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1

THE HEAVENLY GUEST

The winter night shuts swiftly down. Within his little humble room
Martin, the good old shoemaker, sits musing in the gathering gloom.
His tiny lamp from off its hook he takes, and lights its friendly beam,
Reaches for his beloved book and reads it by the flickering gleam.
Long pores he o'er the sacred page. At last he lifts his shaggy head.
“If unto me the Master came, how should I welcome Him?” he said;
“Should I be like the Pharisee, with selfish thoughts filled to the brim,
Or like the sorrowing sinner,—she who weeping ministered to Him?”
He laid his head upon his arms, and while he thought, upon him crept
Slumber so gentle and so soft he did not realize he slept
“Martin!” he heard a low voice call. He started, looked toward the door:
No one was there. He dozed again. “Martin!” he heard it call once more.
“Martin, to-morrow I will come. Look out upon the street for me.”
He rose, and slowly rubbed his eyes, and gazed about him drowsily.
2

“I dreamed,” he said, and went to rest. Waking betimes with morning light,
He wondered, “Were they but a dream, the words I seemed to hear last night?”
Then, working by his window low, he watched the passers to and fro.
Poor Stephen, feeble, bent and old, was shoveling away the snow;
Martin at last laughed at himself for watching all so eagerly.
“What fool am I! What look I for? Think I the Master's face to see?
“I must be going daft, indeed!” He turned him to his work once more,
And stitched awhile, but presently found he was watching as before.
Old Stephen leaned against the wall; weary and out of breath was he.
“Come in, friend,” Martin cried, “come, rest, and warm yourself, and have some tea.”
“May Christ reward you!” Stephen said, rejoicing in the welcome heat;
“I was so tired!” “Sit,” Martin begged, “be comforted and drink and eat.”
But even while his grateful guest refreshed his chilled and toil-worn frame
Did Martin's eyes still strive to scan each passing form that went and came.
3

“Are you expecting somebody?” old Stephen asked. And Martin told,
Though half ashamed, his last night's dream. “Truly, I am not quite so bold
As to expect a thing like that,” he said, “yet, somehow, still I look!”
With that from off its shelf he took his worn and precious Holy Book.
“Yesterday I was reading here, how among simple folk He walked
Of old, and taught them. Do you know about it? No?” So then he talked
With joy to Stephen. “Jesus said, ‘The kind, the generous, the poor,
Blessed are they, the humble souls, to be exalted evermore.’”
With tears of gladness in his eyes poor Stephen rose and went his way,
His soul and body comforted; and quietly passed on the day,
Till Martin from his window saw a woman shivering in the cold,
Trying to shield her little babe with her thin garment worn and old.
He called her in and fed her, too, and while she ate he did his best
To make the tiny baby smile, that she might have a little rest:
4

“Now may Christ bless you, sir!” she cried, when warmed and cheered she would have gone;
He took his old cloak from the wall. “'Twill keep the cold out. Put it on.”
She wept. “Christ led you to look out and pity wretched me,” said she.
Martin replied, “Indeed He did!” and told his story earnestly,
How the low voice said, “I will come,” and he had watched the livelong day.
“All things are possible,” she said, and then she, also, went her way.
Once more he sat him down to work, and on the passers-by to look,
Till the night fell, and then again he lit his lamp and took his book.
Another happy hour was spent, when all at once he seemed to hear
A rustling sound behind his chair; he listened, without thought of fear.
He peered about. Did something move in yonder corner dim and dark?
Was that a voice that spoke his name? “Did you not know me, Martin?” “Hark!
Who spoke?” cried Martin. “It is I,” replied the Voice, and Stephen stepped
Forth from the dusk and smiled at him, and Martin's heart within him leapt!
5

Then like a cloud was Stephen gone, and once again did Martin hear
That heavenly Voice. “And this is I,” sounded in tones divinely clear.
From out the darkness softly came the woman with the little child,
Gazing at him with gentle eyes, and, as she vanished, sweetly smiled.
Then Martin thrilled with solemn joy. Upon the sacred page read he:
“Hungry was I, ye gave me meat; thirsty, and ye gave drink to me;
A stranger I, ye took me in, and as unto the lowliest one
Of these my brethren, even the least, ye did it, unto Me 'twas done.”
And Martin understood at last it was no vision born of sleep,
And all his soul in prayer and praise filled with a rapture still and deep.
He had not been deceived, it was no fancy of the twilight dim,
But glorious truth! The Master came, and he had ministered to Him.
6

THE PREACHER MAN

O the sun is bright and the day is fair,
And the sweet breeze wanders everywhere,
And the sweet birds sing as they lightly fly,
And I wish we could join them, Madge and I.
We are bidden to listen and so we do,
Shut up in the narrow and stuffy pew,
Behaving just as well as we can,
We look over there at the preacher man.
I can't understand, though I take such pains;
All sense seems gone from our little brains,
So we just sit quiet as best we may,
And wait till the long hour wears away.
My poor little sister tried to keep
Her blue eyes wide, but she fell asleep,
'Tis so close and stupid and dull and warm,
And I hold her safe in my tired arm.
But what in the world he is talking about
We do not know, and we can't find out.
O how can he have so much to say,
The preacher man, such a lovely day?

SHIPWRECK

From the piled ridge of this deserted shore,
See how wild morning-glory vines have grown,
Till like a light green, gentle tide they pour
Down the long slope of broken, wave-smoothed stone!
7

How the bare beach is clothed as with a cool
And graceful garment, where beyond the reach
Of waves that softly break, as white as wool,
Lies scattered driftwood which the hot suns bleach.
Green leaves and rosy bloom all undisturbed
By wind or wave, safe in the summer calm;
The fury of the ocean stayed and curbed,
The mad gales hushed and breathing only balm.
Silence and peace: but all the ledge is strown
With splintered timbers whitening in the sun.
Four months ago a mighty ship was thrown
Here at our feet—her crew all drowned save one.
The breakers tossed her like a baby's toy,
Rolled her and crushed her, broke her hull in twain,
Snapped her tall masts of oak, and to destroy
All trace of her existence e'en were fain.
Her great sails beaten into shapeless rags,
Her huge hull but a heap of bristling beams,
Her dead crew scattered among reefs and crags,
Where yonder white gull floating wheels and screams.
She lay, a chaos, while the howling sea
Plucked at the fragments, and the hurricane
Roared at the ruin still, and sullenly
The tempest spent its useless wrath insane.
Look at the flowers! what lavish, delicate
And glowing beauty! See this rosy bell,
This chalice of tranquillity, where late
The shattered timbers of the great ship fell.
8

How fair, how sweet, how tender and divine
This glory of the morning, still and pure!
What meant that cruel wrath? Heaven makes no sign:
Humanity must patiently endure.
For death replies with silence worse than pain
To all man's pleading. Pluck the perfect flower,
Grateful for peace while peace may yet remain;
Terror and misery will claim their hour.
And fruitless prayers pierce heaven from trusting souls,
Trampled defenceless the wild waves beneath,
O'er many a grave yon low, bright billow rolls,
While from the flower grace, joy and beauty breathe.

MY FRIEND

O Fortune, thou whose potent hand doth hold
All gifts, unlocking with thy mystic keys
Love, fame, wealth, powers and pleasures manifold,—
Bring to my friend the olive boughs of peace!
For in this storm-tossed world what shall avail
Thy largess of the glittering shows of life?
Some day is sure to see their splendors fail,
Dimmed by earth's dreary clouds of pain and strife.
But the tranquillity of soul that grows
From holy living and a conscience clean,
Sweeter than fragrance of the new-blown rose,
Clearer than stainless heights of heaven serene:—
O Fortune, with that blessing crown my friend,
With that divine content, that golden ease
The pure in heart alone may comprehend:—
So bring my friend the olive-boughs of peace!
9

SONG

Lift up thy light, O Soul, arise and shine!
Steadfast though all the storms of life assail,
Immortal spark of the great Light Divine!
Against whose power no tempest shall prevail—
Hold high thy light above earth's restless tides,
Scatter thy messages of light afar!
Falsehood and folly pass, but truth abides,
Be thine the splendor of her deathless star—
When the world sins and sorrows round thee rave
Pierce thou the darkness with thy dauntless ray,
Send out thy happy beams to help and save
“More and more shining to the perfect day.”

SANTA

O dear, mysterious Santa Claus,
The best and kindest that ever was,
Are you up there in the thin blue smoke?
Was that the wind or your voice that spoke?
I thought of your coming the whole year through.
Are there some children who know not you?
Who are hungry and sad in the cold and snow?
Oh find them out, for you surely know.
On the warm stone I kneel and pray:
Give them a merry Christmas day.
Bless great and small and let no one grieve;
Remember us all this Christmas Eve.
10

CROWNED

The last gold lily in the garden blows,
The long, sweet days pause at their greatest length,
The air is rich with odors of the rose,
And summer's heat begins to gather strength.
Flushes the pink dawn over silver seas,
The idle sail lies lapped in dreamful calm,
And waits, for in the south the wandering breeze
Lingering, is loth to leave the slender palm.
Soars the white gull in splendor through the sky
With dazzling pinions lost in azure air,
Sleep the light clouds all motionless on high,
Or on the far sea line in islets fair
The honeysuckle chalices outpour
Delicious perfumes on the dewy night,
The rosy winged sphinx wheels hovering o'er
The many clustered phloxes, glimmering white.
Sinks the red moon, a crescent low and large,
Scattering its broken rubies on the tide,
Low whispers breathe along the ocean marge,
As if in heaven some happy spirit sighed.
Beyond the beauty of the ripening year,
Thrilling with deep enchantment sense and soul,
A hint of higher rapture still I hear,
Of wonder sent to glorify the whole.
Lo,—Thou! The soft airs sing thee! To my heart
The day and night but change to bring thee near!
The central spark of every joy thou art,
The essence of all things divine and dear.
11

Thy blush is in the dawn, thy tender tones
In every gentle sound upon the air,
Shadows to me are the world's crowns and thrones,
For the king's purple by thy gift I wear.

TO YOUTH

Take heed, O Youth, both brave and bright,
Battles there are for you to fight!
Stand erect and face them all,
Nor turn and flee, nor wavering fall;
Of all the world's bewildering gifts
Take only what the soul uplifts,
Keep firm your hand upon the helm
Lest bitter tempests overwhelm,
And watch lest evil mists should mar,
The splendor of your morning star,
And robe the glory of the day
You have not reached, in sullen gray—
Choose them, O Youth, both bright and brave!
Wilt be a monarch or a slave?
Ah! scorn to take one step below
The paths where Truth and Honor go!
On manhood's threshold stand a king,
Demanding all that life can bring,
Of lofty thought, of purpose high,
Of beauty and nobility,
Once master of yourself, no fate
Can make your rich world desolate,
And all men shall look up to see
The glory of your victory.
12

THE LESSON

Her gown is as white as the light sea spray,
The pretty Pauline, on this summer day,
Like the rainbows that melt at the edge of the surf
The flower foam breaks on the emerald turf,
A sea of blossoms,—how sweet, how fair!
What tempered sunshine, what fragrant air!
Where the butterfly and the banded bee
And the singing birds float merrily,
To learn her task she has brought her book,
But 'tis hard on the printed page to look,
And flowers, bees, butterflies, breeze and birds
Steal the meaning away from the weighty words.
Keep wise book lore for the time indoors
Where no sights arrest and no sound allures,
Let your soul listen, O sweet Pauline,
And learn what the golden hour may mean!

THE SANDPIPER'S HAPPY CALL

The sky is like ashes of roses, the few shy stars are white,
On the horizon the delicate haze sleeps soft in the dying light.
The bell on the buoy rings faintly with the ocean's rise and fall,
And sweet through the warm May twilight comes the sandpiper's happy call.
13

The touch of the breeze is like a caress, the sound of the sea like a dream,
Like a dream the past and present melt, all things unreal seem;
All the years of our lives as we sail through space on the earth's huge spinning ball,
But sweet, oh sweet through the twilight comes the sandpiper's tender call.
O friends, oh dear companions, who made life so rich and bright,
In what world are you hidden afar from my longing sight?
Empty and cold are your places, I miss you one and all,
As sweet through the dewy dusk again trembles the sandpiper's call.
The summer is clothing herself once more in her green and rose and gold,
In all her splendors of color and perfumed airs as of old,
And a thousand wistful memories her sights and her sounds recall
As sweet through the listening twilight comes the sandpiper's happy call.
Lo, mystery lies behind us and mystery lies before,
But thou dost not mock us, Heavenly Power, Thou wilt our lost restore:
Thou bringest again the summer and Thy promise of hope for all
Sounds sweet and sure as I hear once more the sandpiper's happy call.
14

A SAD OLD STORY

The summer wind was rustling in the elm-trees,
The summer flowers were blossoming below;
Two stood together in the little garden,
Touched softly by the sunset's fading glow.
The voice of one rose sweet, and young, and eager,
Strong, full of hope and courage, firm and glad,
The other answered thrilling through the twilight,
Broken and tender, faltering and sad.
“Mother,” he said, “wherever I am drifting
The wide world over, I shall think of you,
And I'll come back to you, O never doubt it!
So proudly sailing o'er the sparkling blue.”
His bright head, with its locks of sunny beauty,
One little moment on her breast doth lie!
The next a cry goes through the balmy darkness,
“Goodbye, my darling! O my boy, goodbye!”
A winter morning on the fierce Atlantic,
And like a beast of prey the wild wind soars;
Rushing before it reins the raging ocean
To fling its flakes of ice on all the shores.
A wreck is heaving slowly on the billows,
Torn by the hungry ledge's cruel teeth;
The red sun rises slow through stinging vapor,
And flares across the waves that kiss and seethe.
15

Swinging head downward from the tangled rigging
Flung o'er the stern, his bright hair in the brine
Washing forlornly, hangs the cherished darling,
Stark, frozen, with wide eyes that make no sign.
She sits and waits for him with love and longing,
She breathes his name with tender tears and prayers,
The while like tigers fierce the breakers toss him,
And in his face the mocking sunshine stares.

CHRISTMAS MORN

Amid the rigor of the ice and snow
The happy season's thoughts glow bright and warm,
Roses of gladness and of beauty blow
In the white track of the wild, wintry storm.
Our grateful thoughts with prayer and psalm we raise
In unison with clear Christmas chime,
Sweet human love and reverence and praise
Make precious and divine the sacred time.
Close to the dim church portal whence emerge
The worshippers, I comb a scattered crowd,
A robin perches at the footpath's verge,
Sends up his song and carols long and loud.
What thrills thy heart, thou ruddy-breasted bird,
Warbling undaunted on the frosty bough?
Hast thou perhaps the happy tidings heard,
And for our joy so blithely singest thou?
Well mayest thou send up thy delicious voice,
And join our jubilee this Christmas morn!
With all things give thanks; thou mayest rejoice,
For on this day the world's great Hope was born.
17

SONNET

O were I loved as I desire to be!
What is there in the great sphere of the earth
Or range of evil between death and birth
That I should fear, if I were loved by thee?
All the inner, all the outer world of pain
Clear love would pierce and cleave, if thou wast mine;
As I have heard that somewhere in the main
Fresh water springs come up through bitter brine,
'Twere joy, not fear, clasped hand in hand with thee,
To wait for death,—mute, careless of all ills
Apart upon a mountain, tho' the surge
Of some new deluge from a thousand hills
Flung leagues of roaring foam into the gorge
Below us, as far as eye could see!
19

ALOFT

Pleasant and peaceful all—most sweet
When morning and when evening fires
Silent above the busy street
Touch the dove-haunted roofs and spires.
Neighbored by sparrow and by dove,
A comrade of the weather-cocks,
Here is the quiet perch I love,
The chimney stacks, the city clocks:—
And thank the heavens that bend above
For leave to find such deep delight,
In tower and spire and fluttering dove,
Color and cloud and sparrow's flight!
20

THE FOG BELL

In the thick mist that shrouded land and sea,
I heard the warning fog-bell tolling slow,
And its dull clangor only seemed to me
A deeper gloom across the world to throw.
Most like a signal of despair and dread,
With vague uneasiness it filled the air,
Its harsh voice like a dirge rung for the dead,
Seemed heavy with a weight of woe and care.
“Ah, cease thy weary jar, discordant bell,”
I prayed in silence, “vex my ear no more!”
And as I prayed, a hollow murmur fell
Upon my sense from the wave-beaten shore.
The roar of breakers! And I grew aware
That it was life and hope, not death that spoke,
No sullen booming tidings of despair,
But help and cheer the dangerous silence broke.
“Turn, turn your prows and seek the open sea!”
To wandering ships incessantly it cried,
“Here lurks the cruel ledge to wreck you! Flee
While yet you may, across the waters wide.”
'Tis like the voice of Age, I thought, which speaks
To careless Youth that dares life's leaping wave,
Till tempest-tossed and mocked by mists, he seeks
The knowledge that alone shall guide and save.
21

THE PATH OF PEACE

It is so hard to walk earth's toilsome way
Ever while slow moons wane, or slow increase,
So hard to follow Duty day by day
Leading to God's peace!
O weary grows the heart and worn the feet,
In the dull round of uneventful cares,
Yet there's a thought might make our service sweet,
Since God our toil prepares.
Lift up thy tired eyes! No cloud is spread
Betwixt thee and His heaven serene and pure,
He holds His hand above thy humble head,
Thy happiness is sure.
Then keep the courage of thy morning prime
And bravely bear the cross He lays on thee,
'Tis but a little space of troubled time
In His eternity.
Remember, only in this pathway lies
Thy safety,—once beyond its sheltering bound,
What choking mists, what bitter tempests rise
Where never rest is found!
Hard may be Duty's hand, but lo! it leads
Out into perfect joy where pain shall cease.
God sees thy striving and thy patience heeds,
And thou shalt find His peace.
22

PROMISES

O breathing wind of Spring!
Full toned, at every door and window striving,
What memories thou dost bring!
How Youth felt at thy touch fresh hopes arriving.
Then when thy voice did seem
To prophesy for us of rapture distant,
Half heard as in a dream,
Vague, fascinating, sweet, with sound persistent.
So full of joy that tone!
No good thing in our future should be wanting;
From some fair region blown
Came promises of dim delight enchanting.
What says thy voice today,
O wind of Spring against the casement striving,
Waving the dry vine spray,
Greeting the bare brown earth with touch reviving?
What sayest thou to Age,
Who spoke to Youth with such exceeding sweetness?
Turn thou the Past's dull page,
With all its record of life's incompleteness;
Make ready for release,
When unencumbered by earth's weight and sorrow,
Thou shalt in power and peace
Begin again with some clear, glad tomorrow!
23

THE UNLUCKY NUMBER

Out on a ledge in the bright blue sea
Lay thirteen seals and basked in the sun,
Below swam the little fish merrily,
And the seals were breakfasting, every one.
Ah, how warm was the sun, and bright!
Softly the breakers whispering rolled,
Over their heads sailed the sea gulls white,
And the seaweeds swayed in the water cold.
There crept a gunner across the wave,
Silently rowing his slender boat,
He gazed at the company sleek and brave,
While the gulls above shrieked a warning note.
A puff of vanishing smoke,—a flash,
A sound that rang till the welkin roared!
Down slipped the company, splash, splash, splash!
And far in the distance the white gulls soared.
Alas, on the heaving brine uprose
One shining form again to the light,
One seal had fled to his last repose,
And floating lay in a piteous plight.
“Well,” said the gunner, stooping to draw
The limp amphibian on board,
“You're as fine as fellow as ever I saw,
But an ancient saying you have ignored.
You made thirteen at your table, friend!
But it wasn't possible you should know
How the wicked Judas came to his end,
And cursed the number long years ago.”
24

COTTON

I looked abroad from the rocky height to the vast round ring of the world;
A throng of vessels on the sea their white sails had unfurled,
With wide wings glittering in the light, east, west, north, south, they flew;
The breeze sent each upon its way across the level blue.
Musing, I marked their beauty, and thought of their varied use,
From the sprit-sailed fishers' little voyage to the whalers' Arctic cruise,
From the patient coasters' canvas to the mighty column of white
That clothes the great ship proudly to the top of her stately height.
Four-masted schooners ponderous with acres of sailcloth stout,
Great fans of yachts spread out to catch all airs that stir about;
Such press of sail from stem to stern, from deck to topmast tall,
They skyward yearn and hardly seem to touch the earth at all.
The lateen sails of Southern Seas, curved like the pinions light
Of soaring gulls, and then the folds of raiment glowing bright
With which fair Venice drapes her masts, with colors rich and deep,
To woo soft Adriatic airs that in the stillness sleep.
And it seemed a wonderful thing to me that all the countless sails
25

Should spring from out of the dusty earth, that the cotton plant should grow,
Blossoming golden o'er myriad fields, to scatter its filmy snow
From the ripened seed in a dazzling cloud, to be gathered and woven and spun
For the use of man in every one of the nations under the sun.
And I thought, as I gazed at the gleaming sails, there is nothing large or small;
The poppy seed I can hardly see is as great as the earth's huge ball.
For the spirit of God is in every thing, and the life of all is one,
From the wing of the gnat and the breath of the rose to the central fires of the sun.

WHITTIER

Fame lays her golden trumpet to her lips
And breathes a name the world perforce must hear.
“Listen,” she whispers in its drowsy ear,
“Here is a light shall suffer no eclipse;
A crescent with its glory just begun,
A spark from the great central fire sublime,
A crescent that shall orb into a sun
And burn in splendor through the mists of Time!
For I will set it, glittering clear, among
The galaxy of great names hung on high
Like steadfast stars upon the midnight sky,
To hold its place amid the dazzling throng,
Dauntless and deathless on the heavenly height,
For all men's homage, wonder, and delight.”
27

THE HEAVENLY MESSAGE

Beneath the cold, pale, softly sleeping snows
That load the crowded roofs and touch the spires,
With Christmas cheer the city's great heart glows,
And on its hearthstones dance the Christmas fires.
High over head on airy wings of light,
Like some white dove loosed from heaven's golden bars
God's messenger of love in splendor bright
Floats under the keen, frosty, sparkling stars.
“Rejoice!” she sings—“Christ lives, O sons of men!”
'Tis joy makes sweet the midnight's solemn chime,
While centuries pass and each swift year again
Brings in the dear and unforgotten time.
Rejoice—remembering Him! But not alone
With feast and music;—unto them that need
Give of your cheer,—so let His love be shown
So shall your Christmas time be blest indeed.
28

THE TROLL AND TIIS LAKE

A Scandinavian Legend

The little old Troll on the hillside sat,
And he cried, as he stamped his foot and frowned,
And twisted his body this way and that,
“I would that the church bells all were drowned.”
For up in the village of Kund there rang
On the morning air a mellow chime,
But he stopped his ears at the silver clang,
And cursed the sound for the hundredth time.
“Over to Funen I'll go,” he said,
“These pious folk are too much for me!”
So away from the village of Kund he fled,
“For I must have quiet and peace,” quoth he.
In Funen no church bells vexed his soul,
But ever for Kund did he fret and long,
And ever a mischief wrought in the Troll
To wreak on its people some deadly wrong.
A peasant to Funen came one day,
From peasant Kund, the Troll so grim
In the guise of a Christian stood in his way,
“And where do you come from?” he questioned him.
The good man answered, “From Kund I come.”
“From Kund!” said the Troll, “well, will you take
This letter with you when you go home?
But mind that the seal you do not break.
And when you get to the churchyard wall,
Just toss it over and let it be,
Wherever the letter may chance to fall
The owner will come for it presently.”
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“Why, yes!” said the peasant, “that I'll do.”
Then into his pocket the wicked sprite
The letter thrust, and “Good day to you,
And thanks,” said the Troll, and was out of sight,
And out of mind! For the man forgot
Both the Troll and his message speedily,
The way was long and the day was hot,
And into Zealand back came he.
Weary he grew of the dust and heat,
So down by a meadow great and wide
He sat, to rest, while the birds sang sweet,
And the wild flowers blossomed on every side.
Then suddenly into his stupid head
The thought of the letter flashed, “I'll look
At the paper, 'twill do no harm,” he said,
And slow from his pocket the missive took.
He held it and turned it before his eyes
This way and that, till out of the seal
He saw with a dumb and dazed surprise
A drop of water begin to steal.
Then while he stared in a mute amaze,
Another and still another oozed,
Then quick as lightning beneath his gaze
The letter opened and straightway loosed
A rushing flood on the meadows green,
Scarcely the peasant had time to flee:
It was a rush for life! Where the grass had been
Sparkled the sheen of a silver sea!
30

For into the letter the wicked Troll,
A whole wide lake he had shut and sealed
To send to Kund, that its water might roll
Over the church and the bell that pealed!
But still the bell in the steeple swings
In pleasant Kund to this very day.
And still from the spire it sweetly rings
To call the people to praise and pray.
And the Kund folk undisturbed thank God
That the Troll his purpose could not fill,
And as for the lake, Tiis lake and broad,
It lies over the meadow sparkling still.

SONG

O delicate west wind blowing
Soft over the flowery land,
Till thick sweet blossoms are snowing
O'er earth at the touch of thy hand;
Go find my love where she lingers
'Mid fragrant orchard shades;
Clasp gently her warm white fingers,
And ruffle her golden braids.
Her beauty to all beholders
Makes summer more rich and bright;
The kerchief over her shoulders
Like any blossom is white.
O what is the day without her!
Unmeaning its splendor grows.
O west wind, whisper about her
My name like the breath of a rose!
31

THE CHILD AND THE YEAR

Said the Child to the youthful Year,
What hast thou in store for me,
Oh giver of beautiful gifts, what cheer,
What joy dost thou bring with thee?
And the Year in the eyes of the child
Looked, bright with the sparkle of frost,
And gazing, sighed, and sighing, smiled,
Like shadow and sunshine crossed.
All gifts of my seasons four,
The winter's snow-locked bliss,
The flowers of spring and the autumn's store,
And the summer's golden kiss;
All these and more shall be thine,
Dear Child, but the last and best
Thyself must earn by a strife divine,
Wouldst thou be truly blest.
Wouldst know this last best gift?
'Tis a conscience clear and bright,
A peace of mind which the soul can lift
To an infinite delight!
Truth, patience, courage and love
If thou unto me canst bring,
I will set all earth's ills above,
Oh Child, and crown thee a king.
32

MARGARET

Softly sweeps the April storm,
Floods of rain and breezes warm,
Drowsy flowers at last are waking,
Through the dark earth gently breaking;
Though they have not blossomed yet,
Here to seek them through the wet
Merrily comes Margaret.
Nothing recks she of the flood,
Nothing finds she, flower or bud,
But she seems herself a flower,
In the tumult of the shower;
While across the field she trips
O'er bright eyes and ruddy lips
Fast the sparkling water slips,
Gay and daring little witch!
How the color, deep and rich,
Mantles in her cheek's sweet curve!
Mark the pretty mouth's reserve,—
Ah, but smiles are hidden there!
Like a torch her golden hair
Flares above her forehead fair.
Slender shape of pliant grace
Crowned with such a lovely face!
Not a single flower is out,
But that's naught to mourn about,
She the loveliest blossom is,
All abloom with light and bliss
For the sun and rain to kiss!
33

YULE LOG

Come gather round the Yule log's blaze!
In light and laughter leap the flames,
The fire sings like a hymn of praise,
Its warmth the heart of winter tames.
Behold the house is all aglow
From door to roof with Christmas cheer!
What matter how the cold winds blow!
Comfort and peace and joy are here.
Come share the Yule log's glorious heat!
For many a year the grand old tree
Stood garnering up the sunshine sweet,
To keep for our festivity.
And now our Christmas Eve to bless
See how it yields its ardent rays!
As if to wish you happiness,
Honor and love and length of days.
“Welcome,” it smiles with every beam,
Saluting you with kindly power.
Its golden banners flash and gleam,
Its mellow splendor crowns the hour.
Then gather round the flames so bright,
Forget that winter blasts are stern,
So fervently this holy night
On friendships' hearth the Yule fires burn.
35

TO J. APPLETON BROWN

Poet, whose golden songs in silence sung
Thrill from the canvas to the hearts of men,
Sweet harmonies that speak without a tongue,
Melodious numbers writ without a pen,
The great gods gifted thee, and hold thee dear,
Placed in thy hand the torch which genius lit,
Touched thee with genial sunshine and good cheer,
And swift heat-lightnings of a charming wit
Whose shafts are ever harmless, though so bright:—
Gave thee of all life's blessings this, the best,
The love of all thy kind, for thy delight—
So be thou happy, Poet-painter, blest,
Whose gentle eyes look out, all unaware,
Beneath the brow of Keats, soft-crowned with shadowy hair.
36

BACK AGAIN

The chill snows lingered, the spring was late,
It seemed a weariful while to wait
For warmth and fragrance and song and flowers,
And balmy airs and delicious showers.
But we bided our time and with patient eyes
We watched the slowly relenting skies,
Till at last one April morning we woke
To find we were free of the winter's yoke,
And a rush of wings through the rushing rain
Told us the birds were back again;
A joyous tumult we heard aloft,
Clear rippling music and fluttering soft:
So light of heart and so light of wing,
All hope of summer, delight of spring
They seemed to utter with voices sweet,
Upborne on their airy pinions fleet.
Dainty, delicate, lovely things!
Would that my thoughts, like you, had wings,
To match your grace, your charm, your cheer,
Your fine melodious atmosphere!
Precious and beautiful gifts of God,
Scattered thro' heaven and earth abroad,
Who, ungrateful, would do you wrong,
Check your flight and your golden song?
37

O friendly spirits, O sweet, sweet birds!
Would I could put my welcome in words
Fit for such singers as you to hear,
Sky born minstrels and poets dear!

EVEN THOU

“A little child shall lead them.” Even Thou,
O Christ adored! Behold the lowly place
Where the star-beckoned shepherds came to bow
Before the glory of His infant face!
Ah happy Mary! at thy breast, so near
To hold the world's great hope, heaven's holy king!
Ah happy shepherds, chosen first to hear
The tidings beautiful that angels sing!
The humble and the poor He came to teach,
The sinful and the suffering He would save,
No human soul can sink beyond His reach;
He rescues all, for all His life He gave.
“Let not your hearts be troubled,”—Hear His voice!
“Keep my commandments and be loved of me!”
O lift your heavy hearts up and rejoice,
“I will not leave you comfortless,” saith He.
Divine compassion, sent to help us all!
Infinite mercy, love that knows no end!
Thou who art never deaf to sorrow's call,
Make light our darkness, oh Thou Heavenly Friend!
He breaks the bonds of death, He sets us free,
Obey Him! there can be no joy so sweet!
His hand He stretches forth to you and me,—
Yea, lead us, Lord, and bring us to Thy feet!
38

THE CROWN OF THE YEAR

In sapphire, emerald, amethyst,
Sparkles the sea by the morning kissed;
And the mists from the far-off valleys lie
Gleaming like pearl in the tender sky;
Soft shapes of cloud that melt and drift,
With tints of opal that glow and shift.
For the strong wind blows from the warm southwest
And ruffles the snow on the white gull's breast—
Fills all the sails till the boats careen;
Low over the crested waves they lean,
Driven to leeward, dashed with spray,
Or beating up through the beautiful bay.
Ah, happy morning of autumn sweet,
Yet ripe and rich with the summer's heat!
By the ruined wall on the rocky height,
In shadow I gaze at the changing light,
Splendor of color that clothes thee round,
Huge orb of the earth to its utmost bound.
Near me each humble flower and weed,—
The dock's rich umber, gone to seed,
The hawkbit's gold, the bayberry's spice,
One late wild rose beyond all price;
Each is a friend and all are dear,
Pathetic signs of the waning year.
The painted rose haws, how they glow!
Like crimson wine the woodbines show,
The wholesome yarrow's clusters fine
Like frosted silver dimly shine;
And who thy quaintest charm shall tell,
Thou little scarlet pimpernel?
39

The jeweled sea and the deeps of the air,
All heaven and earth are good and fair,
Ferns at my feet and the mullein's spike,
And the soaring gull I love alike;
With the schooner's grace as she leans to the tide
The soul within me is satisfied.
In the mellow, golden autumn days
When the world is zoned in their purple haze,
A spirit of beauty walks abroad
That fills the heart with peace of God;
The spring and summer may bless and cheer,
But autumn brings us the crown o' the year.

HEAVENLY HEIGHTS

O happy, holy Easter morn!
What promise lights thy radiant sky!
Earth hails again her hope new-born,
And death is lost in victory.
From heavenly heights a glory streams,
Backward the mists of doubt are hurled,
Sorrow and sin are baseless dreams:
A morning freshness holds the world.
O promise sweet! O lovely light!
O life that shall begin again,
As spotless as the lilies white,
Perfect and fair, without a stain!
Look up to Him whose love is sure,
And with the new day's blossoming
Become as little children pure,
In God's divine, immortal Spring.
40

IN FREDERICKSBURG

In Fredericksburg, when all the troubled town
With war's dread signs and wounded men was filled,
And death among the crowd moved up and down,
And many a soldier's torture touched and stilled,
One, on whose heart such love and pity weighed
For those brave men as could not be expressed,
Where the South's rich red roses stood arrayed
In lavish beauty, made his tender quest.
And gathering wealth of blossoms, sought the rooms
Where vainly feverish anguish wooed repose,
Passed soft from couch to couch with those fair blooms
And upon every pillow laid a rose.
They lifted up their saddened, grateful eyes
And blessed him with a look, who could not speak:
Some murmured thanks who never more might rise,
And begged him lay it nearer lip and cheek.
The sweet red rose, that they might feel its breath,
Filling the gloom and silence chill and drear,
And in the presence dread of pain and death,
Yet knew that dear familiar beauty near.
And so he passed, and left along his way
Feeling that baffles thought and tongue and pen,
A flutter of pathetic joy, a ray
From the near heaven on those devoted men.
41

Deep down and close to the heart's fount of tears,
Sweet among sweetest things this memory lies;
He shall not lose, were life a thousand years,
The speechless blessing of those grateful eyes.

WILLIAM MASON

As some benign magician doth he sit
Before the ivory keys, and at his will
Rise heavenly dreams and fancies sweet that flit
Like spirits of delight the soul to thrill.
At his delicious touch the music flows,
A golden tide of melody divine,
Till the heart kindles at the sound, and glows,
Draining deep draughts of an immortal wine.
All moods,—and rest, refreshment, joy, warmth, light,
Youth and its roses call him from the keys
That lie before him mute and cold and white;
The Master he, his willing vassals these.
And would you kindness know that has no end?
Know him! And I am proud to call him friend.

ROMANCE

O soft and cool the pure, delicious breeze
Of morning blew across the sparkling bay,
And ringed with emerald and sapphire seas
Melting in golden distance Capri lay.
The little steamer smoked and puffed and ploughed
Through waves like jewels leaping in the sun,
Her freight a gay and pleasure-seeking crowd,
Bent on a day's enjoyment, every one.
42

Aft, in a corner, sheltered from the glare,
Two travellers sat quietly and close,
One sunny-haired and exquisitely fair,
With cheek as delicate as some fresh rose.
The crowd, the place, the planet might have been
Obliterated for that charming bride!
Under her parasol's dark silken screen
Six feet of manliness sat by her side.
Just so much measured her enchanted world!
Her whole horizon, it was plain to see.
With one gloved hand his blond moustache he curled
And forward leaned to whisper tenderly.
Their elegance and most distinguished grace
My swift glance caught, swept heedlessly that way,
As wave and sky to me, they held their place,
Part of the pageant of the perfect day.
Mediterranean splendors! What to her
Were matchless color and consummate form,
Vesuvius or Capri, or the stir
Of jewelled waves or breezes soft and warm?
The lovely island near and nearer drew,
Vesuvius' dusky plume lay thin and light
Behind us, dreaming in the lofty blue,—
Naples along the coast line glittered white.
Ah, how divinely beautiful! I thought,
And gazing round me with delighted eyes,
Again they chanced across the two and caught
A sudden dazzling gleam of Paradise.
43

'Twas but a look I saw her lift to him,
Swift, furtive,—but glory of the earth
Before its tempered radiance faded dim,
The wide world's beauty seemed as nothing worth
Compared to this strong, sweet and wondrous dream.
This hint of heaven, this potent spell,
This deep bewilderment of bliss supreme
No mind can fathom and no tongue can tell,
Alas! 'Twas long ago, I wonder where
Unresting Time has borne them since that day,
The handsome lover and the lady fair,
Measureless spaces from that dream away!
But Nature keeps her youth, still Capri lies
Melting in sapphire, rose and amethyst,
The air breathes soft, clear smile the tender skies,
And the bright coast by sparkling waves is kissed.

HARK

Hark, the sweet chant, “O holy, holy, holy,”
With voices clear the waiting angels sing,
Standing about the mother meek and lowly
Whose calm breast pillows soft heaven's new born king.
Loud swells the chorus, “Pain is lost in glory.”
Ye nations of the earth, exalt His name.
Sound, golden pipes, and tell the wondrous story
Of love divine that to man's rescue came.
Lo, He shall vanquish death with cheer immortal,
Shall conquer woe and triumph over sin,
His hand shall open wide the heavenly portal,
That all God's souls may safely enter in.
44

KATE VANNAH

In winter, when the world was locked in frost,
I built up fancies sweet, a little song,
With after-glow from vanished summers crossed:
And, listening, heard the bitter wind blow strong
The while I fashioned, with a hand untaught,
The airy shape, and lifted toward the light
Its thought of youth and joy—I only sought
To make the dreary winter day more bright.
But when the snows had fled into the north
Before the south wind, and the gracious year
Brought all its flowers and all its splendors forth,
And midsummer in all its pomp was here,
One came and looked upon the trellis slight
Of words I wrote in that sad winter time,
And clothed the slender shape with life and light,
And fitted music to my idle rhyme.
And now a wealth of flowers that shape upholds,
That ring sweet bells and up to heaven climb,
And beauty all its poverty enfolds,
A treasure of eternal summertime.
It is not worthy thus to be made fair,
So woven about by loveliness and grace,
So touched to blossom by enchanted air,
So clothed with splendor in its humble place.
I clasp the hand that worked a spell so fine,
And to the brain that delicately wrought,
Bring homage, joyful any work of mine
Should be ennobled by such lofty thought.
46

TO LAURENCE HUTTON

On his fiftieth birthday

The best of canny Scotland's blood
Makes merry in his veins,
A glowing tide—a tranquil flood
That all her wit contains.
The noblest gifts that mark the race
She gave him at his birth.
And wrote upon his genial face
Her sign and seal of worth.
And so the world's applause is loud
And clear the voice of Fame.
What wonder that his friends are proud
Of Laurence Hutton's name!
47

THE WATER-LILY

Up from the placid river,
One summer morning bright,
Came a merry boy to his mother,
With a water-lily white.
Sweet as a breath of heaven,
Whiter than drifted snow;
The freshest, holiest flower
Among all flowers that blow.
And on her breast she laid it,
Wondering, it was so fair—
Up rose the pure rich perfume
Like an embodied prayer.
The boy forgot the flower;
And, later, from his play
Returning, warm and rosy,
Called his mother loud and gay.
And when she answered softly,
And her quiet work forsook,
He paused and gazed upon her
With an unaccustomed look.
And over the delicate lily
He bowed his lovely head;
Then lifted his face and kissed her
With lips like strawberries red.
And said, with his young face shining
Clear as a morning star;
“Sweet is the lily, mother,
But your kiss is sweeter far.”
48

IN THE VALLEY

The trees stood up in stillness,
There was no wind to sigh,
Like warm tears fell the sudden rain
Out of the morning sky,
Then ceased; and the autumn quiet
Was broken by no sound,
As the last gold leaves of the maple
Fell wavering to the ground.
Then the waking world blushed softly
With tender tints of rose,
And I heard from the far, wild mountains
The clamoring of the crows.
And I knew how, high in the heavens,
O'er the forest-tops and the rocks,
They wheeled in the furthest distance
Their ragged and dusky flocks.
Their faint and broken clamor,
That rang through the cloudy sky,
Seemed calling me out of the quiet,
With harsh, imperious cry.
As if from the world's dull tumult
Of hurry and strife and wrong,
Beyond the protecting mountains,
A summons sounded strong.
49

But O, the peace of the valley!
And fain was I to stay.
Clasping such warm, kind hands in mine,
So sheltered and safe alway.
O faint, discordant voices,
O dark, sad birds that call,
Tomorrow, I said, I wander
Beyond the blue mountain-wall.
But the valley's peace shall be sweeter
For the blessing I leave behind;
For thoughts like troops of white-winged doves
Sent back to this threshold kind.
The love I leave in the gentle house
Shall blossom sweet as a rose;
Shall linger with all summer's warmth,
Untouched by the winter snows.

ALMIGHTY LOVE

Out of the blackness of night springs the glory of morn,
Out of the deeps of sorrow shall joy emerge.
From the trouble of tears is the rainbow of beauty born
To span the track of the tempest from verge to verge.
Look up to the splendor of God, O ye mourners of earth,
To the promise of faith, to the Hope that shall not fail,
For death is no longer death, but a glorious birth,
And over despair and darkness shall Love prevail.
Yea, the glory is thine, O Love that never forsakes!
Almighty Love, Thy touch doth the grave destroy,
And the prisoned soul from its chrysalis dim outbreaks.
And heavenward floats in a rapture of light and joy!
50

A SERMON

He that hath so many reasons for joy ... is very much in love with sorrow and peevishness, who loses all ... and chooses to sit down on his little handful of thorns.—

—Jeremy Taylor

Is it worth the while to frown and fret
And waste the hours in vain regret,
And every pleasant thing forget
And only pain remember?
To mourn because the skies are wet,
Because the dull clouds hold a threat,
Because the sun so soon must set
In dark and drear December?
Why, summer's buds are but asleep,
Wrapt in their dreaming soft and deep,
Their beauty folded close they keep,
To send abroad in gladness,
When from the earth the storms shall sweep,
And bitter vapors cease to weep,
And life again to light shall leap,
Escaped from winter's sadness.
Has love passed by? Are friends grown cold?
Do precious things slip from your hold?
And do you shrink from growing old
While many cares perplex you?
Yet will there be some heart of gold
That fails you not, fond hands to fold
Your own in faith and trust untold—
Let not your losses vex you—
51

What matter if dark locks grow grey?
Lo, Peace upon your head shall lay
Her heavenly hand, the skies of May
Shall light your inner vision—
Look up! Look up! for every day
Some blessing brightens on your way,
Accept God's WILL, learn to obey,
And sweet will grow submission.

CHRISTMAS EVE

Through the wide darkness of the night,
From heaven's golden bars,
What vision floats serenely bright,
'Neath the keen sparkling stars?
Whence comes this sweet, immortal cheer?
Who brings the holy sign?
O sleeping city, wake and hear
The messenger divine.
'Tis Christmas Eve, with outspread wings
God's angel floats above,
To all the waiting earth she brings
The blessing of His love.
Bearing a torch to kindle high
Joy's fires on Christmas morn,
While all the choirs of heaven shall cry
“Rejoice! for Christ is born.”
52

AND HIS WILL IS OUR PEACE

(E la sha volontate e nostra pace) Dante—par. III—85

O restless soul of man, unsatisfied
With the world's empty noise and feverish glare,
Sick with its hopes of happiness denied,
The dust and ashes of its promise fair,
Baffled and buffeted, thy days perplexed,
Thy cherished treasures profitless and vain,
What comfort hast thou, captive, thwarted, vexed,
Mocked by mirage of joys that merge in pain?
Though Love be sweet. yet Death is strong, and still
Inexorable Change will follow thee,
Yea,—though thou vanquish every mortal ill
Thou shalt not conquer Mutability!
The human tide goes rushing down to death,
Turn thou a moment from its current broad
And listen, what is this that silence saith,
O Soul? “Be still, and know that I am God!”
The mighty God! Here shalt thou find thy rest,
O weary one! There is naught else to know,
Naught else to seek,—here thou mayest cease thy quest;
Give thyself up, He leads where thou shalt go.
The changeless God! Into thy troubled life
Steals strange, sweet peace; the pride that drove thee on,
The hot ambition and the selfish strife
That made thy misery, like mist are gone,
53

And in their place, a bliss beyond all speech,
The patient resignation of the will
That lifts thee out of bondage, out of reach
Of death and change, above all earthly ill.

FROM A CORNER

In the dusk of the winter evening
The curtains are drawn, and the light
Burns clear, and the brightness and comfort
Defy the dark, boisterous night.
At the long room's end, in the corner,
Sits one with an artist's eyes,
Watching the changing pictures
That ever before her rise.
At the piano together
Father and daughter begin
A sudden tumult of music;
And the tones of the violin
Pierce with a wonderful sweetness
The air of the quiet room,
Till beautiful thoughts and fancies
Break into delicate bloom.
With loose, rich locks of silver,
Stately the father stands,
Like the statues which Michelangelo
Carved with his skilful hands;
54

And the daughter is touched with the tropics,
Inheriting warmth and power,
Brilliant and glowing in color
As a fresh pomegranate-flower.
They play together: the father
Over her head looks down,
And gathers his smooth white forehead
Into a splendid frown,
That yields to a smile at the voices,
As of spirits to heaven akin,
He calls with caressing gesture
From the exquisite violin.
Ah, but the charming picture!
His outlines grave and grand;
Her simple, sweet, frank presence
With youth's bright rainbow spanned;
His mystic and marble pallor;
Her midnight eyes, and her smile
That dazzles like sunshine at noonday
Flashed over the river Nile—
The ancient Nile! For behold her!
How full of tokens and hints
Of a beauty oriental
In wonderful tones and tints!
55

And the power of the East is in her,
The bright pomegranate-flower.
Thus muses our friend in the corner,
Enjoying the lovely hour.
There comes a ring at the door-bell.
A sound of trouble and ill:
The sparkling piano ceases
And the violin is still:
And turns the stately maestro,
Like a lion about to growl,
And welcomes the dull newcomer
With such a magnificent scowl:
“Good-evening, neighbor.”—“Good-evening.”—
“'Tis a bitter night.”—“Oh yes.”—
“I think it will snow tomorrow.”
What echoes of emptiness!
“And how is your influenza?
And, pray, have you heard the news,
How Smith is dead, and his nephew
Steps into his wealthy shoes?”
The gods take flight to Olympus,
And the matchless charm, that thrilled
The air with a rich enchantment,
Like a rose by frost is killed.
56

TO PASTURE

There's a touch of frost in the crisp, fresh air,
And the trees and hedges are growing bare,
And Autumn says, “It is my turn now,”
As she strips the leaves from the patient bough.
All in the bright morning comes little Justine,
With the prettiest bossy that ever was seen.
But though he's so sleek and so handsome a calf,
He has too much will of his own, by half.
And he does not like to be led away
From his mother's side in the early day,
Where the little maid's feet so lightly go,
He veers about and he trots so slow!
He'd say, if only the power had he,
“Justine, why couldn't you let me be?
I'd rather go back at once, if you please,
To yonder barn by the poplar trees.
O milk is good and clover is tough,
And I haven't begun to have breakfast enough,
And I know the meadow you take me to
Is cold and wet with the frosty dew!”
But little Justine with a merry laugh
Cries, “Hurry, my beautiful bossy calf!
You will have nothing to do all day
But to sleep and to eat and to frisk and to play.
57

'Tis a lovely place I shall tether you in,
There are many there of your kith and kin.
You'll not be lonesome; there's plenty to eat,
You must learn to nibble the grass so sweet.”
The wind blows her pretty blue cloak away
From her scarlet skirt and her apron gray,
And ruffles the mass of her yellow hair,
And kisses her cheeks that are rosy and fair.
And she looks so charming and blithe and gay,
As she trips so carelessly down the way!
But the bossy hangs back, and, “O dear,” thinks he,
“Justine, how I wish you would let me be.”

SONNET

Superb the human type, superb the power,
The genius high, that like a starry fire
Set in the sky in some auspicious hour,
Bids all the world look upward and admire
If such a wonder comes within the scope
Of Nature's plan, can death destroy its light,
And splendid possibilities of hope
Flash to man's dark horizon from its height?
Great is the race that once in centuries
Blossoms in such a glorious guise at last!
Who will believe so grand a spirit dies,
Remembering how this stately creature passed,
And with imperial step life's highway trod,
Crowned with the calm of some immortal god.
58

LISEL

When the summer morning broke,
Faintly flushing in the sky.
Happy little Lisel woke,
Rose to greet it joyfully.
In the dewy hush she heard
Far and near a music sweet
From the throat of many a bird,—
Heard her little kid's low bleat,—
Hastened forth and sought his shed,
Loosed him, frisking in his mirth,
While the glory overhead
Bathed in beauty heaven and earth.
Heavy lay the morning dew,
Cool and soft the morning mist,
High above them in the blue
Roses all the cloud flocks kissed.
Little kid so lightly pranced!
Little maid so patiently
Led him while he leaped and danced!
“Wait,” she said, “now quiet be,
While your stake into the ground
Firm I push to hold you, dear,
Don't go skipping round and round,
Wait, my pretty, don't you hear?”
59

Happy, happy summer dawn!
Happy kid and happy child!
Far from the world's din withdrawn
In the mountain pasture wild!
Freedom, innocence and health,
Simple duties, quiet bliss,
In their lowly life such wealth,
Kings might envy peace like this.

WHAT CHEER?

“What news, what comfort do you bring,
Say, gossip, say,
As you come back on tired wing,
Adown the airy way?”
“So high above the trees I flew,
High, gossips, high!
I saw a little rift of blue,
A lovely glimpse of sky.”
“And is it true that storms will cease,
True, gossip, true?”
“O yes, the winds will be at peace,
The sun will shine on you!”
So chirp and chatter, sweet and gay,
Pipe, gossips, call!
Fast comes the happy spring this way,
Brave gossips all!
60

A VIOLET

I know a pair of clear gray eyes,
And sweet they are, and calm and wise.
And when their still gaze rests on me,
The sky of dawn I seem to see;
The sky of dawn, without a bar,
Of mist to dim the morning star.
And spring winds softly seem to blow,
And stir the crocus 'neath the snow:
And breathing sweeter, warmer yet,
They call the first shy violet;
And lo! within my hand it lies,
A fresh and beautiful surprise,
God's gift, more precious and more dear
Than all the flowers that crown the year.
The soul that looks from those dark eyes,
So brave and true, so pure and wise,
God keep it while the years endure,
Forever sweet, forever pure.
Above all mists and vapors far,
Uplifted like the morning star.
A dauntless, deathless splendor, bright
With truth, and clear to all new sight!
61

IN SWITZERLAND

On the dark dull day, through Zurich town,
Glided the train from the station out.
The while from the windows, up and down,
An eager traveller peered about.
Red-tiled roofs with their gables quaint,
Misty mountains all dim and gray,
Glimpse of the lake's rare color faint,
Came and went as it crept away.
Under the eaves, at a casement queer,
Swung out like a door, was a pleasant sight,
A little Swiss maiden, fair and dear,
Was scrubbing the small panes clean and bright.
O, but a sweet, dear child was she,
Little old-fashioned, charming maid!
Her blonde hair, just as her mother's might be
Coiled high up in a golden braid.
And with what purpose and cheer scrubbed she,
Turning the window this way and that,
Pushing it backward and forward to see,
As perched on the low broad sill she sat.
Little she knew as with such a will.
She toiled away with her cheerful might.
How one admired her homely skill.
And her pretty self as she passed from sight!
62

Now when I remember quaint Zurich town,
There comes like a picture before my eyes,
With her yellow hair and her homespun gown,
That little maid and her labor wise.
And I think she will so clean and clear
The window whence her soul must see
Life's various shadow and shine appear,
And watch with patience what there may be.
For if only the glass of the mind is clean,
Then brighter the sun and lighter the shade!
Sorrows less bitter, joys more serene,
By the cheerful spirit are surely made.
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SEASIDE FLOWERS

Along the brim of the curving cove the small blue skull cap sits,
Where the grey beach bird, with happy cry, in safety feeds and flits,
And spreads or shuts the pimpernel its drowsy buds to tell
When rain will come, or skies will clear, the pretty pimpernel!
And the pink herbrobert all the day holds up its rosy flowers,
While high above with a purple plume the lofty thistle towers,
And the golden potentilla blows, and the crow foot laughs in the sun,
And over rock and bush and turf wild morning glories run.
They look down o'er the tiny cove, out to the blue, blue sea,
Neighbors and friends, all beautiful, a joyful company;
And when the tide comes brimming in with soft and gentle rush
It is as if the murmuring sound said to the silence, “Hush!”
All down the narrow beach the lilac mussel shells are strown
Among the scattered pebbles, and by the polished stone
Where the sea's hands have worn the ledge till smooth as ivory—
O such a place on summer days to put your cheek, and lie
Listening to all the whispering waves that round the point go by!
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For the sun has warmed the hard cold rock till it almost human seems,
And such a pillow as it makes for childhood's blissful dreams!
The little glad, caressing waves! They bring their treasures gay
To deck the lovely quiet beach, nor fail day after day
To strew the slope with crimson dulse and olive seaweed sprays,
And lace-like empty urchin shells, all rough with dull green rays,
The limpet's hollow, mottled house, and amber snail shells bright,
And brown and shining ruffled kelps and cockles, snowy white.
O such a happy, happy world! Were I to talk all day,
Not half the joy of that sweet spot could I begin to say!
And all the charming band of flowers that watch the sea and sky,
They seem to know and love the winds that gently pass them by:
They seem to feel the freshness of the waves at every tide
As they cross the quiet water that sparkles far and wide.
The bright sails go and come at will, the white gulls float in air,
The song sparrow and sandpiper are flitting everywhere,
But the dark blue skull cap never sighs to leave its pleasant home,
With butterfly, or thistle-down, or sandpiper to roam,
The pink herbrobert nestles close, content in sun or rain,
Nor envies the white far sails that glide across the ocean plain;
The golden potentilla sees the soaring gull on high
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Yet never does she wish for wings to join him in the sky,
For all these wise and lovely lives accord with God's intent,
Each takes its lot and bears its bloom as kindly nature meant.
Whatever weather fortune sends, they greet it patiently,
Each only striving its own way a perfect thing to be.
O tell me, little children, have you on summer days
Heard what the winds are whispering and what the water says?
The small birds' chirp, the cry of gulls, the crickets' quiet creak:—
And have you seen the charming things that have no power to speak,
The dear, sweet humble little flowers that all so silently
Teach such a lovely lesson every day, to you and me?
Go seek them, if you know them not, when summer comes once more
You'll find a pleasure in them you never knew before!

TEMPEST

O flying sails that scud before the gale,
O frowning clouds that drive o'er the dark sea,
O melancholy winds that pipe and wail
Your hopeless chorus, ye are dear to me!
For my swift thoughts before a sadder gale
Fly, seeking some safe harbor, some sweet rest,
Tossed on a restless sea, confused and pale,
Mist-blurred and sorrowful and all unblest.
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And my horizon gathers gloom and frowns
With folded clouds that blacken the bright day,
Heavy with tears, and the wind's wailing drowns
In speechless sorrow all that Hope can say.
And yet a smile through the despairing mood
Breaks, half in mockery, half in wholesome cheer;
Shall one storm spoil the world, wreck all the good,
And flood thy little life with doubt and fear?
Thy little fleeting life, so soon at end
Upon this swinging star! Thy breathing-space
This side death's awful gate:—and wilt thou spend
In quarrelling with fate thy priceless days?
Not so, sad heart, be not so base. Behold,
There is no storm time may not smooth away;
There is no night of darkness dead and cold,
That may not brighten with returning day.
God sends his tempests wrestling round the world
That health may follow, and thy little life
Owns the same land, though thy soul's sky is whirled
'Mid clouds and all the elements of strife.
What fear'st thou? Earthquake, fire, flood, hurricane,
May not destroy thee. To thy striving soul
God's endless opportunities remain,
When wrath is spent and thunders cease to roll.
Let their ignoble sighing end, and set
Thy feet firm on the Truth, and keep thou calm.
At last shall pass the trouble and the fret,
And peaceful days shall follow, breathing balm.
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TURN HOME AGAIN

What dost thou, little fishing boat,
From the green flowery coast remote?
Adown the west the sun sinks fast,
It lights thy sail and slender mast,
The day declines,—O, haste thee home!
Against the rocks the breakers foam.
Under the measureless blue sky
Eastward the vast sea spaces lie;
Wide scattered sails upon the tide
Down o'er the world's great shoulder glide,
Or silent climb the trackless waste—
But little fisher boat, make haste!
Over, the white gulls soar high and scream,
Soft clouds meet in a golden dream,
Bleached rocks and turfy valleys lie
Steeped in a bright tranquillity,
But autumn wanes, and well I know
How wild the hurricane may blow!
Before thee lies the lonely coast.
Beckons, and like a friendly ghost,
The lighthouse signals thee; afar
I see its gleaming silver star,
Where the sun smites its glittering pane,
O, little skiff, glide home again!
Somewhere along the land's fair line
A light of love for thee will shine
When presently the shadows fall,
And eyes to which thy gleam is all
Of good the round world holds, will gaze
Out o'er the darkening ocean ways
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To seek thee: then pray hasten home!
Here swings the breaker into foam—
The waning moon breeds many a gale,
Turn then, and gladden with thy sail
The faithful eyes that long for thee;
The heart that fears the treacherous sea.

RIGHT AND WRONG

Listen! listen, how the birds are singing,
Little children dear!
Through the morning air their joy is ringing;
See the bluebird to the elm-twig clinging!
All his sweetest songs abroad he's flinging!
Beautiful and clear.
Look! oh, look, how fast the flowers are growing,
Every child to please!
Violets soon their blue eyes will be showing,
Dandelions' golden stars be glowing,
Clouds of fragrant, rosy blossoms snowing
From the apple-trees.
What can mar this happiness of ours?
Little children, say!
What can steal the color from the flowers,
Dull their scent and chill the summer showers,
Spoil the bird's note, rob the golden hours,
Dim the radiant day?
Right and wrong are in the world before us;
Wrong alone can harm.
Wrong can darken all the bright sky o'er us,
Break with discords harsh the birds' sweet chorus;
Right alone to perfect joy restore us,
Sheltered in God's arm.
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ENTREATY

Dear little bird, the snowflakes whirl about you,
The bare twig where you cling blows up and down;
And how the cold wild wind does toss and flout you,
And ruffle all your feathers soft and brown!
Ah, do come in and stay till storms are ended,
Dear little bird! I'll be so good to you,
There's such a fire burning bright and splendid,
And here it is so warm and quiet too.
See, on the steps I scatter crumbs, come nearer,
Do, pretty creature! Don't be frightened, pray;
For all the little birds to me are dearer
Than I could tell you, so don't fly away.
I am so sorry that the tempest caught you,
When you came back so brave, to tell of spring!
Did you forget how last year March winds fought you,
Or did you come, in spite of them, to sing?
If you would only let me feed and warm you,
I'd be so gentle! Your poor claws should cling
Round such a warm, kind finger—I would charm you
With such a soft caress, dear shivering thing!
O won't you come? I'm afraid you'll perish:
The dark comes, and 'tis wild as it can be;
If you could understand how I would cherish
And comfort you, I know you'd fly to me.
And then tomorrow, if the sun shone, gladly
I'll throw the window wide and set you free.
You dare not come? Goodnight then, dear, and sadly
I shut the door, sorry as I can be.
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A SONG OF SPRING

“Sing a song of Spring,” cried the merry March wind loud,
As it swept to the earth from the dark breast of the cloud,
But the windflowers and the violets were yet too sound asleep
Under the snow's white blanket, close folded soft and deep.
“Sing a song of Spring,” cried the pleasant April rain,
With a thousand sparkling tones upon the window pane,
And the flowers hidden in the ground woke dreamily and stirred,
From root to root, from seed to seed, crept swift the happy word.
“Sing a song of Spring,” cried the sunshine of the May,
And the whole world into blossom burst in one delightful day,
The patient apple trees blushed bright in clouds of rosy red,
And the dear birds sang with rapture in the blue sky overhead.
And not a single flower small that April's raindrops woke.
And not a single little bird that into music broke,
But did rejoice to live and grow and strive to do its best,
Faithful and dutiful and brave through every trials' test.
I wonder if we children all are ready as the flowers
To do what God appoints for us through all His days and hours,
To praise Him in our duties done with faithful joy, because
The smallest of those duties belong to His great laws.
O Violets, who never fret and say, “I won't!” “I will!”
Who only live to do your best His wishes to fulfill,
Teach us your sweet obedience that we may grow to be
Happy like you, and patient as the steadfast apple tree.
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TO A CHILD WITH EASTER LILIES

Child, with the lily branch so white,
Held aloft in a rosy hand,
Soft is the path to thy footfalls light,
Lovely the sky o'er thy morning land.
Thou gazest into the perfumed snow
And the golden heart of the wondrous flower,
And while the breezes of morning blow,
Thou canst not dream of a darker hour.
Ah, beloved, when by and by,
Noon burns hot o'er the dusty way,
And the wind that sang can only sigh,—
When the rose of dawn turns ashes-gray;
While through shadows thy footsteps grope,
If then thy lilies do but keep,
Their beauty shall bring thee strength and hope,
Rest and refreshment glad and deep.
And thou shalt know how fair a gift
Are the pure white fragrant flowers of God;
Their perfume shall thy heart uplift,
And lead thee back where thy childhood trod;
Till thou shalt see with self-same eyes
Of the happy baby of long ago,
The shining meadows of Paradise
Before thee blossom and smile and glow.
And find thy peace, thy joy, thy faith,
A sunny calm after weary strife,
While the radiant angel whose name is Death
Leads thee safe into endless life.
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THE GREEN LEAVES WHISPER LOW

The wind-harp sings in the casement wide
A fitful song that is sad and slow,
While the summer sunset burns outside,
And the green leaves whisper low.
A fair head leans on a lily hand,
And clear eyes study the sky's red glow—
The loveliest lady's in all the land—
While the green leaves whisper low.
“O wind-harp, listen, and cease to grieve;
O warm south wind, less wildly blow;
For my lover rides through the golden eve,
While the green leaves whisper low.”
A step, a cry, and the dusky room
A splendor swift seems to overflow;
A glory lights the enchanted gloom,
While the green leaves whisper low.
He brings the dawn in his happy eyes;
Yet grieve, O wind-harp, sad and slow—
Grieve, for the matchless moment flies,
While the green leaves whisper low.
Tomorrow, choked by the battle's breath,
A new embrace shall her lover know—
Not the kiss of love, but the kiss of death—
While the green leaves whisper low.
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CHRISTMAS ANGEL

Lo, the sweet Christmas Angel, high and far,
In the clear, silent ether, poised between
The light, white crescent and the golden star,
Floats o'er the dreaming world with brow serene.
The sweet and stately Angel! on the air
Loosing her fair white dove, to cleave the blue
Down the wide spaces of the sky to bear
On snowy pinions peace and joy to you!
Peace and good-will to men! Look up and hail
The tidings beautiful, the news of cheer!
O Sons of Earth, the promise shall not fail
Of love that saves, and hope that knows no fear!

MOONLIGHT

The salutation of the moonlit air,
Night's dewy breath, the fragrance of the brine,
The waste of moving waters everywhere,
The whispering of waves,—a hush divine,—
Leagues of soft murmuring dusk to the sea's rim,
The infinite, illimitable sky,
Wherein the great orb of the moon on high
In stillness down the quiet deeps doth swim:
Behold the awful beauty of the night,
The solemn tenderness, the peace profound,
The mystery,—God's glory in the light
And darkness both,—His voice in every sound!
Be silent and behold where hand in hand
Great Nature and great Art together stand!
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IN DARKNESS

Cold sail, against the evening gray
Departing down the world's dim slope;
Pale ghost, thou seem'st to bear away
My every joy, my every hope.
What thoughts are these? What pallid brood
Of phantoms from the past emerge?
Is this the world that seemed so good,
Brimming with joy from verge to verge?
Was morning only fair to mock
The bitterness of after years,
While Fate was waiting to unlock
The unsuspected fount of tears?
Cold the gray sky and cold the sail
That fades into the distance cold;
The level sea lies cold and pale,
And sorrow as the world is old.
Yea, sorrow as the world is old.
But lo, along the sullen gloom
Steal broken gleams of ruddy gold
That far the pathless waste illume.
Jove's planet up the darkness swings.
Oh, happy light from heaven that pours
Across the bitter brine, and brings
A glimmer to the hopeless shores,
Touch me, and let me climb by thee.
That I may find above the pain
Of these dark hours my peace and see
My heights of heavenly joy again!
76

A MORNING VISION

Down the deserted road to take the train,
That roaring sped toward the far city's din,
I went at early morn. There had been rain
The night before, and very wan and thin
The last snow streaked the pastures left and right,
And all the landscape lay in colors sad,
Save where the keen blue river flashed in sight
Beneath the clear March sunshine, broad and glad.
But Nature's steady pulse was beating strong
With the Spring's mighty impulse. Yet a space,
And the year's splendid youth, with bloom and song,
Would fill with joy and beauty all the place.
And, pondering on the happy future, slow
I kept my way, rejoicing in the hope
Beneath the surface sadness cold, when lo!
A figure came to meet me up the slope,
Seemed the incarnate spirit of the Spring,
With all the Summer's promise in her face.
A slender, gray-cloaked school-girl, traveling
Up the dull road with step of power and grace.
The torrent of her brown, abundant hair
Tossed loose about her; the wild wind of March,
Lifting it lightly, blew it high in air,
Like some soft, glorious, golden-crested arch
Of cloudy billow wavering o'er her head,
Shimmering in sunshine. 'Twas a sight to see!
One of the books she carried still she read,
Conning her half-learned lesson eagerly,
Her face bent o'er the page; but, when at last
We drew together, her calm eyes she raised,
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And gave me one swift look as she went past.
Then saw I beauty worthy to be praised!
Under such level brows those large dark eyes
Looked fearless out, and round the mouth's repose
Such gentle purpose lived, and like the skies
When dawn is blushing, on her cheek the rose
So delicately blossomed that I said,
Below my breath, “Oh! sweet, the wintry day
Grows warm at sight of you,” as fast she sped
Unconscious of me, on her upward way;
The wind still blowing her brown hair aloft,
Lifting the heavy silken mass as though
It loved to touch a web so bright and soft,
And steal the rich warmth from its vivid glow.
And so she passed from sight; but all day long
The vision held me like a dream of good—
The beautiful, bright creature, fair and strong,
Type of America's young womanhood.
And never will the picture fade away;
That youthful splendor flashes back on me,
Superb as on the bitter, bleak March day
Of long ago, a lovely memory;
And like the genius of the land she seems,
Noble and gentle, purposeful and wise,
And like the spirit of the Spring, with gleams
Of Summer's glory in her radiant eyes.
And, though I know her not, nor guess what ways
Her feet may tread in life's thick wilderness,
I know that peace and joy shall crown her days,
So strong is she with woman's power to bless.
I know when that sweet head is bowed, and when
The bloom of morning leaves the brilliant face,
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And “Time draws lines there with his antique pen,”
And of her sumptuous youth is left no trace,
That better than the beauty of the morn
The shadows of life's evening shall appear.
To natures such as these a calm is born
Of storm and stress and tumult, and more dear
And precious will her loveliness have grown
For every sad experience she has known.

FOR A FRIEND'S BIRTHDAY

Would I could bring you some beautiful gift,
Something to gladden you, something to charm,
A blessing to brighten, to cheer, to uplift.
A shield to protect you from shadow of harm!
Had I the power, I'd gather for you
All the world's treasures of good and of fair,
All things to comfort you—friends that are true,
Joys that are purest, and pleasures most rare.
These at your feet on your birthday I'd lay,
Fill its swift moments with quiet delight,
Make it divine from its earliest ray,
From the gleam of its morn to the dusk of its night.
Empty my hands, but my heart holds for you
All the good wishes of heaven and earth,
Fragrant as roses at dawn in the dew—
With these let me crown the glad day of your birth!
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THE POET'S FANCY

Lightfooted Iris, playing round the vessel,
Born of the sunshine and the flying spray,
When the long sullen billows roll and wrestle,
Leaping in airy dance along the way!
Fair fleeting splendor, delicately glowing,
With gracious color spanning the cold wave,
Where o'er the weary waste wild winds are blowing,
And wild with clamorous voice the waters rave.
So springs the poet's fancy, many-tinted,
Along the ocean where life's voyager goes,
Let but a wandering ray of light be hinted,
Beauty takes shape and like a rainbow glows.
So his sweet thought takes shape, leaps up and gladdens
And warms with rainbow gleams the wintry day,
And when life's cold winds chill and darkness saddens,
Spans with an arch of joy the dreary way.
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AT EASTER TIME

Fresh airs through the heaven are blowing,
Soft vapors melt in the blue;
In music the streams are flowing,
And the world is clothed anew.
Life everywhere is waking,
And winter's woe is done;
Out of their prison breaking,
The flowers laugh in the sun.
O look abroad! O listen!
Sweet songs are in the skies;
God makes earth glow and glisten
Like the fields of Paradise.
O delight before us
As the fair days onward glide!
The birds' delicious chorus,
The splendor far and wide.
From the grass that is stealing slowly
To mantle the meadows in green,
From the crocus springing lowly
Where the golden daffodils lean.
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To the rainbow's delicate glory
Spanning the vast of the sky,
'Tis the same old heavenly story
Of beauty that cannot die.
Give thanks for the Easter gladness
With humble and grateful hearts;
Forgotten are doubt and sadness,
And the shadow of death departs.

THE KING AND THE BISHOP

“Hush!” said the king,
To the sister hounds at his knee,
“Thor and Woden, quiet be,
While I hear the bishop sing.”
O fair to see,
Was the young bishop all robed in silk.
Cheeks red as roses, brow white as milk,
So beautiful was he.
O loud he sang!
His clear voice sweet as a golden flute
Leaped from his lips while the king stood mute,
And the whole air thrilled and rang.
Like a tuneful fire
Over the monarch and over the hounds
Suddenly swept the lovely sounds,
As from some heavenly choir.
Said the king, “Well done!
Now by my faith, a voice so pure,
So fresh, melodious, high and sure,
I have not heard, my son.”
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And as he said
From his finger he drew the ruby rare,
“Keep thou this sparkling ring to wear,
And these coins of gold so red.
Proud shalt thou be,
Till thou art old and canst no longer sing
Remembering thou didst charm the king,
Who will remember thee.”

THE PRINCESS HERMIONE

O but the Princess was proud and fair!
Slow she moved with a royal air.
A great King's daughter as all might see,
The fair-haired lady, Hermione.
A little foot-page her train upbore
Lest film of dust from the polished floor
Should soil her garments of velvet fine,
Soft and lustrous and red as wine.
The little foot-page was filled with awe:
Seldom the Princess's face he saw—
'Twas honor too much for such as he
To carry her rich train carefully.
They left the palace and went outside
To the terrace, marble-paved and wide;
Up and down for the air they paced
And he watched the back of her slender waist,
And he saw the glint of her sunny hair
'Neath the floating ostrich feathers rare,
And the lace and muslin about her neck,
White as a blossom without speck.
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The heart of that little foot-page beat loud
As he gazed at the maiden so sweet and proud.
There never could be such another one!
No Princess like his beneath the sun.
They walked on the terrace up and down,
And safe he guarded the velvet gown.
But how could he know, that dear little page,
That the lady was lost in a weary rage.
Bored and tired almost to death,
Fretting and whispering, under her breath,
“O to be off and away, and fly
Where yonder fields in the sunshine lie!
To gather the flowers like other girls
Out of the sight of dukes and earls!
And leap the brook and climb the hill,
And wander wide at my own sweet will!
So tired am I and I may not scold,
Every hour in the day I'm told
Sit thus, stand so, speak this, do that
Till I feel as if I were ironed flat.
O to do something not planned before!
Not the same old routine o'er and o'er
From the morning light to the evening red,
And never a thought in my empty head—”
She stopped in the midst of her stately walk—
“I'd even like with a page to talk:”
And sadly into his face she gazed,
That dear little face that looked up amazed:
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