Chapter III: Part 3

Teach us, dear Lord, all that it means to say
_Give us our daily bread_, when thus we pray;
We will be trustful when we understand,
Nor grasp the loaf from out a brother’s hand.

Teach us, dear Lord, all that it means to say,
_Forgive our trespasses_, when, meek, we pray;
Forgive! the word was made in Paradise,
And this world’s hope and faith within it lies.

Teach us, dear Lord, all that it means to say
The words Christ gave us, when we kneel to pray,
For when we know and live their meaning deep,
No heart will need to break, no eyes to weep.

Jack

Jack’s dead an’ buried, it seems odd,
A deep hole covered up with sod
A lyin’ out there on the hill,
An’ Jack, as never could keep still,
A sleepin’ in it. Jack could race,
And do it at a good old pace,
Could sing a song, an’ laugh so hard
That I could hear him in our yard
When he was half-a-mile away.
Why not another boy could play
Like him, or run, or jump so high,
Or swim, no matter how he’d try,
An’ I can’t get it through my head
At all, at all, that Jack is dead.

Jack’s mother didn’t use to be
So awful good to him an’ me,
For often when I’d go down there
On Saturday’s, when it was fair,
To get him out to fish or skate,
She’d catch me hangin’ round the gate,
An’ look as cross as some old hen,
An’ tell me, “Go off home again,
It’s not the thing for boys,” she’d say,
“A hangin’ round the creek all day,
You go off home and do your task,
No, Jack can’t go, you needn’t ask,”
An’ when he got in scrapes, why, she
Would up and lay it on to me,
An’ wish I lived so far away
Jack couldn’t see me every day.

But last night when I’d done the chores,
It seemed so queer like out of doors,
I kept a listenin’ all the while
An’ looking down the street a mile;
I couldn’t bear to go inside,
The house is lonesome since he died,
The robber book we read by turns
Is lyin’ there--an’ no boy learns
All by himself, ’cause he can’t tell
How many words he’ll miss or spell,
Unless there’s someone lookin’ on
To laugh at him when he gets done.

An’ neighbor women’s sure to come
A visitin’ a feller’s home,
An’ talkin’ when they look at me
’Bout how thick us two used to be--
A stealin’ off from school, an’ such--
An’ askin’ “Do I miss him much?”
’Till I sneak off out doors, you see,
They just can’t let a feller be!
Well, I walked down the road a bit,
Smith’s dog came out, I throwed at it,
An’ do you know it never howled
Same as it always did, or growled,
It seemed to say, “why! Jim’s alone,
Now, I wonder where’s that other one?”

Afore I knew it I was down
Way at the other end of town,
A hangin’ round in the old way
For some one to come out an’ play.
There wasn’t no one there to look
So I slipped in to our old nook,
I found his knife hid in the grass
Where we’d been Zulus at the pass,
The can of bait, an’ hook an’ line,
Were lyin’ with the ball of twine,
An’ “Jim,” I seemed to hear him say,
“The fish will suffer some to-day!”

’Twas more than I could stand just then,
I got up to go off home, when
Someone kissed me on the cheek,
An’ hugged me so I couldn’t speak,
You won’t believe it, like as not,
But ’twas Jack’s mother, an’ a lot
Of great big tears came stealin’ down
Right on my face; she didn’t frown
A single bit--kept sayin’ low,
“My blue eyed boy! I loved you so!”
Of course I knew just right away
That she meant Jack--my eyes are grey--
But Jack, he had the bluest eyes,
Blue like you see up in the skies,
An’ shine that used to come and go--
One misses eyes like his you know.

An’ by-an-by she up and tried
To tell me that she’d cried an’ cried,
A thinkin’ of the times that she
Had scolded Jack an’ scolded me,
An’ other things that I won’t tell
To anyone, because--O, well,
Boys can’t do much, but they can hold
Tight on to secrets till they’re old.
She’s Jack’s relation, that’s why she
Feels kind of lovin’ like to me,
But when she called me her own lad,
Oh, say, I felt just awful bad;
My head it went round in a whirl,
I up and cried just like a girl.

But say, if Jack did see us two
He laughed a little, don’t you know,
For if I’d ever brag around
That I’d lick some one, safe an’ sound,
He’d laugh an’ say, “Jim, hold your jaw!
You know your’re scared to death of maw.”
Oh! I’d give all this world away
If I could hear him laugh to-day,
I get so lonesome, it’s so still
An’ him out sleepin’ on that hill;
For nothin’ seems just worth the while
A-doin’ up in the old style,
Cause everything we used to do
Seemed always jus’ to need us two.
My throat aches till I think ’twill crack,
I don’t know why--it must be Jack.

There ain’t no fun, there ain’t no stir,
His mother--well ’tis hard on her,
But she can knit, and sew, and such--
Oh, she can’t miss him half so much!

A Pledge.

I sit alone, to-night--to-day our two roads meet,
You helped me find the right, and I will not forget;
I’m pledged to do my best with lips that will not lie,
To strive with mind and heart as all the days go by.

You looked so strong and bold when all was done and said--
You have a heart of gold--and I have one of lead--
Some day I’ll climb the height, if fortune fair betide,
I only know to-night the world is strangely wide.

Blue Eyed Bess.

But let us argue for a space
Before we say that long good-bye,
Now heaven grant us store of grace,
We are so human, you and I.

Full well you know the old time way
Will easiest seem unto our feet,
Full well you know with yesterday
No fair to-morrow may compete.

Then some day, Bess, we will be old,
Think you our hearts content will stay
With bleak December, or, grown bold,
Will they not race back into May?

Look not upon his acres wide,
But think how weary life would be,
Your body walking at his side,
Your soul back in the spring with me.

Why will you try to cheat poor love
Who only asks you for his own,
His blindness should compassion move,
Yet what compassion have you shown?

Say, “Love, take all I have to give,
For nothing would I keep from thee,
We’ll walk together while we live,
And thou shalt make the path for me.”

The pretty blush is on your face,
We will not say that long good-bye,
Now heaven grant us store of grace,
We are so human, you and I.

The Courtier’s Ladye

My ladye’s face is proud and fair,
My ladye’s eyes are grey,
She goeth out to take the air
On every sunny day.

My ladye wears a gown of blue
That falleth to her feet,
All broidered o’er with pearls like dew,
And daisies shy and sweet.

My ladye wears a hat of silk,
That fairy hands did spin,
And strings it hath as white as milk,
To tie beneath her chin.

My ladye wears upon her breast
A knot of ribbon gay,
But who her heart doth love the best--
My ladye will not say.

And, O, the jewels rich and rare
Do make the eye grow dim,
That sparkle in her powdered hair,
And on her fingers slim.

My ladye wears a satin shoe,
With silver buckle wide,
A tiny thing from heel to toe
That is my joy and pride.

My ladye wears upon her face
A little touch of scorn,
No fuller share of pride and grace
Hath any woman born.

My ladye’s face is sweet and fair,
My ladye’s eyes are grey,
She goeth out to take the air
On every sunny day.

The Rustic’s Lassie

My lassie’s face is fair to see,
My lassie’s eyes are blue,
And always do they tell to me
Her heart is fond and true.

There’s silk, too, on my lassie’s head,
As yellow as the gold,
And woven is each shining thread
Into a braided fold.

But never fairy hands did spin
Silk like my lassie’s hair,
As for the strings beneath her chin
I would not have them there.

Lest one dear dimple growing shy
That everyone should see,
Within those silken strings would try
To hide itself from me.

My lassie wears a gown of white,
Which needs no pearls to deck,
With lace like cobweb, soft and light,
Full-gathered at her neck.

My lassie wears upon her breast
No knot of ribbon gay,
Forget-me-nots she loves the best,
Plucked at the dawn of day.

My lassie’s feet like two white mice
Go slipping through the grass,
And all the dew-drops think them nice,
And kiss them as they pass.

The satin shoe with buckle drest
Is richer, it may be,
But if the truth must be confest,
Not half so good to see.

My lassie’s face is fair to see,
My lassie’s eyes are blue,
And always do they tell to me
Her heart is fond and true.

Her Dower

One angel brought a birth-day gift,
Straight from the courts above,
“Now soft thy voice, and bright thy smile,
For I do give thee Love.”

Another came on snowy wings,
Tipped with a golden light,
“I bring the gift of Purity
To keep thy dear heart white.”

The third had music in his tones:
“I bring thee Courage, strong,
To guard both Love and Purity
From what would do them wrong.

“For tender feet must press the paths--
The crowded paths of life--
And tender souls must meet the shock
And din of passions strife.

“Walk thou unmoved through perils great,
While we thy strength applaud,
With Courage true I crown to-day
The fairest work of God.”

Mavourneen

So still you sleep upon your bed,
So motionless and slender,
It cannot be that you are dead,
My little maiden tender.

You were no creature pale and meek
That death should hasten after,
The red rose bloomed upon your cheek,
Your lips were made for laughter.

To you the great world was a place
That care might never stay in,
A playground built by God’s good grace
For happy folks to play in.

You made your footpath by life’s flowers,
O happy little maiden,
The sky was full of shine and showers,
The wind was perfume-laden.

I came and found you sweet and wild,
Love--only love--could tame you,
To think, O pretty thoughtless child
That greedy death must claim you.

Your dimpled hands are folded now
Above the snowy bosom,
The lilies creep and kiss your brow,
O tender broken blossom!

The white lids hide the eyes so clear,
So witching and beguiling,
But as my tears fall on you dear
Your lips seem softly smiling.

And do you feel that it is home,
The City we call heaven?
Ah! were they glad to have you come,
My little maid of seven?

Methinks when you stand all in white
To learn each sweet new duty,
Some eye will note with keen delight
Your radiance and beauty.

And when your laughter softly rings
Out where God’s streets do glisten,
The angels fair will fold their wings
And still their song to listen.

Song of the Wind.

O Wind you come singing, singing,
Gaily about the eaves,
I think you are bringing, bringing,
The secret of the leaves;
Secrets you learned in the Maytime,
Down in the wood so cool,
Learned in the night-time and day-time,
By bank, and brook, and pool.

O wind, you go shrilling, shrilling,
Over the chimneys high,
While the clouds are softly spilling
Rain on the gardens dry:
’Tis autumn, the wild new-comer
Has taught you how to sing,
But the voice of the sweet dead summer
Through it all seems to ring.

O wind, you are railing, railing,
’Tis the voice of a shrew,
Wearied at length, and failing,
Then beginning anew:
Here you come sighing, sighing,
Down to my casement wide,
A moment and you are flying
Away in pique and pride.

I love your chasing and panting,
I love the melody,
That you go so gaily chanting
To earth, and sky, and sea.
Our birds go southward soaring,
When signs of frost appear,
You, with your sighing and roaring,
Sing to us all the year.

The Richer Man

You know how it is--you have had the gain,
The sweetness and pleasures of life,
I the fruitless striving, the heat to attain,
The toil, the failure, the strife.

Then we chance to come by the will of fate
To the warmth of one woman’s eyes,
And fate decrees it is not too late
To give me a great surprise.

And the woman turns with matchless grace
The bloom of her tender cheek,
And her red lips smiling--her glorious face,
Her glance so loving and meek.

To me--to the penniless bankrupt one,
And I find my portion at last,
And heaven as real, when all is done,
As the hell of the bitter past.

The glories of earth are but chaff in the wind,
The riches of earth but a song,
Now listen, my brother, I think you will find
You have tried to do me a wrong.

You had all that to me had been denied,
I starved while you feasted well,
You have fame, and a hundred things beside,
You have watched your coffers swell.

Yet when we come by the will of fate
To the warmth of one woman’s eyes,
And fate declares it is not too late
To give me a great surprise.

You come with the weight of your yellow gold,
And the trappings of your success;
You come with your bearing, courtly and bold,
You woo in your haughtiness.

You try to dazzle her eyes of blue,
And you try to steal for yourself
The heart of a woman good and true,
Go, be content with your pelf.

Learn there are treasures you may not grasp,
Joys you must surely miss,
The hand you court lies in my clasp
The lips are my own to kiss.

A penniless fellow! you used to say--
Own to the truth if you can--
We stand here together this summer’s day,
And _I_ am the _richer_ man.

His Wife and Boy.

Love is a myth which men create from vapors of the heart and brain,
Thus far the poet grave did get, then from a smile could not refrain,
Someone was singing, he could hear
Each word so low and sweet and clear,
“By Baby Bunting!
Papa’s gone a-hunting,
To get a little rabbit skin
To wrap the Baby-Bunting in.”

Right well he knew that picture fair
Might set a stoic’s heart aglow,
For it was such a bonnie pair,
So gently rocking to and fro.
The old song was a foolish thing,
Yet it seemed good to hear her sing,
“By Baby Bunting!
Papa’s gone a-hunting,
To get a little rabbit-skin
To wrap his Baby-Bunting in.”

The sunshine would be creeping down
Upon her hair of golden brown,
And farther yet that it might peep
At her awake, at him asleep,
And both were his to have and hold,
How runs the foolish song so old?
“By Baby-Bunting!
Papa’s gone a-hunting
To get a little rabbit-skin
To wrap the Baby-Bunting in.”

But he must to his hunting go,
A cloak this pen of his must win
As soft as silk and white as snow,
To wrap the Baby-Bunting in.
Strange that his poem deep and strong
Should wait upon a nursery song,
“By Baby-Bunting!
Papa’s gone a hunting,
To get a little rabbit skin
To wrap the Baby-Bunting in.”

Love is a myth that men create
From vapors of the heart and brain,
O pen, I fear you lied of late!
Hark, softly rings the old refrain!
“By Baby-Bunting!
Papa’s gone a-hunting,
To get a little rabbit-skin
To wrap the Baby-Bunting in.”

She Just Keeps House For Me

She is so winsome and so wise
She sways us at her will,
And oft the question will arise
What mission does she fill?
And so I say with pride untold
And love beyond degree,
This woman with the heart of gold
She just keeps house for me--
For me,
She just keeps house for me.

A full content dwells in her face,
She’s quite in love with life,
And for a title, wears with grace
The sweet old-fashioned “Wife,”
And so I say with pride untold,
And love beyond degree,
This woman with the heart of gold
She just keeps house for me--
For me,
She just keeps house for me.

What though I toil from morn till night,
What though I weary grow,
A spring of love and dear delight
Doth ever softly flow,
And so I say with pride untold,
And love beyond degree,
The woman with the heart of gold
She just keeps house for me.

Our children climb upon her knee
And lie upon her breast,
And ah! her mission seems to me
The highest and the best,
And so I say with pride untold,
And love beyond degree,
This woman with the heart of gold
She just keeps house for me.

Love’s Humility

“I love her, yes,” the younger of them said,
“I think her beautiful beyond compare;
How proudly does she carry that small head,
With all its wealth of silky night-black hair?
And then her warm red mouth--I see it now--
Was it not made for kisses? And her chin
So round and firm--the smooth unwrinkled brow,
Each cheek with such a cunning dimple in.
She is so piquant, winsome, fair, and good,
I could not choose but love her if I would.

“Did I not love her well, think you her charms
Would move my pulse in this delicious way,
And make me long to fold her in my arms,
Hold her love’s prisoner by night and day?
’Tis joy to think of her white-lidded eyes--
So full of dreams, so full of tender speech--
Her slender form--and yet, it were not wise
To be too rash--come, let your wisdom teach.
She is so piquant, winsome, fair, and good,
I could not choose but love her if I would.

“I fain would make her all my own, this maid,
I love her well, but would it be quite right
To risk so much? At times I grow afraid
To lift her up to such a dizzy height.
You know my prospects and you know my pride,
(It is a weighty matter to be wed)
And yet, I only know when at her side
That life is rich in joy and bliss,” we said.
“She is so piquant, winsome, fair, and good,
I could not choose but love her if I would.”

“I could not choose but love her if I would”
You boast, but if you loved her you would say,
“I would not choose but love her if I could,”
So answered him the old man, stern and gray.
“There’s passion in your words, but you have fears,
Your high position! Ah! you are afraid!
Boy, learn this truth from one of sober years,
The man who really, truly, loves a maid
Knows only two things well--no more, no less--
Her matchless worth--his own unworthiness.”

Our Host and His House

Nay, rail not, dear, at Time in such rude way,
’Tis scarcely fair, since he has been our host
For such a while. And rail not at the world,
This grey old ivy-covered manor-house wherein
He long has entertained us both. Since we
Have broken bread with him, danced in his halls,
Let us not talk of him in slighting way.

What though
He has not given lavishly,
For daily use, the rich things in his store?
Rare things grow common, quite, when they are used
In common way--you know this for yourself--
And delicacies lose their flavor when
The palate tires of them.
But ah, on state
Occasions has he not been prodigal?
O wine of life that he has poured for us!
Poured freely till it ran the goblet o’er,
And trickled down in little rosy streams!

Believe me, dear, for all his length of beard
So snowy white, his venerable air,
Enough of youth lurks in his bosom still
To make him lenient with foolishness.
For often has he stolen off and left
Us standing heart to heart,
And has he not
Sometimes, stilled all his house lest we should wake
Too soon from some wrapt dream of tenderness?
Then, too, for playthings he has given us hours
Filled full enough of rapture unalloyed
To cover every day of all the years
With common happiness if properly
Spread out.

As for this grey old world,
It is not half so murk, so wanting in
All light, all glow, and warmth, as some declare--
As we oft picture to ourselves, my dear,
It has its windows looking east and west,
It has its sunset and its morning gold;
The trouble is we _will_ look toward the east
At eventide, and toward the sombre west
When heaven is shaking down upon the world,
A lusty infant day. And so we miss
The glory of the sunset and the dawn.

The Mother’s Story

She told a wonderful story, the mother so fair and good,
Of the deep and strange old mystery men have never understood.
It was such a pretty story I wove it into a rhyme
To read to myself, when the skies were grey, at the end of summertime.

“Now listen,” she said, “my children, to every word that I say,
Dear Marjory, share the hearthrug with your restless sister May,
And you, my lad, with the great dark eyes, may share the couch with me,
While the baby-girl, with doll in arms, shall sit upon mother’s knee.

Your faces change as I carry your thoughts through the ebb and flow
Of someone’s joys, and someone’s hopes, and I love to watch the glow
In Marjory’s eyes as we talk of elves in their wild and wanton glee,
When they make the dim old forest ring with the sound of revelry.

But May cares only to listen when I tell some quaint home tale,
She likes a cot on a wooded hill, and flocks of sheep in the vale,
While you, my lad, with the dreamy eyes, you love the prose and
the rhyme,
The deeds of daring, the deeds of might, of good King Arthur’s time.

To-day May asked me a question, and I’ve pondered it for hours,
_God’s acre_, she said, _is full of bloom--do the dead folks turn
to flowers?_
There’s a tender story, my children, that may comfort you some day
When mother sleeps in God’s acre, and the flowers blossom gay.

The soft-voiced angels of Life and Love they whispered to Christ one day
We pray Thee that when one fair and good in the earth is laid away,
That we in the golden dawn may go alone where the sleeper lies,
And sing in the solemn silence the songs learned in Paradise.”

Answered Christ, “Go sing till comes springing up, up from the
sod beneath,
The lily, white as a ransomed soul, the rose with its fragrant breath.”
A silence fell on the little group, there were tears in Marjory’s eyes,
It was a wonderful story, and mother was O, so wise!

Then the wee girl clapped her dimpled hands, and said in her loving way,
“When you turn to a posy, mamma, I’ll water you every day.”
It was such a pretty story I wove it into a rhyme,
To read to myself, when the skies were grey, at the end of summertime.

In Lover’s Lane

O, ranting bully with clamorous breath,
O, vandal, why come you down from the North
With frost in your breath, and wrath in your voice,
And force in your arms to level and toss?
You rush through the wood and threaten the trees--
The giants of oak, of beech, and of elm,
Playmates of yours ere age had o’ertaken,
Stolen their vigor, their sap, and their life.
The tender child-trees, the slender child-trees
You worry, you beat, you fling to the earth,
Lithe and supple are they to defy you,
Swiftly they spring up as soon as you pass,
Trembling a little with fear and anger,
But whole and unhurt--the slender young things!

Is it not enough that you bend and you break,
And make you a path wherever you go,
But you must enter this quiet old lane,
Shut out from the world by lattice of vines,
Where Eve, pretty Eve, so prim and demure
Is walking with someone, taking the air?
You rest behind them plotting new mischief,
Rest till a soft hush falls down on the world,
Rest till the growing things listen and laugh
Thinking you gone to your lair in the North,
Then you begin to stir and to mutter,
Growing in anger, till, big with your wrath,
On you come rushing--vandal how can you
Liberties take with a maiden so fair?

Eve, as you walk so primly beside him,
Keeping your distance, nor heeding his sighs.
Chin tilted forward, eyes straight before you,
Parasol swinging in one little hand,
Blue gown all flounces, ribbons a-flutter,
Dainty, and winsome, and proud as a queen!

There is no time--the boorish thing takes you--
You and your ruffles, your ribbons and curls,
You and your primness, your blushes, and airs,
Straight to the arms of the man at your side.
You have no conscience swaggering north wind,
Else would you hasten and leave them alone;
Why must you push her yet nearer to him?
Buffet and beat her--you ruffian strong!
She has to hide her face on his bosom,
While you go whirling in ecstasy round,
Then you loosen her bronze hair and fling it,
Warm and electric, up over his cheek,
Hair soft and shiny, full of allurement,
Tempting a mortal to feel of its gold.

Down you go soberly over the fields,
Making believe you have left them for good,
Driving the cattle and scaring the flocks,
Shaking the cedars that stand on the hill;
Then, when she loosens herself from his grasp,
Laughing and blushing, and red as a rose,
Back you come flying on mischief intent
Pleased to torment the fair maid in the lane.

Oh, how you buffet her, boor that you are!
Oh, how you flutter her garments abroad!
Clutch at her flounces, so pretty and neat!
Worry the ribbons that hang at her waist!
Then growing fiercer, you roar and you rage,
Whirling and twirling to show off your strength,
Pay no attention to prayer--or mishap--
Drive her to shelter again in his arms.
Watching so closely the glances she gives,
Wondering greatly how much she regrets,
All that has happened, since, prim and demure,
Out from the farmhouse she started at noon.
“Maidens are queer things,” you laugh to yourself,
“Hiding their faces and owning to naught;
Why must she whimper?

She’s glad to be there,
Glad to be holding so closely to him,
Glad to feel round her his care-taking arms,
Glad to be list’ning to all that he tells,
Glad that I rumpled her shiny bronze hair,
Making her fairer in somebody’s eyes;
Glad that I thrashed out her primness and pride,
Glad! she’ll not own it--mark her distress now--
Oh! but these maidens are curious things!”

Listen, old North Wind, listen and peer,
You have no manners, no conscience, no shame,
Words of the lovers you greedily seize--
Seize, and go shrieking them out to the world!
_She is an angel! so fair, and so tender!
Too good for mortal--the loveliest, best!_

O, you prying, inquisitive meddler!
One thing you miss though--the sweetest of all--
Not even a breath of love’s first warm kiss
Is wasted on you--O boor of the North!

O Last Days of the Year

“O last days of the year!” she whispered low,
“You fly too swiftly past. Ah, you might stay
Awhile, a little while, do you not know
What tender things you bear with you away?

I’m thinking, sitting in the soft gloom here,
Of all the riches that were mine the day
There crept down on the world the soft new year,
A rosy thing with promise filled--and gay.

But twelve short months ago! a little space
In which to lose so much--a whole life’s wealth
Of love and faith, youth, and youth’s tender grace--
Things that are wont to go from us by stealth.

Laughter and blushes, and the rapture strong,
The clasp of clinging hands, the burning kiss,
The joy of living, and the glorious song
That drew its sweetness from a full heart’s bliss.

O gladness great!
O wealth of tenderness!
That were my own one little year ago,
A bankrupt I--gone faith, gone warm caress,
Gone love, gone youth, gone _all_,”
She whispered low.

“O last days of the year!
You take away
The riches that I held so close and dear,
Go not so swiftly, stay a little--stay
With one poor bankrupt,
Last days of the year!”

Back on the Farm

I’ll tell you what I wish I was,
When days like these arrive,
An’ spring puts all her gewgaws on,
An’ all the world’s alive.

I wish I was a boy again--
A boy back on the farm--
A-watchin’ all the growin’ stuff,
An’ cowslips gettin’ warm.

A playin’ round the whole long day
As happy as a lark,
An’ never out of mischief once
From daylight until dark.

With such a lot of things to hear
An’ such a lot to see,
An’ my dog Rover at my heels,
To keep me company.

A watchin’ the big sun go down
Behind the tree-tops high,
An’ wishin’ I could climb the one
That reached up to the sky.

A-listenin’ to the katydids
A-jawin’ in the lane,
An’ sniffin’ up the earthy smell
That comes before a rain.

Laughin’ to see the white-wool’d sheep
Come skippin’ down the hill,
An’ feelin’ such a heap of joy
I couldn’t quite keep still.

An’ by-an’-by, a dozin’ off,
An’ wakin’ up to hear
My mother say: “Come in the house,
’Tis past your bedtime, dear.”

A longin’ takes me on these days
When all the world gets warm,
A-longin’ just to be a boy--
A boy back on the farm.

He Meditates on the Critic

“Criticism is a tonic,
Very healthy in effect,”
Wrote he, and my verse Byronic
Did most _ruthlessly_ reject.

He’s a villain--deep--politic--
Bitter things these tonics, all,
Manufactured by the critic
From his mighty store of gall.

Jacynth

“We have been something more than friends, Jacynth,
You know that well, yet now you say ‘my friend,
I give you welcome home,’ in such cold way
I scarce believe it is Jacynth who speaks--
Jacynth, who used to give--but let it pass.
The new year finds me with a heavy heart,
I come to seek the girl
I used to know,
The happy, trusting, tender girl, and lo--
I find her grown into a woman proud,
With richer dower of beauty for her own,
But far less lovable than my Jacynth.”

_Jacynth_:
“We both are changed, I think.”

_Derwent_:
“It is not so.
I am not of the sort that gets new friends
Like fashions for each season as it comes.”

_Jacynth_:
“Hark to the bells! a happy year, Derwent;
Give me your hand and wish as much for me.”

_Derwent_:
“You wish me happiness, and yet deny
My heart the highway to it.”

_Jacynth_:
“Happiness!
I would that words might win the illusive
Thing to carry with thee alway. How I
Would wheedle! She cannot suit her step
To ours for long, she wearieth of our slow
And sober pace and flitteth where she will--
Now near, now far away. We search in vain,
And when we go with down-bent head and eyes
Tear-filled, lo! on a sudden shineth round
Our feet her rainbow hues, and to our breast
She creepeth down with eager willingness.”

_Derwent_:

“There’s sweetness in thy words, such sweetness as
Wells up from fragrant things tho’ they be dead,
_A violet’s breath lives longer than its bloom_,
So in this tender wish of thine I read
Once on a time thy love was mine.”

_Jacynth_:
“And Peace--
Sweet Peace, whose softest note can drown the cry
Of bitterness--Oh! I would have her keep
Thy company, go with thee all the day,
Sleep on thine heart from dusk till rosy dawn,
And all such pretty joys be borne to thee
As come with fragrant breath, and dewy lips,
And subtle tender touch, to keep our love
Towards God and man a warm and living thing.
A Happy Year!
A Happy, Happy Year!”

_Derwent_:
“Nay, from the velvet heart of flower in bloom
Comes this last wave of sweetness;
My Jacynth,
Love is not dead in that white breast of thine,
O glad bells! ring ye out to all the world,
A Happy Year!
A Happy, Happy Year!”

Her First Sleigh-ride

All night the snowflakes sought the earth--the snowflakes big and white--
They covered up the meadows brown, they bent the bushes slight!
At morn the sun with wondrous pomp came climbing o’er the hill,
And lent a thousand beauties to the world so fair and still.
Ruth at the old manse window stood, a wonder in her gaze,
“The earth was turned to fairyland” she cried out in amaze!
Her cousin Ronald laughed and said, “This is no fairyland,
But a Canadian landscape clothed in beauty wild and grand.”

“In Georgia you have naught like this--ice, snow and wintery gale--
The southern air is warm and soft, the southern girls are pale,”
Not pale the face she turned to him, in each soft cheek the red
Flamed up, “You need not say a word against the south,” she said,
“I envy not your rosy maids their color, or their land,
I love the warmth of our blue sky, the bloom on every hand,
Far more than all your snow-capped hills, and forests ghostly white,
And mournful winds that love to play a dirge both day and night!”

Thereat his father--kindly soul as ever put to sleep
Both saint and sinner in the pew, with sermon long and deep--
Bade him not tease a sister so, “Come, make your peace straightway,
Then harness and bring out Black Bess, for on this glorious day
My Ruth shall have a rare, good treat--a sleigh-ride, do you hear?
The air will warm up towards noon, for see the sky is clear,
Come, you should love each other well, so near of kin are you,
My child, in Ronald you shall have a brother good and true.”

“No brother I,” the graceless youth did hastily exclaim,
And Ruth, affronted, bade him wait until she made such claim,
Black Bess came prancing from her stall, so smooth, so shiny-skinned,
Give her the rein and she would race as swiftly as the wind,
She tossed her slender head and pawed the snow-drifts as she stood,
And shook her bells until they chimed, so eager was her mood,
“Whoa, Bess, be patient for awhile?” said Ronald, as with care
He tucked the robes so thick and warm about his cousin fair.

Then off they sped away--away, the snow-birds flew afraid,
The frost came in the air to touch the cheeks of man and maid,
The yellow sunbeams raced with them, and made a glow and gleam,
Put rainbow colors on the bridge that spanned the frozen stream.
A white highway they followed down into the valley wide,
And whiter yet the sun-kissed hills that rose on either side;
Black Bess made all her chiming bells flow music clear and sweet
As on she sped, and on, and on--a handsome thing and fleet.

But when the forest wide was reached she took a sober pace,
As though to give them time to note the beauty of the place,
The giant heads were crowned with snow, the giant limbs were dressed,
And close about the giant girths the snowy drifts were pressed.
And Ruth, a fair and radiant Ruth, said softly “This is grand;
Old winter makes his home I trow, in this wide northern land,
You lacked in courtesy to-day, but this ride makes amends,
So Ronald now, a truce, I say; let us be loyal friends.”

“No friend am I,” he said, and laughed to note her look of pride!
“What boors you are, here in the north!” the angry maiden cried;
“And now for home and supper warm, we’ll need them without doubt.”

Homeward they flew, Black Bess as fresh as when she started out;
The sun with all his gorgeous train went down behind the crest
Of one tall hill, but left a glow of crimson in the west,
So soft, so pure, the old world lay as the young night came down,
For covered all her gardens sere, her meadows bare and brown.

He spoke at length, “I will not be your brother or your friend.
But I will be your lover true till life and love shall end,”
The blue eyes looked into the brown, he bent his head full low,
He may have kissed her tender mouth--but this no one can know.

* * * * *

“Ho! Ho! this winter air is fine!” the old man cried with glee!
“Did you enjoy my treat? Your cheeks are rosy as can be,”
“I did,” Ruth owned, and stretched her hands out to the cheerful blaze,
“I like Canadian scenery--I--like--Canadian--ways.”

His Own Little Black-Eyed Lad

It is time for bed, so the nurse declares,
But I slip off to the nook,
The cosy nook at the head of the stairs,
Where daddy’s reading his book.
“I want to sit here awhile on your knee,”
I say as I toast my feet,
“And I want you to pop some corn for me,
And give me an apple sweet.”

I tickle him under the chin--just so--
And I say, “Please can’t I, dad?”
Then I kiss his mouth so he can’t say no,
To his own little black-eyed lad.

“You can’t have a pony this year at all,”
Says my stingy uncle Joe
After promising it, and there’s the stall
Fixed ready for it, you know.
One can’t depend on his uncles, I see,
It’s daddies that are the best,
And I find mine and climb on his knee
As he takes his smoke and rest.

I tickle him under the chin--just so--
And I say, “Please can’t I, dad?”
Then I kiss his mouth so he can’t say no,
To his own little black-eyed lad.

I want to skate, and oh, what a fuss
For fear I’ll break through the ice!
This woman that keeps our house for us
She isn’t what I call nice.
She wants a boy to be just like a girl,
To play in the house all day,
Keep his face all clean, and his hair in curl,
But dad doesn’t think that way.

I tickle him under the chin--just so--
And I say, “Please can’t I, dad?”
Then I kiss his mouth so he can’t say no,
To his own little black-eyed lad.

“You’re growing so big” says my dad to me,
“Soon be a man, I suppose,
Too big to climb up on your old dad’s knee
And toast your ten little toes.”
Then his voice it gets the funniest shake,
And oh, but he hugs me tight!
I say, when I can’t keep my eyes awake,
“Let me sleep with you to-night.”

I tickle him under the chin--just so--
And I say, “Please can’t I, dad?”
Then I kiss his mouth so he can’t say no,
To his own little black-eyed lad.

Be Good and Glad

Why do you sigh as days go by,
And carry such a weight of sadness?
To wistful eyes, the hot tears rise--
Yet life holds store of joy and gladness.
The sunbeams gay are out to-day,
Then worry not about to-morrow,
Nor shrink, nor start with beating heart,
Nor grave fears for the future borrow.
Let us not weep when shadows deep
About our pathway seem to gather,
But go our way, without dismay,
For children we--the Lord our Father.
I hold there must be faith and trust--
For others’ sins a full forgiving--
The greeting glad for sick and sad,
If we would taste the joys of living.
The sunlight streams, the old world dreams,
And by-and-by the stars will glimmer,
The lamps that swung when earth was young
Yet have not older grown, or dimmer.
And blind we are, or we would see
This lesson in the skies above us;
That all the way, by night or day,
God watchful is, since He doth love us.

The Making Up

We quarrel and make up again,
And then some day,
We quarrel, and forget, straightway,
The making up.

The first harsh word comes tremblingly--
We shame to fling
It forth--Ah me! ’twill wound and sting
What we hold dear.

Ashamed and penitent we cry
“Forgive!” and kiss;
There is a wealth of joy and bliss
In making up.

The next harsh word comes easier,
Till by-and-by,
We think it foolishness to cry
For peace again.

The discord swells in every line,
And soon we grow
So used to it we hardly know
The once sweet air.

We quarrel and make up again
And then some day
We quarrel and forget, straightway,
The making up.

O Radiant Stream

River St. Lawrence, tranquil and fair,
Soft in the sunlight, blue as the sky,
Crowned with a beauty, tender and rare,
And kissed by the breeze that goes hurrying by.
Warm dost thou look, and fair as a dream,
Speeding so merrily out to the sea,
So strong and so gentle--O radiant stream,
The smile of the summer is resting on thee!

River St. Lawrence, tranquil and fair,
Winding thy way for a thousand long miles
Past meadow and homestead, past rocks grim and bare,
With a song for the shore, a kiss for the isles
Lovingly cradled on thy broad breast--
Isles without number, and fair as can be,
O, sweet, shining river--bonniest, best--
The smile of the summer is resting on thee!
River St. Lawrence, tranquil and fair,
Lightly bearing the great ships along--
Boats with their white sails spread out in the air--
The broad rafts of timber, so clumsy and strong--
The slender canoe, as swift as a bird,
The Indian builds with bark from a tree--
Thou bearest them all, unwearied, unstirred--
The smile of the summer is resting on thee!

River St. Lawrence, tranquil and fair,
Pure are thy waters that bask in the light;
Thy ripples of laughter ring sweet on the air--
The rocks bend to listen by day and by night.
The turbulent streams rushing down from the hills
To mingle and race with thee out to the sea,
Steal not from thy azure--O, beauty that thrills,
The smile of the summer is resting on thee!

River St. Lawrence, tranquil and fair,
Onward thou speedest, so deep and so wide;
The sunbeams that lurk on thy bosom, see there
A tremulous tumult of love, and of pride--
Of love and of pride for the place of thy birth--
Thy far-away mother--the fresh-water sea--
From whence thou didst spring forth to gladden God’s earth--
The smile of the summer is resting on thee!

River St. Lawrence, tranquil and fair,
Soft in the sunlight, blue as the sky,
Crowned with a beauty tender and rare,
And kissed by each breeze that goes hurrying by;
Warm dost thou look, and fair as a dream,
Speeding so merrily out to the sea,
So mighty, so gentle--O, radiant stream,
The smile of the summer is resting on thee!

My Sweetbriar Maid

I called her sweetbriar when first we walked,
Deep down in the winding lane,
The wild birds sang, and we laughed, and we talked,
Deep down in the winding lane,
We met in the sunshine of one spring day--
Youthful, and happy, and free,
Into her keeping my heart flew straightway,
Pretty and piquant, was she.

Her hazel eyes were so gentle and meek,
But scornful her mouth and chin,
Her brow was severe, but each rosy cheek
Had a roguish dimple in,
And I cried, “I love you my sweetbriar maid!”
And then, oh moment of bliss,
My lips to her cherry-red lips I laid,
And tasted my first love-kiss.

’Twas ever and ever so long ago,
But I remember it yet,
Ah, the springtime of life, its bloom and its glow,
The heart can never forget,
My sweetbriar maid I would give to-day,
The wealth, the fame and the gold
That the years have brought, if they’d roll away,
And leave us the thrill of old.

If only straight backward old time would move--
(Ah, wishing is all in vain),
And leave us with youth, and joy, and love,
Deep down in that winding lane.

My Canada

My Canada!
I would that I thy child might frame
A song half worthy of thy name,
Proudly I say--
This is our country, strong, and broad and grand,
This is our Canada, our native land!

My Canada!
’Tis meet that all the world should know
How far thy sweeping rivers flow,
How fair to-day
Thy bonnie lakes upon thy bosom lie,
Their faces laughing upward to the sky.

My Canada!
We look alway with love and pride
Upon thy forests deep and wide,
And gladly say.
“These giant fellows, mighty grown with age,
Are part and parcel of our heritage.”

My Canada!
So rich in glow and bracing air,
With meadows stretching everywhere,
With gardens gay,
With smiling orchards, sending forth to greet
Full breaths of perfume from their burdens sweet.

My Canada!
Thou art not old, thou art not skilled,
But through the ages youth hath thrilled;
’Tis dawn with thee,
Thou has a glorious promise, and thy powers
Are measured only by the golden hours.

My Canada!
What thou art now we know full well,
What thou wilt grow to be? Ah! who can tell?
We see to-day
Thy lithe form running swiftly in the race,
For all the things which older lands do grace.

My Canada!
With loyal sons to take thy part,
To hold thee shrined within the heart,
Proudly we say,
“This is our country, strong, and broad, and grand,
“God guard thee Canada, our native land!

Perfect Peace

_Because He Trusteth in Thee_--ISAIAH.

In an hour when all was anguish, when loss and death were near,
I sought the Christ and cried aloud for aid,
Through the heavy mist of sorrow, His voice came, sweet and clear
Take the promise, let thy mind on Me be stayed.

_For_ ye shall have perfect peace,
And the grieving shall depart,
And the striving and the bitterness shall cease,
Then laid the wounded hand of Him
Upon my breaking heart,
Lo, ’twas mine, the priceless gift of Perfect Peace.
Come let us weigh the tenderness Christ hath for you and me,
By the promises He ready stands to prove,
Let us try to comprehend it, the gift so full and free,
O the height and depth, and length and breadth, of Love!
He is so patient with us as He guides our stubborn feet--
So patient though we wander far astray,
Lean on the Everlasting Strength, He saith in accents sweet,
As we falter and we stumble by the way.

For ye shall have perfect peace,
And the grieving shall depart,
And the striving and the bitterness shall cease,
Then laid the wounded hand of Him
Upon my breaking heart,
Lo, ’twas mine, the priceless gift of Perfect Peace.
Blessed Christ, if we could bring Thee the years so swiftly gone,
O the wasted hours! the swiftly coming night!
The finding in the twilight what we might have found at dawn--
Thee--the source of strength, and joy, and all delight!
I can thank Thee now for taking what I held dear away,
For my mind on Thee, and Thee alone, is stayed,
Thou wilt give back my treasures in the coming golden day,
I will trust Thee and I will not be afraid.

For I shall have perfect peace,
And the grieving shall depart,
And the striving and the bitterness shall cease,
Then laid the wounded hand of Him
Upon my breaking heart,
Lo, ’twas mine the priceless gift of Perfect Peace.

The King’s Gift

The angels open the windows wide
In the world so far above us,
Lo, all about us, on every side,
Falls the newborn year unstained, untried,
O, angel hearts that love us!

Ye take our yesterdays dim and old,
Touched with sorrow and sinning,
And ye give to us with a grace untold
The year’s soft dew and the dawn of gold,
Ye give us the fresh beginning.

Unstained the new year falls at our feet
From the world so far above us,
And what it will bring of joy complete,
Or take of treasures tender and sweet,
Ye know, O hearts that love us!

I Love Her Well

I love her well, day after day
I tell the old words over,
They ring no change from grave to gay,
It is enough, I love her!

I love her well--nay never ask
The reason _why_ I do so,
Ask flowers that in the sunshine bask
The reason why they grew so.

They’ll tell you heaven saw the need,
And so, on earth’s brown bosom
The angels scattered out the seed,
The sunbeams kissed to blossom.

I love her well, day after day
I tell the old words over,
They ring no change from grave to gay,
It is enough--I love her!

Good-Night

I am not brave enough to sing
The requiem of a hope just dead,
That word _good-bye_ will surely bring
The shadow upon swifter wing,
Come, let us say good-night instead.

See, where upon the water’s crest
The sky comes down, a samite pall,
To our poor vision, dim at best--
That curtain of rare amethyst
Marks the sure ending of it all.

Ah, heart, the lesson you forget,
This wind which goes with hurrying sweep
Sees farther on, and farther yet
The white ships go, the waters fret,
The tender stars their vigils keep.

So not good-bye, good-night--that’s all,
The loneliness, the loss is mine,
To-morrow when the glad winds call,
The folds of mist will backward fall,
And leave me with my hand in thine.

Her Gold

“I covet her gold, sir,” no farther I got,
His wrath down upon me so swiftly descended,
A gay fortune-hunter, a spendthrift, a sot,
Were names I was called before he had ended.

“You covet her gold! Ah! no man with a heart
Would do such a thing--not even a pauper--
With you on life’s journey my child shall not start
If counsel of mine, and warning, can stop her.”

“I covet her gold, and, believe me,” I said,
“The honest fact will in no way surprise her,
I covet her gold, sir, _the gold on her head_,
Once it is mine you may call me a miser.”

Good-Bye To Work

Good-bye to work, I say, and straight
The pain of having such to say
Puts coward touches on my face,
And leaves me strangely old and gray.

Why not? We deem it not amiss
Beside the coffin and the pall
To let our loss fill all our thought,
To let our tears like raindrops fall.

And when I stand and voice to-day
The thought of my reluctant heart,
Unclasp your bands and go your way
O work, ’tis time for us to part!

I say good-bye to more than friend,
A comrade staunch, and tried and true,
Who linked his fate with that of mine,
And paced with me the dull year through.

To work, the one enduring thing
Born of my vast desire for good,
And nourished by each grand resolve
That swept my being like a flood.

To work, the gracious thing, and strong,
That found the welcome of a bride
When life was in its green, glad spring,
The coming years outstretching wide.

When, not as laggard to his task,
But as a lover warm and true,
I held it close in my embrace,
And felt its greatness thrill me through.

O work! if time had passed us by
And left us youth, and youth’s desires,
What heights--nay never soul of man
Mounts up so high as it aspires.

The years--harsh things that steal the dew
From all that’s fair--disdained to show
Such mercy towards our purpose strong,
To learn untouched its tender glow.

Not always kind, not often fair,
Since hearts so rarely constant prove
What wonder that my fervor passed,
That dulled grew the sharp edge of love?

When eyes entreating met my own,
Between would come your changeless face,
Till, thwarted, I would feel to cry,
O work, release me for a space!

But what man putting the last kiss
On lips once loved recalls to mind
One slight defect, the haughty look
The thoughtless word, the act unkind.