Chapter I: Give Thee My Promise 42

CHAMBERED ROSES 43

TWO FRAMES 44

_Pars Summae_ 45

A VISION 46

THE AFTERMATH 48

PROOF-WORDS 49

MEMORIES

ADIEUS 53

DUST TO DUST 54

LITTLE WORDS 55

A WAYSIDE LIFE 56

O TEAR! 57

THE DEW OF DUST 58

A SMILE 59

PHILOSOPHY

THE HILL-TOPS 63

THE MAN WHO BEARS THE HOD 64

JOG ALONG! 65

THE FAMILY TREE 66

REPLEVIN 68

HOMILIES

WHAT IS TRUTH? 71

FRIENDSHIP 72

THOUGHT 73

WHEN I’M NO MORE 74

THE BLAZED TRAIL 75

GRIEF AND JOY 76

HOPE 77

SOWING AND REAPING 78

HOPE ON! 79

HEARTED GOOD 80

COUNTRY

AMERICA 83

THE ALTAR OF COUNTRY 85

THE STARS OF DESTINY 86

LAST OF THE GRAND ARMY 87

_Vincit Omnia Jus_ 90

THE FLYING JACK 92

HUMOR

SAP’S A-BILIN’ 97

JUST MUD 98

KNOCKIN’ ROUND 99

THE SNAIL AND STAR 100

THE OLD SOR’L HOSS 102

NICODEMUS BOGGS 103

SACRED

WHAT IS FAITH? 107

A FORGIVENESS 109

THE GOOD SAMARITAN 111

SHEPHERD OF ISRAEL 113

THE LADDER OF CLOUD 114

THE RISEN CHRIST MEANS VICTORY 116

THE EVERLASTING ARMS 117

HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP 118

THE GLORY DWELLS 119

THE LIGHT OF LIFE 120

DESIGN 121

SONG

GOLDEN HOPE 125

THE COMING CROWNING 126

THE LIVING CUP 128

THE SINGERS 129

THE CROWN OF THORNS 131

SONG ALONG 133

_Ecce Homo!_ 134

THE LOVE THAT WASHED HIS FEET 136

MISCELLANEOUS

THE SHUT AND OPEN HAND 141

THE MAN-BIRD 144

THE PHANTOM CAVALRY 146

THOU CALLEST ME BROTHER 149

THE SINGING DEATH 150

THE OLD MOON IN THE ARMS OF THE NEW 152

NATURE

FIREFLIES

The murky night hung dank and dark
The Summer shower after;
A distant dog’s staccato bark
Disturbed the strollers’ laughter;
The mournful whip-poor-will’s lament,
The frogs’ and crickets’ chorus
A weird, sepulchral feeling lent
To meadow-lot and morass.

A thousand insect-lanterns flashed
Their phosphorescent signals
Of living sparks that dot-and-dashed
Out swift electric riddles;
For scarcely was the eye upon
A single tiny glowlight
When wink, it flitted and was gone
Like prankish imp on show-night!

And while one guessed its next surprise
Afar from where it dwindled
A myriad others to the eyes
All intercrossed and kindled
Until the ghostly gloom became
Illumined with manœuvres
As though of fairies fanning flame
Within a park of lovers.

And thus does fancy people night
With fugitive creations
Of phantom-folk whose fitful light
Yet feeds our inspirations
And teaches us there is no dark
But fellowships the presence
Of every soul that sheds its spark
Of humble incandescence.

BO-PEEP

Everywhere I ramble
In the ides of May,
Through the boughs and bramble
The wood-nymphs play.
Where the sunshine dapples
Shadows all a-creep
Beneath the budding apples,
Dances Bo-Peep.

Over where the mosses
Make a coverlet
Which the Spring embosses
With a green fret,
From the long hibernal
Dreaminess of sleep
Wakes with dimples vernal
Little Bo-Peep.

Violets and bluets
Mischievously peek;
Monks like pigmy druids
Play at hide-and-seek;
O’er each stump a picket
Spies with cunning deep,
And in every thicket
Beckons Bo-Peep.

PEEP-OF-DAWN

The tallyho of slumber’s on
The last relay of dreams;
Posthaste it rides with ribbons drawn
O’er curvetting gray teams.
The wayside house just left behind
Was Where-the-Cock-Crew Inn;
The road ahead with rose is lined
And known as Work-to-Win.

Intoxicated senses sink
In visions of delight;
And Venus’ eye begins to wink
Where it outrides the night.
Sly fingers lift the window-shades,
But ere espied are gone;
And on the drowsy milking-maids
Tiptoes the Peep-of-Dawn.

Dame Nature in abandon lies
With skirts in disarray,
And overtaken with surprise
Is kissed by stealthy Day;
The coverts rub their eyes and wake,
And dreaming Love anon
Goes forth on Rosy Road to make
A tryst with Peep-of-Dawn.

THE RILLY RIVER

The cold and turbid flood of Spring
Has melted to the Summer shallow,
And now the vivid greeneries cling
Along the margin lush and fallow,
And where were sombre deeps and chills
Are silver trills of rippling rills.

The loiterer upon the bridge
Which o’er the eddying river poises
Salutes the island’s sandy ridge
That reappears; the eye rejoices
In all the old familiar frills
And saucy spills of rippling rills.

The rod and reel the rapture feel
And from the boat take finny chances,
But less for luck than with the keel
To be a part of runic dances;
For thus the river’s music thrills
Like joy that fills the rippling rills.

CHERRIES

Cherries! Cherries! Cherries!
The robins are excited and delighted
To change the fare at last;
For ’twas bugs and grubs and slugs
Over two months past.
Now it’s cherries till the berries
Ripen full and fast.

Cherries! Cherries! Cherries!
The robins are excited and affrighted;
There’s a man up the tree
In a big wig and rig
That would scare a chickadee--
But a robin--see him bobbin’
In a solemn colloquy!

Cherries! Cherries! Cherries!
The scare-crow is indicted and requited
With a pocketful of eggs
Baby-blue, with ’em too
Gettin’ ready bill and legs
For the Summer that’s a comer
When the cherry-season begs.

Cherries! Cherries! Cherries!
The robins are excited and delighted--
Not the redbreast but the kind
That eclipse with cherry lips
And are not a whit behind
Robin Jerries stealin’ cherries
When the dummy’s but a blind.

A SNOWFLAKE

Million-needled star of hoar,
Parachuting little kite
Sailing by my cottage-door,
Flurried, jostled, fairy-light--
Whither, whither, whence and why
Comest thou of crystal
From the welkin, hasting by
Like a lost epistle?

Softly did the snowflake sigh
“Read me as I rest awhile!”
So I read the whence and why;
For the snowflake is a smile,
Melting Heaven-dew congealed
Lest we miss its beauty,
Love in miracle revealed
On the wings of duty!

THE BLIZZARD

The whited pumice of the storm
Is over house and hill
Or drifted into shroudlike form
About the ruined mill.

The fences hide beneath the drifts;
The snowy terraces
Ascend to where the hemlock lifts
Its virgin-broidered dress.

The trackless highway challenges
The sweltered caravan
Of traffic and in fastnesses
Of chalk imprisons man.

The wind-wolves howl at cottage-door
Or down the chimney leap;
The windows all are rimed with hoar
Where frozen fingers creep.

The house-frame groans at blast and frost
Like quarry of the pack
O’ertaken, but though torn and tossed
Still stout of heart and back;

Still stout of heart like us secure
By ruddy fire warm,
Too humbly thankful to be poor
While sheltered from the storm.

SUGARING OFF

Essence of all that’s sweet, what joy
To watch thy amber flow
And sip thy nectar till it cloy
Or waxen it on snow!

What joy to watch the trickling veins
Of our old maple-friend
And know the vernal Odin reigns
As heir of Winter’s end!

Drink to the earnest of the Spring,
The ichor of the bud,
To all the rising hopes that sing
Of life and loverhood!

Drink to the sweetness in thee hid
By softer airs distilled;
Let Nature sugar off and bid
Her kindlier cup be filled!

THE CHRYSALIS

Come out of your Winter shell, old grub
Of horns and crusty twist,
And with your fellows elbows rub
More like a humanist!
A spiral armor’s very well
For its eccentric curve,
But not a gloomy hermit-cell
Of cynical reserve.

Come out of your Winter shell, old slug
Of dormant sense and soul!
You’re far too round and hard and smug;
Your Summer self unroll
And show you’ve got some nature left
That sprouts an airy wing;
The man of humus is bereft
Who can’t respond to Spring.

Come out of your Winter shell, old worm
Of wrapped-up gossamer,
If you would burst your scaly derm
And let the spirit stir;
For after all, for better things
A man created is
Than lying with imprisoned wings
A half-dead chrysalis.

WHEN I SURVEY

’Tis midnight and I am in the country!
The world is still and all the lights are out
Save for the ones which stud the firmament
With diamond clusters everywhere about.

Like royal David pondering the Heaven
I stand uncovered, torn and battle-spent
And from my flocking meditations driven
By spectral bears and lions; but not as he
Victorious, for the raveners I smote
Were modern pride and doubt which stalked my faith
For its ewe-lamb of trust and by the throat
Dragged it away from me to bleating death.

My staff is broken and the scroll I read
A thousand nights like this lies crumpled where
I flung it as with fevered brow I fled
In mocking disillusion and despair
From burnt-out wicks still sputtering in the oil
Of self-illumination with the quizz

“What am I? What the infinite I AM?”

God! If the answer were in spirit-toil
Or as the echo of Whatever IS!

The stars smile down on me undimmed and calm.
My soul! Have I so many years been blind
To all the glories wheeling o’er my head
And starry with the challenge of my quest?

Orion jewel-girdled and behind
Coursing his dogs, in mighty combat strange
With red-eyed Taurus!

And the Charioteer
Flashing toward the goal in full career!
The thrice-immortal Twins the chase abreast,
Cheering the race but keeping out of range
Of Ursa’s long, lean paws where his huge frame
Looms in the Polar Circle!

Farther south
The Lion’s crouching form, with gleaming eyes
And shadowy mouth!

The Plowman of the skies,
Proud of Arcturus’ fame!

And Hercules
Setting his giant heel upon the fang
Of the unwieldy Dragon; while beyond
The Serpent’s Crown makes mockery of the deed!

Far over by a handful of degrees
Imperial Vega rides the horizon,
Harped on by Lyra, as when morning sang
The genesis of systems God-decreed.

Already shines afar the Northern Cross
Where else were only dreariness and dark,
Like flaming symbol of a holy Cause
Which bore its ensign up the Winter arc
And more divinely glowed with sacred fire
Than the tiaraed Lady of the Chair
With dazzling looks, or than her daughter whom
Impetuous Perseus, thinking her so fair,
Delivered by the right of passion from
The Beast with jaws of grossness open wide.

Nor would I miss the Eagle, argus-eyed
And swift on wings of night.

What! Call this Night,
With thousand thousand suns in timeless space
So vast that distance gives no parallax
And centuries untold would pass ere light
From the remotest wanderer could burn!

So vast yon fires are a hundred-fold
More luminous than ours to them in turn,
And it in lost direction would dissolve
From Earth’s own lode-star here yclept the Pole!

So vast that hosts so numberless revolve
In unison as no assembled whole
Of man’s most perfect mechanism moves,
Yet by the which he boasts perpetual noon
As though the elements he late improves
And plays them in a more triumphant tune.

What! Call this Night and our small dial Day
Because by it we see ourselves and then
As mere automatons! Such is the way
Of over-conscious men; why, even I
An hour since called light a flickering lamp,
Philosophy the palimpsest of pedants,
The universe a papier-mache script,
While on it egotism’s ink was still too damp
And speculation dript.

But as I mount the Great Highway of Pearl
Which turns to diamonds where its steeds strike hoof
And chariot-wheels o’er the arena whirl
Until the course is flashing flint and fire--
How my soul thrills with this real vision of
The truth no lips can utter--with desire
To feel, not name, the Maker!

Night is Day
To eyes which earth’s diurnal sun had blinded
But now see glory, majesty, design,
Love eternal-minded, Will divine,
Swinging out censers, filling space with throne-rooms,
Ordering the times of destiny,
Making music and revealing purpose
Perfect but unthinkable, yet in man
Tuning a chord of nature in response
To fugitive notes of a melodious plan,
To stray scintillas of a Master-spell,
That we might have sufficient just of sense
To throb with feeling of theophany,
Just awe enough of the Ineffable
Out of our pinpoint nothingness to cry

“What is man that Thou art mindful of him?
And what is he that he should give a Name
Which we with lips vainglorious can laud,
A shape of Person to the Great I AM
Before we deign to worship Him as GOD?”

PAUPACK

Whither waters, gently flowing
In thy rocky channel-race,
Yet anon more noisy growing
O’er the stones which stay thy pace--
Gentle waters, whither going?

Laughing louder as they hurried,
Making music as they ran,
Deeper still the rock they furrowed
And a stolen run began
Half in cliffs and chasms buried.

Through the narrows flung they churning,
Leaped they in a mad cascade
And a bedded boulder spurning
They a misty iris made,
Spray to fitful spectrum turning.

Wildling waters thus romancing
Through the gorge in joy’s career,
Wooded witchery enhancing,
Paupack picturesque and dear,
Haste thee onward ever dancing!

Let thy pilgrimage and laughter
Quicken an Algonquin vein
Till the lure I follow after
Flushes every sense again
Like the freshet of the water;

Till, O Paupack, each erosion
Of my nature is at flood
With a primitive emotion,
With an impulse of the blood,
Singing on towards the ocean!

FIRESIDE

MOTHER

Only one link is to us all
A never-failing bond,
Only one thought of time’s recall
Makes all the world respond.
Dear ties there are that knit us close
As parent, friend or brother;
But God a universal chose
In the dear name of “Mother!”

Only one face no stranger is
Sometime at every side,
Only one love whose holy kiss
To few has been denied;
And whether we it treasure up
Or its affection smother,
Yet still the world’s communion-cup
Is the dear name of “Mother!”

Only one touch of nature makes
Us feel alike at best,
Only one gift for our sakes
Outbalances the rest;
And whether good or evil, we
Are human to each other
When our most sacred memory
Is the dear name of “Mother!”

CHATTERBOX

Miss Chatterbox, come here and tell
Me all about the fairies’ spell
So new to you but strange to me
Till you revive its mystery!
I, too, delight in Summer bowers
But you bewitch the birds and flowers;
I, too, rejoice in sunny nooks
But you make music of the brooks!

Miss Chatterbox, the secret share
Of all the magic of the air!
How comes the woodland’s passing breeze
To be the whisper of the trees?
How come the echoes through their screen
To be the pranks of elves unseen?--
The bushy tails and beadlike eyes
The wizard and the kewpie spies?

Miss Chatterbox, the riddle read
Of yonder fence-side hearts that bleed,
Of yonder riot in the field
Where buttercups to daisies yield;
Where drowsy sprites sip clover-sweets
And bobolink with Cupid meets;
Where brownies over on the knoll
The puff-balls of the pasture roll.

Miss Chatterbox, how happens it
That you in all this witchcraft fit;
That in your feet the fairies dance
And from your eyes the sun-sprites glance;
That in your curls are elfin kinks
And in your cheek a cupid winks;
The wood-nymphs clap their hands with thine
And thou art nature’s countersign?

LITTLE STOCKING

Cunningly, patiently I knit you,
Little stocking,
Counting the stitches the while;
Lovingly in thought I fit you
While rocking
Back and forth, back and forth, with a smile,
On the baby-feet I kiss
Or in slumber absent miss,
Dreams flocking, little stocking,
Like this.

Skilfully, wistfully I weave you,
Interlocking
The strands in and out and around;
Tenderly in mind I leave you,
Little stocking,
As the woolen thread’s unwound,
And I think of baby feet
You will cover when complete,
Half-mocking, little stocking,
So sweet.

Artfully I toe and heel you,
Little stocking,
Clicking the needle ends;
Fondly I fashion and feel you,
Heart a-talking

As the tapering fabric spends;
Will the baby-feet be true
To the dreams I wove in you?
Little stocking, little stocking,
Adieu!

ELFIN FACES

Round me gather Rosycheeks,
Clean and fresh as peaches,
Smiling daughters of the Greeks,
Golden-tongued with speeches.

“Papa, tell your little girls
All about the fairies!”
Bless my soul! they all had curls
And Cupid-lips like cherries.

Yes, indeed, and starry eyes
And merry little dimples
Something like a sly surprise
Hid in cunning wimples.

Yes, and twinkling baby-feet
Dancing midst the flowers,
Gathering the honey sweet
Through the morning hours.

But at twilight is the time
Each becomes a brownie,
Murmuring a sleepy rhyme,
Growing soft and downy

Till--say, I declare there springs
Up from either shoulder
Fluffy little angel-wings
That at first enfold her,--

Then I have to rub my eyes
All alert and scarey,
For right out the window flies
Every single fairy

And I’m left there all alone,
Peering in the corners.

* * * * *

Little elfin-faces gone
Leave behind them mourners.

SWEET ’STEEN

Little outgrown pinafore
Hanging there behind the door,
Seldom seen,
Sprigged all over full of buds
Like the yesterdays whose suds
Only partly washed you out--
What d’you mean
By reviving such a time
Like a phantom put to rout
Till it runs to rue and rhyme?

Ah, ’tis sad to think of it--
Missy that you used to fit
Till between
Top and bottom was a glance,
Now is wearing styles of France;
For alas, she’s grown to be
Sweet sixteen,
With young ladyship’s conceit
And its sprouting vanity--
Sixteen, pinafore, and sweet!

BOY

Boy, thou art the work of ages,
Disporting by creation’s glades and streams--
Laughing at the sages
And filling all the pages
Of time eternal with thy hopes and dreams!

Boy, thou art the work of nature,
Commingling of earth and air and fire--
In consciousness and feature
A juvenescent creature
With active mind and limbs that never tire.

Boy, thou art the work of gladness
And meant to fill the world with lusty shout,
With laughter, not with sadness,
With goodness, not with badness,
With eager confidence and not with doubt!

Boy, thou art the work of Heaven,
A thought to give the world a bonnie heir--
A living joyous leaven,
A spirit nobly driven
To try the future and divinely dare!

A CHILD’S LIFTED CROSS

How are we taught by childhood’s simple plea
Our greatest need and poor deformity
When such a child each vesper hour could pray,
“Lord, make me well and take my cross away!

“That I may share in joy and love return,
That I may live to labor and to learn
And that to-morrow may redeem to-day,
Lord, make me well and take my cross away!”

The help came down not as the cry went up,
Not as the thirst the giving of the cup;
Poor little one, if only we could say
God made him well and took his cross away!

’Tis thus we bring our own distorting grief
To our beloved Physician for relief;
And as our burden at thy feet we lay,
Lord, say ’tis well and take our cross away!

Thus too we bring our sin-misshapen soul
To our great Healer, who can make us whole,
And there beside His cross, not ours, we pray,
“Lord, make me well and take my sins away!”

Ah, time may hold surcease from pain and care;
Who knows what is the answering of prayer
Or why the Potter breaks the faulty clay?
Lord, make us beautiful in Thine own way!

THE BOY MILLIONAIRE

Boy, I’m worth a hundred million
And I’m sixty seasons old,
But you’re worth about a billion
In another kind of gold!
I’ve the money, you’ve the treasure,
You’ve the future, I’ve the past,
I’ve the power, you’ve the pleasure,
Mine is fleeting, yours will last.

When you whistle through the clover,
Capturing the bumble-bee,
When the brook is running over
And the trout-line craftily
Feels the eddy--who can offer
You a kingdom more divine?
I’ve an overflowing coffer
But would trade it all for thine.

A LULLABY

Little birdie, fold thy wings,
Snuggle in thy nest;
While the wind thy cradle swings,
Baby-birdie, rest!
Oh, so wee and warm and near
To thy mamma’s breast!
Oh, so free from harm and fear!
Go to rest, go to rest!

Little flower, hide thy face,
For ’tis eventide!
In the sleepy night’s embrace,
Little flower, hide!
Oh, so wee and fair and still
On thy mamma’s breast!
Oh, so free from care and ill!
Be at rest, be at rest!

Little baby, close thine eyes;
Fairies come for thee
From the land of lullabys,
Where my baby’ll be
Oh, so blissful while she sleeps
On her mamma’s breast!
And I kiss her smiling lips;
She’s at rest, she’s at rest!

THE LAST SONG

Just one more little song, mother,
Before I go to sleep;
For thou hast often hushed my heart
To slumber soft and deep.
Before ’tis dark I long, mother,
For thy dear voice, which seems
To make thy gentle face a part
Of childhood’s golden dreams.

Just one more little song, mother,
Before I sink to rest;
For thou hast often stilled my fears
Upon thy tender breast.
Thy love so great was strong, mother,
With childhood’s safe repose
On lips that kissed away its tears,
In arms that held it close.

Just one more little song, mother,
Before I dream of skies
Where stars and flowers smile and shine
And angel-harps surprise.
But not in Heaven’s throng, mother,
Is there a dearer face,
A sweeter song or soul than thine
The Gloryland to grace.

YOUTH

A vision of morning,
A sparkle of dew,
With roses adorning
Life’s pilgrimage through;
All joy and no sorrow,
No trouble to borrow,
An endless to-morrow,
And love ever true.

AGE

To sit in the gloaming
And muse by the fire
Till the spirit of homing
Takes wings of desire;
And the might-have-beens lighten
And the things-to-be brighten
And the heavenlies heighten
And the holies inspire.

SENTIMENT

A CORONATION

Dear, on thy brow I set a crown,
Invisible yet rare;
Not jewelled gold, which burdens down
With royalty and care.

I bring thee nothing but my love
And what my hands can win,
And yet I crown thee, dear, above
A kingdom’s proudest queen.

I kiss each gleaming tress of thine
Coiled lightly round thy head,
And woman’s glory grows divine
With love’s aurora shed.

If thou canst but forget the rest,
The gems I cannot bring,
This jewel doth become thee best
To me, thy lover-king.

Dear, in my soul thou hast a throne
All white and heavengold,
And on thy brow I set a crown
That doth my heart infold.

I’LL BE WATCHING ON THE SHORE

She kissed me when we parted,--
I to sail the stormy main,
She to keep the little cottage
Snug until I come again;
And well do I remember
What she promised o’er and o’er:--
“When you come sailing from the ocean
I’ll be watching on the shore!”

So I was a jolly skipper,
Coiling rope or reefing sail;
Many a distant port I entered,
Many a homebound ship did hail.
If I sent or got a message,
Always it the promise bore:--
“When you come sailing from the ocean
I’ll be watching on the shore!”

Death came yawning in the tempest;
Wild and high the spindrift flew,
And from dizzy deck and masthead
Oft I thought my hour was due;
Till her dear prophetic promise
Sang above the billows’ roar:--
“When you come sailing from the ocean
I’ll be watching on the shore!”

But alas! One time I harbored
She was sleeping white and still
Where the ivy made a trellis
Of the lookout on the hill;
And the cold engraven marble
Yet the farewell promise bore:--
“When you come sailing from the ocean
I’ll be watching on the shore!”