THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES JOHN RANDOLPH HAYNES AND DORA HAYNES FOUNDATION COLLECTION AND OTHER POEMS BY FRANK D. BULLARD AUTHOR OF THE APISTOPHILON. THE Hbbey press PUBLISHERS 114 FIFTH AVENUE Xon&on NEW YORK Montreal Copyright, 1901, br THE press 1111 TO WHO INSPIRED THEM I DEDICATE THESE VERSES. 785503 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE. Frank Dearborn Bullard was born at Lincoln, Me., December 2*7, 1860; grad uated at Colby College in 1881, a Phi Beta Kappa. He graduated from the Medical Department of the University of Southern California in 1888. Dr. Bullard taught school and was in structor in Latin and Greek for a time. After graduating in medicine he became Professor of Chemistry, and edited a Med ical Journal for ten years. He was Presi dent of the Los Angeles County Medical Association (1899); Secretary of Southern California Medical Society (1899-); and Secretary of the University Club of Los Angeles. He is the author of several Med ical Essays, including a prize Essay, given by the California State Medical Society, S 6 Biographical Note. and also a Poem entitled, "Apistophilon," written in 1899. He married, May 3, 1888, Dr. Rose Talbott. A daughter, Helen, was born May 75, 1892. The present collection of poems embraces his latest and ablest writings. THE PUBLISHERS. CONTENTS. PAGE CUPID'S CHALICE 9 THE SONG OF LOVE n To THEE 12 FAR YET NEAR 14 SOMEBODY ELSE AND I , 16 CUPID'S CHALICE , 18 THE ABSENT ONE ! 20 PHYLLIS 23 WHEN PHYLLIS SMILES 24 WHEN PHYLLIS FROWNS 25 MINE* EILEEN 26 THE WISH 28 MY KEEPSAKE 29 MY BELOVED 31 SLEEP, MY LOVE, SLEEP 33 MY SWEETHEART 35 8 Contents. PAGE OLD WINE OF SABINE VINTAGE 39 TORQUATUS 41 A WINTER WINE SONG 44 LEUCONOE , 47 OLD MASSIC WINE 48 THE REPENTANT , 50 CHLOE 52 SIMPLICITY 53 MIXED WINE. ,, 55 A SIP FROM CATULLUS SIRMIO 57 A LANDSCAPE MUSING 59 LAWTON 61 THE WHITE MAN'S BURDEN 62 THE ANGELUS 65 HEREDITY,., 68 Cupto'6 Cbalice, CUPID'S CHALICE. THE SONG OF LOVE. THERE is a song as yet unsung A voice will sing somewhere, some- when, There is a thought beyond our ken, There is a tune unknown to tongue With gems of silv'ry sweetness hung That shall enchant the hearts of men. Ah, would such thoughts inspired my pen, And to that tune my lyre were strung ! But I must be content to plod, I dare not dream to soar above, But walk the paths my fathers trod Thro' dusty plain and shady grove, And yet my heart gives thanks to God, Since I may sing the song of Love. ii 12 Cupid's Chalice. TO THEE. COULD I but paint with master hand In blended hues subjects as grand As any artist in the land, I'd paint for thee. With chisel deft could I but trace The human form with pleasing grace, And from still marble wake a face, I'd carve for thee. Could I but sing, with voice as clear As silver bell to willing ear, A song o'ercharged with loving cheer, I'd sing for thee. Could I but write a poem sweet So that the world my name would greet, I'd lay my laurels at thy feet, I'd write for thee. To Thee. 13 To paint, or carve, or sing, or write Lies not in me. Tis my delight To love but thee ; by day, by night I love but thee. 14 Cupid's Chalice. FAR YET NEAR. " THOU art so far, and yet so near " Though miles away thy body be, Still dwells thy spirit e'er with me. The Sun that kisses thee, my dear, Far over land or over sea, Where e'er thou art, caresses me, Thou art so far, and yet so near. Thou art so far, and yet so near, The stars that gem those distant skies, Draw lustre from thy love-lit eyes, To shine upon me waiting here. The moon its nightly journey plies, To bear to me thy whispered sighs, Thou art so far, and yet so near. Thou art so far, and yet so near ; From birth of morning's lucent ray, Till ev'ning lulls the drowsy day, Far Yet Near. 15 Thy sunshine makes my pathway clear. And when to sleep myself I lay, Thy spirit watches till the day ; Thou art so far, and yet so near. 16 Cupid's Chalice. SOMEBODY ELSE AND I. ONLY the man in the moon saw us that night, From Diana's bow on high, Only the man in the moon heard us aright, Save somebody else and I. And our joy was complete as our love we told, True love that never can die, Just as in harmony sweet rang bells of old, Chimed somebody else and I. Thro' the gloomy sorrows and the joys of life As the garnered years roll by, There'll be many glad morrows, when man and wife Are somebody else and I. Somebody Else and I. 17 When to the world's weary way we've said " Good night," And calmly lie down to die, "Good morning" we'll say in Heaven's own light, My somebody else and I. But be it my fate that her spirit hath flown, Before I've said the " Good-by," At the Heavenly gate I'll not be alone, Somebody else will be nigh ! 1 8 Cupid's Chalice. CUPID'S CHALICE . AH, give me Love that ever smiling gleams, That from the Dark this cheerless world redeems ! And may my Moon of Love forget to wane And light me ever with its lambent beams. Love bears a fruit far sweeter than the Vine, Love brews a nectar that surpasses Wine. But who can tell the Soul's o'erwhelming bliss When Vine and Love the willing heart entwine ? How cling the tendrils of their fond caress As to the lips the luscious cup they press ! * From the Apistophilon. Cupid's Chalice. 19 Ah, I could drink and drain the vintage dry And die inarms of loving tenderness! The wine that sparkles and the merry song, The Queen of Love that rules the happy throng, The dainty Dancers and the pleasing play All sweets of life are all such Pleasures wrong ? And why need Virtue wear so sour a mien? And cry when Pleasures come " Un clean, Unclean" ? The sin of Pleasure is excess alone, 'Tis the abuse that doth the man demean. 20 Cupid's Chalice. THE ABSENT ONE. O ROSE, my darling and my pride, Ever my sweetheart e'er my bride, If weal or woe my life betide, I love you. When to my face you softly press Your cheek to mine in fond caress, In loving heart-felt tenderness, I love you. The sweetest cup of earthly bliss Is in your dear and loving kiss, A nectar now I sadly miss, My darling. Each day for me the budding morn Blooms all in vain ; I am forlorn Unless your face the day adorn, My darling. The Absent One. 21 The full blown day no fragrance sheds, The sun with somber pall o'er-spreads The dismal sky above our heads, Without you. The nodding leaves of ev'ning glow, Like funeral marches sad and slow, Requiem o'er my pleasure show Without you. The drooping petals of the night Enshroud as with a darksome blight My happiness ; Ah, sad the plight Without you. The livelong day is sad and drear, Each gloomy hour distills a tear, Each tardy week becomes a year Without you. But bright the budding morn will bloom, And sweet the fragrance of the noon, The ev'ning leaves will dance in tune, My darling. 22 Cupid's Chalice. The drooping petals of the night Will blossom fresh from pure delight When you come home ; all will be light, My darling. Phyllis. 23 PHYLLIS. CARE reft and burden free, Garlanded with roses fair, Golden crowned with wanton hair Who could keep from loving thee, Phyllis, my darling ? Care reft and burden free Were my soul, did it but know Thro' summer sun and winter snow Thou wouldst keep on loving me, Phyllis, my darling. - 24 Cupid's Chalice. WHEN PHYLLIS SMILES. WHEN Phyllis smiles my sky is clear, Though dark without the clouds appear And hoarse the thunders of the gale Affright men's hearts on hill and dale My soul within is full of cheer. The haven of my heart is here My bark lies anchored at the pier, When Phyllis smiles. Tho' angry waves their crests may rear My soul will scoff at ev'ry fear, If aught for her I may avail With creening mpst and creaking sail And sturdy heart I'll seaward steer, When Phyllis smiles. When Phyllis Frowns. 25 WHEN PHYLLIS FROWNS. WHEN Phyllis frowns my soul's o'ercast, My heart is chilled with biting blast, Though brightest sunshine fills the air And trilling birds their joy declare, The sweets of life for me are passed. Upon a sea of trouble cast My bark's afloat without a mast, When Phyllis frowns. No more the future I forecast, Nor longer wish that life may last, But burdened with a weight of care I sink beneath a dark despair, All other sorrows are surpassed, When Phyllis frowns. 26 Cupid's Chalice. MINE EILEEN. I'VE a poem in my heart, Mine Eileen, It lies hid beyond my art, Mine Eileen, It scarce sees the light of day, When it laughs and flits away, It's a coy and bashful poem, Mine Eileen. CHORUS: It's an elfin bashful poem, Mine Eileen, It's a dainty lovely poem, Mine Eileen, Dreaming, waking, it is there, But alas, I cannot share, That wary little poem, Mine Eileen. It oft grieves my heart full sore, Mine Eileen, Mine Eileen. 27 That I cannot hold it more, Mine Eileen, For its form I cannot clasp, And the words I cannot grasp, Of that will-o'-wisp like poem, Mine Eileen. When I try to write it down, Mine Eileen. Its shadowy words have flown, Mine Eileen. And although I love thee well, E'en to thee I cannot tell That haunting little poem, Mine Eileen. Oft it whispers in the night, Mine Eileen, With its form half-veiled from sight, Mine Eileen, Then it leaves me sweetly sad, For I cannot make thee glad, With that airy sprite-like poem Mine Eileen. 28 Cupid's Chalice. THE WISH. LESSING. WHEN I lovely sights to find, 'Neath cool and shady Lindens wind, Peeping up and down, And a homely maid I see, Would I sudden blind to be. When I lovely sights to find, 'Neath cool and shady Lindens wind, Peeping up and down, And a pretty maid I see, Nothing but an eye I'd be. My Keepsake. 29 MY KEEPSAKE. IN this world so bleak and dreary, Man is often times a-weary, Weary of its strife and lore, If he have not for him smiling, Some sweet face his time beguiling, He is sad, ah, evermore ! I've a face within my pocket, Fast enclosed within a locket, May I keep it evermore ! As a keepsake to be given Of a love, that under heaven Shall diminish nevermore ! Often on that face I ponder, And as often fondly wonder, If it knows me evermore. Wonder if my thoughts it's reading, Wonder if my wishes heeding, As I pace my chamber floor. 3o Cupid's Chalice. When the evening stars are glistening, When the zephyrs they are listening, Gaze I on it evermore. When from sleep I am awaking, When the morning light is breaking, Look I on it evermore. Ah, that face so kind and pleasant, Fit for king or fit for peasant, Fit for me for evermore! May I love, protect and cherish, Yes, and rather may I perish Than forget it evermore ! Whose the face? O gently whisper Lest perchance the evening vesper Should repeat it o'er and o'er, The sweet face within the locket Lying in my warm vest pocket Is my watch face nothing more! My Beloved. 31 MY BELOVED. HER smile is like the dawn of day That follows sable night: It sparkles in a winsome way, Her smile is like the dawn of day, It drives Life's Darkness all away, And puts dull Care to flight Her smile is like the dawn of day That follows sable night. Her love is like the golden beam That woos the dainty flowers. (There could not be a sweeter theme.) Her love is like the golden beam, My heart basks in its witching gleam Entranced for happy hours Her love is like the golden beam That woos the dainty flowers. Her lips are ruby portals fair, The gates to Paradise. 32 Cupid's Chalice. (No other can with her compare.) Her lips are ruby portals fair, For greater bliss I do not care, My Eden in them lies Her lips are ruby portals fair The gates to Paradise. Sleep, My Love, Sleep. 33 SLEEP, MY LOVE, SLEEP. Sleep, my love, sleep, The winds that now so softly croon For me, will keep The mellow music of their tune To lull thee into dreamland soon, Sleep, my love, sleep. Sleep, my love, sleep, The stars that now so brightly shine For me, which reap Their lustre from those eyes of thine, Shall feed the fire of love in mine, Sleep, my love, sleep. Sleep, my love, sleep, The moon that so refulgent gleams For me, will keep The lambent splendor of its beams To light thee thro' the land of dreams, Sleep, my love, sleep. 34 Cupid's Chalice. Sleep, my love, sleep, Till thro' the portals of the morn The sun shall peep From dewy bed of roses drawn To light the day thou shalt adorn, Sleep, my love, sleep. My Sweetheart. 35 MY SWEETHEART. WHEN I'm alone life's song is drear, A dirge that drones its doleful feet In time to heart with sorry beat, A song without a note of cheer, A tune that grates upon the ear Like jangling noises of the street. When I'm alone sad strains are meet And discords seem more fit to hear. But life is purest melody Divinest music ever heard, A glad sweet song of harmony, A carol of a happy bird, If but her treble chimes with me To sing of love man's dearest word. Mine of Sabine tDintage, (Read at the First Annual Meeting of the University Club of Los Angeles.) 37-38 Old Wine of Sabine Vintage. 39 OLD WINE OF SABINE VINTAGE. He who would ride the Muses' winged steed Must take good care if he would fain suc ceed. To safely make a long or lofty flight He first had better choose a modest speed. E'en when he thinks he has the horse controlled, He'll find that Pegasus is hard to hold. And like a bucking broncho takes delight In throwing would-be poets, I am told. And then before so wise an audience I justly feel a sort of diffidence In showing off my scarcely proven powers, I'd rather as an alias commence. 4O Cupid's Chalice. So I called up the laurel bearing bard, The Roman Horace whom we all regard The sweetest singer of the men of Rome And bade him sing, and this is what I heard. Torquatus. 41 TORQUATUS. HORACE, IV., 7. THE snows have fled, the fields are gowned anew, The verdant foliage bedecks the trees, The rivers gently glide, the Graces too Lead off the dances on the grassy leas. Yet this shall not for e'er and e'er abide. The hour that hastens on the happy day, The fleeting year, the ebb of Eventide All signify all things shall pass away. The cold is softened by the breath of Spring, And Summer follows close upon the trail, She dies, the harvest fruitful Autumn brings, And sluggish Winter e'er repeats the tale, 42 Cupid's Chalice. The quick revolving moon repairs her wane ; But we when we descend into the glades Where be the dead both pious and pro fane We are but dust, we are but empty shades. Who knows forsooth the gods above will add To-morrow to the Calends of To-day ? The more wealth used to make the spirit glad So much the less a greedy heir to pay ! When once, Torquatus mine, you shall be dead, And judgment august shall be passed on you, Nor rank, nor eloquence, nor worth inbred Nor wealth can e'er the doors of Death undo. Torquatus. 43 Theseus could not the chains of Lethe break That fettered fast his dear Pirithb'us, Not even for the great Diana's sake Could Hades free the chaste Hippolytus. " THIS theme " said I, " is hardly apropos, An after-dinner speech should have a mellow flow." " All right," said he, " You call for my long suit, Here is an ode I think that is not slow." 44 Cupid's Chalice. A WINTER WINE SONG. HORACE, I., 9. SORACTE is shimmering All white with driven snow, The burdened trees are bending Their crystalled branches low, And frigid frost congealing Muffles the river's flow. Pile high the blazing billets Upon the genial hearth To melt the cold of Winter ; Then bring the flagon forth Of four-year Sabine vintage The warming wine of mirth. Leave to the gods the storm winds That lash the foaming seas, Leave to the gods the zephyrs That woo the wanton trees; A Winter Wine Song. 45 They'll keep the world a-going And you can take your ease ! Ask not then of the morrow, Be merry for to-day, And take whate'er good fortune That chance puts in your way ; Feast on the sweets of loving While Cupid says you may ! For crabbed age is coming, (It won't be very long) So, on then with the dancing, Sing loud your merry song, And keep the trysts of ev'ning, For which the maidens long. For then the soft breathed whispers, The coy and gentle laugh Reveal the maid in hiding (She gives you tempting chaff), Be bold and take the forfeit And deep the love-cup quaff, 46 Cupid's Chalice. " SOME of the Club are now no longer boys, Nor love to linger when the maids are coy," Cried doubting Horace, " If there be such men Perhaps they'll see in this a spark of joy." Leuconoe. 47 LEUCONOE. HORACE, I., II. SEARCH not the Chaldic auguries to see What length of Life be granted you or me, To know such things comes not within our right. Tis better far to bear what is to be. But be this year the last we e'er shall know, If time is brief, the wine should freer flow, Curtail your hopes the end may be to night. Enjoy To- Day and let To-morrow go. So when to-night you make the glasses ring, And drink the toasts as merrily you sing, Remember that fine old Massic wine In Horace's day was just the proper thing. 48 Cupid's Chalice. OLD MASSIC WINE. HORACE, III., 21. O GOODLY wine as one could ask That years hath mellowed in the cask, If plaint or broil or love or jest, Or gentle sleep become thy guest, Be thou of choicest Massic brand, Worthy of any time or land, Descend to-day from thy high shrine Corvinus gets my choicest w r ine. Though he be steeped in classic lore My Massic he cannot abhor. E'en stern old Cato it is said Looked on the wine when it was red. To sluggish wit thou art a spur Which otherwise might never stir. If merry Bacchus help thee out The deepest plot goes up the spout ! Old Massic Wine. 49 To anxious minds thou givest hope, Who drinks of thee can never mope, The poor who quaff thy potent cup, No longer fear the watchful " cop." With thee one gets his money's worth! Let wine and women, love and mirth Prolong the pleasures of the night Till Phoebus puts the stars to flight. "This sentiment may please the most of men But ministers can hardly say amen." " I have some verses written for the cloth A few I keep to please the upper ten." 50 Cupid's Chalice. THE REPENTANT. HORACE, I., 34. A FOOL mad with philosophy I left the old theology Nor sought the fanes at all, But now my bark I backward steer, The gods again I will revere, And on their names 111 call. For Jove that wields the thunder-bolt My vaunting spirit gave a jolt With all too close a flash ; The sluggish earth, the wand'ring rills, The gates of hell, the tow'ring hills, All trembled at the crash. For God can high the lowly raise, The mighty he can low debase, The hidden bring to light. The Repentant. 5 1 For greedy Fortune plucks the plume From one to deck another, whom To please is her delight. " But tell me, Horace, how you left the ladies You loved so here. Are they the same in Hades ? " The poet shrugged his shoulder and ex claimed, " Chloe's just the same, tho' she a shade is." 52 Cupid's Chalice. CHLOE. HORACE, III., 26. TILL now a beau girls doted on, Successful love I carried on, Till now I warred with glory ; Now sea-born Venus has my arms, My lyre too has lost its charms, I sing another story. Torch, bar and bows here useless lie, That did the stoutest doors defy, No longer in employ. Goddess of love from Cyprus' isle, With high drawn lash in proper style Strike once the haughty Chloe! And as I chatted with my honored guest, There came a boy from Hades in post haste, With linden garlands decked, to bring the poet Back to Hell, departing he said in jest: Simplicity. 53 SIMPLICITY. HORACE, I., 38. BOY, Persian finery I disdain, The crown of Linden gives me pain, Seek not, I pray thee, to attain The last rose of summer. With myrtle plain thy brows entwine, With myrtle wreaths encircle mine, Then pour for me beneath this vine, A royal bumper. ss-s 6 Sirmio. 57 SIRMIO. CATULLUS. SIRMIO, gem of islets and islands The God of the sea upholds in his hand, In lucent lake or expanse of ocean, How happy am I to visit thy land! Scarce yet am I sure I've really quitted Etythynian fields or Thunia's lair, Scarce thinking such joy for me is per mitted, For what is sweeter than freedom from care. When wearied with the toil of the journey The burden is lost at our own hearth stone, We rest on the couch long craved and downy This only such toils can fully atone. 58 Cupid's Chalice. Hail loved isle, and rejoice in thy master And laugh, ye elfs, with the laughter of home. Rejoice, fair lake, make the waves dance faster And laugh, merry brooks, till your courses foam. A Landscape Musing. 59 A LANDSCAPE MUSING. COME stroll with me on wooded hill, And drink with me from nature's rill A draft as sparkling clear and sweet As ever stayed a pilgrim's feet, Then look you down the silent vale O'er winding brook, past mountain pale, And as the scenes before us roll Tell me their whispers to the soul. The sparkling spring, the laughing rill, The babbling brook beneath the hill, The sinuous stream, that softly glides Until the vale its vista hides, With fruit and flower bedeck the land, Which else would scorch with desert sand Nor know they came from mountain pale And seek the sea beyond the vale. Across the stream there rises still Like turrets old, each tow'ring hill, Yet farther back in outline dim 60 Cupid's Chalice. Fades faintly blue a mountain's brim, And like a garland on its brow Rest fleecy clouds, and even now, While falling mists bedim the gleam, The panorama seems a dream. It pictures life in emblenjs true Set in a frame of mountain blue, So ends life's stream in misty haze, So runs life's stream in winding maze, Hedged in by hills of frowning height With neither source nor end in sight, Nor knows it came from nature's womb And seeks it home beyond the tomb. The clouds that cap yon hazy mount In far off sea had misty fount, And wafted back by gentle wind The selfsame waters there we find. Thus source and end are still the same Parts of one whole though changed in name. So flows the soul beyond the sight, And seeks the sea whence came its might. Lawton. 61 LAWTON. THE God of Battles, Lord of Hosts Has called the hero's soul, The silver cord of life is loosed And broke the golden bowl, The pitcher's shattered at the font A heart is stilled that naught could daunt. "A heart is stilled that naught could daunt" Fame writes upon her scroll. The angel reaper well may vaunt To conquer such a soul, But such a one needs not our boasts, He came from Thee, Lord God of Hosts. He came from Thee, Lord God of Hosts, To Thee must he return, His body fell on foreign coasts, His spirit knows no urn, No nobler judgment need man want A heart is stilled that naught could daunt. 62 Cupid's Chalice. THE WHITE MAN'S BURDEN. TAKE up the White Man's burden That Cant and Custom lay With heavy weight upon us, Each long and weary day. Strike off the cruel shackles By which shrewd men enchain The plain and poorer people ; Such were the best refrain. Take up the White Man's burden, The cursed cross of Creed That crucifies our manhood To satisfy its need, That bids our sons and daughters To play a craven part. Break down the bars of dogma, Give freedom to the heart. Take up the White Man's burden, His unrequited toil, The White Man's Burden. 63 His fruit of labor stolen, His marrow aching moil. List to the angry murmur, The plaintive wail of Want, The sick'ning cry of Hunger, All hollow-eyed and gaunt. Take up the White Man's burden, A burden born of Shame, That makes the land of Freedom A mad and mocking name. Go brand that wretched monster, And sear with Vengeance raw, Who fain would bribe a Nation To make Injustice law. Take up the White Man's burden, The savage strife for self, That rights a shameless battle, And wars for paltry pelf, That recks not for its honor ; How dastard be the deed That prostitutes its Virtue To glut unholy greed ! 64 Cupid's Chalice. Take up the White Man's burden, Piled high by tireless Fate, Without a moment's respite From early until late ; For man is heavy laden And cinched by heartless Trusts That kill all competition And grind men into dust. Take up the White Man's burden, Nor let it e'er again Bow down the weary shoulders Of our ill-fated kin. Then to the car of Progress The steeds of Reason yoke, To make our people, Kipling, A free and happy folk. The Angelus. 65 THE ANGELUS. Bow the head, in reverent silence bow, The Angelus is softly ringing now ; The Twilight paints the Ev'ning's Aureole, The day is hushed, bow your spirit low. What though the weary toil-worn shoul ders groan, What though the crushed and burdened spirit moan, What though Another reap what you have sown ? Heed not, list to the Angelus alone. What if your Masters long your rights have trod. Are not the Powers that be, ordained of God? Made He not them of gold and you of clod? Bow low the head, and pass beneath their rod. 5 66 Cupid's Chalice. Though you be clad in mean and tattered frock And they with wool, shorn from your choicest flock, If you but dare against the law to mock, Saint Peter will the gate of heaven lock. The law's for those that tire with daily toil, For those whose marrow aches with heavy moil, For those whose hands work in the honest soil, Not for the wretch that millions can de spoil. What though your bruised and wounded feet should bleed, While Dives dashes by upon his steed ? In Heaven for water he will vainly plead, Limp lamely on, and trust a priest-born creed. The Angelus. 67 What if the world laughs at your childish trust, What if the sage looks on in sad disgust, What if from feasts your lords have grown robust, Be thankful if they leave you still a crust! Remember that this is the Curse of Sin; With sweaty brow you must a living win. Then labor on with all your lowly kin, God sent you toil your hearts to discipline. Bow the head, in reverent silence bow, The Angelus is softly ringing now, The Twilight paints the Ev'ning's Aureole, The day is hushed, bow your spirit low. 68 Cupid's Chalice. HEREDITY* WITHOUT our will we into life were thrust, Against our wish we die and turn to dust, Ourselves, our thoughts, our hopes, beliefs, and fears Are restless children of a mighty Must. As we have sown, so shall we also reap. So shall our children laugh or shall they weep. We garner what our fathers long have strewn, For deeds, like seeds, a close, resem blance keep. Five sextants of the Round of life are ruled By Nature, and the sixth by Nurture's schooled. *From The Apistophilon. Heredity. 69 Heredity transmits from sire to son The trends and traits that usage stronger molds. Strive e'er so hard with e'er so patient skill To make your world to answer to your will, But little will your efforts change the Must, Relentless Fate will shape the outcome still. And yet that Little makes the All of gain, And breeds a better brawn and brighter brain. To-day's " I will " to-morrow is " I must," A self- wrought link in Life's predestined chain. There blows no breeze but scatters far the down, That shall some distant field with verdure gown, Be harvest weed or plant, the crop is sure. And thus our deeds are ever widely sown. 7o Cupid's Chalice. Then cultivate the plants and cut the weeds, And grow a crop of Worth from noble deeds, So when the Harvest of our Life is gleaned The World shall profit, for we sowed good seeds. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. HAY 1 2 I* 8 * MAY 1 3 iy55 ifr MAR 14 war API RWEWAL RENEWAL XailfiL RENEWAL JLD URL ** RENEWAL 3 f 97S LP. USt JUL281975 AUG 181975 U) (/% APR 4 o 1975 UDURl JLQDRL RENEWAL LDURL 1975 HIM L8l$j| OCTl^^/5 OCT 2 197 1 Form L9-100m-9,'52 (A3105)444 APR 7 1980 APR 8198u 3 115800517 983 liiei 001 384 402 2