Chapter II: Part 2

O man with all thy knowledge,
Dost know what brought thee here?
Dost know the law of living?
To die is not more drear
Than living on uncertain
Of what the future state.
Is death annihilation?
Is it to be our fate?

O th’ myst’ry of our coming!
From what were we evolved?
O th’ myst’ry of our going!
Will it be ever solved?
We’re filled with dark forebodings,
We know not what our end.
Is there a power that governs?
If so, we to it bend.

Shall we e’er know the myst’ries,
The problems that we meet
At every stage of living;
With fear we e’er them greet.
What may be in the future?
The present we deplore.
The past hath been a failure,
With shadows e’er before.

An angel heard my questions,
And sorrowed at my fears.
“O know that God is mindful
Of man; though it appears
That man is aye complaining,
Not trusting to the Power
That gave to him existence,
And blessings on him shower.”

“AS A MAN THINKETH SO IS HE.”

So think no evil, if not evil thou wouldst be,
For as thou thinkest, so wilt thou e’en be.
If hate thou thinkest, hate will thee control.
If love thou thinkest, love will fill thy soul.

If seeking ill, ill in thy friend thou’lt find.
If seeking good, to good thou wilt him bind.
Instead of seeking in thy friend for sin,
O turn a retrospective glance within.

For what thou seekest thou wilt surely find,
For good, or evil is in thine own mind.
For as thou thinkest, thou wilt surely be
Then seek for good, and happier thou wilt be.

Mayhap thy friends may evil think of thee,
Then look within, and shocked thou mayest be
At thine own faults, and then some good may’st see
In friend or foe, whichever he may be.

Before thou censurest friend, it doth behoove
Thee to correct thyself; thy ways improve.
Thou’lt find thyself no better than thy friend,
And thinking good, thy conduct will amend.

Love’s search-light turn upon thy bitterest foe,
And thou mayst find in him such utter woe
That all thy anger mayst then turn to love,
And gentle be thy thoughts as gentlest dove.

And thou shouldst study self with greatest care;
Though heart mayst seem most pure, some fault is there.
The faults in others, thou shouldst aye condone,
If thou art perfect, thou mayst cast a stone.

MY GUESTS.

Cold Wisdom was a guest of mine;
But Pleasure came one day,
And she, with almost fiendish glee
Drove Wisdom far away.

I tried to call chill Wisdom back;
Alas! it was too late.
She never could an entrance gain
With Pleasure at my gate.

And so with recklessness I gave
Myself to Pleasure’s call.
She led me such a merry chase,
I soon seemed past recall.

Then Pleasure seemed to tire of me,
And left me worn, distraught.
She left me for a fresher field,
And never gave one thought

To me, nor to my previous life;
She’d other things to do;
For she had other lives to wreck,
Had work in pastures new.

For Pleasure has no conscience e’er.
She cares not who may fall
So long as she doth have her way,
Her victims to enthrall.

One need not treat her with disdain,
Nor drive her far away.
She often is a welcome guest,
If Wisdom too doth stay.

Companions they may even be.
Though ’tis not always wise
For Pleasure to take foremost rank,
Though decked in royal guise.

GOD IS EVERYWHERE.

God guides us o’er the barren wilds,
And o’er the waters still;
He guides us in all walks of life
If we but do His will.

Is with us in the sunshine bright,
And in the falling rain;
And God is in the pastures green,
And in the growing grain.

And He is in the fragrant flower,
And in the smallest weed;
Is in our every thought, and act,
Is in our every deed.

He dwells upon the mountains high,
He dwells upon the lea;
He made, and rules the ocean grand.
He dwells upon the sea.

Through ignorance we oftimes sin,
God loves us though we fall;
He helps us to arise again,
Does ever on us call.

’Tis vain to mourn, ’tis vain to weep,
And we should feel, should know
That life is not a funeral dirge,
That life is not all woe.

And we must live for others’ weal;
Of evil e’er beware.
And we must love, and we must trust;
For God is everywhere.

DEAD HOPES.

When Love was young, and in his prime,
And in deception not yet skilled,
I found that guile was in his heart,
E’en as with saw-dust dolls were filled.

Alas! Though sad the lesson was,
And with the deepest misery fraught;
The lesson has not been in vain,
Though ’tis experience dearly bought.

I had a loved, and trusted friend,
But when I found she was untrue,
I plucked her image from my heart;
No more for friendship will I sue.

Today Love pleads to me in vain;
For nevermore shall I him trust.
When once deception comes to us,
Dead hopes henceforth are only dust.

BURIED HOPES.

I found a slight flaw in a diamond,
And now it is worthless to me;
Though the gem is as brilliant as ever,
Henceforth ’tis the flaw I shall see.

I had a dear friend most enticing,
Her life seemed so pure unto me;
I found a slight fault in her living,
That fault evermore I shall see.

I stood by the grave of a loved one,
The world seemed so drear, and so cold;
No hope in my heart, and the future
No promise of peace did unfold.

I had a belief in my girlhood,
Essential it seemed unto me;
But now my belief seems a phantom;
From bigotry now I am free.

Alas for the hopes of our childhood;
They blossom, then wither and die,
Are buried full deep in Love’s coffin;
The grave is so cold where they lie.

We cherish our hopes for a moment,
A will-o’-the-wisp they oft are,
Dark phantoms eluding us ever,
And often our lives they will mar.

I seek for the _truths_, and _truth_ only.
All error henceforth I decry,
And hid in the grave of oblivion
Full deep in that grave must e’er lie.

LOVE’S MESSAGE.

I sent thee a message my darling,
Across the great highway of thought.
Transmitting my love to thy keeping;
Thy soul must the message have caught.

Receiving it into thy being,
Absorbing my love into thine.
When hearts are once truly united,
The love of their souls is divine.

And life is a heaven created
By love, the great Ruler of all,
And love is the message He sendeth;
It lightens life’s heaviest pall.

Send love to thy friend and thy neighbor.
Send love to thy bitterest foe.
It costs thee not even one farthing.
Love’s coin we can always bestow.

A FABLE.

A mother mouse with mien most humble
Called to her children--one and all--
Revealed to them her sins so many,
That o’er her heart hung like a pall.

“I must my sins be expiating
Before my life draws to an end.
To convent holy, I will enter,
And my past sins will there amend.”

“O do not seek me! Do not follow!
Where I am, seek not to know.
Take heed my children to my warning,
For it will save you pain and woe.”

“Farewell! Farewell! I now must leave you,
Of my _advice_ O pray take heed;
And do not follow my _example_,
To grief it surely will you lead.”

When left alone the little mouselets
Were very happy for a while;
For mice, like children, are forgetful,
They soon forgot their mother’s guile.

They hopped around, all rules forgetting,
Until their hunger made them think
Of their dear mother, their provider,
Their eyes with tears then ’gan to blink.

“O let us search for our dear mother;
She may be hungry, cold, or dead.
O we will never give up hunting,
Though we may die with her instead.”

They searched for her in every corner,
In every crevice, every nook.
But searched in vain, they could not find her:
So thought no further they would look.

But they a big round cheese discovered;
It long upon a shelf had lain.
“Forsooth we’ll take a little breakfast,
Our search has not been all in vain.”

All their past searching they found needless;
For snugly housed within the cheese
They found their poor repentant mother,
With conscience very much at ease.

Forgotten was their mother’s _teaching_,
And all that she for them had borne,
They only thought of her _example_,
And for her sins they could but mourn.

* * * * *

If you have sins my friends to mourn for,
Seek not a cheese to hide within.
For surely someone will be seeking,
And finding cheese, will look therein.

DEPLORE NOT THE SHADOWS OF LIFE.

Our lives are rounded out by pain,
And though it oft doth seem
That we have more than we can bear,
Through it we catch a gleam

Of light celestial from on high;
The angels speak sweet words
Of hope, and peace, encouragement,
Their loving care engirds

Our weary, worn, and saddened hearts,
And though not understood
While here on earth, we know full well
Our lives, by God are viewed.

E’en though in life are many clouds;
There is some sunshine too;
Then store the sunshine you may have
And shadows not pursue.

LOVE’S GARLAND.

We will weave Love’s sweetest garland,
Fit to deck a monarch’s brow,
We will hide the thorns with roses,
And before Love’s throne will bow.

We will strive to make all happy,
And will never duty shirk.
Never loiter by life’s wayside,
Ne’er in heart shall malice lurk.

We are sowing, ever sowing--
Soon the harvest we shall reap;
We are planting for the morrow.
Deeds will ripen while we sleep.

We may harvest richest blessings,
Or may gather thorns instead.
We may place Love’s choicest garland
On some tired and drooping head.

If an unkind word we utter,
We shall make some poor heart sad.
If we give a cup of water,
It will make some faint heart glad.

We may often light life’s pathway
With the candle of our love,
And its beams will shine forever
In the heaven we make above.

We may bring a ray of sunshine
Where before was darkest cloud.
And with flowers hide a coffin,
And may cover up the shroud.

We can give a smiling welcome,
We can send out loving words;
E’en our tears may comfort some one
Showing that our love engirds,

And surrounds him as a garland
Woven by Love’s tireless hands;
Woven from Love’s sweetest blossoms,
Love translated in all lands.

We are gathering joy or sorrow
In our every walk of life.
We are sowing, we are reaping,
Sowing peace, we reap not strife.

We may garner, we may scatter
Many blessings on life’s road.
We may help to carry burdens,
We may help to lift the load

From our weaker brother’s shoulders
From our weary sister’s way,
We may cast a ray of sunshine
O’er some dark and stormy day.

LET US BUILD ABOVE THE STARS.

Let us build above the stars,
We are able to thus build,
There is nothing that debars
Us from ever doing so.

Though foundation be the earth;
Have the corner-stone well laid;
If it grounded was at birth,
We can rest our pillars there.

Have our plans all drawn with skill,
And have God as architect.
We must ever do His will,
And must trust Him ever, aye.

Even though we fall to earth
With the plans that God has made.
What we’ve gained, to us is worth
All the efforts we have made.

GHOSTS OF THE ATTIC.

Memory takes me back to childhood
To my home upon a hill;
I am sitting in the attic,
Memories cause my heart to thrill.

Now the rain is dropping, dropping,
Softly dripping from the eaves,
And the wind is sighing, moaning
A sad dirge for dying leaves.

In the attic there are hanging
Herbs of catnip, sage, and mint;
Filling all the air with fragrance,
While the sunbeams throw a glint

Through the tiny attic windows,
Then they rest upon a chest;
And this chest seems almost sacred,
For beneath its lid doth rest

A small package of old letters
Tied with ribbon once so blue;
And the love that is within them
Oft though told, is ever new.

Faded now the ink, and ribbon,
And the letters yellow are;
But the words which there are written
Father Time can never mar.

They were written by my father,
Every word was tender, true,
They were love notes to my mother,
Even now when brought to view
(Though the ink is faded, yellow,)
To my eyes they bring hot tears,
To my breast a pang of anguish.
They are ghosts of other years.

Ghosts of love, and truth, and virtue,
But these ghosts I would not lay;
They are memories of my childhood,
And through life shall with me stay.

O the subtle, subtle fragrance
Of the herbs upon the wall;
They now fill my heart with sadness,
And to memory they recall
My dear mother, my dear father,
And my childhood’s happy years;
And forgotten they are never--
Ghosts they are which bring no fears.

Now the home of my dear parents
Is the grave-yard by the sea.
But their love has new awakening
In the bright eternity.

NOT YET.

What doth the future hold for us?
Shall we the past forget?
The answer came in plaintive tones:
“Sometime you may. Not yet.”

When will the future be made plain?
The past hold no regret?
In present be not one mistake--
The answer, is “Not yet.”

When will the path of life be smooth?
No pitfalls by the way,
No stone to bruise our weary feet,
And never shadows gray.

O shall we ever understand
Why trials should beset
Us in our every walk of life?
We ask in vain: “Not yet.”

DUTY.

When Duty doth call us,
Unless we obey,
No rest doth she give us
By night, nor by day.

We cannot escape her,
She gives us no peace.
Till duty is done
We have no release.

We try to avoid her,
Pretend not to see
The road she hath taken
O’er mountain or lea.

We cannot evade her,
For by us she stands,
And fetters the strongest
She binds on our hands.

Though we may not listen
To Duty’s loud voice,
Obeying her mandates
May not be our choice;

We ever are happy
When duty is done;
When self is once conquered,
A victory is won.

She smiles now upon us,
The demon is laid.
We’re glad that she conquered,
That we have obeyed.

We will no more stumble,
Nor push her aside,
Triumphant is Duty,
With us will aye bide.

We now have acknowledged
Her right to control
Each thought, and each action;
Yea--even our soul.

We give up the battle,
Proclaim our defeat,
Now Duty triumphant
Doth sweetly us greet.

We haul down our banner,
Put Duty on throne,
Though we were once traitors,
We now will atone

For all our past errors,
And sit at her feet,
With joy do her bidding,
Each duty will meet.

The battle is ended,
And now we are free
From selfish indulgence,
And happy are we.

LIFE’S PLAN.

The plan of my life is marked out,
Is traced with most infinite skill.
Through ignorance the plan may be changed,
And of good, I may often make ill.

Not arbiter, I, of my life,
Yet I must forever beware--
For every mistake that I make
Will add to my trouble and care.

I builded the best that I knew,
And no one I’m sure could do more.
The Architect God drew the plans,
I knew not the tracings they bore.

So, blindly, I work from the plans;
In future, they all will unfold,
God means that sometime I shall know;
And will not the plans e’er withhold.

BROTHERHOOD OF MAN.

We are the children of one God.--
This truth I’ll not deny.
But _you_ stand clad in fine array,
Have houses grand, while _I_
Must toil in grime from morn till night,
And oft am hungry, cold,
My loved ones living in a hut,
All for the want of gold.

_You_ know not what it is to work;
_Your_ measure is complete;
Aye running over; pressed hard down;
While I toil on in heat,
In cold, in wind, in rain, and snow,
With aching back and feet;
With pittance small, and that begrudged.--
You scorn me when we meet.

You prate of “Brotherhood of Man,”
But will you hold the plough?
Or till the soil, or plant the grain,
Or stack the hay in mow?
I see you smile my _brother_ (?) man;
_You_ are of higher birth.
_You_ fix your eyes upon the stars,
While _mine_ belong to earth.

_Your_ children must to college go,
But _mine_ must learn to work,
Must learn to wait on _you_ and _yours_,
And never duty shirk.
Yet, brothers we, in very sooth,
Are children of one God;
And though you claim a higher birth,
We’re leveled ’neath the sod.

MAN DEFYING THE DYING SUN.

Farewell, farewell, O dying Sun!
Thy glorious race is almost run.
But I acknowledge this to thee
That thou hast fought most valiantly.
Wast ever foremost in the fight,
No rest for thee by day, nor night.
I too have fought most manfully,
And stand erect, defying thee.

I’ve fought the fight, have gained the day,
I shall live on forever, aye.--
Farewell then Sun, for _thou_ must die;
While _I_ have gained eternity.
When thou art dead and cold, O Sun,
Thou’lt be a crownless king laid low.
No pity shall I have for thee,
O thou my conquered, fallen foe.

Thou seem’st to laugh exultantly--
Thou shalt be humbled, haughty Sun;
He laughs the best, who laughs the last,
For now thy race is nearly run.
I stand alone defying thee
One moment, then, I too shall die.
But I have gained the victory;
I nevermore to thee shall cry.

Thou standest in thy majesty,
Thou standest in thy glorious might.
With scorn thou viewest dying man
From out thy wondrous, wondrous height
Thou lookest down on me, O Sun,
And dost contempt upon me cast.
But thou art slowly dying, Sun,
Thy greatness is but of the past.

I stand alone upon the earth--
No living thing can I now see;
But I shall witness thy defeat;
A fallen king thou soon wilt be.
One moment I shall stand erect;
A sovereign of the earth, and space;
Then die as thou hast died, O Sun,
The last of all my dying race.

The last of all humanity--
I’ve struggled hard to win the race;
Have conquered too, for now I stand
Alone on earth, grim death to face.
The earth is mine, I’ve conquered thee--
One moment witness thy defeat,
Then falling to the earth, now king;
A dead, cold Sun, I proudly greet.

* * * * *

The earth is cold; (all life is gone,--)
And little now it holds for me.
I miss thy warmth, I miss thy light,
Although I stand exultantly.--
Thou never canst atone, O Sun,
For all the misery thou hast wrought--
’Tis evermore on earth, dark night;
Though I have life, ’tis dearly bought.

Farewell! Farewell! defeated Sun!
Thou now art dead; thy race is run.--

IF THERE IS NO HEREAFTER.

If soul has no hereafter,
What is the unknown bond
That bindeth soul to matter,
And what is the beyond?

What is the power that buildeth?
What is the mind that wills?
What is the power within us
That all our being thrills?

If there is no hereafter
What use to us was birth?
We’re naught but vegetation
Encumbering the earth.

If knowledge had been given
Of th’ power that brought us here--
The law of living, dying.--
Of death we’d have no fear.

We’d start on our new journey,
And would not death regret.
These questions are deep problems
Which sometime must be met.

This life would be a failure
If naught there was beyond;
No tie twixt soul and matter,
No everlasting bond.

* * * * *

O Thou Almighty Father!
Canst be that soul must die?
O listen to my pleading,
O Father hear my cry!

O tell me what is dying?
I would by Thee be taught.--
Give me the glimpse of heaven
Which I so long have sought.--

LOVE’S SONG.

What sounds the deepest notes of life?
Is it bright sunshine, aye?
Some wish that we have had fulfilled,
Or pleasure in our way.

Are we the happiest when some note
Of praise rings through the air?
Or when proud Fame entices us,
Then leaves us to despair.

When people list with bated breath
To hear the words we speak,
And words of admiration give,
And joyously us seek?

Ah no! The deepest note is struck
When we with others weep;
When we have sympathy for those
Who are in trouble deep.

It is afflictions we must bear,
Mistake that we have made,
That strikes the deepest chords of life,
And ne’er from mem’ry fade.

The loss of those who were a part
Of every joy, and grief.
The shadowy thoughts within our souls
That is of life the chief.

To feel, to know, there is a world
Where we shall meet again
The loved ones who have gone beyond;
But not beyond our ken--

* * * * *

Now all the past forgotten is,
And notes of joy will ring
Throughout the blest eternity,
For we Love’s song now sing.

FORGIVE.

Forgive me dear, I did not know
That words of mine wouldst cause thee woe.
I love thee all too well to bring
To thy dear heart the smallest sting.
Thy life is all too sweet and pure
To ever grief or pain endure.

And evermore I’ll guard my speech,
E’ermore my careless tongue I’ll teach
To speak but loving words to thee,
From caustic speech I will be free.
The past is past. Wilt thou forget
The words I spake when first we met?

The thoughtless words that I then spake
Will ever in my heart awake
Remorse, and sorrow, deepest pain.--
O must I plead to thee in vain?
E’er more I’ll speak but love words, dear,
For only love-words shouldst thou hear.

FORGET.

Forget the past, ’tis dead and gone.--
When book is read, no further con
The pages old; unless therein
There’s something that will ever win
A throb of joy within thy heart,
And of thy life seem e’en a part.

The sacred present we will hold.
The future to us will unfold.
The dead, dead past shall be entombed;
Forget it dear, for it is doomed
To mould in grave, to dust return,
All record of that past we’ll burn.

Begin the “Book of Life” anew;
This book we’ll not with tears bedew.
In it we’ll have but love, and peace,
All bitterness of past must cease.
The present, and the future be
Love’s sweetest song, and symphony.

YESTERDAYS.

For all the buried yesterdays
I have not one regret;
I love them not, I mourn them not,
I would them all forget.

Of all the dead, dead yesterdays
Which were so dearly bought,
I care not to remember one,
They were with misery fraught,
They held no joy, they held no peace,
Each day had some deep pain;
So I would never call them back;
Each day seemed lived in vain.

Today I live, today I love,
The yesterdays are dead.
I wot not of the passing days
Though by them I am led.
Today is mine with all it holds,
I’ll do the best I know.
The future is a closed up book,
And may be filled with woe.

TOMORROW.

O the sweet happy thoughts of tomorrow.--
No shadowy clouds in Life’s sky,
No tears in our eyes, and no mourning,
No trouble in pathway doth lie.

Today may be filled with dark shadows,
Tomorrow they all clear away.
For Hope is the goddess that guides us,
Tomorrow she with us will stay.

Tomorrow may not be as happy
As Hope bids us look for, today.
But if we’ve reached out for Life’s gladness,
Life’s gladness will come in our way.

’Tis better to seek the bright sunshine;
The rainbow comes after the clouds,
And sweeter is life after storm-clouds,
For vanished the gloom that enshrouds.

CONSOLATION.

To my soul a voice hath spoken,
Hath spoken thus to me.
O earth-child be not discouraged,
For God doth pity thee.

Though thy way be filled with shadows,
And Life’s sun obscured by clouds;
Though Life’s road seems leading downward,
And deep darkness all enshrouds;

There is light for thee, and gladness,
And sweet Peace will thee enfold.
In the evening, in the gloaming
Joy unbounded will thee hold.

Never more will desolation
In thy heart find resting place,
If with Love thou meetest troubles,
And with him thou keepest pace.

THE DEAD SUMMER.

In the forest, in the autumn,
’Neath the oaks, and ’neath the beeches,
Are the dead and dying children
Of the mother trees.

And the trees are sighing, moaning,
And the clouds are weeping, weeping
Tears of sorrow for the summer
That is dead, and gone.

E’en the sun his face has hidden
By a veil of clouds and shadows,
All the earth seems grieved and troubled
At the summer’s death.

But the earth has a new carpet,
Gorgeous with its brilliant colors.
For the autumn leaves have covered
And hid the sodden ground.

THERE IS A RIFT IN THE CLOUDS.

Though life may be gloomy,
And dark be thy way,
No light in thy pathway,
Not even one ray.
Look up to the heavens;
There’s a rift in the clouds.

Though life may be warfare,
Thy heart have no peace,
Fear not, thou wilt conquer,
Thy heart have surcease.
Look upward, not downward,
There’s a rift in the clouds.

Though friends may prove faithless,
And false unto thee;
There may be a reason
That thou dost not see.
Have charity always,
And see rift in the clouds.

Thy days may be cloudy,
Thy sun be obscured,
To thee may come evil,
It can be endured.
There’s a rift in the clouds.
Soon the sun will peep through.

Give comfort to some one
Who comes in thy way.
O be not despondent,
Be cheerful alway.
Look up and be happy,
See the rift in the clouds.

May the rift in the clouds
O’erspread all thy sky,
And all birds of ill omen
Away from thee fly.
Seek ever life’s sunshine,
And the rift in life’s clouds.

TO A COMET.

O thou uncanny, fearful thing!
A flaming sword art thou;
Thou may’st be sent by demon’s hand
Among the stars to plough.

Thou’st travelled on for many years,
And still must travel on.
Thy master’s bidding thou must do
Until the victory’s won.

Sometime perhaps thy anger fierce
No more will burn in wrath.
Thou’lt gently fall upon the earth,
Leave blessings in thy path.

Thou art a mystery now to us,
Thy life may be _divine_--
Although it seems that demons black
Hath part in life like thine.

LOVE’S DART.

My heart is filled with joy today;
There’s peace within my soul.
My cup is running o’er with bliss,
There’s love in pleasure’s bowl.

I will not think of aught that’s sad;
I’ll happy be today.
Tomorrow may bring pain and grief,
But love will each allay.

Life’s bowl is filled with happiness,
There’s naught that I regret.
It is so full of love and joy
I would not it forget.

The god of love peeped in at morn,
From bow, he sent a dart,
In aim he was so accurate
It lodged within my heart.

WEEDS.

A weed was in my garden growing;
I nurtured it with tender care,
It grew to be a flower of beauty
With col’ring rich and fragrance rare.

It only needed love, and culture
To bring out beauty from its heart;
It ever had been timid, shrinking,
But now it proudly took a part

With other flowers whose birth was higher.
Though coming up from out the sod
It gave to all sweet ministration,
It was a thought, a part of God.

Now if a little weed so humble,
A higher place in life could gain
By care, and love, and sweet attention,
Why not a human weed attain

Conditions better, and by struggling,
Arise from out its low estate?
But _it_ needs help and cultivation
To rise above its seeming fate.

It needs but pruning, needs but watching.
From human weed ’twill rise to be
A flower of love, with soul of beauty;
It needs though, _love_ and _sympathy_.

Though but a weed in Life’s bright garden,
It is not crushed by th’ heel of Fate.
It only needs a new awakening
To enter Life’s bright golden gate.

Then give at least as much attention
To human weed as garden flower,
And thus you will enrich creation,
And God will blessings on you shower.

THE BLIND BEGGAR’S APPEAL.

Just close your eyes and try to walk
Along the crowded thoroughfare;
And ask each passer-by for help,
Then know the insults I must bear.

I’m hungry, homeless, cold and sick.
I’ve groped around the livelong day;
No pitying word have I once heard,
No one has stopped me on my way

A little pittance to dole out
To me, who as a little child
Had mother love, and father’s care,
Enough to eat, enough to wear.

O God have pity! And now take
The poor blind beggar who does crave
Some resting place upon the earth;
E’en though that place should be the grave.

I seek some shelter from the cold;
Some place to lay my weary head.--
Some day I shall have covering warm,
But that will be when I am dead.

Sometime sweet flowers will cover me,
The grass grow green upon my grave.
My weary body will have rest,
My soul return to God who gave

The poor blind beggar rest at last,
A place to rest beneath the sod,
A covering of sweet flowers and grass.--
So patiently I’ll kiss the rod

Though it may scourge my body weak,
Though I be hungry, blind and poor,
I’ll bear my burdens patiently,
And thank my God that I them bore.

THE THREADS OF LIFE.

I count my age by what I’ve done
And not by months, and years.
I count from smiles, and happiness,
And not from pain, and tears.

By these I’ve lived an hundred years,
May live an hundred more.
I’ll count the sunbeams in my life,
The clouds I will ignore.

I’ll count the good that I have done.
Alas! That will not do.
If by that standard I should count,
My years would be too few.

Turn back O wheel of Time I pray--
Another chance I crave.
I would more worthy be of life,
More worthy of the grave.

But I have failed through thoughtlessness,
Through ignorance also;
But thoughtlessness and ignorance
Excuse me not, I know.

I must pick up the threads of life,
And weave them o’er again,
For every stitch I’ve dropped in past,
Has left on soul a stain.

Life’s shuttle I must hold with care,
Life’s web must perfect be.
I weave not for this world alone,
But for eternity.

MEMORY’S BOOK.

I ope the book at mother’s side,
And turn the leaves so pure.
I read the pages with delight;
Their innocence allure.

I turn the leaves with greatest care,
I find there naught of pain;
’Tis happy childhood’s joyous days,
And were not lived in vain.

I turn another leaf, and find
Some things I would forget;
Some selfish thought, some unkind act,
And much that I regret.

Again I turn a leaf, and there
I see inscribed thereon,
Mistakes, and errors, selfishness,
Yet many victories won.

Full many times I conquered self,
And overcame much ill.
These memories are the dearest ones,
And linger with me still.

One memory sweet has its own place,
Has its own sacred nest.
’Tis buried deep within my heart,
And rests there--let it rest.

O childhood days come back again!
When at my mother’s knee
I learned the songs my mother sang,
In our cottage by the sea.

DO NOT BORROW TROUBLE.

Do not ever trouble borrow;
You’ll find enough of it at home;
Find enough for self, and neighbor,
You will for it not have to roam.

Go not forth to meet sad Trouble,
For she with tears will e’er you greet.
But if given a cold greeting,
She will acknowledge her defeat.

Do not cross life’s troubled waters
While you are yet upon the land.
Do not feel that you are sinking
Beneath life’s drifting, shifting sand.

Though your life may seem a desert,
Of scorching winds, and burning sand;
You may find some green oasis,
Some beauty in a desert land.

Trouble is a turbid river.
On it you need not launch life’s boat.
Life has rivers calm and peaceful,
And placid streams on which to float.

You may never cross the river,
On troubled sea may not be tossed.
Though life’s bridge be weak and swaying,
By you, the bridge need not be crossed.

Do not think that you must carry
The burdens of life’s yesterday.
Do not look for grief tomorrow,
With courage live your life today.

You must rise above all trouble,
And keep it ever from your view;
It can ever then be vanquished,
And you can bid it glad adieu.

GIVE SMILES, NOT TEARS.

Give to the world your happy thoughts,
Too many give but tears.
A word, a thought, a deed full oft
Makes some heart sad, or cheers
Some lonely, weary, world sick soul,
Who now will drop his cares,
And even smile at his defeats,
And disappointment bears.

For in his heart is now a hope,
A hope for better things.
The world is now not half so sad,
And joy it even brings.
If you are sad, hide grief beneath
A happy smiling face.
No one is better for your tears,
Nor stronger for Life’s race.

Then bury grief within your heart,
And dig its grave full deep;
And cover it with flowers of Hope,
And do not o’er it weep.
Too many keep their sorrows fresh
By tears too often shed.
Look up! Look out! Your sorrows hide,
And rest in Hope’s own bed.

FAREWELL TO THE DYING YEAR.

Farewell! farewell! thou dying year;
For thee we will not mourn,
But bury thee in grave of past,
In garments worn, and torn.

And yet, thou hast not been unkind,
Thou’st giv’n more smiles than tears;
Hast giv’n us health, e’en though not wealth,
Bright hopes of coming years.

So we should bury thee with pomp,
Take off thy garments torn,
And give to thee more fitting shroud
Than that which thou hast worn.

Though we give tribute to thee new;
We’ll still remember thee.
We know thou didst the best thou couldst
While struggling to be free.

Free from the chains that bound thee down,
And though we shed no tear
At thy demise, we feel that thou
Hast given us some good cheer.

The blare of trumpets at thy death
Shouldst sorrow to us bring,
For thou canst never be recalled.
A dirge, we should then sing,

For opportunities we’ve lost.
Our chance comes not again
To do the things we should have done.
How sad the words, “It might have been.”

THE BOOK OF GIFTS.

An angel came to me one day
With “Book of Gifts” in hand,
And offered any one therein
That I should then demand.

With pride he pointed out to me
Each gift, and urged that I
Would take from them the choicest one.
For in his power did lie
The giving out of life’s rich stores.
This single time had man
Been given the choice of worldly gifts
Since life on earth began.

I had the choice of all life’s gifts,
Fame, honor, untold wealth.
I chose not one he offered me,
But begged for _love_ and _health_.

UNKIND WORDS.

If we could know the sorrow
That unkind words aye give;
We never would them utter;
For unkind words will live
Long after we’ve forgotten
That we the words once spake,
And that a harsh word spoken
Some weary heart may break.

When once a word has started
Upon its journey long;
It travels on forever.
And mingles with the throng
Of other words of censure;
More bitter grows each day,
And though perhaps forgiven
It sometime love will slay.

SEEK FOR THE GOOD IN LIFE.

In our lives there’s much of gladness,
Also much that is sad,
Much in life without a blemish,
Many things that may be bad.

But, we should ignore all evil;
There is ever much of good.
We shall find what e’er we look for,
Then o’er evil do not brood.

Grasp the good when e’er you find it.
Good is not for but the few;
If too much to you is given,
Some one else can share with you.

There is sunshine, there is shadow,
Clouds must come before the rain;
After storm clouds, comes the rainbow,
Oft from grief, we peace attain.

Some one else must share our troubles;
They should share our pleasures too;
For life’s flowers are ever brightest
When Love’s tears the flowers bedew.

Be ye never then disheartened,
There is beauty everywhere.
There are fragrant flowers growing
In the garden of Despair.

Let us then be not discouraged,
Soon life’s storms will clear away.
Though our griefs seem overwhelming,
Brighter soon will be life’s day.

Though life’s sun his face has hidden,
And black clouds obscure our view,
All the flowers take on new beauty,
After rain, and after dew.

LOVE’S CROWN.

The tasks that have been set for me,
Are almost done; are almost done.
I’ve labored hard, and faithfully,
But now life’s race is nearly run.

I’m weary, and I’m sore distressed,
My burdens all too heavy are.
In vain I try to lay them down;
I’ve brought them all too far, too far.

I’ll try to lay them down at eve,
And from my labors try to rest.
Though I begin another day,
Tonight I’ll rest, tonight I’ll rest.

Tomorrow at the break of day,
Again I take them up with grief,
And through another day I work;
For me, there never comes relief.

* * * * *

Complaints will never do my work,
Nor fit me for life’s weary day.
With courage then I’ll do my tasks,
And all life’s laws try to obey.

I’ll bear my cross whatever it is,
No one shall bear a cross for me;
And though I bend beneath life’s load,
From selfishness I will be free.

There is a time not distant far,
When I can lay life’s burdens down.
So many crosses I have borne,
At last I hope to win Love’s crown.

MY SOUL’S DESIRE AND DESTINY

I’ve travelled down through centuries.
Have never known one moment’s rest.
Have passed through every phase of life.
Is this, O Father, Thy behest?

I’ve battled with conditions that
Oftimes seemed much too hard to bear,
Would then give up, and seem to sink
Into the maelstrom of Despair.

Again would take Life’s burdens up
Without a knowledge of my past.
Experience was of little use
In seething whirlpool it seemed cast.

The same temptations come to us;
As fiends, they ever us pursue.
The consequences are the same.
We’ve brought down retribution too.

I still desire to live, to do--
I am not ready yet to change
My form, my thoughts, my puny life;
E’en though I gain a wider range.

Absorbed though I may be in Love,
And e’en a part of Deity,
I still am human in _desire_,
And human still, I wish to be.

* * * * *

Soul’s Destiny I now take up.--
Where shall I go? What shall I be?
Shall I aye travel on, and on?
Or be a part of Deity.

Will memories of the past be mine?
And will a panoramic view
Before mine eyes be ever cast?
If so, that past I can but rue.

Absorbed in God, I lose myself.
I am no part of my _own_ life.
Though one with God, and part of Him,
My soul will still keep up its strife

To be _itself_, apart, though with
The Maker, Ruler of my soul.
The _Soul’s Desire_ is not yet dead,
E’en though bright heaven is its goal.

Though I may carry “Karma” on,
Improve upon it ever, aye;
Could I not do the same, and yet
Not on this weary earth e’er stay?

INCARNATION.

Though part and parcel of the past
The future is an unknown book--
Though writing for eternity,
I dare not on its pages look.

My past is dead, and buried too.
In grave of Hope it lies full deep;
It resurrected ne’er shall be,
It is a nightmare of my sleep.

Will life’s fair morning never come?
I wait for it impatiently.
And Death’s long sleep I fain would break
With all its gruesome mystery.

I pray to go forever on,
Retracing ne’er earth’s steps again.
Incarnate _once_, and _only_ once,
I would not live on earth again.

REINCARNATION.

I feel that I have lived before,
That I shall live again.
Shall yet have my desires fulfilled,
Although I know not when.

If _now_ is all there is of life,
What use to me was birth?
Not one desire has been fulfilled,
Since first I came to earth.

There is a realm not yet explored,
I feel it in my soul,
I’ll struggle on (though oft I fail)
To reach that blissful goal.

Full oft I catch a glimpse of past.
Old mem’ries round me throng.
The mem’ries of a long gone past.--
Again I hear a song

That I once heard in previous life,
And it to me doth seem
As though an angel sang the song;
My life his chosen theme.

The notes seem now so strange and weird.
I’ve heard them though, before;
In former life the music sweet
Came from celestial shore.

A vague, vague dream of other lives
Doth often with me stay;
But when I try to hold the dream,
It vanishes straightway.

My present life is incomplete.
A fragment is of past.
I shall take up the threads again,
And in Life’s loom them cast.

The “Great First Cause” has charge of
The lives that have been mine.
The web that’s woven on Life’s loom
In time becomes divine.

Absorbed in God I soon shall be.
E’en now I feel Love’s kiss.
Life’s struggles soon will ended be
In everlasting bliss.

What was my life in that dim past?
It matters not to me.
My Karma of the past will be
Absorbed in Deity.

LIFE’S BURDEN.

Each one hath some burden to carry,
Each one hath some sorrow or woe.
But hearts that are cheerful, and willing,
Can every trouble o’erthrow.

We will not complain, but have courage
To bear every cross, and all pain;
For burdens when carried with patience
Are blessings which we may attain.

Our hopes may be bright in the morning,
But fade, as the day grows apace;
Though clouds may obscure all Life’s evening,
With patience these clouds we must face.

Behind every cloud is some sunshine,
Behind every grief is some mirth.
Behind every tear there is laughter,
Though tears came first at our birth.

TO MOUNT SIERRA.

Thou grand old granite mountain
Canst tell me what thy age?
What secrets art thou holding
Within thy heart O sage.

Couldst man find out by delving
Deep in thy stony breast,
How long thou hast been rearing
On high, thy hoary crest.

Hadst thou e’er a beginning?
Wilt thou in death e’er fall?
Canst thou these questions answer?
On thee I humbly call.

Is life, within thy bosom?
Or art thou cold and dead?
Thou standest in thy myst’ry
No tears of misery shed.

Thy heart, thy life is granite,
Thou carest not for woe.
If tear thou ever sheddest
It turns to ice and snow.

But why seek I thy secrets,
Thou haughty mountain king?
Thou wilt not give me answer,
No knowledge to me bring.--

* * * * *

The wind doth give me answer
That thou wast born of fire.
Thou claimest Earth as mother,
Jehovah is thy sire.

Farewell O Mount Sierra!
I leave thee to thy rest.
But, man will wrench thy secrets
In future from thy breast.

OFT POISONED IS THE WINE OF LIFE.

Socrates drank of the hemlock;--
Others drink of poisons deadly.--
Poison as a draught of hemlock
Will unrequited love aye be.

And ingratitude of loved ones
Sharper than a serpent’s tooth is,
And misunderstandings cruel
That ever meet us on Life’s way.

Often we are greeted coldly,
By the ones who should be friendly.
We may fall, and we may falter.
Life’s battles we may never win.

Others soon will take our places.
Take the love, and take the friendship,
Which was ours by laws most holy,
And love is now but in the name.

Hemlock would not be as poisonous,
Nor would be so hard its taking.
As cold words of bitter taunting
From trusted friends whom we have loved.

Faithless friends may give a chalice,
Filled with poison just as deadly,
As the hemlock which was drunken
By Socrates in that long past.

Every day we meet deception
From some one we loved, and trusted.
Poison may be in each vessel
From which we drink the wine of Life.

THE GAME OF LIFE.

Would we turn back the wheel of Time,
And live this life all o’er?
Take up the threads of life anew,
And weave them as before?

Methinks I hear you say “Ah no!”
Life’s fabric is worn out.
The colors too, have lost their hue.--
I would not turn about

And live my life all o’er again,
Unless I could improve
Upon the game of Life I’ve played;
More skillfully could move.

For I have oft made dire mistakes,
Made errors in Life’s deal,
And could I change the game, would it
Add something to my weal?

I never learned Life’s game quite right;
Mistakes I ever made,
And if I gained a single point,
My ignorance next outweighed

All I had gained in former move.
I ever lost in game.
It seems I ever lacked in skill,
If so, I’m not to blame.

And now the game I must give up,
But I will not despair.
I will begin all o’er again--
Defeat I cannot bear.

But it will not be on this earth;
For here I’m done with life.
I’ve played Life’s game, and ever lost,
To live is naught but strife.

“THE OLD, OLD STORY.”

Come into the garden sweet Lilith
When the clock in the tower strikes nine.
When the moon by the hill tops is hidden,
For thine eyes e’er the moonbeams outshine.

Come into the garden my loved one,
While the nightingales sing in the trees.
All th’ air is filled with the fragrance
That the flowers send forth to the breeze.

Come into the garden and meet me
Beneath the old oak on the lawn.
To thee I will tell the same story
That was told at the world’s first dawn.

Come into the garden sweet Lilith,
To thee, I’d anew my vows plight.
Again I would speak to thee love words,
Again by the moon’s waning light.

Come into the garden my Lilith,
The meadow lark chants his love song.
E’en the trees are whispering sweet love notes,
For they to each other belong.

Come into the garden sweet Lilith,
Where the fire-flies seem dancing around.
They are plighting their love to each other,
Their love smiles light up all the ground.

Come into the garden sweet Lilith,
O listen, sweetheart, to my plea.
The trees, and the birds, and the fire-flies
Tell their love; then _why_ should not we?

My heart is with love overflowing,
I would clasp thee in Love’s close embrace.
If parted from thee my sweet Lilith,
Thy love I could never efface.

THE GHOST OF LOVE.

Thou art a specious pleader,
But thou dost plead in vain.
Though once I loved, and trusted,
My love and trust thou’st slain.

Though in the past were hidden
Thy many faults from me;
As phantoms they now haunt me,
As ghosts, those faults I see.

The mask that ever covered
The evil in thy life,
From thy false face hath fallen,
And now thy passions rife

Stand out in greatest contrast
From what they seemed in past.
To me ’tis revelation--
With awe I stand aghast.

And feel a sense of horror,
That love should come to me
For one whose life was hideous,
But now,--Thank God I’m free!

Free from the ties that bound me,
Free from the chains of ill.--
Thy love no more enthralls me,
And yet--O heart be still!

I find that love, and pity
Lie deep within my heart.
I cannot, cannot hate thee--
Thou art of life a part.

Farewell! Farewell! ’Tis better
For both; that we are free.
For life, when trust hath left us
Is naught but misery.

I SHALL SING IT SOMETIME.

There is a poem somewhere
That is perfect in its time;
That is perfect in its metre,
That is perfect in its rhyme.

It is written on the flowers,
It is floating in the air;
It is written on the hill tops,
It is singing everywhere.

And I know sometime I’ll write it--
It is singing in my brain.
I will seek it, I will find it,
In my soul it long has lain.

When I try to grasp this poem,
It eludes me ever, aye--
It is ever just beyond me,
Though I hear it night and day.

It is sung by hosts unnumbered,
And was heard when world was new.
It is heard when storm-clouds gather,
And in glistening drops of dew.

’Tis the singing of the flowers,
’Tis the music of the stars.
’Tis the rhythm of the ocean,
And most perfect are its bars.

In the universe ’tis written,
And it is so sweet, and rare--
It was written by the Master,
It inspires every prayer.

O if I could catch the rhythm
That aye fills the universe--
That is sung by choir of angels;
Inspired would be my verse.

In Cathedral ’tis resounding,
Chanted ’tis at altar pure;
And the rhythm haunts me ever--
Spirit song which doth allure.

It is stately in its measure,
Though it be a sad refrain;
Though it be a merry jingle
That goes dancing through my brain.

Yet it _may_ be but the _echo_
Of a symphony, or dirge,
Or a mother’s loving ditty,
That may through my brain e’er surge.

’Tis the waterfall’s loud roaring,
Or the humming of the bee.
’Tis the raging of the tempest
As it moans upon the sea.

’Tis the detonating cannon,
Or the sigh of dying leaf.
’Tis a song of glad rejoicing,
Or a threnody of grief.

’Tis the ghost of an old love song,
Or the spirit of a prayer.
’Tis a wail of deepest anguish,
And I hear it everywhere.

It is floating in the ether,
It is written in the sky;
But wherever may be poem,
I shall sing it by and by.

Be it song, or be it anthem--
It doth in my heart e’er lie;
And my soul for song is waiting,
I shall sing it by and by.

WHEN I AM DEAD.

Will friends remember that I lived,
Give me a passing thought,
Give tribute to what I have done,
To what I may have wrought.

Or will they pass with heedless laugh,
Not feeling one regret
That I have gone beyond their ken;
And will they soon forget

That _I_ loved them, that _they_ loved me,
That friendship in the past
Was part, and parcel of our lives;
We hoped ’twould ever last.

But when I’m dead, I hope few tears
Will then be shed for me.
If others then shall take my place,
I shall not grieve to see

My loved ones happy without me.
Why should they grieve for aye?
Their duties they must ever do,
The laws of life obey.

* * * * *

Forget me then when I am dead;
I fain would have it so.
If world is better for my life,
Bequeath I would not woe

To those I leave behind on earth;
They need not shed one tear,
Nor be unhappy for one hour;
Nor need they have one fear

Of what befalls me when I die.
I’ll go where I belong.
I shall not crowd nor push aside
The ever swelling throng.--

My place I’ve made while here on earth,
And I shall go therein
Without a fear, without a thought
Of any earthly sin.

I’ve lived, I’ve loved, I’ve done the work
That was laid out for me.
I still shall live, I still shall love
Throughout eternity.

* * * * *

Be patient with the living ones,
The dead need not your care.
The living ones need comforting
For much they have to bear.

“’TIS FOLLY TO BE WISE.”