Chapter I: S. D

Copyright 1910

BY

Irving Dix

Verses in this booklet may be
copied in the public prints by giving
credit as above.

The Comet

Swift circuit-rider of the endless skies,
Thou wanderer of the outer, unknown air,
Amid those dim, uncharted regions there,
Imagination droops--in deep surprise
Man doth behold thee, and the fearful speed
At which thou spurrest on thy flaming steed.

Born of the dark and ever-deepening Past,
Who nurs'd thee there in yonder viewless space
Afar from earth--thy all-beholding face
Hath gazed unspeakable, with clear eye cast
Worldward on each magnificent return
As if of human progress thou wouldst learn.

And thou hast seen each triumph and each plan
By which the human race since human time
Hath learned at last Earth's secrets all-sublime
While rising from the elements to man--
Hast seen it triumph over sea and air
And universal knowledge hope to share.

Thy circuit measures well the age of man,
The epoch of a life--and few there be
Who seeing thee, thy face again may see,
For human life is but a little span,
With varying cycles of a different day,
And in diffusion wears itself away.

Child of the Sun, when first the human eye
Beheld thee coursing in the night afar
Like an illumined spectre of a star--
Beheld thy awful form against the sky
Strong men fell earthward with a coward-cry
On their pale lips, as if afraid to die--

And that brute King--Nero, the cruel King,
When looking on thy fiery face unknown,
Sate trembling on his little human throne,
And thought that thou didst evil tidings bring--
That thou wert writing on the distant skies
A doom from which no human king could rise.

Thy age is all unknown--man can but guess
The time when first the Sun thy circle set--
He can but guess thy secret birth--and yet
Observing thee his knowledge is not less;
He knows each cycle, each return to be
A moment in that vast eternity.

Recording-comet of th' immortal space,
What history thy eye hath look'd upon
Since first thy airy, circling course was run!
What fallen pride! What scatterings of race!
Jerusalem and Nineveh and Rome
Didst thou behold from thy almighty dome--

Didst thou behold--their birth, their rise, their fall--
Low humbled by the under hordes at last,
With glory and fair triumphs in the past,
And footprints of destruction over all.
While thou, fleet comet, with a light divine
Continueth upon the earth to shine.

Speed on! swift comet--turn, wanderer, turn!
And with thy flaming, god-like pen of light
On heaven's scroll with burning letters write:
Live but to love, O earth!--to love and learn,
For while a comet's mighty cycles fail,
Love,--love and truth forever shall prevail.

Washington

It is forever so--when there is need
Of some clear, clarion voice to forward lead
God raiseth up a man from his own seed;
Not from the soft, luxurious lap of earth,
But from a nobler soil, so that from birth
The frame is moulded with a chosen food
That has one only end--to make it good,
Full generous, far-sighted, firm and keen,
With strength to rise above the gross and mean--
The sordid selfishness that like a curse
Drives from the heart the virtues it would nurse--
That love of country, freedom's holy cause,
Justice, mercy, that eye for equal laws,
Faith in the future and our fellow-men,
Faith in the sword when shielded by the pen--
And so it was with us--when there was need
Of one commanding voice to forward lead,
God rais'd up here a man from His own seed;
And so came forth the gentle Washington,
Fair child of Fate, the nation's noblest son,
Whom Virtue fostered and whom Virtue won.

Some few there be whose feet knew rougher ground,
But few indeed a loftier summit found--
Nurtured in tender soil, he held a path
Where others faltered, heeding not the wrath
Of any king or potentate or power--
His was the hero-heart--he saw the hour,--
He knew the mighty odds, yet would not cower.
And when the tyrant's heel touch'd on our shore
And thrust itself unbidden to our door,--
But Washington alone with eagle-eye
Withstood the foe and taught him how to die;
Repulsed, disheartened, driven to despair,
He lifted up his voice in humble prayer,
For in that awful night at Valley Forge
He drank the bitter cup--he knew Fate's scourge,
He felt her lash,--this tender-hearted George.

Father of Liberty--thou Child of Light,
Columbia's first-born, who in thy might
Restored to Freedom her enfeebled sight--
If spirits of the nobler dead can hear,
This day--thy natal day--press close thine ear
And learn what we thy nation need to fear,
And if the immortal dead can truly speak,
Show us, O Child of Light, where we are weak,--
Grant us thy counsel (for thou art with God)
And bear us wisdom where thy footsteps trod,
And if thou seest aught of envious strife
From virtue sapping all her sweeter life,
Teach us, O Child of Light, a purer love,
For thou hast learn'd of God--thou art above
Thy weak and erring mortals here below
Who see the light, yet forward fear to go--
Guide us, if spirits of the dead may guide,
So that in peace we ever may abide,
So that from land to sea, from shore to shore,
We shall be brothers now and evermore.

The Storm

All day long the sky was cloudless,
Life was waiting for a breath,
And the heat was more oppressive
Than the fear of sudden death;
All day long the sun was shining
In a hot and windless sky,
And the trees were weak for water--
Earth and air were dead and dry.

But e'er Night her wings had folded
Came a welcome western breeze,
Moving idly through the forest,
Prophesying to the trees,
Till above that dim horizon
Giant clouds like warring foes
Marshalled far in battle numbers
As the wild winds wilder rose.

Hark! O hear the double rumble
As the thunder shakes the air,
Like a thousand hoofs advancing
In yon cloudy corral there!--
Look!--how red the lightning flashes!
How the echoes roll and roll--
Dirges from some demon goddess--
How the bells of heaven toll!

Like a lance, a flash of lightning
Cuts the foremost cloud in twain
And the thunder's mighty echo
Rolls athwart the drenching rain
Till the landscape fades like shadows
In the driving sheets of spray,
And the wind wails through the forest,
And the great trees rock and sway.

Soon the air is strangely solemn
And the winds no longer blow
To the thunder's distant drumming
In the valley far below;
And along the low horizon
All the clouds are growing dim,
While upon the western hilltops
Rolls again the sun's red rim.

And away across the valley
In the heavens arching high,
Like a bed for fairy flowers
Swings the rainbow in the sky--
Swings until the shadows gather
And the sun sinks out of sight,
Seemingly to whisper softly
To the world a fond good night.

Jim, the Newsboy

Jim, the newsboy, died today,
So the evening papers say--
And the funeral will be
In the afternoon at three--
"Please" (the papers say) "a flow'r
Bring for Jim before the hour--
Any color that you deem
A true token of esteem,
If you would remember him--
The newsboy, Jim.

At his corner near Broad street,
Jim, tho' lame, would smiling greet
With a merry, winning call
All his patrons, great and small,
And his fellow newsboys say
That they miss him much today,
And they have a tablet bought,
And upon it this is wrought:
"In memory of Newsboy Jim,
We all liked him."

Little toilers on Life's road
To yon visionless abode,
There was much of good in Jim
Or the boys had disliked him;
There was something in his heart
That drew patrons to his mart,
Something noble, something true--
Strive that it be said of you
As in eulogy of Jim,
"We all liked him."

March Wind Blow

Bitter March-wind, blow and blow;
Drive away the drifting snow;
Toss the tree-tops to and fro;
Kiss the ice-bound lakes and streams
And arouse them from their dreams.

Happy March-wind, blithely blow,
Winter's heart is full of woe,
Winter's head is lying low;
Bring, O bring the melting rain
Back unto the earth again.

Weeping March-wind, blow and blow
Till thy tears of sorrow flow
Down thy dying cheeks of snow--
Weep away! for man must wait
Till those tearful winds abate.

Merry March-wind, softer blow,
Let the little children know
Where the sweetest flowers grow;
Let thy tender accents ring
From the joyous harp of Spring.

All ye wild-winds, blow and blow,
Drive away the drifting snow,
Bend the bushes, bend them low;
Breathe upon the trembling sod
Springtime's messages from God.

The Rime of the Raftmen

I

The Delaware above the Rift
Each bank is fast o'erflowing,
And sweeping onward dark and swift,
Wild and still wilder growing
It hurls a heavy raft along
Upon its rocking way,
While the Captain's call the hills prolong
At dawning of the day:
Pull, lads, pull!--to Jersey side,
The Rift is near!
Pull, lads, pull!--for the high floods hide
The ragged rocks like an ocean tide,
And the river's rush I hear.

II

Safely the Rift is left behind,
A careful stearsman stearing;
Swiftly we speed, only to find
A dizzy eddy nearing,
Where rolling in the river-lake,
And whirling round and round
A dozen rafts the circle make,
And warning cries resound:
Pull, lads, pull!--Sylvania's shore!
The Eddy's near!
Pull, lads, pull!--till the sweeping oar
Bends like a bow and you hear the roar
Of the river in the rear.

III

The luring eddy lies behind
Where the dizzy rafts are whirling,
And we speed along with the cutting wind,
The foam like suds up-curling,
When ahead a sharp curve comes in sight
And we hear the Captain call
As the raft swerves sudden to the right
And the ridges tower tall:
Pull, lads, pull!--to Jersey side!
The Bend I fear!
Pull, lads, pull!--and soon we'll ride
On the rolling wave to Trenton's tide
With river calm and clear.

IV

The Bend is past, but the Water-gap
Of the Delaware up-rearing,
Looms far ahead like a narrow trap
As fast our raft is nearing,
And calm and deep the waters grow,
And scarcely comes a sound
Till the Captain's calling, to and fro
Re-echoes far around:
Rest, lads, rest!--a little while!
Be of good cheer!
Rest, lads, rest! till yonder isle
We safely pass--a few more mile
And all our course is clear.

V

Along the wave we smoothly glide
Until the island clearing,
When down we speed as with the tide,
Now here, now there a veering,
Until a great bridge lifts its form
Against the evening sky,
When like the rolling of a storm
The crew repeats the cry:
Pull, lads, pull!--Sylvania's shore!
The Bridge is near!
Pull, lads, pull!--the for'ard oar,
And soon our dangerous task is o'er,
And little need we fear.