
To feed the source from which they gain supply;
They pay their debt by flowing on and down,
And carrying comfort to the field and town.
52
In gratitude to the Eternal Source.
And thus should we (thinking of Christ) bestow
The full sweet tides of love that through us flow
Upon earth's weaker creatures. To the less
Must flow the greater, would we lift and bless.
Christ is the mountain source; each heart a river;
The thirsting meadows need us, not the Giver.
The full sweet tides of love that through us flow
Upon earth's weaker creatures. To the less
Must flow the greater, would we lift and bless.
Christ is the mountain source; each heart a river;
The thirsting meadows need us, not the Giver.
Thinking of Christ, let us proclaim His worth
By gracious deeds to mortals on this earth:
And while we wait His coming, let us bring
Sweet love and pity to the humblest thing,
And show our voiceless kin of air and sod
The mercy of the Universal God.
By gracious deeds to mortals on this earth:
And while we wait His coming, let us bring
Sweet love and pity to the humblest thing,
And show our voiceless kin of air and sod
The mercy of the Universal God.
Not by long prayers, though prayers renew our grace—
Not by tall spires, though steeples have their place—
Not by our faith, though faith is glorious—
Can we prove Christ, but by the love in us.
Mercy and love and kindness—seek these three.
Thus (thinking of Christ) Myself said unto me.
Not by tall spires, though steeples have their place—
Not by our faith, though faith is glorious—
Can we prove Christ, but by the love in us.
Mercy and love and kindness—seek these three.
Thus (thinking of Christ) Myself said unto me.
53
THE TRAVELLER
Bristling with steeples, high against the hill,
Like some great thistle in the rosy dawn
It stood; the Town-of-Christian-Churches, stood.
The Traveller surveyed it with a smile.
‘Surely,’ He said, ‘here is the home of peace;
Here neighbour lives with neighbour in accord,
God in the heart of all; else why these spires?’
(Christmas season, and every bell ringing.)
Like some great thistle in the rosy dawn
It stood; the Town-of-Christian-Churches, stood.
The Traveller surveyed it with a smile.
‘Surely,’ He said, ‘here is the home of peace;
Here neighbour lives with neighbour in accord,
God in the heart of all; else why these spires?’
(Christmas season, and every bell ringing.)
The sudden shriek of whistles changed the sound
From mellow music into jarring noise.
Then down the street pale hurrying children came,
And vanished in the yawning Factory door.
He called to them: ‘Come back, come unto Me.’
The Foreman cursed, and caned Him from the place.
(Christmas season, and every bell ringing.)
Forth from two churches came two men, and met,
Disputing loudly over boundary lines,
Hate in their eyes, and murder in their hearts.
A haughty woman drew her skirts aside
Because her fallen sister passed that way.
The Traveller rebuked them all. Amazed,
They asked in indignation, ‘Who are you,
Daring to interfere in private lives?’
The Traveller replied, ‘My name is CHRIST.’
(Christmas season, and every bell ringing.)
From mellow music into jarring noise.
Then down the street pale hurrying children came,
And vanished in the yawning Factory door.
He called to them: ‘Come back, come unto Me.’
The Foreman cursed, and caned Him from the place.
(Christmas season, and every bell ringing.)
54
Disputing loudly over boundary lines,
Hate in their eyes, and murder in their hearts.
A haughty woman drew her skirts aside
Because her fallen sister passed that way.
The Traveller rebuked them all. Amazed,
They asked in indignation, ‘Who are you,
Daring to interfere in private lives?’
The Traveller replied, ‘My name is CHRIST.’
(Christmas season, and every bell ringing.)
55
WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?
I
What have you done, and what are you doing with life, O Man!O Average Man of the world—
Average Man of the Christian world we call civilised?
What have you done to pay for the labour pains of the mother who bore you?
On earth you occupy space; you consume oxygen from the air:
And what do you give in return for these things?
Who is better that you live, and strive, and toil?
Or that you live through the toiling and striving of others?
As you pass down the street does any one look on you and say,
‘There goes a good son, a true husband, a wise father, a fine citizen?
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A man to trust’? And what do women say of you?
Unto their own souls what do women say?
Do they say: ‘He helped to make the road easier for tired feet?
To broaden the narrow horizon for aching eyes?
He helped us to higher ideals of womanhood’?
Look into your own heart and answer, O Average Man of the world,
Of the Christian world we call civilised.
II
What do men think of you, what do they think and say of you,O Average Woman of the world?
Do they say: ‘There is a woman with a great heart,
Loyal to her sex, and above envy and evil speaking:
There is a daughter, wife, mother, with a purpose in life:
She can be trusted to mould the minds of little children:
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How to be glad and to make others glad without descending to folly;
She is one who illuminates the path wherein she walks;
One who awakens the best in every human being she meets’?
Look into your heart, O Woman! and answer this:
What are you doing with the beautiful years?
Is your to-day a better thing than was your yesterday?
Have you grown in knowledge, grace, and usefulness?
Or are you ravelling out the wonderful fabric knit by Time,
And throwing away the threads?
Make answer, O Woman! Average Woman of the Christian world.
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THE UNDERTONE
When I was very young I used to feel the dark despair of youth;
Out of my little griefs I would invent great tragedies and woes;
Not only for myself, but for all those I held most dear
I would invent vast sorrows in my melancholy moods of thought.
Yet down deep, deep in my heart there was an undertone of rapture.
It was like a voice from some other world calling softly to me,
Saying things joyful.
Out of my little griefs I would invent great tragedies and woes;
Not only for myself, but for all those I held most dear
I would invent vast sorrows in my melancholy moods of thought.
Yet down deep, deep in my heart there was an undertone of rapture.
It was like a voice from some other world calling softly to me,
Saying things joyful.
As I grew older, and Life offered bitter gall for me to drink,
Forcing it through clenched teeth when I refused to take it willingly;
When Pain prepared some special anguish for my heart to bear,
And all the things I longed for seemed to be wholly beyond my reach—
Yet down deep, deep in my heart there was an undertone of rapture.
It was like a Voice, a Voice from some other world calling to me,
Bringing glad tidings.
Forcing it through clenched teeth when I refused to take it willingly;
When Pain prepared some special anguish for my heart to bear,
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Yet down deep, deep in my heart there was an undertone of rapture.
It was like a Voice, a Voice from some other world calling to me,
Bringing glad tidings.
Now when I look about me, and see the great injustices of men,
See Idleness and Greed waited upon by luxury and mirth,
See prosperous Vice ride by in state, while footsore Virtue walks;
Now when I hear the cry of need rise up from lands of shameful wealth—
Yet down deep, deep in my heart there is an undertone of rapture.
It is like a Voice—it is a Voice—calling to me and saying:
‘Love rules triumphant.’
See Idleness and Greed waited upon by luxury and mirth,
See prosperous Vice ride by in state, while footsore Virtue walks;
Now when I hear the cry of need rise up from lands of shameful wealth—
Yet down deep, deep in my heart there is an undertone of rapture.
It is like a Voice—it is a Voice—calling to me and saying:
‘Love rules triumphant.’
Now when each mile-post on the path of life seems marked by headstones,
And one by one dear faces that I loved are hid away from sight;
Now when in each familiar home I see a vacant chair,
And in the throngs once formed of friends I meet unrecognising eyes—
Yet down deep, deep in my heart there is an undertone of rapture.
It is the Voice, it is the Voice forever saying unto me:
‘Life is Eternal.’
And one by one dear faces that I loved are hid away from sight;
60
And in the throngs once formed of friends I meet unrecognising eyes—
Yet down deep, deep in my heart there is an undertone of rapture.
It is the Voice, it is the Voice forever saying unto me:
‘Life is Eternal.’
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GYPSYING
Gypsying, gypsying, through the world together,
Never mind the way we go, never mind what port.
Follow trails, or fashion sails, start in any weather:
While we journey hand in hand, everything is sport.
Never mind the way we go, never mind what port.
Follow trails, or fashion sails, start in any weather:
While we journey hand in hand, everything is sport.
Gypsying, gypsying, leaving care and worry:
Never mind the ‘if’ and ‘but’ (words for coward lips).
Put them out with ‘fear’ and ‘doubt,’ in the pack with ‘hurry,’
While we stroll like vagabonds forth to trails, or ships.
Never mind the ‘if’ and ‘but’ (words for coward lips).
Put them out with ‘fear’ and ‘doubt,’ in the pack with ‘hurry,’
While we stroll like vagabonds forth to trails, or ships.
Gypsying, gypsying, just where fancy calls us;
Never mind what others say, or what others do.
Everywhere or foul or fair, liking what befalls us;
While you have me at your side, and while I have you.
Never mind what others say, or what others do.
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While you have me at your side, and while I have you.
Gypsying, gypsying, camp by hill or hollow;
Never mind the why of it, since it suits our mood.
Go or stay, and pay our way, and let those who follow
Find, unspringing from the soil, some small seed of good.
Never mind the why of it, since it suits our mood.
Go or stay, and pay our way, and let those who follow
Find, unspringing from the soil, some small seed of good.
Gypsying, gypsying, through the world we wander:
Never mind the rushing years, that have come and gone.
There must be for you and me, lying over Yonder,
Other lands, where side by side we can gypsy on.
Never mind the rushing years, that have come and gone.
There must be for you and me, lying over Yonder,
Other lands, where side by side we can gypsy on.
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DANCE OF THE SONG OF THE SYLPHIDES
[_]
The unwritten law of the ancient Egyptians demanded that a famous dancer or singer should retire at the height of her career, or die. Amaremu, the wonderful dancer, confessed to the Priest of the Temple that she had decided to die after dancing the Song of the Sylphides. The Priest, who was a great musician, asked her to rehearse the dance for him and he would improvise music for it. The verses are written on the story as related in a papyrus found by Dr. Paul Schliemann in the recent excavations of the Temple of Sais. The instrument used by the Priest was a horn fashioned from a human skull. It was known as the Dead Throat, the Skull Horn, and was used in all great orchestras in ancient Egypt.
Amaremu the dancer, (oh, a dancer of dreams was Amaremu)
Unto the Priest of the Temple, the Temple of Sais, drew nigh.
She had reached the height of her triumph, and now, as all men knew,
She must dance no more, or die.
Unto the Priest of the Temple, the Temple of Sais, drew nigh.
She had reached the height of her triumph, and now, as all men knew,
She must dance no more, or die.
Amaremu the dancer (oh, Amaremu was a dancer of songs)
Unto the Priest of the Temple, the Temple of Sais, said:
‘I will dance the Song of the Sylphides once more for the waiting throngs;
Then go my way with the dead.’
Unto the Priest of the Temple, the Temple of Sais, said:
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Then go my way with the dead.’
Then answered the Priest to the dancer (to Amaremu, dancer of love):
‘Show me the dance of the Sylphides and teach me its rhythm and time;
I will shape you an air on the Skull Horn; I will play for you as you move
Through the Song of the wordless rhyme.’
‘Show me the dance of the Sylphides and teach me its rhythm and time;
I will shape you an air on the Skull Horn; I will play for you as you move
Through the Song of the wordless rhyme.’
Amaremu the dancer (dancer of anthems and hymns to the sun)
Danced in the Temple of Sais, alone for the Priest who played.
Slowly the notes from the Skull Horn came quivering one by one,
And slowly the dancer swayed.
Danced in the Temple of Sais, alone for the Priest who played.
Slowly the notes from the Skull Horn came quivering one by one,
And slowly the dancer swayed.
Slowly at first, then faster, swayed Amaremu, dancer of life's delight;
And faster and louder and wilder the notes of the Skull Horn grew;
And the Priest was a priest no longer, but a man alone at night
With the dancer Amaremu.
And faster and louder and wilder the notes of the Skull Horn grew;
65
With the dancer Amaremu.
Faster and wilder and madder danced Amaremu, danced Amaremu,
She flung down garment by garment; she tore off veil by veil;
And the face of the Priest was pallid, and his breath came hard as he drew
From the Skull Horn, sounds like a wail.
She flung down garment by garment; she tore off veil by veil;
And the face of the Priest was pallid, and his breath came hard as he drew
From the Skull Horn, sounds like a wail.
Amaremu the dancer (the dancer of dream, and song, or rite and feast,
Dancer of mighty emotions, dancer of terrible joys)
Stood nude in the Temple of Sais, stood nude before the Priest,
In the beauty that destroys.
Dancer of mighty emotions, dancer of terrible joys)
Stood nude in the Temple of Sais, stood nude before the Priest,
In the beauty that destroys.
Amaremu the dancer (oh, Amaremu was dance and song and dream)
Stood white in her awful beauty while the pale Priest brought a note
Like the mingled shout of a devil and a soul's despairing scream
From the Skull Horn's hollow throat.
Stood white in her awful beauty while the pale Priest brought a note
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From the Skull Horn's hollow throat.
Amaremu the dancer (the dancer of the Sylphides' Song of Death)
Had finished her dance of passion, and the Priest had ceased to play.
And white as a marble statue, like a statue without breath,
In the dead Priest's arms she lay.
Had finished her dance of passion, and the Priest had ceased to play.
And white as a marble statue, like a statue without breath,
In the dead Priest's arms she lay.
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THE BIRTH OF THE ORCHID
Wrapped in her robe of amethyst
Rose the young Dawn.
Pallid with passion came the Mist,
And followed on,
Fleet as a fawn.
Down by the sea they clasped and kissed:
Swooned the young Dawn.
Rose the young Dawn.
Pallid with passion came the Mist,
And followed on,
Fleet as a fawn.
Down by the sea they clasped and kissed:
Swooned the young Dawn.
Out of that kiss of dew and flame
The orchid came.
The orchid came.
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STAIRWAYS AND GARDENS
Gardens and Stairways; those are words that thrill me
Always with vague suggestions of delight.
Stairways and Gardens. Mystery and grace
Seem part of their environment; they fill me
With memories of things veiled from my sight,
In some far place.
Always with vague suggestions of delight.
Stairways and Gardens. Mystery and grace
Seem part of their environment; they fill me
With memories of things veiled from my sight,
In some far place.
Gardens. The word is overcharged with meaning.
It speaks of moonlight and a closing door.
Of birds at dawn—of sultry afternoons.
Gardens. I seem to see low branches screening
A vine-roofed arbour with a leaf-tiled floor,
Where sunlight swoons.
It speaks of moonlight and a closing door.
Of birds at dawn—of sultry afternoons.
Gardens. I seem to see low branches screening
A vine-roofed arbour with a leaf-tiled floor,
Where sunlight swoons.
Stairways. The word winds upward to a landing;
Then curves and vanishes in space above.
Lights fall, lights rise; soft lights that meet and blend.
Stairways; and some one at the bottom standing
Expectantly with lifted looks of love.
Then steps descend.
Then curves and vanishes in space above.
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Stairways; and some one at the bottom standing
Expectantly with lifted looks of love.
Then steps descend.
Gardens and stairways. They belong with song—
With subtle scents of myrrh and musk—
With dawn and dusk—with youth, romance, and mystery,
And times that were and times that are to be.
Stairways and gardens.
With subtle scents of myrrh and musk—
With dawn and dusk—with youth, romance, and mystery,
And times that were and times that are to be.
Stairways and gardens.
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SONG OF THE ROAD
I am a Road; a good road, fair and smooth and broad;
And I link with my beautiful tether
Town and Country together,
Like a ribbon rolled on the earth, from the reel of God.
Oh, great the life of a Road!
And I link with my beautiful tether
Town and Country together,
Like a ribbon rolled on the earth, from the reel of God.
Oh, great the life of a Road!
I am a Road; a long road, leading on and on;
And I cry to the world to follow,
Past meadow and hill and hollow,
Through desolate night, to the open gates of dawn.
Oh, bold the life of a Road!
And I cry to the world to follow,
Past meadow and hill and hollow,
Through desolate night, to the open gates of dawn.
Oh, bold the life of a Road!
I am a Road; a kind road, shaped by strong hands.
I make strange cities neighbours;
The poor grow rich with my labours,
And beauty and comfort follow me through the lands.
Oh, glad the life of a Road!
I make strange cities neighbours;
The poor grow rich with my labours,
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Oh, glad the life of a Road!
I am a Road; a wise road, knowing all men's ways;
And I know how each heart reaches
For the things dear Nature teaches;
And I am the path that leads into green young Mays.
Oh, sweet the life of a Road!
And I know how each heart reaches
For the things dear Nature teaches;
And I am the path that leads into green young Mays.
Oh, sweet the life of a Road!
I am a Road; and I speed away from the slums,
Away from desolate places,
Away from unused spaces;
Wherever I go, there order from chaos comes.
Oh, brave the life of a Road!
Away from desolate places,
Away from unused spaces;
Wherever I go, there order from chaos comes.
Oh, brave the life of a Road!
I am a Road; and I would make the whole world one.
I would give hope to duty,
And cover the earth with beauty.
Do you not see, O men! how all this might be done?
So vast the power of the Road!
I would give hope to duty,
And cover the earth with beauty.
Do you not see, O men! how all this might be done?
So vast the power of the Road!
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THE FORECAST
It
may be that I dreamed a dream; it may be that I saw
The forecast of a time to come, by some supernal law.
The forecast of a time to come, by some supernal law.
I seemed to dwell in this same world, and in this modern time;
All strife had ceased; men were disarmed; and quiet Peace had made
A thousand avenues for toil, in place of War's crime trade.
From east to west, from north to south, where highways smooth and broad
Tied State to State, the waste lands bloomed, like garden spots of God.
There were no beggars in the streets; there were no unemployed;
For each man owned his plot of ground, and laboured and enjoyed.
Sweet children grew like garden flowers, all strong and fair to see;
And when I marvelled at the sight, thus spake a Voice to me:
‘All Motherhood is now an art, the greatest art on earth;
And nowhere is there known the crime of one unwelcome birth.
From rights of parentage the sick and sinful are debarred;
For Matron Science keeps our house, and at the door stands guard.
We know the cure for darkness lies in letting in the light;
And Prisons are replaced by Schools, where wrong views change to right.
The wisdom, knowledge, study, thought, once bent on beast and sod,
We give now to the human race, the highest work of God;
And, as the gardener chooses seed, so we select with care;
And as our Man Plant grows, we give him soil and sun and air.
There are no slums; no need of alms; all men are opulent,
For Mother Earth belongs to them, as was the First Intent.’
All strife had ceased; men were disarmed; and quiet Peace had made
A thousand avenues for toil, in place of War's crime trade.
From east to west, from north to south, where highways smooth and broad
Tied State to State, the waste lands bloomed, like garden spots of God.
There were no beggars in the streets; there were no unemployed;
For each man owned his plot of ground, and laboured and enjoyed.
Sweet children grew like garden flowers, all strong and fair to see;
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‘All Motherhood is now an art, the greatest art on earth;
And nowhere is there known the crime of one unwelcome birth.
From rights of parentage the sick and sinful are debarred;
For Matron Science keeps our house, and at the door stands guard.
We know the cure for darkness lies in letting in the light;
And Prisons are replaced by Schools, where wrong views change to right.
The wisdom, knowledge, study, thought, once bent on beast and sod,
We give now to the human race, the highest work of God;
And, as the gardener chooses seed, so we select with care;
And as our Man Plant grows, we give him soil and sun and air.
There are no slums; no need of alms; all men are opulent,
74
It may be that I dreamed a dream; it may be that I saw
The forecast of a time to come, by some supernal law.
The forecast of a time to come, by some supernal law.
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THE FAITH WE NEED
Too tall our structures, and too swift our pace;
Not so we mount, not so we gain the race.
Too loud the voice of commerce in the land;
Not so truth speaks, not so we understand.
Too vast our conquests, and too large our gains;
Not so comes peace, not so the soul attains.
Not so we mount, not so we gain the race.
Too loud the voice of commerce in the land;
Not so truth speaks, not so we understand.
Too vast our conquests, and too large our gains;
Not so comes peace, not so the soul attains.
But the need of the world is a faith that will live anywhere;
In the still dark depths of the woods, or out in the sun's full glare.
A faith that can hear God's voice, alike in the quiet glen,
Or in the roar of the street, and over the noises of men.
In the still dark depths of the woods, or out in the sun's full glare.
A faith that can hear God's voice, alike in the quiet glen,
Or in the roar of the street, and over the noises of men.
And the need of the world is a creed that is founded on joy;
A creed with the turrets of hope and trust, no winds can destroy;
A creed where the soul finds rest, whatever this life bestows,
And dwells undoubting and unafraid, because it knows, it knows.
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A creed where the soul finds rest, whatever this life bestows,
And dwells undoubting and unafraid, because it knows, it knows.
And the need of the world is love that burns in the heart like flame;
A love for the Giver of Life, in sorrow or joy the same;
A love that blazes a trail to God, through the dark and the cold,
Or keeps the pathway that leads to Him clean, through glory and gold.
A love for the Giver of Life, in sorrow or joy the same;
A love that blazes a trail to God, through the dark and the cold,
Or keeps the pathway that leads to Him clean, through glory and gold.
For the faith that can only thrive or grow in the solitude,
And droops and dies in the marts of men, where sights and sounds are rude;
That is not a faith at all, but a dream of a mystic's heart.
Our faith should point as the compass points, whatever be the chart.
And droops and dies in the marts of men, where sights and sounds are rude;
That is not a faith at all, but a dream of a mystic's heart.
Our faith should point as the compass points, whatever be the chart.
Our faith must find its centre of peace in a babel of noise;
In the changing ways of the world of men it must keep its poise;
And over the sorrowing sounds of earth it must hear God's call;
And the faith that cannot do all this, that is not faith at all.
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And over the sorrowing sounds of earth it must hear God's call;
And the faith that cannot do all this, that is not faith at all.
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CHRIST CRUCIFIED
Now ere I slept, my prayer had been
that I might see my way
To do the will of Christ, our Lord
and Master, day by day;
And with this prayer upon my lips,
I knew not that I dreamed,
But suddenly the world of night
a pandemonium seemed.
From forest, and from slaughter house,
from bull ring, and from stall,
There rose an anguished cry of pain,
a loud, appealing call;
As man—the dumb beast's next of kin—
with gun, and whip, and knife,
Went pleasure-seeking through the earth,
blood-bent on taking life.
From trap, and cage, and house, and zoo,
and street, that awful strain
Of tortured creatures rose and swelled
the orchestra of pain.
And then methought the gentle Christ
appeared to me, and spoke:
‘I called ye, but ye answered not’—
and in my fear I woke.
that I might see my way
To do the will of Christ, our Lord
and Master, day by day;
And with this prayer upon my lips,
I knew not that I dreamed,
But suddenly the world of night
a pandemonium seemed.
From forest, and from slaughter house,
from bull ring, and from stall,
There rose an anguished cry of pain,
a loud, appealing call;
As man—the dumb beast's next of kin—
with gun, and whip, and knife,
Went pleasure-seeking through the earth,
blood-bent on taking life.
From trap, and cage, and house, and zoo,
and street, that awful strain
Of tortured creatures rose and swelled
the orchestra of pain.
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appeared to me, and spoke:
‘I called ye, but ye answered not’—
and in my fear I woke.
The next I heard the roar of mills;
and moving through the noise,
Like phantoms in an underworld,
were little girls and boys.
Their backs were bent, their brows were pale,
their eyes were sad and old;
But by the labour of their hands
greed added gold to gold.
Again the Presence and the Voice:
‘Behold the crimes I see,
As ye have done it unto these,
so have ye done to me.’
and moving through the noise,
Like phantoms in an underworld,
were little girls and boys.
Their backs were bent, their brows were pale,
their eyes were sad and old;
But by the labour of their hands
greed added gold to gold.
Again the Presence and the Voice:
‘Behold the crimes I see,
As ye have done it unto these,
so have ye done to me.’
Again I slept. I seemed to climb
a hard, ascending track;
And just behind me laboured one
whose patient face was black.
I pitied him; but hour by hour
he gained upon the path;
He stood beside me, stood upright—
and then I turned in wrath.
‘Go back!’ I cried. ‘What right have you
to walk beside me here?
For you are black, and I am white.’
I paused, struck dumb with fear.
For lo! the black man was not there,
but Christ stood in his place;
And oh! the pain, the pain, the pain
that looked from that dear face.
a hard, ascending track;
And just behind me laboured one
whose patient face was black.
I pitied him; but hour by hour
he gained upon the path;
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and then I turned in wrath.
‘Go back!’ I cried. ‘What right have you
to walk beside me here?
For you are black, and I am white.’
I paused, struck dumb with fear.
For lo! the black man was not there,
but Christ stood in his place;
And oh! the pain, the pain, the pain
that looked from that dear face.
Now when I woke, the air was rife
with that sweet, rhythmic din
Which tells the world that Christ has come
to save mankind from sin.
And through the open door of church
and temple passed a throng,
To worship Him with bended knee,
with sermon, and with song.
But over all I heard the cry
of hunted, mangled things;
Those creatures which are part of God,
though they have hoofs and wings.
I saw in mill, and mine, and shop,
the little slaves of greed;
I heard the strife of race with race,
all sprung from one God-seed.
And then I bowed my head in shame,
and in contrition cried—
‘Lo, after nineteen hundred years
Christ still is Crucified.’
with that sweet, rhythmic din
Which tells the world that Christ has come
to save mankind from sin.
And through the open door of church
and temple passed a throng,
To worship Him with bended knee,
with sermon, and with song.
But over all I heard the cry
of hunted, mangled things;
Those creatures which are part of God,
though they have hoofs and wings.
I saw in mill, and mine, and shop,
the little slaves of greed;
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all sprung from one God-seed.
And then I bowed my head in shame,
and in contrition cried—
‘Lo, after nineteen hundred years
Christ still is Crucified.’
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THE PLOUGH
If you listen, you will hear from east to west,
Growing sounds of discontent and deep unrest.
It is just the progress-driven plough of God,
Tearing up the well-worn custom-bounded sod;
Shaping out each old tradition-trodden track
Into furrows, fertile furrows, rich and black.
Oh, what harvests they will yield
When they widen to a field.
Growing sounds of discontent and deep unrest.
It is just the progress-driven plough of God,
Tearing up the well-worn custom-bounded sod;
Shaping out each old tradition-trodden track
Into furrows, fertile furrows, rich and black.
Oh, what harvests they will yield
When they widen to a field.
They will widen, they will broaden, day by day,
As the Progress-driven plough keeps on its way.
It will riddle all the ancient roads that lead
Into palaces of selfishness and greed;
It will tear away the almshouse and the slum
That the little homes and garden plots may come.
Yes, the gardens green and sweet
Shall replace the stony street.
Let the wise man hear the menace that is blent
In this ever-growing sound of discontent.
Let him hear the rising clamour of the race
That the few shall yield the many larger space.
For the crucial hour is coming when the soil
Must be given to, or taken back by Toil.
Oh, that mighty plough of God;
Hear it breaking through the sod!
As the Progress-driven plough keeps on its way.
It will riddle all the ancient roads that lead
Into palaces of selfishness and greed;
It will tear away the almshouse and the slum
That the little homes and garden plots may come.
Yes, the gardens green and sweet
Shall replace the stony street.
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In this ever-growing sound of discontent.
Let him hear the rising clamour of the race
That the few shall yield the many larger space.
For the crucial hour is coming when the soil
Must be given to, or taken back by Toil.
Oh, that mighty plough of God;
Hear it breaking through the sod!
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THE EARTH
I
To build a house, with love for architect,Ranks first and foremost in the joys of life.
And in a tiny cabin, shaped for two,
The space for happiness is just as great
As in a palace. What a world were this
If each soul born, received a plot of ground;
A little plot, whereon a home might rise,
And beauteous green things grow!
We give the dead,
The idle vagrant dead, the Potter's Field;
Yet to the living not one inch of soil.
Nay, we take from them soil, and sun, and air,
To fashion slums and hell-holes for the race.
And to our poor we say, ‘Go starve and die
As beggars die; so gain your heritage.’
II
That was a most uncanny dream; I thought the wraiths of those
Long buried in the Potter's Field, in shredded shrouds arose;
They said, ‘Against the will of God
We have usurped the fertile sod,
Now will we make it yield.’
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They said, ‘Against the will of God
We have usurped the fertile sod,
Now will we make it yield.’
Oh! but it was a gruesome sight, to see those phantoms toil;
Each to his own small garden bent; each spaded up the soil;
(I never knew Ghosts laboured so.)
Each scattered seed, and watched, till lo!
The Graves were opulent.
Each to his own small garden bent; each spaded up the soil;
(I never knew Ghosts laboured so.)
Each scattered seed, and watched, till lo!
The Graves were opulent.
Then all among the fragrant greens, the silent, spectral train
Walked, as if breathing in the breath of plant, and flower, and grain.
(I never knew Ghosts loved such things;
Perchance it brought back early springs
Before they thought of death.)
Walked, as if breathing in the breath of plant, and flower, and grain.
(I never knew Ghosts loved such things;
Perchance it brought back early springs
Before they thought of death.)
‘The mothers’ milk for living babes; the earth for living hosts;
The clean flame for the un-souled dead.’ (Oh, strange the words of Ghosts.)
‘If we had owned this little spot
In life, we need not lie and rot
Here in a pauper's bed.’
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‘If we had owned this little spot
In life, we need not lie and rot
Here in a pauper's bed.’
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SEPTEMBER
September comes along the great green wayThat Spring and Summer fashioned for our feet.
And though her face is beautiful and sweet,
Though gracious smiles about her ripe mouth play,
Yet subtle recollections of each day
Of idleness in her large look I meet.
All things achieved stand small and incomplete
Beside the boastful promises of May!
Now I berate fair June, who tempted me
With fragrant beds of roses, and as well
Her siren sisters, who were following near;
But most of all I do accuse the Sea.
Reach me thine hand, and help me break the spell,
September, matron-mentor of the year!
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OCTOBER
SHE
Gone are the Spring and Summer from the year;And from our lives as well. May we not, dear,
In our October find serene delights
To take the place of ardent summer nights?
Not striving to retain a dying season,
Or imitate its pleasures, but with reason
Accepting Autumn's quiet, briefer day
Of calm content, not seeking to be gay?
HE
Gone are the Spring and Summer; yet beholdThe radiant woods, supreme in red and gold
And russet colours; and the wind harp plays
A louder song than in the April days.
Our lives need not be colourless or sober
Because of Autumn. Emulate October,
Who will not let the ageing years grow dull,
But keep its love by being beautiful.
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TWO VOICES
VIRTUEO wanton one, O wicked one, how was it that you came,
Down from the paths of purity, to walk the streets of shame?
And wherefore was that precious wealth, God gave to you in trust,
Flung broadcast for the feet of men to trample in the dust?
VICE
O prudent one, O spotless one, now listen well to me.
The ways that led to where I tread these paths of sin, were three:
And God, and good folks, all combined to make them fair to see.
VIRTUE
O wicked one, blasphemous one, now how could that thing be?
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The first was Nature's lovely road, whereon my life was hurled.
I felt the stirring in my blood, which permeates the world.
I thrilled like willows in the spring, when sap begins to flow;
It was young passion in my veins, but how was I to know?
I felt the stirring in my blood, which permeates the world.
I thrilled like willows in the spring, when sap begins to flow;
It was young passion in my veins, but how was I to know?
The second was the silent road, where modest mothers dwell,
And hide from eager, curious minds, the truth they ought to tell.
That misnamed road called ‘Innocence’ should bear the sign ‘To Hell.’
With song and dance in ignorance I walked that road and fell.
And hide from eager, curious minds, the truth they ought to tell.
That misnamed road called ‘Innocence’ should bear the sign ‘To Hell.’
With song and dance in ignorance I walked that road and fell.
VIRTUE
O fallen one, unhappy one, but why not rise and go
Back to the ways you left behind, and leave your sins below,
Nor linger in this sink of sin, since now you see, and know?
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The third road was the fair highway, trod by the good and great.
I cried aloud to that vast crowd, and told my hapless fate.
They hurried all through door and wall and shut Convention's gate.
I beat it with my bleeding hands: they must have heard me knock.
They must have heard wild sob and word, yet no one turned the lock.
I cried aloud to that vast crowd, and told my hapless fate.
They hurried all through door and wall and shut Convention's gate.
I beat it with my bleeding hands: they must have heard me knock.
They must have heard wild sob and word, yet no one turned the lock.
Oh, it is very desolate, on Virtue's path to stand,
And see the good folks flocking by, withholding look and hand.
And see the good folks flocking by, withholding look and hand.
And so with hungry heart and soul, and weary rain and feet,
I left that highway whence you came, and sought the sinful street.
O prudent one, O spotless one, when good folks speak of me,
Go, tell them of the roads I came; the roadways fair, and three.
I left that highway whence you came, and sought the sinful street.
O prudent one, O spotless one, when good folks speak of me,
Go, tell them of the roads I came; the roadways fair, and three.
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THE GRADUATES
I saw them beautiful, in fair array upon Commencement Day;
Lissome and lovely, radiant and sweet
As cultured roses, brought to their estate
By careful training. Finished and complete
(As teachers calculate).
Lissome and lovely, radiant and sweet
As cultured roses, brought to their estate
By careful training. Finished and complete
(As teachers calculate).
They passed in maiden grace along the aisle,
Leaving the chaste white sunlight of a smile
Upon the gazing throng.
Musing I thought upon their place as mothers of the race.
Leaving the chaste white sunlight of a smile
Upon the gazing throng.
Musing I thought upon their place as mothers of the race.
Oh there are many actors who can play
Greatly, great parts; but rare indeed the soul
Who can be great when cast for some small rôle;
Yet that is what the world most needs; big hearts
That will shine forth and glorify poor parts
In this strange drama, Life! Do they,
Who in full dress-rehearsal pass to-day
Before admiring eyes, hold in their store
Those fine high principles which keep old Earth
From being only earth; and make men more
Than just mere men? How will they prove their worth
Of years of study? Will they walk abroad
Decked with the plumage of dead bards of God,
The glorious birds? And shall the lamb unborn
Be slain on altars of their vanity?
To some frail sister who has missed the way
Will they give Christ's compassion, or man's scorn?
And will clean manhood, linked with honest love,
The victor prove,
When riches, gained by greed dispute the claim?
Will they guard well a husband's home and name,
Or lean down from their altitudes to hear
The voice of flattery speak in the ear
Those lying platitudes which men repeat
To listening Self-Conceit?
Musing I thought upon their places as mothers of the race,
As beautiful they passed in maiden grace.
Greatly, great parts; but rare indeed the soul
Who can be great when cast for some small rôle;
Yet that is what the world most needs; big hearts
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In this strange drama, Life! Do they,
Who in full dress-rehearsal pass to-day
Before admiring eyes, hold in their store
Those fine high principles which keep old Earth
From being only earth; and make men more
Than just mere men? How will they prove their worth
Of years of study? Will they walk abroad
Decked with the plumage of dead bards of God,
The glorious birds? And shall the lamb unborn
Be slain on altars of their vanity?
To some frail sister who has missed the way
Will they give Christ's compassion, or man's scorn?
And will clean manhood, linked with honest love,
The victor prove,
When riches, gained by greed dispute the claim?
Will they guard well a husband's home and name,
Or lean down from their altitudes to hear
The voice of flattery speak in the ear
Those lying platitudes which men repeat
To listening Self-Conceit?
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As beautiful they passed in maiden grace.
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THE SPINSTER
I
Here are the orchard trees all large with fruit;
And yonder fields are golden with young grain.
In little journeys, branchward from the nest,
A mother bird, with sweet insistent cries,
Urges her young to use their untried wings.
A purring Tabby, stretched upon the sward,
Shuts and expands her velvet paws in joy,
While sturdy kittens nuzzle at her breast.
And yonder fields are golden with young grain.
In little journeys, branchward from the nest,
A mother bird, with sweet insistent cries,
Urges her young to use their untried wings.
A purring Tabby, stretched upon the sward,
Shuts and expands her velvet paws in joy,
While sturdy kittens nuzzle at her breast.
O mighty Maker of the Universe,
Am I not part and parcel of Thy World,
And one with Nature? Wherefore, then, in me
Must this great reproductive impulse lie
Hidden, ashamed, unnourished, and denied,
Until it starves to slow and tortuous death?
I knew the hope of springtime; like the tree
Now ripe with fruit, I budded, and then bloomed;
We laughed together through the young May morns;
We dreamed together through the summer moons;
Till all Thy purposes within the tree
Were to fruition brought. Lord, Thou hast heard
The Woman in me crying for the Man;
The Mother in me crying for the Child;
And made no answer. Am I less to Thee
Than lower forms of Nature, or in truth
Dost Thou hold Somewhere in another Realm
Full compensation and large recompense
For lonely virtue forced by fate to live
A life unnatural, in a natural world?
Am I not part and parcel of Thy World,
And one with Nature? Wherefore, then, in me
Must this great reproductive impulse lie
Hidden, ashamed, unnourished, and denied,
Until it starves to slow and tortuous death?
I knew the hope of springtime; like the tree
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We laughed together through the young May morns;
We dreamed together through the summer moons;
Till all Thy purposes within the tree
Were to fruition brought. Lord, Thou hast heard
The Woman in me crying for the Man;
The Mother in me crying for the Child;
And made no answer. Am I less to Thee
Than lower forms of Nature, or in truth
Dost Thou hold Somewhere in another Realm
Full compensation and large recompense
For lonely virtue forced by fate to live
A life unnatural, in a natural world?
II
Thou who hast made for such sure purposesThe mightiest and the meanest thing that is—
Planned out the lives of insects of the air
With fine precision and consummate care;
Thou who hast taught the bee the secret power
Of carrying on love's laws 'twixt flower and flower;
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If Heavenly joys alone were Thy design?
Wherefore the wonder of my woman's breast,
By lips of lover and of babe unpressed,
If spirit children only shall reply
Unto my ever urgent mother cry?
Why should the rose be guided to its own,
And my love-craving heart beat on alone?
III
Yet do I understand; for Thou hast made
Something more subtle than this heart of me;
A finer part of me
To be obeyed.
Something more subtle than this heart of me;
A finer part of me
To be obeyed.
Albeit I am a sister to the earth,
This nature self is not the whole of me;
The deathless soul of me
Has nobler birth.
This nature self is not the whole of me;
The deathless soul of me
Has nobler birth.
The primal woman hungers for the man;
My better self demands the mate of me;
The spirit fate of me,
Part of Thy plan.
My better self demands the mate of me;
The spirit fate of me,
Part of Thy plan.
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Nature is instinct with the mother-need;
So is my heart; but ah, the child of me
Should, undefiled of me,
Spring from love's seed.
So is my heart; but ah, the child of me
Should, undefiled of me,
Spring from love's seed.
And if, in barren chastity, I must
Know but in dreams that perfect choice of me,
Still will the voice of me
Proclaim God just.
Know but in dreams that perfect choice of me,
Still will the voice of me
Proclaim God just.
106
THE CURE
You may talk of reformations, of the Economic Plan,
That shall stem the Social Evil in its course;
But the Ancient Sin of nations, must be got at in THE MAN.
If you want to cleanse a river, seek the source.
That shall stem the Social Evil in its course;
But the Ancient Sin of nations, must be got at in THE MAN.
If you want to cleanse a river, seek the source.
Ever since his first beginning, Man has had his way in lust.
He has never learned the law of Self-Control;
And the World condones his sinning, and the Doctors say he must,
And the Churches shut their eyes, and take his toll.
He has never learned the law of Self-Control;
And the World condones his sinning, and the Doctors say he must,
And the Churches shut their eyes, and take his toll.
And the lauded ‘Lovely Mothers’ send the son out into life
With no knowledge-welded armour for the fight;
‘He will make his way like others, through the Oat field, to the Wife’;
‘He will somehow be led onward, to the light.’
Yes, his leaders, they shall find him. On the highways at each turn;
(Since you did not choose to counsel or to warn,)
They shall tempt him, then shall bind him; they shall blight, and they shall burn,
Down to offspring and descendants yet unborn.
With no knowledge-welded armour for the fight;
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‘He will somehow be led onward, to the light.’
Yes, his leaders, they shall find him. On the highways at each turn;
(Since you did not choose to counsel or to warn,)
They shall tempt him, then shall bind him; they shall blight, and they shall burn,
Down to offspring and descendants yet unborn.
It can never end through preaching; it can never end through laws;
This social sore, no punishment can heal.
It must be the mother's teaching of the purpose, and the cause,
And God's glory, lying under sex appeal.
This social sore, no punishment can heal.
It must be the mother's teaching of the purpose, and the cause,
And God's glory, lying under sex appeal.
She must feel no fear to name it to the children it has brought;
She must speak of it as sacred, and sublime;
She must beautify, not shame it, by her speech and by her thought;
Till they listen, and respect it, for all time.
She must speak of it as sacred, and sublime;
She must beautify, not shame it, by her speech and by her thought;
Till they listen, and respect it, for all time.
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From the heart they rested under ere they saw the light of day,
Must the daughters and the sons be taught this truth;
Till they think of it with wonder, as a holy thing alway;
While love's wisdom guides them safely through their youth.
Must the daughters and the sons be taught this truth;
Till they think of it with wonder, as a holy thing alway;
While love's wisdom guides them safely through their youth.
Oh, the world has made its devil, and the Mothers let it grow;
And the Man has dragged their thoughts down to the earth.
There will be no Social Evil, when each waking mind shall know
All the grandeur and the beauty hid in birth.
And the Man has dragged their thoughts down to the earth.
There will be no Social Evil, when each waking mind shall know
All the grandeur and the beauty hid in birth.
When each Mother sets the fashion to win confidence, and trust,
And to teach the mighty lesson, Self-Control;
We can lift the great Sex passion from the darkness and the dust,
And enshrine it on the altar of the soul.
And to teach the mighty lesson, Self-Control;
We can lift the great Sex passion from the darkness and the dust,
And enshrine it on the altar of the soul.
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A BALLADE OF THE UNBORN DEAD
They walked the valley of the dead;
Lit by a weird half light;
No sound they made, no word they said;
And they were pale with fright.
Then suddenly from unseen places came
Loud laughter, that was like a whip of flame.
Lit by a weird half light;
No sound they made, no word they said;
And they were pale with fright.
Then suddenly from unseen places came
Loud laughter, that was like a whip of flame.
They looked, and saw, beyond, above,
A land where wronged souls wait;
(Those spirits called to earth by love,
And driven back by hate).
And each one stood in anguish dumb and wild,
As she beheld the phantom of her child.
A land where wronged souls wait;
(Those spirits called to earth by love,
And driven back by hate).
And each one stood in anguish dumb and wild,
As she beheld the phantom of her child.
Yea, saw the soul her wish had hurled
Out into night and death;
Before it reached the Mother world,
Or drew its natal breath.
And terrified, each hid her face and fled
Beyond the presence of her unborn dead.
Out into night and death;
Before it reached the Mother world,
Or drew its natal breath.
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Beyond the presence of her unborn dead.
And God's Great Angel, who provides
Souls for our mortal land,
Laughed, with the laughter that derides,
At that fast fleeting band
Of self-made barren women of the earth.
(Hell has no curse that withers like such mirth.)
Souls for our mortal land,
Laughed, with the laughter that derides,
At that fast fleeting band
Of self-made barren women of the earth.
(Hell has no curse that withers like such mirth.)
‘O Angel, tell us who were they,
That down below us fared;
Those shapes with faces strained and grey,
And eyes that stared and stared;
Something there was about them, gave us fear;
Yet are we lonely, now they are not here.’
That down below us fared;
Those shapes with faces strained and grey,
And eyes that stared and stared;
Something there was about them, gave us fear;
Yet are we lonely, now they are not here.’
Thus spake the spectral children; thus
The Angel made reply:
‘They have no part or share with us;
They were but passers-by.’
‘But may we pray for them?’ the phantoms plead.
‘Yea, for they need your prayers,’ the Angel said.
The Angel made reply:
‘They have no part or share with us;
They were but passers-by.’
‘But may we pray for them?’ the phantoms plead.
‘Yea, for they need your prayers,’ the Angel said.
125
They went upon their lonely way;
(Far, far from Paradise);
Their path was lit with one wan ray
From ghostly children's eyes;
The little children who were never born;
And as they passed, the Angel laughed in scorn.
(Far, far from Paradise);
Their path was lit with one wan ray
From ghostly children's eyes;
The little children who were never born;
And as they passed, the Angel laughed in scorn.
126
TO MEN
Sirs, when you pity us, I say
You waste your pity. Let it stay,
Well corked and stored upon your shelves,
Until you need it for yourselves.
You waste your pity. Let it stay,
Well corked and stored upon your shelves,
Until you need it for yourselves.
We do appreciate God's thought
In forming you, before He brought
Us into life. His art was crude,
But oh, so virile in its rude
In forming you, before He brought
Us into life. His art was crude,
But oh, so virile in its rude
Large elemental strength: and then
He learned His trade in making men;
Learned how to mix and mould the clay
And fashion in a finer way.
He learned His trade in making men;
Learned how to mix and mould the clay
And fashion in a finer way.
How fine that skilful way can be
You need but lift your eyes to see;
And we are glad God placed you there
To lift your eyes and find us fair.
You need but lift your eyes to see;
And we are glad God placed you there
To lift your eyes and find us fair.
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Apprentice labour though you were,
He made you great enough to stir
The best and deepest depths of us,
And we are glad He made you thus.
He made you great enough to stir
The best and deepest depths of us,
And we are glad He made you thus.
Ay! we are glad of many things.
God strung our hearts with such fine strings
The least breath moves them, and we hear
Music where silence greets your ear.
God strung our hearts with such fine strings
The least breath moves them, and we hear
Music where silence greets your ear.
We suffer so? but women's souls,
Like violet powder dropped on coals,
Give forth their best in anguish. Oh,
The subtle secrets that we know,
Like violet powder dropped on coals,
Give forth their best in anguish. Oh,
The subtle secrets that we know,
Of joy in sorrow, strange delights
Of ecstasy in pain-filled nights,
And mysteries of gain in loss
Known but to Christ upon the Cross!
Of ecstasy in pain-filled nights,
And mysteries of gain in loss
Known but to Christ upon the Cross!
Our tears are pitiful to you?
Look how the heaven-reflecting dew
Dissolves its life in tears. The sand
Meanwhile lies hard upon the strand.
Look how the heaven-reflecting dew
Dissolves its life in tears. The sand
Meanwhile lies hard upon the strand.
How could your pity find a place
For us, the mothers of the race?
Men may be fathers unaware,
So poor the title is you wear,
For us, the mothers of the race?
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So poor the title is you wear,
But mothers—? who that crown adorns
Knows all its mingled blooms and thorns;
And she whose feet that path hath trod
Has walked upon the heights with God.
Knows all its mingled blooms and thorns;
And she whose feet that path hath trod
Has walked upon the heights with God.
No, offer us not pity's cup.
There is no looking down or up
Between us: eye looks straight in eye:
Born equals, so we live and die.
There is no looking down or up
Between us: eye looks straight in eye:
Born equals, so we live and die.
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THE GULF STREAM
Skilled mariner, and counted sane and wise,
That was a curious thing which chanced to me,
So good a sailor on so fair a sea.
With favouring winds and blue unshadowed skies,
Led by the faithful beacon of Love's eyes,
Past reef and shoal, my life-boat bounded free
And fearless of all changes that might be
Under calm waves, where many a sunk rock lies.
That was a curious thing which chanced to me,
So good a sailor on so fair a sea.
With favouring winds and blue unshadowed skies,
Led by the faithful beacon of Love's eyes,
Past reef and shoal, my life-boat bounded free
And fearless of all changes that might be
Under calm waves, where many a sunk rock lies.
A golden dawn; yet suddenly my barque
Strained at the sails, as in a cyclone's blast,
And battled with an unseen current's force:
For we had entered when the night was dark
That old tempestuous Gulf Stream of the Past.
But for love's eyes, I had not kept the course.
Strained at the sails, as in a cyclone's blast,
And battled with an unseen current's force:
For we had entered when the night was dark
That old tempestuous Gulf Stream of the Past.
But for love's eyes, I had not kept the course.
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A MINOR CHORD
I heard a strain of music in the street—
A wandering waif of sound. And then straightway
A nameless desolation filled the day.
The great green earth that had been fair and sweet,
Seemed but a tomb; the life I thought replete
With joy, grew lonely for a vanished May.
Forgotten sorrows resurrected lay
Like bleaching skeletons about my feet.
A wandering waif of sound. And then straightway
A nameless desolation filled the day.
The great green earth that had been fair and sweet,
Seemed but a tomb; the life I thought replete
With joy, grew lonely for a vanished May.
Forgotten sorrows resurrected lay
Like bleaching skeletons about my feet.
Above me stretched the silent, suffering sky,
Dumb with vast anguish for departed suns
That brutal Time to nothingness has hurled.
The daylight was as sad as smiles that lie
Upon the wistful, unkissed mouths of nuns,
And I stood prisoned in an awful world.
Dumb with vast anguish for departed suns
That brutal Time to nothingness has hurled.
The daylight was as sad as smiles that lie
Upon the wistful, unkissed mouths of nuns,
And I stood prisoned in an awful world.
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THE CALL
In
the banquet hall of Progress
God has bidden to a feast
All the women in the East.
God has bidden to a feast
All the women in the East.
Some have said, ‘We are not ready,—
We must wait another day.’
Some, with voices clear and steady,
‘Lord, we hear, and we obey.’
We must wait another day.’
Some, with voices clear and steady,
‘Lord, we hear, and we obey.’
Others, timid and uncertain,
Step forth trembling in the light.
Many hide behind the curtain
With their faces hid from sight.
Step forth trembling in the light.
Many hide behind the curtain
With their faces hid from sight.
In the banquet hall of Progress
All must gather soon or late,
And the patient Host will wait.
All must gather soon or late,
And the patient Host will wait.
If to-day or if to-morrow,
If in gladness, or in woe,
If with pleasure, or with sorrow,
All must answer, all must go.
If in gladness, or in woe,
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All must answer, all must go.
They must go with unveiled faces,
Clothed in virtue and in pride.
For the Host has set their places,
And He will not be denied.
Clothed in virtue and in pride.
For the Host has set their places,
And He will not be denied.
145
THE AWAKENING
I love the tropics, where sun and rain
Go forth together, a joyous train,
To hold up the green, gay side of the world,
And to keep earth's banners of bloom unfurled.
Go forth together, a joyous train,
To hold up the green, gay side of the world,
And to keep earth's banners of bloom unfurled.
I love the scents that are hidden there
By housekeeper Time, in her chests of air:
Strange and subtle and all arife
With vague lost dreams of a bygone life.
By housekeeper Time, in her chests of air:
Strange and subtle and all arife
With vague lost dreams of a bygone life.
They steal upon you by night and day,
But never a whiff can you take away:
And never a song of a tropic bird
Outside of its palm-decked land is heard.
But never a whiff can you take away:
And never a song of a tropic bird
Outside of its palm-decked land is heard.
And nowhere else can you know the sweet
Soft ‘joy-in-nothing’ that comes with the heat
Of tropic regions. And yet, and yet,
If in evergreen worlds my way were set
Soft ‘joy-in-nothing’ that comes with the heat
Of tropic regions. And yet, and yet,
If in evergreen worlds my way were set
146
I would span the waters of widest seas
To see the wonder of waking trees;
To feel the shock of sudden delight
That comes when the orchard has changed in a night,
From the winter nun to the bride of May,
And the harp of Spring is attuned to play
The wedding march, and the sun is priest,
And the world is bidden to join the feast.
To see the wonder of waking trees;
To feel the shock of sudden delight
That comes when the orchard has changed in a night,
From the winter nun to the bride of May,
And the harp of Spring is attuned to play
The wedding march, and the sun is priest,
And the world is bidden to join the feast.
Oh, never is felt in a tropic clime,
Where the singing of birds is a ceaseless chime,
That leap o' the blood, and the rapture thrill,
That comes to us here, with the first bird's trill;
And only the eye that has looked on snows
Can see all the beauty that lies in a rose.
The lure of the tropics I understand,
But ho! for the Spring in my native land.
Where the singing of birds is a ceaseless chime,
That leap o' the blood, and the rapture thrill,
That comes to us here, with the first bird's trill;
And only the eye that has looked on snows
Can see all the beauty that lies in a rose.
The lure of the tropics I understand,
But ho! for the Spring in my native land.
154
PROTEST
To sin by silence, when we should protest,
Makes cowards out of men. The human race
Has climbed on protest. Had no voice been raised
Against injustice, ignorance, and lust,
The inquisition yet would serve the law,
And guillotines decide our least disputes.
The few who dare, must speak and speak again
To right the wrongs of many. Speech, thank God,
No vested power in this great day and land
Can gag or throttle. Press and voice may cry
Loud disapproval of existing ills;
May criticise oppression and condemn
The lawlessness of wealth-protecting laws
That let the children and childbearers toil
To purchase ease for idle millionaires.
Makes cowards out of men. The human race
Has climbed on protest. Had no voice been raised
Against injustice, ignorance, and lust,
The inquisition yet would serve the law,
And guillotines decide our least disputes.
The few who dare, must speak and speak again
To right the wrongs of many. Speech, thank God,
No vested power in this great day and land
Can gag or throttle. Press and voice may cry
Loud disapproval of existing ills;
May criticise oppression and condemn
The lawlessness of wealth-protecting laws
That let the children and childbearers toil
To purchase ease for idle millionaires.
Therefore I do protest against the boast
Of independence in this mighty land.
Call no chain strong, which holds one rusted link.
Call no land free, that holds one fettered slave.
Until the manacled slim wrists of babes
Are loosed to toss in childish sport and glee,
Until the mother bears no burden, save
The precious one beneath her heart, until
God's soil is rescued from the clutch of greed
And given back to labor, let no man
Call this the land of freedom.
Of independence in this mighty land.
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Call no land free, that holds one fettered slave.
Until the manacled slim wrists of babes
Are loosed to toss in childish sport and glee,
Until the mother bears no burden, save
The precious one beneath her heart, until
God's soil is rescued from the clutch of greed
And given back to labor, let no man
Call this the land of freedom.
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THE TECHNIQUE OF IMMORTALITY
There hangs a picture on my wall;
Three leafless trees; dead woods beyond;
Brown grasses and a marshy pond;
And over all
An amber sunset of late fall.
Three leafless trees; dead woods beyond;
Brown grasses and a marshy pond;
And over all
An amber sunset of late fall.
Too frail the artist heart to cope
With all the stern demands of fame.
He passed before he won a name,
Or gained his hope,
To realms where dreams have larger scope.
With all the stern demands of fame.
He passed before he won a name,
Or gained his hope,
To realms where dreams have larger scope.
Yet in the modest little square
Of canvas, that I daily see
He left a legacy to me
Of something rare;
For more than what is painted there.
Of canvas, that I daily see
He left a legacy to me
Of something rare;
For more than what is painted there.
For tree and grass and sunset sky
Hold subtler qualities than art;
It is the painter's pulsing heart
That seems to cry,
“I loved these things—they cannot die.”
Hold subtler qualities than art;
It is the painter's pulsing heart
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“I loved these things—they cannot die.”
And so they live to stir and move
Each gazer's soul; because they speak
Of something mightier than technique.
They live to prove
The immortality of love.
Each gazer's soul; because they speak
Of something mightier than technique.
They live to prove
The immortality of love.
They speak this message day by day;
“Love, love your work, or small or great;
Love, love, and leave the rest to fate.
For love will stay
When all things else have passed away.”
“Love, love your work, or small or great;
Love, love, and leave the rest to fate.
For love will stay
When all things else have passed away.”
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I WONDER
I read the morning news,
Here in this cosy spot,
And life seems a thing most sweet.
I wonder would I meet
The coming day with as glad a thought
Had I toiled all night till the break of the dawn
That the world might know what is going on.
Here in this cosy spot,
And life seems a thing most sweet.
I wonder would I meet
The coming day with as glad a thought
Had I toiled all night till the break of the dawn
That the world might know what is going on.
I read, and rest, and dream;
Beside the glowing grate.
And life seems warm and good.
I wonder if it would,
Had it happened that mine were the fate
To dig like a worm in the deep dark mold
That the world above me might keep off cold.
Beside the glowing grate.
And life seems warm and good.
I wonder if it would,
Had it happened that mine were the fate
To dig like a worm in the deep dark mold
That the world above me might keep off cold.
Out on the deck I sit,
While the ship speeds on apace.
Oh, life is a joy at sea.
I wonder would it be
Had it happened that mine were the place
Down in the hot close hold of the boat
To stoke the engine and keep it afloat.
While the ship speeds on apace.
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I wonder would it be
Had it happened that mine were the place
Down in the hot close hold of the boat
To stoke the engine and keep it afloat.
On the flying train I speed
Off for a holiday;
And life is a lazy dream.
I wonder how it would seem
If I sat while the dark night paled the gray
Watching the signals with eyes astrain
And my whole thought bent on guiding the train.
Off for a holiday;
And life is a lazy dream.
I wonder how it would seem
If I sat while the dark night paled the gray
Watching the signals with eyes astrain
And my whole thought bent on guiding the train.
Guardian angels who fill sky spaces,
Unseen Helpers and Spirit Friends,
Bless all the toilers in humble places
On whom the comfort of earth depends.
And waken the heart of the world till it heed
Their cry of need.
Unseen Helpers and Spirit Friends,
Bless all the toilers in humble places
On whom the comfort of earth depends.
And waken the heart of the world till it heed
Their cry of need.
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OMNIPOTENCE
Musing at times on this vast Universe,
My pigmy self, abashed and mortified,
In patient silence, would henceforth abide,
Nor strive with its poor protest, to disperse
The seeming shadows from our one small world.
That Power which fashioned mountains, shaped the sea,
And into space a million planets hurled,
Could have no need of any aid from me.
My pigmy self, abashed and mortified,
In patient silence, would henceforth abide,
Nor strive with its poor protest, to disperse
The seeming shadows from our one small world.
That Power which fashioned mountains, shaped the sea,
And into space a million planets hurled,
Could have no need of any aid from me.
The tiniest seed, what mind can understand
With all its hidden mysteries of bloom—
The whole grand system, by a Master planned,
For human interference leaves no room.
All things move onward to their certain goal;
What God conceived, God only can control.
Sudden the old cry breaks upon my ear,
The protest and appeal of the oppressed!
Something immortal wakens in my breast,
And answers to that call, “I hear, I hear!”
The burdens of the suffering world seem mine
And mine progression's healthful discontent.
My greater self proclaims itself divine—
Knows whence it came, and wherefore it was sent.
With all its hidden mysteries of bloom—
The whole grand system, by a Master planned,
For human interference leaves no room.
All things move onward to their certain goal;
What God conceived, God only can control.
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The protest and appeal of the oppressed!
Something immortal wakens in my breast,
And answers to that call, “I hear, I hear!”
The burdens of the suffering world seem mine
And mine progression's healthful discontent.
My greater self proclaims itself divine—
Knows whence it came, and wherefore it was sent.
When the first ray pierced through chaotic night
My spirit was conceived by primal force,
And started on its way to gather light
And scatter it along earth's troubled course.
Kin to the sun and sea and wind and sky,
A part of the Omnipotence am I.
My spirit was conceived by primal force,
And started on its way to gather light
And scatter it along earth's troubled course.
Kin to the sun and sea and wind and sky,
A part of the Omnipotence am I.
I am important to the perfect plan,
And I assist the purpose. As the sun
Completes the projects by the cause begun,
So His intentions are worked out by man.
In the construction of a great machine
The smallest parts are needed by the whole;
The mighty wheel is held by bolts unseen.
So in God's earth there is no useless soul.
And I assist the purpose. As the sun
Completes the projects by the cause begun,
So His intentions are worked out by man.
In the construction of a great machine
The smallest parts are needed by the whole;
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So in God's earth there is no useless soul.
We are the means to some majestic end,
Through us must come the universal good.
In us the forces of the Maker blend,
On us depends the larger brotherhood;
With us mankind must journey to the heights—
Let us go forth, and set God's world to rights!
Through us must come the universal good.
In us the forces of the Maker blend,
On us depends the larger brotherhood;
With us mankind must journey to the heights—
Let us go forth, and set God's world to rights!
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CONSUMMATION
Just when all hope had perished in my soul
And balked desire made havoc with my mind,
My cruel lady suddenly grew kind
And sent these written words upon a scroll:
“When knowing Night her dusky scarf has tied
Across the bold intrusive eyes of Day
Come as a glad triumphant lover may
No longer fearing that he be denied.”
And balked desire made havoc with my mind,
My cruel lady suddenly grew kind
And sent these written words upon a scroll:
“When knowing Night her dusky scarf has tied
Across the bold intrusive eyes of Day
Come as a glad triumphant lover may
No longer fearing that he be denied.”
I read her letter for the hundredth time;
And for the hundredth time my gladdened sight
Blurred with the rapture of my vast delight
And swooned upon the page. I caught the chime
Of far off bells, and at each silvery note
My heart on tip-toe, pressed its eager ear
Against my breast; it was such joy to hear
The tolling of the hour of which she wrote.
And for the hundredth time my gladdened sight
Blurred with the rapture of my vast delight
And swooned upon the page. I caught the chime
Of far off bells, and at each silvery note
My heart on tip-toe, pressed its eager ear
Against my breast; it was such joy to hear
The tolling of the hour of which she wrote.
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The curious Day still lingered in the skies
And watched me, as I hastened to the tryst.
But back beyond great clouds of amethyst
I saw the Night's soft, reassuring eyes.
“Oh, Night!” I cried, “dear Love's considerate friend
Haste from the far dim valleys of the west
And rock this fretful world to peaceful rest
And bid the Day's insistent vigil end.”
And watched me, as I hastened to the tryst.
But back beyond great clouds of amethyst
I saw the Night's soft, reassuring eyes.
“Oh, Night!” I cried, “dear Love's considerate friend
Haste from the far dim valleys of the west
And rock this fretful world to peaceful rest
And bid the Day's insistent vigil end.”
Down brooding streets and past the harbored ships
The Night's young handmaid, Twilight, walked with me.
A spent moon leaned inertly o'er the sea;
A few pale phantom stars were in eclipse.
There was the house, my Lady's sea-girt bower
All draped in gloom, save for one taper's glow
Which lit the path where willing feet would go:
There was the house, and this the promised hour.
The Night's young handmaid, Twilight, walked with me.
A spent moon leaned inertly o'er the sea;
A few pale phantom stars were in eclipse.
There was the house, my Lady's sea-girt bower
All draped in gloom, save for one taper's glow
Which lit the path where willing feet would go:
There was the house, and this the promised hour.
The tide was out, and from the sea's salt path
Rose amorous odors, filtering through the Night
And stirring all the senses to delight.
(Sweet perfumes left, since Aphrodite's bath.)
Back in the wooded copse, a whippoorwill
Gave love's impassioned and impatient call.
On languorous sands I head the waves' kiss fall
And fall again, so hushed the hour and still.
Rose amorous odors, filtering through the Night
And stirring all the senses to delight.
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Back in the wooded copse, a whippoorwill
Gave love's impassioned and impatient call.
On languorous sands I head the waves' kiss fall
And fall again, so hushed the hour and still.
Light was my knock upon the door, oh light,
And yet the sound seemed rude. My pulses beat
So loud they drowned the coming of her feet.
The arrow of her taper pierced the gloom.
The portal closed behind me. She was there
Love on her lips and yielding in her eyes
And but the sea to hear our vows and sighs
She took my hand and led me up the stair.
And yet the sound seemed rude. My pulses beat
So loud they drowned the coming of her feet.
The arrow of her taper pierced the gloom.
The portal closed behind me. She was there
Love on her lips and yielding in her eyes
And but the sea to hear our vows and sighs
She took my hand and led me up the stair.
169
UNSATISFIED
The
bird flies home to its young;
The flower folds its leaves about an opening bud;
And in my neighbor's house there is the cry of a child;
I close my window that I need not hear.
The flower folds its leaves about an opening bud;
And in my neighbor's house there is the cry of a child;
I close my window that I need not hear.
She is mine and she is very beautiful;
And in her heart there is no evil thought.
There is even love in her heart,
Love of life, love of joy, love of this fair world
And love of me (or love of my love for her);
Yet she will never consent to bear me a child.
And when I speak of it she weeps;
Always she weeps, saying
“Do I not bring joy enough into your life?
Are you not satisfied with me and my love
As I am satisfied with you?
Never would I urge you to some great peril
To please my whim; yet ever so you urge me;
Urge me to risk my happiness, yea life itself,
So lightly do you hold me.” And then she weeps
Always she weeps until I kiss away her tears,
And soothe her with sweet lies, saying I am content.
Then she goes singing through the house like some bright bird;
Preening her wings; making herself all beautiful;
Perching upon my knee, and pecking at my lips
With little kisses. So again love's ship
Goes sailing forth upon a portless sea
From nowhere into nowhere; and it takes
Or brings no cargoes to enrich the world. The years
Are passing by us. We will yet be old
Who now are young. And all the man in me
Cries for the reproduction of myself
Through her I love. Why love and youth like ours,
Could populate with gods and goddesses
This great green earth, and give the race new types
Were it made fruitful. Often I can see
As in a vision, desolate old age
And loneliness descending on us two
And nowhere in the world, nowhere beyond the earth
Fruit of my loins and of her womb to feed
Our hungry hearts. To me it seems
More sorrowful than sitting by small graves
And wetting sad eyed pansies with our tears.
And in her heart there is no evil thought.
There is even love in her heart,
Love of life, love of joy, love of this fair world
And love of me (or love of my love for her);
Yet she will never consent to bear me a child.
And when I speak of it she weeps;
Always she weeps, saying
“Do I not bring joy enough into your life?
Are you not satisfied with me and my love
As I am satisfied with you?
Never would I urge you to some great peril
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Urge me to risk my happiness, yea life itself,
So lightly do you hold me.” And then she weeps
Always she weeps until I kiss away her tears,
And soothe her with sweet lies, saying I am content.
Then she goes singing through the house like some bright bird;
Preening her wings; making herself all beautiful;
Perching upon my knee, and pecking at my lips
With little kisses. So again love's ship
Goes sailing forth upon a portless sea
From nowhere into nowhere; and it takes
Or brings no cargoes to enrich the world. The years
Are passing by us. We will yet be old
Who now are young. And all the man in me
Cries for the reproduction of myself
Through her I love. Why love and youth like ours,
Could populate with gods and goddesses
This great green earth, and give the race new types
Were it made fruitful. Often I can see
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And loneliness descending on us two
And nowhere in the world, nowhere beyond the earth
Fruit of my loins and of her womb to feed
Our hungry hearts. To me it seems
More sorrowful than sitting by small graves
And wetting sad eyed pansies with our tears.
The bird flies home to its young;
The flower folds its leaves about an opening bud,
And in my neighbor's house there is the cry of a child,
I close my window that I need not hear.
The flower folds its leaves about an opening bud,
And in my neighbor's house there is the cry of a child,
I close my window that I need not hear.
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THE ETERNAL NOW
Time with his back against the mighty wall
Which hides from view the future's joy and sorrow,
Hears without answer the impatient call,
Of puny man, to tell him of tomorrow.
Which hides from view the future's joy and sorrow,
Hears without answer the impatient call,
Of puny man, to tell him of tomorrow.
Mortal be wise, and to the silence bow;
These useless and unquiet ways forsaking,
Concern thyself with the Eternal Now;
Today holds all things ready for thy taking.
These useless and unquiet ways forsaking,
Concern thyself with the Eternal Now;
Today holds all things ready for thy taking.
173
THE MILL
[_]
Great and devastating as are the evils connected with child and woman labor in mills and factories, there must be many a man and woman who finds happiness in the work which these manufactories afford.
It is to voice the feeling which such toilers experience, that this little song is written. And it is sent out with confidence that it will be understood and echoed by the optimistic laborer who finds in his work a means of independence, and an opportunity for the development of his energies.
Something there is in the mill whistle blowing
Sets my blood flowing—
Stirs me with life.
Gives me the feeling of being a part of it,
Hand of it, heart of it,
Ready to plunge in the thick of the strife
As a strong swimmer goes when the seas are rife.
Sets my blood flowing—
Stirs me with life.
Gives me the feeling of being a part of it,
Hand of it, heart of it,
Ready to plunge in the thick of the strife
As a strong swimmer goes when the seas are rife.
Many have said there was pain in the call of it;
I get the thrall of it;
Nerved and made strong,
My hand reaches out for the work that is waiting it;
Loving, not hating it;
Loving the noise, and the rush, and the throng,
Loving the days as they hurry along.
I get the thrall of it;
Nerved and made strong,
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Loving, not hating it;
Loving the noise, and the rush, and the throng,
Loving the days as they hurry along.
Over the moil and the murk and the grime in it,
Something sublime in it,
Calls to my soul.
Some things that speak of the ceaseless endeavor
For aye and forever,
Moving the Universe on to its goal,
And each of us parcel and part of the whole.
Something sublime in it,
Calls to my soul.
Some things that speak of the ceaseless endeavor
For aye and forever,
Moving the Universe on to its goal,
And each of us parcel and part of the whole.
Oh, there is sorrow, injustice and wrong in it;
But there's a song in it.
All day I hear
Over the din and the discord, the thrill of it,
That's the brave mill of it,
Doing its work without worry or fear
And breathing its message of strength in my ear.
But there's a song in it.
All day I hear
Over the din and the discord, the thrill of it,
That's the brave mill of it,
Doing its work without worry or fear
And breathing its message of strength in my ear.
Happy, I sing to it;
Smiling, I bring to it,
Patience and love, for the tasks that lie near.
Smiling, I bring to it,
Patience and love, for the tasks that lie near.
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A WISH
Great dignity ever attends great grief;
And silently walks beside it.
And I always know when I meet such woe,
That Invisible Helpers guide it.
And I know deep sorrow is like a tide,
It can not always be flowing
The high water mark in the night and the dark—
Then dawn, and the outward going.
And silently walks beside it.
And I always know when I meet such woe,
That Invisible Helpers guide it.
And I know deep sorrow is like a tide,
It can not always be flowing
The high water mark in the night and the dark—
Then dawn, and the outward going.
But the people who pull at my heartstrings hard,
Are the ones whom destiny hurries
Through commonplace ways, to the end of their days
And pesters with paltry worries.
The peddlers who trudge with a budget of wares
To the door that is slammed unkindly;
The vender who stands with his shop in his hands
Where the hastening hosts pass blindly.
Are the ones whom destiny hurries
Through commonplace ways, to the end of their days
And pesters with paltry worries.
The peddlers who trudge with a budget of wares
To the door that is slammed unkindly;
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Where the hastening hosts pass blindly.
The woman who holds in her poor flat purse,
The price of her room rent only;
While her starved eye feeds on the comforts she needs
To brighten a lot that is lonely;
The man in the desert of endless work,
Unsoftened by islands of leisure;
And the children who toil in dust and soil,
While their little hearts cry for pleasure.
The price of her room rent only;
While her starved eye feeds on the comforts she needs
To brighten a lot that is lonely;
The man in the desert of endless work,
Unsoftened by islands of leisure;
And the children who toil in dust and soil,
While their little hearts cry for pleasure.
The people who labor and scrimp and save,
At the call of some thankless duty,
And carefully hide with a mantle of pride
Their ravening hunger for beauty.
These ask no pity and seek no aid,
But the thought of them somehow is haunting;
And I wish I might fling at them every thing
That I know in their hearts they are wanting.
At the call of some thankless duty,
And carefully hide with a mantle of pride
Their ravening hunger for beauty.
These ask no pity and seek no aid,
But the thought of them somehow is haunting;
And I wish I might fling at them every thing
That I know in their hearts they are wanting.
| Poems of problems | |