Verses

Dedication

HEN children in the summer weather play, Flitting like birds through sun and wind and

rain, From road to field, from field to road again, Pathetic reckoning of each mile they stray They leave in flowers forgotten by the way ; Forgotten, dying, but not all in vain. Since, finding them, with tender smiles, half pain. Half joy, we sigh, " Some child passed here to-day." Dear one, — whose name I name not lest some tongue Pronounce it roughly, — like a little child Tired out at noon, I left my flowers among The wayside things. I know how thou hast smiled. And that the thought of them will always be One more sweet secret thing 'twixt thee and me.

Contents

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A Christmas Symphony g

Spinning 14

II

Oh, not alone because His name is Christ, Oh, not alone because Judea waits This man-child for her King, the Star stands still.

Its glory reinstates.

Beyond humiliation's utmost ill. On peerless throne, which she alone can fill. Each earthly woman. Motherhood is priced

A CHRISTMAS SYMPHONY. ii

Of God, at price no man may dare To lessen, or misunderstand.

The motherhood which came To virgin sets in vestal flame. Fed by each new-born infant's hand,

With Heaven's air, With Heaven's food, The crown of purest purity revealed, Virginity eternal signed and sealed Upon all motherhood !

III

Oh, not alone because His name is Christ, Oh, not alone because Judea waits This man-child for her King, the Star stands still, The Babe has mates.

Childhood shall be forever on the earth ; And no man who has hurt or lightly priced So much as one sweet hair

On one sweet infant's head.

But shall be cursed ! Henceforth all things fulfil Protection to each sacred birth. No spot shall dare

Refuse a shelter. Beasts shall tread More lightly ; and distress.

And poverty, and loneliness.

Yea, and all darkness, shall devise To shield each place wherein an infant lies.

And wisdom shall come seeking it with gift, And worship it with myrrh and frankincense ;

J 2 VERSES.

And kings shall tremble if it lift Its hand against a throne.

But mighty in its own Great feebleness, and safe in God's defence,

No harm can touch it, and no death can kill, Without its Father's will !

IV. Oh, not alone because His name is Christ

Oh, not alone because Judea waits This man-child for her King, the Star stands stilL The universe must utter, and fulfil

The mighty voice which states, The mighty destiny which holds.

Its key-note and its ultimate design. Waste places and the deserts must perceive That they are priced,

No less than gardens in the Heart Divine. Sorrow her sorrowing must leave, And learn one sign

With joy. And Loss and Gain

Must be no more.

And all things which have gone before.

And all things which remain,

And all of Life, and all of Death be slain

In mighty birth, whose name Is called Redemption ! Praise !

Praise to God ! The same To-day and yesterday, and in all days

Forever ! Praise !

A CHRISTMAS SYMPHONY. 13

V

Oh, Christmas stars ! Your pregnant silentness, Mute syllabled in rhythmic light, Fills all the night.

No doubt, on all your golden shores, Full music rings Of Happiness As sweet as ours.

Midway in that great tideless stream which pours,

And builds its shining road through trackless space, From you to us, and us to you, must be

Some mystic place, Where all our voices meet, and melt Into this solemn silence which is felt,

And sense of sound mysterious brings Where sound is not. This is God's secret. He Sits centred in his myriads of skies, Where seas of sound and seas of silence rise, And break together in one note and key. Divinely limitless in harmony !

SPINNING.

IIKE a blind spinner in the sun, I tread my days ; I know that all the threads will run Appointed ways ; I know each day will bring its task, And, being blind, no more I ask.

I do not know the use or name

Of that I spin ; I only know that some one came.

And laid within My hand the thread, and said, " Since you Are blind, but one thing you can do."

Sometimes the threads so rough and fast

And tangled fly, I know wild storms are sweeping past.

And fear that I Shall fall ; but dare not try to find A safer place, since I am blind.

I know not why, but I am sure

That tint and place, In some great fabric to endure

Past time and race My threads will have ; so from the first. Though blind, I never felt accurst.

SPINNING,

I think, perhaps, this trust has sprung

From one short word Said over me when I was young, —

So young, I heard It, knowing not that God's name signed My brow, and sealed me his, though blind.

But whether this be seal or sign

Within, without.

It matters not. The bond divine

I never doubt.

I know he set me here, and still, And glad, and blind, I wait His will ;

But listen, listen, day by day.

To hear their tread Who bear the finished web away.

And cut the thread, And bring God's message in the sun, "Thou poor blind spinner, work is done.*'

MY LEGACY.

HEY to7d me I was heir, I turned in haste,

And ran to seek my treasure, And wondered as I ran how it was placed, — • If I should find a measure Of gold, or if the titles of fair lands And houses would be laid within my hands.

I journeyed many roads ; I knocked at gates ;

I spoke to each wayfarer I met, and said, " A heritage awaits

Me. Art not thou the bearer Of news ? Some message sent to me whereby I learn which way my new possessions lie ? "

Some asked me in ; naught lay beyond their door ;

Some smiled and would not tarry, But said that men were just behind who bore

More gold than I could carry ; And so the morn, the noon, the day were spent, While empty-handed up and down I went.

At last one cried, whose face I could not see.

As through the mists he hasted ; " Poor child, what evil ones have hindered thee,

Till this whole day is wasted '^. Hath no man told thee that thou art joint heir With one named Christ, who waits the goods to share ? "

MV LEGACY, 17

The one named Christ I sought for many days,

In many places vainly; I heard men name his name in many ways ;

I saw his temples plainly ; But they who named him most gave me no sign To find him by, or prove the heirship mine.

And when at last I stood before his face,

I knew him by no token Save subtle air of joy which filled the place ;

Our greeting was not spoken ; In solemn silence I received my share, Kneeling before my brother and ** joint heir."

My share ! No deed of house or spreading lands,

As I had dreamed ; no measure Heaped up with gold ; my elder brother's hands

Had never held such treasure. Foxes have holes, and birds in nests are fed : My brother had not where to lay his head.

My share ! The right like him to know all pain Which hearts are made for knowing;

The right to find in loss the surest gain ; To reap my joy from sowing

In bitter tears ; the right with him to keep

A watch by day and night with all who weep.

My share ! To-day men call it grief and death ; I see the joy and life to-morrow ;

i8

I thank our Father with my every breath,

For this sweet legacy of sorrow ; And through my tears I call to each, " Joint heir With Christ, make haste to ask him for thy share."

LOVE'S LARGESS.

T my heart's door

Love standeth, like a king beside His royal treasury, whose wide Gates open swing, and cannot hide

Their priceless store.

His touch and hold Its common things to jewels turned ; In his sweet fires the dross he burned Away ; and thus he won and earned

And made its gold.

So rich I find Myself in service of this king, The goods we spare, in alms I fling ; And breathless days too few hours bring

Me to be kind.

To souls whose pain My heart can scarcely dare to greet With pity, while my own complete

LARGESS, 19

And blessed joy their loss must mete By my great gain.

Diviner air Of beauty, and a grace more free, More soft and solemn depths I see In every woman's face, since he

Has called me fair.

More true and sure Each man's heart seems, more firm for right ; Each man I hold more strong in fight, • Since he stands ever in my sight.

So brave, so pure.

More of sun's fire Than days can use, and more than nights Can name, of stars with rhythmic lights, And sweetest singing flocks, whose flights

Can never tire, —

More bloom than eyes Can reach, or hands to grasp may dare, — More music in the constant air. Than each round wave can hold and bear,

Before it dies, —

And more of life For living, than all death can kill, More good than evil's utmost will Can thwart, and peace to more than still

The fiercest strife. -

All these I find In service of this gracious king ; From goods we spare, such alms I fling ; And pray swift days more hours to bring,

More bonds to bind.

O happiness !

To utter thee, in vain our eyes Seek tears ; and vainly all speech tries ; This thing alone our king denies

In Love's largess.

FOUND FROZEN.

HE died, as many travellers have died, O'ertaken on an Alpine road by night ; Numbed and bewildered by the falling snow, Striving, in spite of failing pulse, and limbs Which faltered and grew feeble at each step, To toil up the icy steep, and bear Patient and faithful to the last, the load Which, in the sunny morn, seemed light!

And yet 'T was in the place she called her home, she died ; And they who loved her with the all of love Their wintry natures had to give, stood by And wept some tears, and wrote above her grave Some common record which they thought was true ; But I, who loved her last and best, — /knew.

THE ZONE OF CALMS, 2i

MY DAYS

VEILED priestess, in a holy place, Day pauseth on her threshold, beckoning ; As infants to the mother's bosom spring At sound of mother's voice, although her face Be hid, I leap with sudden joy. No trace Of fear I feel ; I take her hand and fling Her arm around my neck, and walk and cling Close to her side. She chooses road and pace ; I feast along the way on her shewbread ; I help an hour or two on her great task ; Beyond this honoring, no wage I ask. Then, ere I know, sweet night shps in her stead. And, while by sunset fires I rest and bask. Warm to her faithful breast she folds my head.

THE ZONE OF CALMS.*

S yearning currents from the trackless snows. And silent Polar seas, unceasing sweep To South, to North, and linger not where leap Red fires from glistening cones, — nor where the rosje Has triumph on the snow-fed Paramos,

* The Zone of Calms is the space comprised between the second degree north latitude and the second degree south.

In upper air, — = nor yet where lifts the deep Its silver Atolls on whose bosoms sleep The purple sponges ; and, as in repose Meeting at last, they sink upon the breast Of that sweet tropic sea, whose spicy balms And central heat have drawn them to its arms, So soul seeks soul, unsatisfied, represt, Till in Love's tropic met, they sink to rest, At peace forever, in the " Zone of Calms."

MESSAGE.

OR one to bear my message, I looked out In haste, at noon. The bee and swallow

passed Bound south. My message was to South. I cast It trusting as a mariner. No doubt, Sweet bee, blithe swallow, in my heart about Your fellowship.

The stealthy night came fast. *' O chilly night," I said, " no friend thou hast For me, and morn is far," when lo ! a shout Of joy, and riding up as one rides late, My friend fell on my neck just in the gate. " You got my message then ? "

" No message, sweet, Save my own eyes' desire your eyes to meet."

MV LIGHTHOUSES, 23

" You saw no swallow and no bee before Vou came ? '^

" I do remember past my door There brushed a bird and bee. O, dearer presage Than I had dreamed ! You sent by them a message ? "

MY LIGHTHOUSES.

T westward window of a palace gray, Which its own secret still so safely keeps That no man now its builder's name can say, I lie and idly sun myself to-day. Dreaming awake far more than one who sleeps, Serenely glad, although my gladness weeps.

I look across the harbor's misty blue.

And find and lose that magic shifting line

Where sky one shade less blue meets sea, and

through The air I catch one flush as if it knew Some secret of that meeting, which no sign Can show to eyes so far and dim as mine.

More ships than I can count build mast by mast Gay lattice-work with waving green and red Across my window-panes. The voyage past,

They crowd to anchorage so glad, so fast,

Gliding like ghosts, with noiseless breath and tread,

Mooring like ghosts, with noiseless iron and lead.

'* O ships and patient men who fare by sea," I stretch my hands and vainly questioning cry, " Sailed ye from west ? How many nights could ye Tell by the lights just where my dear and free And lovely land lay sleeping ? Passed ye by Some danger safe, because her fires were nigh ? *'

Ah me ! my selfish yearning thoughts forget How darkness but a hand's-breadth from the coast With danger in an evil league is set ! Ah ! helpless ships and men more helpless yet. Who trust the land-lights' short and empty boast ; The lights ye bear aloft and prayers avail ye most.

But I — ah, patient men who fare by sea.

Ye would but smile to hear this empty speech, —

I have such beacon-lights to burn for me.

In that dear west so lovely, new, and free.

That evil league by day, by night, can teach

No spell whose harm my little bark can reach.

No towers of stone uphold those beacon-lights ; No distance hides them, and no storm can shake ; In valleys they light up the darkest nights, They outshine sunny days on sunny heights ; They blaze from every house where sleep or wake My own who love me for my own poor sake.

IN TIME OF FAMINE, 25

Each thought they think of me h'ghts road of flame

Across the seas ; no travel on it tires

My heart. I go if they but speak my name ;

From Heaven I should come and go the same,

And find this glow forestalling my desires.

My darlings, do you hear me ? Trim the fires !

Genoa, November 30.

IN TIME OF FAMINE.

HE has no heart," they said, and turned away, Then, stung so that I wished my words might be Two-edged swords, I answered low : —

^' Have ye Not read how once when famine held fierce sway In Lydia, and men died day by day Of hunger, there were found brave souls whose glee Scarce hid their pangs, who said, * Now we Can eat but once in two days ; we will play Such games on those days when we eat no food That we forget our pain.'

" Thus they withstood Long years of famine ; and to them we owe The trumpets, pipes, and balls which mirth finds good

To-day, and little dreams that of such woe They first were born.

*' That woman's life I know Has been all famine. Mock now if ye dare, To hear her brave sad laughter in the air."

THE PRINCE IS DEAD.

ROOM in the palace is shut. The king And the queen are sitting in black. All day weeping servants will run and bring,

But the heart of the queen will lack All things ; and the eyes of the king will swim With tears which must not be shed, But will make all the air float dark and dim, As he looks at each gold and silver toy. And thinks how it gladdened the royal boy. And dumbly writhes while the courtiers read How all the nations his sorrow heed. The Prince is dead.

The hut has a door, but the hinge is weak,

And to-day the wind blows it back ;

There are two sitting there who do not speak ;

They have begged a few rags of black.

They are hard at work, though their eyes are wet

With tears which must not be shed ;

POPPIES ON THE WHEAT, 27

They dare not look where the cradle is set ; They hate the sunbeam which plays on the floor, But will make the baby laugh out no more ; They feel as if they were turning to stone, They wish the neighbors would leave them alone.

The Prince is dead.

POPPIES ON THE WHEAT.

LONG Ancona's hills the shimmering heat, A tropic tide of air with ebb and flow Bathes all the fields of wheat until they glow Like flashing seas of green, w^hich toss and beat Around the vines. The poppies hthe and fleet Seem running, fiery torchmen, to and fro To mark the shore. •

The farmer does not know That they are there. He walks with heavy feet, Counting the bread and wnne by autumn's gain, But I, — I smile to think that days remain Perhaps to me in which, though bread be sweet No more, and red wine warm my blood in vain, I shall be glad remembering how the fleet. Lithe poppies ran like torchmen with the wheat.

A FUNERAL MARCH.

ES, all is ready now ; the door and gate Have opened this last time for him, more

wide Than is their wont ; no longer side by side With us, he passes out ; we follow, meek. And weeping at his pomp, which is not pride, And which he did not seek.

We cannot speak.

Because we loved him so ; we hesitate, And cling and linger and in vain belate Their feet who bear him.

Slow, slow, slow, With every fibre holding back, we go ; And cruel hands, while we are near, And weep afresh to hear.

Have shut the door and shut the gate.

II.

The air is full of shapes

We do not see, but feel ; Ghosts which no death escapes. No sepulchre can seal ; Ghosts of forgotten things of joy and grief; And ghosts of things which never were, But promised him to be : they may defer Their pledges now ; his unbelief

A FUNERAL MARCH, 29

Is justified. Oh, why did they abide

This time, these restless ghosts, which ghde,

Accompanying him ? Can they go in Unquestioned, and confront him in the grave,

And answers win From dead hps which the Hve hps never gave ? Will they return across the churchyard gate With us, weeping with us, "Too late ! too late ! "

Or are they dead, as he is dead ?

And when the burial rites are said. Will they lie down, the resurrection to await ?

III.

With dumb, pathetic look the poor beasts go At unaccustomed pace to suit our woe ;

Uncomprehending equally Or what a grief or what a joy may be. House after house where hfe makes glad We bear him past, who all of hfe has had. And men's and women^s wistful eyes Look out on us in sorrow and surprise, For all men are of kin to one who dies.

IV.

Eager the hght grass bends To let us pass, but springs again and waves To hide our footsteps ; not a flower saves

Its blossoming, or sends One odor less, as we go by ;

And never seemed the shining sky

So full of birds and songs before. Whole tribes of yellow butterflies Dart mockingly and wheel and soar, Making it only seem the more Impossible, this human death which lies Silent beneath their dance who live One day and die. Noiseless and swift, Winged seeds come through the air, and drift Down on the dead man's breast. They shall go with him into rest. And in the resurrection of the Spring To his low grave shall give The beauty of some green and flowering thing.

V.

The glittering sun moves slowly overhead. It seems in rhythmic motion with our tread, Confronting us with its relentless, hot,

Unswerving, blinding ray ; Then, sparing not One subtle torture, it makes haste to lay A ghastly shadow all along the way Of formless, soundless wheel and lifeless plume, All empty shapes in semblance of our gloom,

Creeping along at our slow pace, Not for one moment nor in any place Forsaking us, nor ceasing to repeat In taunting lines the faltering of our feet ; Laying, lifting, in a mocking breath. Mocking shadows of the shadow of Death.

A FUAERAL MARCH. 3^

VI. But now comes silent joy, anointing

With sudden, firm, and tender hand

Our eyes ; anointed with this clay

Of burial earth, we see how stand

Around us, marshalled under God's appointing,

Such shining ones as on no other day

Descend. We see, with a majestic face,

Of love ineffable. One walking in chief place

Beside the dead, — High Priest

Of his salvation. King Of his surrender, comrade till life ceased,

Saviour from suffering, — O sweet, strong, loving Death ! With yearning, pitying breath. He looks back from his dead to us, and saith, " O mine who love me not, what filled Your hearts with this strange fear ? Could ye but hear

The new voice of this man whom I have willed To set so free, to make Him subject in my kingdom, for the sake Of being greater king than I, Reigning with Christ eternally ! "

VII. Closer and closer press the shining ones

Clearer and clearer grow the notes

Of music from the heavenly throats.

We see the gleaming of the precious stones

Which set the Gate of Life. King's sons Throng out to meet the man we bring ; We hear his voice in entering :

" Oh ! see how all these weep

Who come with me !

Must they return ?

Oh ! send swift messenger to Christ, and see

If He will bid you keep

Them too ! "

Scarce we discern From distant Heaven where Christ sits and hears, The tender whispered voice, in which he saith, " My faithful servant. Death, is Lord of death : My days must be a thousand years."