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Poems of Hope.
157
SOME TIME.
O strong and terrible Ocean,
O grand and glorious Ocean,
O restless, stormy Ocean, a million fathoms o'er!
When never an eye was near thee to view thy turbulent glory,
When never an ear to hear thee relate thy endless story,
What didst thou then, O Ocean? Didst toss thy foam in air,
With never a bark to fear thee, and never a soul to dare?
“Oh, I was the self-same Ocean,
The same majestic Ocean,
The strong and terrible Ocean, with rock-embattled shore;
I threw my fleecy blanket up over my shoulders bare,
I raised my head in triumph, and tossed my grizzled hair;
For I knew that some time—some time—
White-robed ships would venture from out of the placid bay,
Forth to my heaving bosom, my lawful pride or prey;
I knew that some time—some time—
Lordly men and maidens my servile guests would be,
And hearts of sternest courage would falter and bend to me.”
O grand and glorious Ocean,
O restless, stormy Ocean, a million fathoms o'er!
When never an eye was near thee to view thy turbulent glory,
When never an ear to hear thee relate thy endless story,
What didst thou then, O Ocean? Didst toss thy foam in air,
With never a bark to fear thee, and never a soul to dare?
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The same majestic Ocean,
The strong and terrible Ocean, with rock-embattled shore;
I threw my fleecy blanket up over my shoulders bare,
I raised my head in triumph, and tossed my grizzled hair;
For I knew that some time—some time—
White-robed ships would venture from out of the placid bay,
Forth to my heaving bosom, my lawful pride or prey;
I knew that some time—some time—
Lordly men and maidens my servile guests would be,
And hearts of sternest courage would falter and bend to me.”
O deep and solemn Forest,
O sadly whispering Forest,
O lonely moaning Forest, that murmureth evermore!
When never a footstep wandered across thy sheltered meadows,
When never a wild bird squandered his music 'mid thy shadows,
What didst thou then, O Forest? Didst robe thyself in green,
And pride thyself in beauty the while to be unseen?
“Oh, I was the self-same Forest,
The same low-whispering Forest,
The softly murmuring Forest, and all of my beauties wore.
I dressed myself in splendor all through the lonely hours;
I twined the vines around me, and covered my lap with flowers;
For I knew that some time—some time—
Birds of beautiful plumage would flit and nestle here;
Songs of marvelous sweetness would charm my listening ear;
I knew that some time—some time—
Lovers would gayly wander 'neath my protecting boughs,
And into the ear of my silence would whisper holy vows.”
O sadly whispering Forest,
O lonely moaning Forest, that murmureth evermore!
When never a footstep wandered across thy sheltered meadows,
When never a wild bird squandered his music 'mid thy shadows,
What didst thou then, O Forest? Didst robe thyself in green,
And pride thyself in beauty the while to be unseen?
“Oh, I was the self-same Forest,
The same low-whispering Forest,
The softly murmuring Forest, and all of my beauties wore.
I dressed myself in splendor all through the lonely hours;
I twined the vines around me, and covered my lap with flowers;
For I knew that some time—some time—
Birds of beautiful plumage would flit and nestle here;
Songs of marvelous sweetness would charm my listening ear;
I knew that some time—some time—
Lovers would gayly wander 'neath my protecting boughs,
And into the ear of my silence would whisper holy vows.”
O fair and beautiful Maiden,
O pure and winsome Maiden,
O grand and peerless Maiden, created to adore!
When no love came to woo thee that won thy own love-treasure,
When never a heart came to thee thy own heart-wealth could measure,
What didst thou then, O Maiden? Didst smile as thou smilest now,
With ne'er the kiss of a lover upon thy snow-white brow?
“Oh, I was the self-same Maiden,
The simple and trusting Maiden,
The happy and careless Maiden, with all of my love in store.
I gayly twined my tresses, and cheerfully went my way;
I took no thought of the morrow, and cared for the cares of the day;
For I knew that some time—some time—
Into the path of my being the Love of my life would glide,
And we by the gates of heaven would wander side by side.”
O pure and winsome Maiden,
O grand and peerless Maiden, created to adore!
When no love came to woo thee that won thy own love-treasure,
When never a heart came to thee thy own heart-wealth could measure,
What didst thou then, O Maiden? Didst smile as thou smilest now,
With ne'er the kiss of a lover upon thy snow-white brow?
159
The simple and trusting Maiden,
The happy and careless Maiden, with all of my love in store.
I gayly twined my tresses, and cheerfully went my way;
I took no thought of the morrow, and cared for the cares of the day;
For I knew that some time—some time—
Into the path of my being the Love of my life would glide,
And we by the gates of heaven would wander side by side.”
160
THE GOOD OF THE FUTURE.
Why is the mire in the trodden street,
And the dark stream by the sewer borne,
Spurned from even under our feet,
Grudged by us e'en the look of scorn?
There is fresh grass in its gloom—
There are sweetness and bloom;
There is pulse for men to eat—
There are golden acres of wheat.
But so it is, and hath ever been:
The good of the future is e'er unseen.
And the dark stream by the sewer borne,
Spurned from even under our feet,
Grudged by us e'en the look of scorn?
There is fresh grass in its gloom—
There are sweetness and bloom;
There is pulse for men to eat—
There are golden acres of wheat.
But so it is, and hath ever been:
The good of the future is e'er unseen.
Why is the mud of humanity spurned
E'en from the tread of the passer-by?
Why is the look of pity turned
From the bare feet and the downcast eye?
There is virtue yet to spring
From this poor trodden thing;
There are germs of godlike power
In the trials of this hour;
But so it is, and hath ever been:
The man of the future is e'er unseen.
E'en from the tread of the passer-by?
Why is the look of pity turned
From the bare feet and the downcast eye?
There is virtue yet to spring
From this poor trodden thing;
There are germs of godlike power
In the trials of this hour;
But so it is, and hath ever been:
The man of the future is e'er unseen.
161
THE JOYS THAT ARE LEFT.
If the sun have been gone while we deemed it might shine;
If the day steal away with no hope-bearing sign;
If the night, with no sight of its stars or its moon,
But such clouds as it hath, closes down on our path over-dark and o'er soon;
If the day steal away with no hope-bearing sign;
If the night, with no sight of its stars or its moon,
But such clouds as it hath, closes down on our path over-dark and o'er soon;
If a voice we rejoice in its sweetness to hear,
Breathe a strain for our pain that glides back to our ear;
If a friend mark the end of a page that was bright,
Without pretext or need, by some reptile-like deed that coils plain in our sight;
Breathe a strain for our pain that glides back to our ear;
If a friend mark the end of a page that was bright,
Without pretext or need, by some reptile-like deed that coils plain in our sight;
If life's charms in our arms grow a-tired and take wing;
If the flowers that are ours turn to nettles and sting;
If the home sink in gloom that we labored to save,
And the garden we trained, when its best bloom is gained, be enriched by a grave;
If the flowers that are ours turn to nettles and sting;
If the home sink in gloom that we labored to save,
And the garden we trained, when its best bloom is gained, be enriched by a grave;
Shall we deem that life's dream is a toil and a snare?
Shall we lie down and die on the couch of despair?
Shall we throw needless woe on our sad heart bereft?
Or, grown tearfully wise, look with pain-chastened eyes at the joys that are left?
Shall we lie down and die on the couch of despair?
Shall we throw needless woe on our sad heart bereft?
Or, grown tearfully wise, look with pain-chastened eyes at the joys that are left?
For the tree that we see on the landscape so fair,
When we hie to it nigh, may be fruitless and bare;
While the vine that doth twine 'neath the blades of the grass,
With sweet nourishment rife, holds the chalice of life toward our lips as we pass.
When we hie to it nigh, may be fruitless and bare;
While the vine that doth twine 'neath the blades of the grass,
With sweet nourishment rife, holds the chalice of life toward our lips as we pass.
162
So with hope let us grope for what joys we may find;
Let not fears, let not tears make us heedless or blind;
Let us think, while we drink the sweet pleasures that are,
That in sea or in ground many gems may be found that outdazzle the star.
Let not fears, let not tears make us heedless or blind;
Let us think, while we drink the sweet pleasures that are,
That in sea or in ground many gems may be found that outdazzle the star.
There be deeds may fill needs we have suffered in vain,
There be smiles whose pure wiles may yet banish our pain;
And the heaven to us given may be found ere we die;
For God's glory and grace, and His great holy place, are not all in the sky.
There be smiles whose pure wiles may yet banish our pain;
And the heaven to us given may be found ere we die;
For God's glory and grace, and His great holy place, are not all in the sky.
163
WHEN MY SHIP WENT DOWN.
I.
Sank a palace in the sea,When my ship went down;
Friends whose hearts were gold to me—
Gifts that ne'er again can be—
'Neath the waters brown.
There you lie, O Ship, to-day,
In the sand-bar stiff and gray!
You who proudly sailed away
From the splendid town.
II.
Now the ocean's bitter cupMeets your trembling lip;
Now on deathly woes you sup;
And your humbled pride looks up
From Disaster's grip.
Ruin's nets around you weave;
But I have no time to grieve;
I will promptly, I believe,
Build another ship.
164
TO THE CARLETON CIRCLE
(Of Hudson, Michigan: the Author's native town)
[In response to their Request for a Word of Greeting at their Annual Reunion, Monday Evening, July 26, 1886.]
Sometimes there comes to me a word of cheer,
From yonder region where the sun goes down;
Where I have often watched him disappear,
And leave awhile the jewels of his crown.
That voice glides over Erie's stormy edge—
It climbs the Alleghanies' rugged ledge,
And tarries not for dale or mountain crest,
Till it makes music in my own home-nest.
From yonder region where the sun goes down;
Where I have often watched him disappear,
And leave awhile the jewels of his crown.
That voice glides over Erie's stormy edge—
It climbs the Alleghanies' rugged ledge,
And tarries not for dale or mountain crest,
Till it makes music in my own home-nest.
It says, “We would be better, wiser, truer,
Each day we live; the best that is in us,
We aim to nourish, that it may endure,
And pray that God will help our striving thus.
With reason-builded curiousness we yearn
The depths of history's changing tides to learn;
The weird discoveries that proud science made,
And the pen's song—we ask them all for aid.”
Each day we live; the best that is in us,
We aim to nourish, that it may endure,
And pray that God will help our striving thus.
With reason-builded curiousness we yearn
The depths of history's changing tides to learn;
The weird discoveries that proud science made,
And the pen's song—we ask them all for aid.”
The old town marches eastward to the sea;
Roofs, windows, belfries, door-stones—all are here;
Again its busy streets encompass me—
Their outlines never looked so full and clear.
Shop, factory, office, church and clattering mill;
The trim red school-house smiling from the hill;
The mimic river with its placid tide,
The quaint old graveyard lingering by its side;
Roofs, windows, belfries, door-stones—all are here;
Again its busy streets encompass me—
Their outlines never looked so full and clear.
Shop, factory, office, church and clattering mill;
The trim red school-house smiling from the hill;
The mimic river with its placid tide,
The quaint old graveyard lingering by its side;
165
And all the home-made dramas of the past,
Are acted over with a mellower grace;
The wedding-bells that rang so loud and fast—
The sombre funeral, with its village pace;
The young full-blooded boys that roamed the street;
The old men Death was walking out to meet;
The good grandames whose gossip whipped the hours;
The girls with faces stolen from the flowers;
Are acted over with a mellower grace;
The wedding-bells that rang so loud and fast—
The sombre funeral, with its village pace;
The young full-blooded boys that roamed the street;
The old men Death was walking out to meet;
The good grandames whose gossip whipped the hours;
The girls with faces stolen from the flowers;
Those forms I knew, in reappearing hosts,
Crowd every corner, as on gala days;
They throng the mind—these silent memory-ghosts,
Then sadly smile, and vanish from the gaze.
And some I loved beyond all words' control,
And some I hated with an uncurbed soul
(For he who likes this world, and means to stay,
Must yearn, and toil, and love, and fight his way).
Crowd every corner, as on gala days;
They throng the mind—these silent memory-ghosts,
Then sadly smile, and vanish from the gaze.
And some I loved beyond all words' control,
And some I hated with an uncurbed soul
(For he who likes this world, and means to stay,
Must yearn, and toil, and love, and fight his way).
All this was for the best; and now in love
We look at those who once awakened ire;
If we but lift our hearts and souls above,
The crushing waves will only lift us higher.
Ere you once more return to shadow-land,
Dead friend—dead foe—I clasp you by the hand!
It may be now that you on whom I call,
Look at the earth-feuds as exceeding small!
We look at those who once awakened ire;
If we but lift our hearts and souls above,
The crushing waves will only lift us higher.
Ere you once more return to shadow-land,
Dead friend—dead foe—I clasp you by the hand!
It may be now that you on whom I call,
Look at the earth-feuds as exceeding small!
And now there float to me some words of cheer,
From yonder region where the sun goes down;
From kindred souls, whose presence would be dear—
From the loved living of my native town!
To prove once more an old truth it may serve,
That God e'er gives men more than they deserve,
That 'mid the struggles of your lofty aim,
You look this way and call to me by name.
From yonder region where the sun goes down;
From kindred souls, whose presence would be dear—
From the loved living of my native town!
To prove once more an old truth it may serve,
That God e'er gives men more than they deserve,
That 'mid the struggles of your lofty aim,
You look this way and call to me by name.
Ah, would that I were worthy of the task,
To see that all your diamonds were saved!
'Tis the best joy that any one can ask—
To give to others what himself has craved.
Whoe'er can teach you life's most brilliant art,
To make the most of body, mind, and heart—
Will feel that fact, his inmost being bless,
More than the costliest jewels of success!
To see that all your diamonds were saved!
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To give to others what himself has craved.
Whoe'er can teach you life's most brilliant art,
To make the most of body, mind, and heart—
Will feel that fact, his inmost being bless,
More than the costliest jewels of success!
Sometimes there comes a blessed word of cheer
From yonder region where the sun shines high;
It brings a joy, it casts out every fear;
It is the motto of th' eternal sky!
Be true, be brave, be faithful; let your heart
With worldly joys and sorrows take their part;
While brain and soul cling to the gleaming cars
Whose goal is Heaven—whose stations are the stars.
From yonder region where the sun shines high;
It brings a joy, it casts out every fear;
It is the motto of th' eternal sky!
Be true, be brave, be faithful; let your heart
With worldly joys and sorrows take their part;
While brain and soul cling to the gleaming cars
Whose goal is Heaven—whose stations are the stars.
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