LIBRARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. 
 
 GIKT OK 
 
W 
 
 \C "VW^ U 
 
 A 
 
The author acknowledges the courtesy of The 
 Sunset, The Overland Monthly, and The Youths 
 Companion in permitting this re-publication of 
 verses which have appeared in their columns. 
 
Copyrighted, 1904 
 BY ROBERT WHITAKER 
 
TO ONE WHO HAS PASSED ON. 
 
 WHERE thou art gone, in that fair land of song, 
 How canst thou care for faltering phrase of 
 
 mine? 
 
 The everlasting poesy is thine, 
 Of souls supreme among the immortal throng; 
 Thou canst not want for words both sweet and 
 
 strong, 
 
 Where they who gave us the Pierian wine 
 Themselves have drunken deep the draught 
 
 divine, 
 And conned a universe for centuries long. 
 
 And yet, so were thine ears attuned with love, 
 Thou couldst detect through my most labored 
 
 speech 
 
 The inmost soul of what I longed to say. 
 And if thou art not yet beyond my reach, 
 
 Thy quickened soul may catch in my poor lay 
 Some accent of the harmonies above. 
 
MY COUNTRY 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER VERSE 
 
 BY 
 
 ROBERT" WHITAKER 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO 
 THb JAMES H. BARRY COMPANY 
 
 19O5 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
Contents. 
 
 Page 
 
 My Country 9 
 
 Loyalty n 
 
 Ecce Homo 12 
 
 Courage 14 
 
 The Father s House 15 
 
 When I Lie Awake at Night 16 
 
 Suicide 18 
 
 The Sleeping Will IQ 
 
 Worth While 19 
 
 Who Is the Fool? 21 
 
 What Then? 23 
 
 The Finishers 25 
 
 Men of England, Hail! 27 
 
 A Preacher s Wife 29 
 
 Memories of Home 31 
 
 I Count Life Good 35 
 
 A Woman s Wish 36 
 
 Dear Friends, Forget 40 
 
 Mount Shasta 41 
 
 Two Birthdays 41 
 
 My Own Nevada and Other Songs. 
 
 My Own Nevada 44 
 
 Here and Now, Every Day 46 
 
 Opening Hymn 48 
 
 Advent 49 
 
 God s Ways 51 
 
 Revelation 52 
 
 Imitation of Christ 53 
 
 Our Dead 54 
 
 Peace 55 
 
 Life Is Beautiful Here 56 
 
 With Thee 57 
 
 The Scorned Prophet. 
 
 Dedication 61 
 
 Hear, O Israel! 62 
 
 Inspiration 85 
 
 The Great Heresy 90 
 
 The Goodness of the Bad 93 
 
 Resurrection 95 
 
Since Thou Art Gone. 
 
 Page 
 
 Afterwards 98 
 
 Two Mysteries 103 
 
 When Death is Past 106 
 
 Memorials m 
 
 Perversity 113 
 
 The Last Troth ftj 
 
 The Missing Laughter no 
 
 A Birthday Wish 117 
 
 God Bless Thee Still up 
 
 Annie Laurie 120 
 
 Under the Cross and Miscellaneous Verse. 
 
 Under the Cross 124 
 
 Yesterday and To-Day 126 
 
 A Prayer 127 
 
 Providence 129 
 
 Thine 130 
 
 To Union Labor 131 
 
 The True Temple 132 
 
 It Might Have Been 133 
 
 In Oregon 134 
 
 To Play the Man 135 
 
 I m Glad I Live To-Day 137 
 
 To-Day . 139 
 
 To Live, and Love, and Learn 140 
 
 When Baby Crows 141 
 
 Not Our Own 143 
 
 Dorothy 144 
 
 The Coming Age 147 
 
 Live for Something 150 
 
 A Paraphrase 152 
 
 God Garners No Green Grain 154 
 
 Blessed Are They That Mourn 155 
 
 A Vision of Faith 156 
 
 Where None Are Old 159 
 
 Looking Unto Jesus 161 
 
 Increase Our Faith 162 
 
 He Knoweth Best 164 
 
 Teach Me Thy Will 165 
 
 Choose Thou for Me 166 
 
 A Traveler s Trust 167 
 
 God s Grace J 68 
 
 In Everything Give Thanks 170 
 
 Influence 172 
 
 Hand and Heart 175 
 
Page 
 
 Wishing 176 
 
 A Dream of Judgment 178 
 
 Mourning for Moses 180 
 
 A Reverie 183 
 
 Flood-Tides 185 
 
 Summer-Noon in the Siskiyous 186 
 
 Death at the World. s Fair 187 
 
 An Earthquake in California 188 
 
 Columbus 189 
 
 To an Argonaut at Seventy 190 
 
 In Time of Melting Snow 191 
 
 The Unexpressed 192 
 
 Christmas 192 
 
 Who Weeps To-Day? 193 
 
 Kiss-Pockets 195 
 
 In Anger . . 197 
 
 My "Bozzer Body" 198 
 
 A Slang Song 200 
 
 Sunset Through the Golden Gate .... 202 
 
 I. Wood 203 
 
 Southern California 205 
 
 A Minister of Jesus 207 
 
 My Penny 209 
 
MY COUNTRY. 
 
 MY country is the world; I count 
 
 No son of man my foe, 
 Whether the warm life currents mount 
 
 And mantle brows like snow, 
 Or red, or yellow, brown, or black, 
 The face that into mine looks back. 
 
 My native land is Mother Earth, 
 
 And all men are my kin, 
 Whether of rude or gentle birth, 
 
 However steeped in sin ; 
 Or rich, or poor, or great, or small, 
 I count them brothers, one and all. 
 
 My birthplace is no spot apart, 
 
 I claim no town nor state, 
 Love hath a shrine in every heart, 
 
 And wheresoe er men mate 
 To do the right and say the truth 
 Love evermore renews her youth. 
 
 My flag is the star-spangled sky, 
 
 Woven without a seam, 
 Where dawn and sunset colors lie, 
 
 Fair as an angel s dream, 
 The flag that still, unstained, untorn. 
 Floats over all of mortal born. 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 My party is all human-kind, 
 My platform, brotherhood: 
 
 I count all men of honest mind 
 Who work for human good, 
 
 And for the hope that gleams afar, 
 
 My comrades in this holy war. 
 
 My heroes are the great and good 
 
 Of every age and clime, 
 Too often mocked, misunderstood, 
 
 And murdered in their time, 
 But spite of ignorance and hate 
 Known and exalted soon or late. 
 
 My country is the world; I scorn 
 
 No lesser love than mine, 
 But calmly w r ait that happy morn 
 
 When all shall own this sign, 
 And love of country, as of clan, 
 Shall yield to world-wide love of man. 
 
 ro 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 LOYALTY. 
 
 country, right or wrong;" so some would 
 say, 
 
 Meaning that we must stifle our dissent, 
 And yield success a cowardly consent, 
 Approving what we deem a wicked way, 
 Lest men misjudge our solitary nay, 
 And credit us with traitorous intent ; 
 As if an honest opposition meant 
 Less love of country than a thoughtless yea. 
 
 So have they argued all the ages through 
 
 Who have played lackey to the powers that be : 
 Yet never nation has grown great and free 
 
 But by the grace of an unfearing few, 
 
 Whose love of country has not dulled their sight 
 To larger love of the eternal right. 
 
 ii 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 ECCE HOMO! 
 
 DAY fades as fades the year, and for an hour 
 Earth s autumn loveliness flecks all the sky: 
 The flush of fevered leaves before they die, 
 
 The wistful winsomeness of the last flower. 
 
 The purpling pallor of wan stalks and shoots, 
 The yellow browns of stubble and of corn, 
 The flash of frost upon the crispy morn, 
 
 And all the rainbow tints of nuts and fruits, 
 
 As if God dipped His brush in yonder sun, 
 And used the heavenly arches to portray 
 In splendid picture at the close of day 
 
 A century s Octobers all in one. 
 
 And lumbering homeward, stained with sweat 
 
 and soil, 
 
 With graceless gait, and melancholy droop, 
 Forlornness written large in step and stoop 
 
 And ragged raiment, goes the son of toil. 
 
 How does he differ from the kine he leads, 
 Browsing serenely on the nascent grass? 
 Before their eyes the glories play and pass, 
 
 Scorned for a nibble mid the wayside weeds. 
 
 12 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 And yet their sleek sides mock his fretted brow, 
 Their calm eyes, like a cloudless firmament, 
 Deepen the shadows of his discontent, 
 
 Their s is no slavery to pick and plow. 
 
 i 
 
 He answers with an instant s lifted look, 
 
 And lo! the shadows in his ruck-rimmed eyes 
 Have caught a nobler splendor than the skies, 
 
 His shoulders straighten, and as if he shook 
 
 The burden of the body from his soul 
 He stands, himself an artist unabashed, 
 With richer hues than ever sunset splashed 
 
 On cloudy canvas quick to his control, 
 
 And with firm hand he sketches the vast plan 
 Whose limits lie in everlasting haze, 
 And while the scheme of life grows on his gaze 
 
 He seems himself divine; behold the Man! 
 
 Reno, Nevada, November 19, 1902. 
 December 3, 1902. 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 COURAGE. 
 
 "I AM not afraid to die," 
 
 So she said, 
 And they carved her brave reply, 
 
 When life fled, 
 On the stone that towered high 
 
 O er her head. 
 
 But another dared to live, 
 
 Dared to smile, 
 Dared to bravely do and give, 
 
 Mile by mile, 
 And no word of praise receive 
 
 All the while. 
 
 Tis no trifling thing to die 
 
 As one should, 
 To bid all the loved good-bye, 
 
 In brave mood, 
 And with calm and cheerful eye 
 
 Face the flood. 
 
 But to face life s sting and smart 
 
 Day by day, 
 And to play the hero s part 
 
 All the way, 
 Takes a stronger, braver heart, 
 
 So I say. 
 
 Reno, Nevada, May 25, 1003. 
 14 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 THE FATHER S HOUSE. 
 
 THE Father s house is everywhere, 
 
 The "many mansions" rise 
 Wherever worlds are swung in air, 
 
 Under our own blue skies, 
 Or in far spaces none hath known 
 
 Save God alone. 
 
 He buildeth always, room on room, 
 
 Nor knoweth new, nor old; 
 Under His hand, as blossoms bloom, 
 
 So do the worlds unfold: 
 With neither noise nor strain of strength 
 
 From length to length. 
 
 His substance doth not fail, nor spoil, 
 
 No over-brooding curse 
 Lieth upon His tireless toil 
 
 Who builds the Universe; 
 He knows not heaviness, nor haste, 
 
 Nor want, nor waste. 
 
 How beautiful He buildeth all 
 
 The heavens and earth recite, 
 Though slow as creeps through crannied wall 
 
 The unreluctant light 
 Our hearts let in, as twere distress, 
 
 Life s loveliness. 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 He hath no lack for any child, 
 
 Nor here, nor anywhere; 
 Who seems to lack hath been beguiled 
 
 Far from the gates of prayer: 
 Where all may enter without stealth 
 
 Into God s wealth. 
 
 We have but glimpsed a hall-way here; 
 
 Yon tapestry of Death, 
 Though wrought with curious forms of fear 
 
 Is lifted with a breath, 
 And lo, His parlors stretch away 
 
 For aye, for aye. 
 
 San Francisco, Cal., March 24, 1902. 
 
 WHEN I LIE AWAKE AT NIGHT. 
 
 THE streets are strangely silent, 
 
 And the house is deathly still, 
 Save for the uncanny creaking 
 
 Of some door, or window-sill ; 
 I know there s nothing moving, 
 
 Yet sometimes a sort of fright 
 Seems to palpitate around me 
 
 When I lie awake at night 
 
 16 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Some presence seems to wake me, 
 
 I can half imagine ghosts, 
 Though I laugh at superstitions, 
 
 And the devil and his hosts; 
 But sometimes the very blackness 
 
 Seems to clothe itself in white, 
 And my fancies are embodied 
 
 When I lie awake at night. 
 
 Yet when I get accustomed 
 
 To the darkness of the room, 
 When I drop my loosened eyelids, 
 
 And shut out the ghostly gloom, 
 I often have such visions 
 
 As I dare not try to write, 
 For I talk with God and angels 
 
 When I lie awake at night. 
 
 My dead are just as near me 
 
 As my earthly loved ones then, 
 I can see their smiling faces, 
 
 Hear their welcome words again; 
 And I m always sweetly certain 
 
 Of the land that s out of sight, 
 And of the life immortal 
 
 When I lie awake at night. 
 
 Sometimes my thoughts are saddened 
 By the errors of the day, 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Sometimes a doubtful future 
 Fills me with a dread dismay; 
 
 And then comes calm and comfort, 
 And regret and fear take flight, 
 
 And the peace of God is with me 
 When I lie awake at night. 
 
 And holy resolutions 
 
 Fair as angel faces come, 
 I walk the streets of heaven, 
 
 And my spirit is at home; 
 And whatever sweet surprises 
 
 Wait me in the realms of light, 
 I m often heavenly happy 
 
 When I lie awake at night. 
 
 Ukiah, California, April 5, 1902. 
 
 SUICIDE. 
 
 NOT death, but more abundant life 
 
 Our ills demand, 
 A braver bearing in the strife, 
 
 Not the rash hand, 
 Not flight from flesh, but will to wait 
 
 And just do well, 
 For in ourselves, and not our state, 
 
 Is heaven or hell. 
 
 Reno, Nevada, November 22, 1002. 
 18 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 THE SLEEPING WILL. 
 
 THE God-man sleeps within the soul, 
 
 Till tempest tossed 
 Where the engulfing waters roll, 
 
 And all seems lost, 
 The meaner self awakes the Will, 
 
 And bids him save, 
 And his majestic, "Peace, be still!" 
 
 Commands the wave. 
 
 Reno, Nevada, November 22, 1902. 
 
 WORTH WHILE. 
 
 IT isn t worth while to worry 
 
 Though the threads of the day are crossed, 
 And we strive in vain with the tangled skein, 
 
 Till labor and love seem lost; 
 It is easy to fret and trouble, 
 
 And its hard to sing and smile, 
 But the anxious mood does nobody good, 
 
 And it really isn t worth while. 
 
 It isn t worth while to worry 
 
 Though others misunderstand, 
 And the good you do is thrown back at you, 
 
 And the favored refuse their hand; 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 You may call men cross and stupid, 
 And sneer at their graceless guile, 
 
 But the cynic s part never helps the heart, 
 And it really isn t worth while. 
 
 It isn t worth while to worry 
 
 Though the battle for bread be sore, 
 And the want at home drives you forth to roam 
 
 A beggar from door to door; 
 You may not deserve such fortune, 
 
 Nor others deserve their pile, 
 But the reign of right will not come through 
 spite, 
 
 And it really isn t worth while. 
 
 It isn t worth while to worry 
 
 Though falsehood and wrong succeed, 
 And the better cause meets unhappy pause, 
 
 And the Christ is condemned by creed ; 
 Stand up like a man and battle, 
 
 Hit hard at the vain and vile, 
 But refuse despair, it is born of care, 
 
 And it really isn t worth while. 
 
 It isn t worth while to worry 
 
 When even death is at hand, 
 Though it be thine end, or thy dearest friend 
 
 Who slips toward the silent land; 
 
 20 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 For all must pass through the valley, 
 
 And it helps none over the stile 
 To resist the rod, or to fret at God, 
 
 And it really isn t worth while. 
 
 It isn t worth while to worry 
 
 But it is worth while to trust, 
 And to keep one s faith that in life or death 
 
 The triumph is to the just: 
 That Infinite Love and Wisdom 
 
 Are guiding us mile by mile, 
 And the stars may fall, but God s over all, 
 
 Aye! this really is worth while. 
 
 Reno, Nevada, October 6, 1902. 
 
 WHO IS THE FOOL? 
 
 WHO is the fool, the man who stands 
 Upon the swirling river s shore 
 
 With gold and silver in his hands 
 And idly throws away his store, 
 
 Or he who throws himself away 
 
 In reckless living, day by day 3 
 
 21 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Who is the fool, the man who burns, 
 For fun, the house above his head, 
 
 Or he who, for as slight returns, 
 Lights fires of passion in his head, 
 
 And careless of the morrow s doom 
 
 Laughs loud to see his strength consume? 
 
 Who is the fool, the savage chief 
 Who sells a state for bauble beads, 
 
 Or he who for an hour s relief 
 Like Esau on his pottage feeds 
 
 And sells his birthright as a man, 
 
 His place in the Eternal s plan? 
 
 Who is the fool, the rough recluse 
 Who lives a hermit in his cave, 
 
 Or he who of as little use 
 
 Asks only how himself to save, 
 
 And in the cavern of his heart 
 
 From all his fellows lives apart? 
 
 Alas, the matter hardly mends, 
 Twere easy to go on, and on, 
 
 But for the fear to lose one s friends, 
 And find one s own assurance gone; 
 
 Who measures by the perfect rule 
 
 Need not look far to find a fool. 
 
 Reno, Nevada, January 28, 1903. 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 WHAT THEN? 
 
 SUPPOSE you gained a dollar yesterday, 
 
 Or gained a score, 
 Or made your fortune by some clever play 
 
 A million more, 
 And made life harder for your fellow men; 
 
 What then? 
 
 Suppose your plans for profit all succeed, 
 
 And you are worth, 
 According to the measurings of greed, 
 
 Say, half the earth, 
 But of the worth of service have no ken ; 
 
 What then? 
 
 Suppose you give a little of the wealth 
 
 You cannot use, 
 And steal its double by some artful stealth, 
 
 Or legal ruse, 
 And men are fooled to give you chance again; 
 
 What then? 
 
 Suppose that by and by the people wake, 
 And take their own, 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Nor ask for just a nibble at the cake, 
 
 Nor for a bone, 
 And will not longer bide in hole and den; 
 
 What then? 
 
 Suppose the fellows you have sneered aside 
 
 As fools and cranks, 
 
 The world s to-morrow with their counsels 
 guide, 
 
 And win world-thanks, 
 And truth flows freely from to-morrow s pen, 
 
 What then? 
 
 Aye, and suppose there is a realm above 
 
 Where Right is throned, 
 And men are weighed in balances of love, 
 
 Nor crime condoned 
 
 Because twas wrought among the "upper ten," 
 What then? 
 Whatthen? 
 
 Reno, Nevada, January 26, 1903. 
 
 24 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 THE FINISHERS. 
 
 GOD builded a frame-work one day, 
 
 And roofed it, and boarded it in, 
 He planned it in generous way, 
 
 But did little more than begin; 
 And then He called some of His boys, 
 
 And gave them the task to complete, 
 With a hint of the hardships and joys 
 
 That they might make ready to meet. 
 
 He left them to live in the house, 
 
 And finish it up as they would, 
 To live like the grub or the mouse 
 
 Content with a refuge and food, 
 Or to make of their chambers and feasts 
 
 A miniature of the divine, 
 And they themselves monarchs and priests, 
 
 And life a libation of wine. 
 
 And then He bade some of His girls 
 
 Go company them in their place, 
 And gave them eyes lustrous as pearls, 
 
 And planted a flower in each face, 
 And braided night charms in their hair, 
 
 And taught them all womanly wiles, 
 Till even the rude and the bare 
 
 Grew glorious under their smiles. 
 
 25 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 And so they moved in, and began 
 
 Their part in the work of the years, 
 Deciphering slowly the plan 
 
 Which in the vast structure appears; 
 Too often contented with ease, 
 
 Or torn with dissension and strife, 
 Too often too easy to please, 
 
 Too dull to the largeness of life. 
 
 A few builded booths for themselves, 
 
 Or made others build them instead, 
 And fitted up closets and shelves, 
 
 And pilfered from living and dead 
 To pile up possessions unused, 
 
 Or rival another s display; 
 And so were the weaker abused, 
 
 And ages were frittered away. 
 
 And they who dared dream of the morn 
 
 When no one should labor in vain, 
 Were greeted with laughter and scorn, 
 
 And sometimes were shackled and slain, 
 Because they were anxious to serve, 
 
 Not self, nor the whims of the few, 
 And only unwilling to swerve 
 
 From that which was honest and true. 
 
 26 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Yet still do they dream of the age, 
 
 The age that is surely to be, 
 When no man shall want for his wage, 
 
 When all shall be happy and free; 
 The house that God gave them complete, 
 
 Made perfect through wisdom and love, 
 Where man and his Maker may meet, 
 
 Nor wait for the mansions above. 
 
 Reno, Nevada, December 7, 1902. 
 
 MEN OF ENGLAND, HAIL! 
 
 MEN of England, hark! 
 
 Hear the call to arms, 
 Though the hour is dark 
 
 Faint not for alarms; 
 Day s at hand, at hand, 
 
 Yonder bugle blast 
 Sounding o er the land 
 
 Marks the morn at last. 
 
 Men of England, heed! 
 
 Rouse ye from your sleep, 
 To the sword and steed 
 
 With strong step and leap; 
 
 27 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Steady, side by side, 
 
 Be ye calm as bold, 
 So shall wisdom guide 
 
 As in days of old. 
 
 Men of England, fight 
 
 For the rights of men, 
 Trust ye in the might 
 
 Of the truth again, 
 Though unnumbered foes 
 
 Pressage sure defeat, 
 Victory waits for those 
 
 Who the wrong dare meet. 
 
 Men of England, pray 
 
 To the God of hosts, 
 Gath may gloat to-day, 
 
 While Goliath boasts, 
 Ye shall hew his head 
 
 With his own vain sword, 
 Herod s ilk are dead, 
 
 Lives our infant Lord. 
 
 Men of England, dare! 
 
 Dare to even die, 
 Better far to bear 
 
 Any ill than lie, 
 Better rack and rot, 
 
 Any fate, forsooth, 
 Than abate one jot 
 
 Of eternal truth. 
 28 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Men of England, hail! 
 
 We, who dwell afar, 
 Know ye will not fail 
 
 In this holy war; 
 Sons of common sires, 
 
 We salute you kin, 
 Yours are our desires, 
 
 For us all you win. 
 
 Reno, Nevada, November 6, 1902. 
 
 A PREACHER S WIFE. 
 
 No, she isn t prim and proper, 
 And she doesn t care a copper 
 
 What they say; 
 She s so innocent of wrong, 
 And so full of laugh and song > 
 That she s happy all day long 
 
 On her way. 
 
 She s as fond of pretty dresses 
 And of kisses and caresses 
 
 As a child; 
 
 But she has a lot of sense, 
 And she doesn t take offense, 
 And she sizes up pretense, 
 
 Unbeguiled. 
 29 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 She don t babble French or German, 
 But she understands a sermon, 
 
 And she knows 
 
 When her praise is balm and crown, 
 When the preacher needs a frown, 
 And just how to call him down 
 
 In hard prose. 
 
 She s no zealot or fanatic, 
 And she doesn t wax ecstatic 
 
 To be good : 
 
 She s a woman through and through, 
 Sweet, and sensible, and true, 
 Who s religion is to do 
 
 What she should. 
 
 She s not fond of public speaking, 
 And she s not a bit self-seeking, 
 
 Her s to be 
 
 Not the leader in the strife, 
 But a happy, helpful wife, 
 Quite content to live her life 
 
 Full and free. 
 
 I m not sure that she s ideal, 
 But what s better far, she s real 
 And intact. 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 She s no figment of a dream, 
 No imaginative scheme, 
 Nor a poet s idle theme; 
 She s a fact. 
 
 Reno, Nevada, May 20, 1902. 
 
 MEMORIES OF HOME. 
 
 Two thousand miles and more away, 
 The scenes where I was wont to play, 
 The happy home where still they dwell 
 Whom I can never love too well : 
 Two thousand miles, and more ah me! 
 Tis quite too far for eyes to see, 
 But thank the Father-God above 
 Tis not too far for hearts to love. 
 
 My thoughts will hardly wait for words, 
 But swifter than the flight of birds, 
 O er desert, mountain, river, plain, 
 They wing their homeward way again, 
 Back to the well remembered place, 
 And lo! my loved are face to face, 
 And free of foot I wander o er 
 The happy, holy haunts of yore. 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 The old white farm-house fairer seems 
 Against the glory of my dreams 
 Than when I saw it day by day 
 With eyes too fixed on work or play. 
 For love hath such a searching look 
 That I can trace it s every nook; 
 I did not think that it could be 
 So good and beautiful to me. 
 
 The very barn, unpainted yet, 
 All weather-worn with wind and wet, 
 Is fairer than the halls that rise 
 Against these unfamiliar skies: 
 And every out-house hath an air 
 Of something that is almost fair, 
 Even the fence rows stretch away 
 Like cloud drifts at the close of day. 
 
 The dusty highway dips, ascends, 
 
 With charm that only memory lends, 
 
 And strangely fair to envy s eye 
 
 The poorest tramp that passes by, 
 
 Since he has privilege to see 
 
 More than my dreams bring back to me; 
 
 I marvel at his unconcern 
 
 Amid the scenes for which I yearn. 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 The meadow hath a greener green 
 Than any meadow I have seen, 
 The harvests bending to the breeze, 
 Are fairer than all shimmering seas; 
 Perhaps the pasture seems to some 
 Not the least like to Kingdom Come, 
 But I shall well contented be 
 If heaven is half as fair to me. 
 
 The cattle and the barn-yard fowl, 
 The household pets that romp and prowl, 
 The birds that flit from bough to bough. 
 The flowers and fruits unclosing now, 
 The very pebble on the path, 
 Its own peculiar beauty hath, 
 And one and all are more to me 
 Than all the far-famed sights I see. 
 
 The glory of life s dawning days 
 Still lieth on my childhood ways, 
 The glory that is not of earth, 
 That cometh with us at our birth: 
 But love hath still a stronger charm 
 To bind me to the dear old farm, 
 The old scenes were not half so fair 
 Save for the dear ones who are there. 
 
 33 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Nor house, nor barn, nor fields, nor trees, 
 Nor rocks, nor hills, nor streams, nor seas, 
 Nor great, nor small in Nature s mart 
 Can ever satisfy the heart; 
 But only love: and so that place 
 Hath most of beauty, most of grace, 
 Where love has ever been our guide, 
 And where our best beloved abide. 
 
 It may be I shall live no more 
 Amid the happy scenes of yore, 
 The years may bring no more to me 
 A home beneath the old roof-tree: 
 But till I reach the home above, 
 A father s care, a mother s love, 
 Shall make the dear old home to be 
 The fairest spot on earth to me. 
 
 Reno, Nevada, May 9, 1902. 
 
 34 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 I COUNT LIFE GOOD. 
 
 I COUNT life good at any cost 
 
 Of toil or pain, 
 So that love s largess is not lost, 
 
 Nor reckoned vain. 
 And so that, spite of every ill, 
 Man keeps his troth with virtue still. 
 
 I count life good in any place, 
 
 Or high or low; 
 Who finds a useful task disgrace 
 
 Must make it so, 
 
 And who makes most of now and here 
 Need never fret for larger sphere. 
 
 I count life good at any age, 
 
 All years are blest, 
 And yield a satisfying wage 
 
 To honest zest, 
 
 And there s a compensating bliss 
 For every happiness we miss. 
 
 I count life good in any world, 
 
 Whatever lies 
 Beyond the farthest planets whirled 
 
 Before our eyes; 
 Beyond the boundaries of breath 
 I doubt not life shall conquer death. 
 
 35 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 And if we find death does not mean 
 
 Surcease of strife, 
 If still beyond the known and seen 
 
 The endless life 
 
 Means endless struggle, though it should 
 Yet will I dare to count life good. 
 
 Reno, Nevada, November 23, 1902. 
 
 A WOMAN S WISH. 
 
 "I WISH I were a man," she said, 
 And then, at my reproving look, 
 She bade me name from life or book, 
 Among the hosts of quick or dead, 
 
 One man, whose sanity was human, 
 Who ever wished to be a woman. 
 
 "Yet women I have known a score 
 Who frankly sighed for change of sex, 
 And lifted shapely brows and necks 
 And dared to openiy deplore 
 
 Despite the pretty words men retail 
 
 The fate that made them fair and female." 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 I could but answer, "I have known 
 A few strong women in my day 
 Of whom I have the joy to say 
 Their life was lived to truer tone, 
 
 Who counted chief of human good 
 Their legacy of womanhood. 
 
 "I grant that law and custom both 
 Betimes have laid a heavy hand 
 Upon the sex in every land, 
 And man s inhumanness and sloth 
 
 Have made his joy and sorrow sharer 
 A broken-hearted burden bearer. 
 
 "I grant that yet when life begirts 
 The dauntless will and leaping limb 
 With shackle of some senseless whim, 
 And swathes the very soul in skirts, 
 
 The woman well might wish to be 
 At least a man in liberty. 
 
 "But none the less her gift of grace, 
 The music of her tenderer tones, 
 The charms that only woman owns, 
 Her loveliness of form and ^ace, 
 
 Her very garments silken swishing, 
 Are answer to all foolish wishing. 
 
 37 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 "And if sometimes a woman speak 
 Such wish as men are slow to tell, 
 It may be manhood hath a spell 
 The spirit hath no need to seek; 
 More obvious as to the letter, 
 But not to the soul s vision better. 
 
 "The deeper man is he who feels 
 True womanhood s attraction most; 
 And yet he dare not wish, nor boast, 
 Since the Creative Thought conceals 
 From mortal eyes the history 
 Which giveth sex its mystery. 
 
 "He might be glad to be as fair 
 And good as often woman is, 
 Or could he even guess the bliss 
 That maketh motherhood so rare, 
 
 For such high summit of the human 
 The noblest man might be a woman. 
 
 "But he who answers to this thought 
 Shrinks back in wordless silence, such 
 As holds his ringers from the touch 
 Of finest fabric she hath wrought, 
 
 His virgin wishes hide their faces 
 As she behind her webs and laces. 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 "Who has not some time yearned to cross 
 The bridgeless gulf from sex to sex? 
 And solve the problems that perplex, 
 Another s gain, another s loss, 
 
 And prove, if possible, how seeing 
 Is like and different from being. 
 
 "And, faith, what fools these mortals be, 
 For is it not of nature s plan 
 That whether woman, whether man, 
 Still he is she, and she is he? 
 
 And both are both, since both are human, 
 He woman-man, and she man-woman." 
 
 Mountain View, California, December i, 1902. 
 
 39 
 
My C OKU try and Other Verse. 
 
 DEAR FRIENDS FORGET. 
 
 IT were a joy to know that friends 
 Will think of me when I have passed, 
 
 Even as when the sun descends 
 On cloud and sky his glories last, 
 
 Or else against the outer gloom 
 The candle, lamp, or brighter jet 
 
 Repeats the day from room to room, 
 A memory yet. 
 
 But even as the kindly night 
 
 Obscures the wounds that scar the day, 
 And from the wearied, sated sight 
 
 Hides earth s unloveliness away, 
 So let my loved as gentle be, 
 
 And when my sun of life has set 
 All the day s blemishes in me 
 Dear friends, forget. 
 
 Oakland Ferry-boat, December 2, 1902. 
 
 40 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 MOUNT SHASTA. 
 
 O FAIR Sierran, queen of myriad mountains, 
 
 With ruffled petticoat of dark green trees, 
 And ermine robes that hide thy jewelled fountains, 
 
 Whiter than whitest wings that sweep the seas, 
 With throat and brow of purest alabaster, 
 
 Veiled in the softest laces of the skies, 
 Serene, sublime, superlative Mount Shasta 
 
 Who once hath seen thee knows why God made 
 eyes. 
 
 TWO BIRTHDAYS. 
 
 I HAVE two birthdays; one that I can show 
 Upon the calendar of passing years: 
 
 Another birthday that I do not know, 
 But only that it dawns and disappears. 
 
 One of my birthdays evermore recedes, 
 
 And every year lies farther down the past 
 
 The other birthday just as swiftly speeds, 
 And every night is nearer than the last. 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 One birthday brought me, no one knoweth whence, 
 And laid me helpless on my mother s breast; 
 
 The other birthday surely bears me hence, 
 But no one knoweth whither is my quest. 
 
 One birthday left me a lone stranger here, 
 Yet I found loving welcome and kind care ; 
 
 Shall not my other birthday bring me cheer 
 Since many of my loved are over there? 
 
 With wailing cry I met their joyous smile. 
 That unremembered birthday past and gone, 
 
 With joy, I trust, though others weep a while, 
 That other birthday I shall travel on. 
 
 There are not lacking those who keep for me 
 The birthday that draws rapidly away, 
 
 That other birthday any day may be, 
 Wherefore let me give presents every day. 
 
 Reno, Nevada, December u, 1902. 
 
AND 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 MY OWN NEVADA. 
 
 OH, my Nevada, 
 
 Dearest home on earth to me, 
 Heed not their laughter 
 
 Who make light of thee; 
 Love alone hath vision 
 
 To behold how fair thou art, 
 And thy children only 
 
 Know thy charms by heart. 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 My own Nevada, 
 
 I am not ashamed of thee; 
 My own Nevada, 
 
 Thou art home to me. 
 
 Few are thy cities, 
 
 And thy towns are far between, 
 Scant are thy harvests, 
 
 And thy fields of green; 
 But thy sagebrush deserts, 
 
 And thy hills so brown and bare, 
 Have their own strange beauty, 
 
 In thy lucent air. 
 
 44 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 And, so it seemeth, 
 
 As if thus to compensate, 
 Thy skies are fairest 
 
 Where thy harvests wait; 
 On thy treeless hillsides 
 
 How the colors dawn and die, 
 And where earth is drearest 
 
 Softest shadows lie. 
 
 No, not forever 
 
 Shall thy acres lie untilled; 
 No, not forever 
 
 Shall thy wealth be spilled 
 In the laps of strangers, 
 
 Who thy silver locks have shorn, 
 And have mocked thy weakness, 
 
 Whence their strength was born. 
 
 No, not forever, 
 
 Some day shall thy waters stored, 
 Flow through thy valleys, 
 
 And unlock their hoard; 
 And thy fields shall ripple 
 
 With the laugh of golden grain, 
 And thy hills shall echo 
 
 With the laugh again. 
 
 45 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Some day thy children 
 
 Shall a glad, great army be; 
 Some day thy cities 
 
 Known from sea to sea; 
 Yet they shall not love thee, 
 
 In that day of thy success, 
 More than we who love thee 
 
 Just for lovingness. 
 
 Reno, Nevada, September 21, 1902. 
 
 Dedicated to the Class of 1906, Nevada State 
 University. 
 
 HERE AND NOW, EVERY DAY.* 
 
 THERE S a faith that is broader than sect, 
 That is deeper than gesture or creed; 
 
 Tis the faith that is known by effect, 
 The religion of spirit and deed. 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Here and now, every day, 
 
 Let us live for the good and the true; 
 Here and now, every day, 
 
 Let us do as we d have others do. 
 
 "Tune, "The Sweet By and By." 
 46 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Let us say the kind word when we can, 
 And be chary of scoffing and sneers; 
 
 11 et us work for the welfare of man, 
 
 With unfaltering hope through the years. 
 
 Let us live pur religion at home, 
 And some commonplace victories win; 
 
 While we pray for the kingdom to come, 
 Let us seek for the kingdom within. 
 
 Let us follow the Christ in His love, 
 And be willing to suffer for right; 
 
 Let us trust in the Father above, 
 
 And be faithful to goodness and light. 
 
 Reno, Nevada, October i, 1902. 
 Dedicated to Student Body of Nevada State 
 University. 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 OPENING HYMN. 
 
 WE meet in love of God and man, 
 In love of right and truth: 
 
 Defenders of no scheme or plan, 
 Or any church, forsooth; 
 
 But, children of one Father s care, 
 
 We join in song, and speech, and prayer. 
 
 We meet to worship not to prove 
 Some dogma right or wrong; 
 
 To help each other walk in love, 
 And in the truth be strong; 
 
 Not for the strife of warring creeds, 
 
 But for the help of human needs. 
 
 We welcome all, or rich or poor, 
 
 Or cultured or unschooled, 
 Or good or bad, since we are sure 
 
 That all are overruled 
 By one great Father of us all 
 In whom alone we stand or fall. 
 
 48 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 ADVENT. 
 
 Lo, HE cometh, day by day, 
 
 Still in unaccustomed way, 
 
 Still the Christ, despised, unknown, 
 
 Still rejected by His own, 
 
 Still of lowly place and birth 
 
 So the Saviour comes to earth. 
 
 Born of sorrow and of shame, 
 Yesterday, to-day, the same, 
 Wrapped in swaddling clothes again, 
 Heir of weakness and of pain, 
 Crowded forth from comfort s door, 
 Manger-cradled with the poor. 
 
 Still the lowly catch the song 
 
 Of the beatific throng, 
 
 Still the wise men come from far, 
 
 Heaven led, their sign a star, 
 
 Still some prophet souls perceive 
 
 Tis the Christ whom they receive. 
 
 Still while years go on at length 
 Slowly comes He to His strength, 
 Slowly learns Himself the Son, 
 
 49 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Slowly is His work begun, 
 Some John Baptist goes before, 
 His fore-runner as of yore. 
 
 Still He does His works of might 
 
 In our unbelieving sight, 
 
 Speaks to ears that still are sealed, 
 
 Pleads with hearts that will not yield, 
 
 Traitor-kissed, and still denied, 
 
 So is Jesus crucified. 
 
 Lo, He cometh, even now, 
 Soul beware, thou know st not how; 
 Watch thee, lest thou scorn Him too, 
 Lest thine own kiss prove untrue, 
 Hearken what He says to thee, 
 "Take thy cross, and follow 7 Me." 
 
 Waltham, Mass., June 22, 1901. 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 GOD S WAYS. 
 
 STRANGE are the ways of God with men, 
 He hides His meanings from our ken, 
 We can but guess, and trust Him still, 
 Assured that He can do no ill. 
 
 He takes the strong we seem to need, 
 He leaves the weak for whom we bleed, 
 The old and feeble tarry on, 
 And lo, the babe of days is gone. 
 
 Wealth comes to those who need it not, 
 God s poor seem oftentimes forgot, 
 And they have health who live in vain, 
 While saints and heroes writhe in pain. 
 
 While merit walks in ways obscure 
 A.nd men neglect the good and pure, 
 Shams thrive apace and catch the crowd, 
 And Folly laughs her gains aloud. 
 
 Yet God is sovereign over all, 
 He notes the smallest sparrow s fall, 
 He hears the cries that rise so long, 
 And sees the victories of wrong. 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 But who are we to chide at Him? 
 Love leans on Faith when sight is dim, 
 And sings triumphant in the night 
 The glories of the morning light. 
 
 Boston Common, June 24, 1901. 
 
 REVELATION. 
 
 LORD, Thou hast not left Thy creatures 
 
 Groping vainly after Thee, 
 Everywhere we trace Thy features, 
 
 Everywhere Thy glory see. 
 
 Still the pure in heart perceive Thee 
 In a thousand wondrous ways, 
 
 Still the souls that will receive Thee 
 Thou art filling with Thy praise. 
 
 Evermore Thyself concealing 
 
 From the proud who will not seek, 
 
 Evermore Thyself revealing 
 To the earnest and the meek. 
 
 Through the priest of ancient story, 
 Through the prophet stem and bold, 
 
 Through the Christ who came in glory 
 In the blessed days of old. 
 
 52 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Still Thy character unfolding 
 
 Through Thy spirit and Thy word, 
 
 So are men Thy face beholding 
 As their Father, Friend, and Lord. 
 
 Shirley, Mass., June 28, 1901. 
 
 IMITATION OF CHRIST. 
 
 O MAN of Galilee, 
 
 Both human and divine, 
 
 Help us to follow after Thee, 
 
 Make Thou our lives like Thine. 
 
 Help us to love the lost, 
 
 And woo them from their sin; 
 
 Help us, whatever be the cost, 
 Thy wandering ones to win. 
 
 Help us to bring relief 
 To all the sick and sore, 
 
 Help us to comfort them in grief, 
 And when they faint, restore. 
 
 Help us to be as true, 
 Nor shrink from any loss, 
 
 The Father s perfect will to do, 
 Come either crown or cross. 
 
 Reno, Nevada, Dec. 12, 1902. 
 53 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 OUR DEAD. 
 
 O BLESSED Lord of life, 
 
 And of all worlds that be, 
 Thy loved who cease from earthly strife 
 
 Still do not cease from Thee. 
 
 We know not where they are, 
 
 Nor what may be their state, 
 Nor whether near, nor whether far, 
 
 For us our dear ones wait. 
 
 We only know Thy love 
 
 Is sovereign everywhere 
 And we below, and they above, 
 
 Are always in Thy care. 
 
 Perchance they pray for us, 
 
 Dear Lord, canst Thou condemn, 
 
 If loving Thee, and trusting thus, 
 We breathe this wish for them? 
 
 Bless them, and bless us, Lord, 
 
 With gift of common grace, 
 To know, and love, and do Thy word, 
 
 Or here, or any place. 
 
 54 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 And though our spheres may be 
 
 This "little while" apart, 
 Let us alike so dwell in Thee 
 
 We shall be one in heart. 
 
 Reno, Nevada, Dec. 12, 1902. 
 
 PEACE. 
 
 GOD of the nations rise; 
 
 Oh, bring the age of peace ; 
 Make Thou our cruel battle cries, 
 
 Our wicked wars to cease. 
 
 Teach us a kinder mood 
 
 Than patriotic pride, 
 Since once for men of every blood 
 
 The man of Calvary died. 
 
 Teach us a larger love 
 
 Than land or flag may give, 
 Our banner be the blue above, 
 
 Our fellows all who live. 
 
 Teach us a wiser skill, 
 
 A lustre not of arms, 
 Teach us the wisdom of good-will, 
 
 And its unfading charms. 
 
 55 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Aye, give us conquest, Lord, 
 
 Let this our triumph be 
 To conquer self in deed and word, 
 
 And in Thy truth be free. 
 
 Reno, Nevada, Dec. 12, 1902. 
 
 Note The three songs, dated each December 
 12, 1902, were all written to the tune of "Green 
 wood" as played for me that morning by Mrs. J. 
 E. Stubbs. R. W. 
 
 LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL HERE.* 
 
 LIFE is beautiful here, under commonplace skies 
 In commonplace highways and field, 
 
 There is loveliness everywhere waiting for eyes 
 To see what the Lord hath revealed. 
 
 Life is beautiful now, in this moment of time, 
 
 Though happiness seem to delay, 
 He makes his to-morrow most surely sublime 
 
 Who lives most sublimely to-day. 
 
 "Tune, "I Will Sing You a Song of That Beau 
 tiful Land." 
 
 56 
 
My Country and Other Versf. 
 
 Life is always and everywhere good to the mar* 
 Who lives in the service of love, 
 
 Though little he reck of the infinite plan, 
 Or guess of the glories above. 
 
 Woodland, California, January n, 1903. 
 
 WITH THEE. 
 
 I ASK no crown of glory, Lord, 
 Nor stars, nor crystal sea; 
 
 Who loves Thee hath at once reward, 
 Tis heaven to walk with Thee. 
 
 Let me not long for life to come, 
 
 For happiness to be, 
 I shall be even now at home 
 
 If I may walk with Thee. 
 
 Give me the grace to share Thy cross, 
 
 And thy Gethsemane, 
 Let me not shrink from any loss 
 
 So that I walk with Thee. 
 
 Or this world, or some other, Lord, 
 
 It matters not to me, 
 If I may love and do Thy word, 
 
 And always walk with Thee. 
 
 Ukiah, California, April 4, 1902. 
 57 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 To mine own Israel first of all, the four million 
 
 and a half of Baptists in the United States. 
 
 And after them to the larger Israel, of every 
 name and faith. 
 
 As a Protest against that trinity of evils which 
 hath ever dominated too much the life and work 
 of every church, Ritualism, Traditionalism, and 
 Mammonism, which are the essence of the Phar 
 isaism that crucified the Christ. 
 
 And as a plea for that simple, practical, unself 
 ish love toward God and toward man wherein 
 is the substance of the teaching of Jesus. 
 
 61 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 HEAR, O ISRAEL. 
 
 O CHURCH which I have loved and served 
 
 With joy these many years, 
 Whose faith fell from my mother s lips 
 
 Upon my infant ears, 
 Whose benedictions soothed me when 
 
 I laid my dead away, 
 Out of the love I bear for thee 
 
 Let me speak forth to-day. 
 
 Thy children are a mighty host 
 
 And I am only one, 
 No slightest primacy I boast, 
 
 Nor aught, or said, or done; 
 Nor can I claim to love thee more 
 
 Than others who applaud, 
 But search my meanings to the core 
 
 And thou shalt find no fraud. 
 
 Just honest words, or false, or true, 
 
 Or weighty, or unwise, 
 Perchance they are not even new, 
 
 Nor even stir surprise; 
 But words conceived in love, and born 
 
 With travail and with tears, 
 Nurtured for either praise or scorrij 
 
 For either smiles or sneers. 
 62 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 O Church, thou hast been brave of old, 
 
 Thy millions are the seed 
 Of martyred sires, who once were bold 
 
 To speak the truth in need: 
 Dost think their priceless praise is thine? 
 
 Not so, lest thou obey 
 The same imperative divine, 
 
 Whate er it cost to-day. 
 
 Thou namest with a show of pride 
 
 Those right heroic souls, 
 Who in their time and place denied 
 
 That policy controls: 
 "We be the seed of Abraham," 
 
 Thou sayest; prove it then. 
 Although thy hate of lie and sham 
 
 In exile end again. 
 
 Prove it; nor bend obsequious knee 
 
 To our vain gods of gold; 
 Speak out, though politic it be 
 
 Thy protest to withhold; 
 Or own thy heroes are thy shame, 
 
 Since they but mark thy fall: 
 Who cringes to convention s claim 
 
 Denies the prophet s call. 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Thou makest much of love for Christ, 
 
 And loyalty to Him; 
 In vain have substitutes enticed, 
 
 No sacramental whim 
 Will serve thee for the rite He gave, 
 
 The letter of His word, 
 Wherein is oictured forth the grave 
 
 Of thy redeeming Lord. 
 
 Thou wilt not eat the bread with those 
 
 Who so misplace the sign 
 It seemeth thee to less disclose 
 
 The mystery divine; 
 And so thou bearest their contempt 
 
 Who count such caution ill, 
 Nor guess the heart of thy attempt 
 
 To realize God s will. 
 
 Thou doest well to stand in awe 
 
 Of all that God hath said; 
 No lightest letter of the law 
 
 Is wholly void or dead: 
 Thou doest well to seek God s grace 
 
 More than a favored fame; 
 The smile of His approving face 
 
 Puts every scorn to shame. 
 
 64 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 But is thy zeal so sound and sure, 
 
 From Pharisaic taint 
 And Scribal scruple so secure 
 
 Tis proof against complaint? 
 Or art thou guiltless of their charge 
 
 Who neither mock nor laugh, 
 Thou weighest mint and anise large, 
 
 And love as light as chaff?" 
 
 Thou canst refuse the bread and cup 
 
 To those whose letter fails, 
 And yet thou art not slow to sup 
 
 With him whose pride prevails; 
 At any cost thou wilt defend 
 
 The symbols of thy creed, 
 Alas! thou art a timid friend 
 
 Of him who slaves for greed. 
 
 What matter though they count thee odd ? 
 
 Thou hast thy little shrine: 
 Men are but images of God, 
 
 Their hearts but haunts divine, 
 Wherefore shouldst thou concern thyself, 
 
 Or risk thy relics rare, 
 To save men from the power of pelf, 
 
 Or penury s despair? 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Nay! keep thy symbols wrapped about 
 
 With consecrated cloth, 
 And leave the world to dread and doubt, 
 
 To Mammon and to moth; 
 Sit where the truth is crucified, 
 
 And while His blood drops start 
 The raiment of His limbs divide, 
 
 Nor mind His broken heart. 
 
 Church, my Church, forgive, forgive! 
 If I am harsh and rude, 
 
 But I could die if thou wouldst live 
 
 In a diviner mood; 
 If thou wouldst care for rubrics less, 
 
 And more and more for men, 
 And more and more for righteousness, 
 
 Aye! death were easy then. 
 
 1 know thou are not wholly blind, 
 Nor dull to human weal, 
 
 I know thy purposes are kind, 
 
 And thou art quick to feel 
 The hurt of an outrageous wrong, 
 
 When open crime is rife, 
 Betimes thy righteous wrath is strong, 
 
 And thou art quick with life. 
 
 66 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 I know thy message meaneth more, 
 
 Far more than bread alone, 
 Thy symbols mark themselves a score 
 
 Transcending all the known, 
 A symphony of life sublime, 
 
 So vast, so deep, so high. 
 The prelude but begins in time, 
 
 The echoes never die. 
 
 So runs thy creed, so read thy signs, 
 
 So is thy heart s desire, 
 And so thy ministry inclines 
 
 When touched with tongues of fire ; 
 Alack! how flares and flickers low 
 
 Each heaven-enkindled flame, 
 Traditions choke and stifle so 
 
 The bright, aspiring aim. 
 
 Thou ragest at the vulgar vice, 
 
 The stark and staring sin, 
 Thou sayest, "Let him pay the price 
 
 Who murders, foe or kin. 
 For common thief the common jail; 
 
 Who breaks the public peace 
 Must suffer if he do not quail 
 
 And from his riot cease." 
 
 67 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 And thou art flattered when thou hast 
 
 The courage to condemn 
 The tippler s tempters, first and last, 
 
 While others fawn to them; 
 Or if thou darest chide thine own 
 
 Whom worldly pleasures please, 
 Forbidding them that torrid zone 
 
 With its seductive seas. 
 
 The Publicans and harlots know 
 
 Thou canst make sturdy stand, 
 The brazen dance and bawdy show 
 
 Are fearful of thy hand ; 
 All wrong that is in disrepute, 
 
 Or drawls men from thy fold, 
 Essays in vain to make thee mute, 
 
 Or blow thy anger cold. 
 
 But larger ills laugh loud at thee, 
 
 And buy thy proudest pews; 
 Murder may philanthropic be 
 
 Wlien distant lands refuse 
 Our gracious will to govern them, 
 
 And make their markets pay; 
 They are but traitors who contemn 
 
 Our right to burn and slay. 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 And stealing is just business sense, 
 
 And industry and thrift, 
 Quite in the line of Providence, 
 
 And economic drift, 
 When millions plundered from the poor 
 
 Pay tribute now and then 
 To church and school, and so secure 
 
 The unctuous praise of men. 
 
 Aye! thou art very orthodox, 
 
 And standest by the Book, 
 Who questions its traditions mocks, 
 
 Though lovingly he look 
 On the red lines by prophets penned, 
 
 Still crimsoned with their blood 
 Who dared both school and church offend, 
 
 For faith that God is good. 
 
 Thine was the righteous, reckless youth* 
 
 Who burned to free the slave, 
 But he was heretic for truth, 
 
 And so thy caution drave 
 
 *William Lloyd Garrison, born and bred a Bap 
 tist, but compelled to accept the hospitality of an 
 infidel club to get a hearing in Boston. 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Thy prophet forth, to speak God s word 
 
 With those who scorned God s name: 
 And yet methfnks that I have heard 
 Thy present priests proclaim 
 
 It was the Church, their Church of course, 
 
 All orthodox and cool, 
 Reluctant to resort to force, 
 
 Afraid to play the fool, 
 That after all led forth the fight 
 
 And roused resistance strong, 
 And won the victory for right, 
 
 And overthrew the wrong. 
 
 And some time, when the social strife 
 
 That stirs the land to-day, 
 Hath quickened to triumphant life 
 
 The love thou sayest nay, 
 The love that dares deny to one 
 
 The wealth God gave to all, 
 And dares affirm, "Thy will be done," 
 
 Writes doom upon the wall. 
 
 For them that drink their brothers blood, 
 
 And feed upon their flesh, 
 And treat as animated mud 
 
 The bodies that enmesh 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 The suffering spirits of the weak 
 Who still are strong to bear, 
 
 And only impotent to seek 
 Their labor s honest share, 
 
 Some day, when pious greed is stripped, 
 
 And with avenging cord 
 Forth are the money changers whipped 
 
 By an indignant Lord, 
 When man, God s truest temple, man 
 
 And all his nature needs, 
 Count with the churches larger than 
 
 Their formulas and creeds, 
 
 Some day the sons of these same priests 
 
 Who stone thy prophets now, 
 And fawn and flatter at thy feasts, 
 
 And nod phylacteried brow, 
 Their sons to their own sweet content 
 
 Will prove in that glad day 
 It was their father s argument 
 
 And zeal that led the way. 
 
 So be it, if the right succeed : 
 
 Who cares where credit goes? 
 Not they who fight against all greed, 
 
 All selfishness oppose; 
 Save as such lies may lead our sons 
 
 To scorn their prophets too, 
 And deaden their reformers guns, 
 
 As now such falsehoods do. 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Who cares? though back of half the zeal 
 
 For the eternal life, 
 There hides the fear, one can but feel, 
 
 The coward s fear of strife; 
 And men are glad to prate of souls 
 
 Who dare not voice their own, 
 Since no monopoly controls 
 
 The "pure old gospel" tone. 
 
 Hit hard the ancient Pharisees, 
 
 For fJiey are dead and gone, 
 And strip old Herod if you please 
 
 And lay the lashes on, 
 fling if you will defiant word 
 
 Against the Pope of Rome, 
 Or gainst those foul fanatics gird, 
 
 The Mormons here at home. 
 
 Or else go back to Adam s fall, 
 
 And tell again the "plan" 
 Whereby the One was slain for all, 
 
 And there is hope for man 
 Beyond the grave, that he may miss 
 
 A hell of endless woe, 
 And win a heaven of endless bliss 
 
 Who holds the scriptures so. 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Advise him that this world is bad, 
 
 And daily waxeth worse, 
 And all the hope that it hath had 
 
 Since the primeval curse 
 Is in the Christ, who came a child, 
 
 And comes again a King, 
 To stonish the unreconciled, 
 
 This aeon s end to bring. 
 
 Why fuss though institutions fail? 
 
 Their end is soon and sure; 
 And what do all reforms avail ? 
 
 Christ is the only cure: 
 No other help may we expect, 
 
 The Church s work is found 
 To aid Him gather His elect, 
 
 And wait the trumpet sound. 
 
 Or preach with pious platitudes, 
 
 And philosophic air, 
 Esthetic words and attitudes, 
 
 Preach down all dull despair; 
 And tell the world that all is well 
 
 That things are working out 
 The end of every evil spell, 
 
 Of death, disease, and doubt. 
 
 73 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Tell men that they are better now 
 
 Than they have ever been, 
 Massage the anxious, troubled brow, 
 
 And close their eyes to sin ; 
 Feed them with phrase-confections oft, 
 
 And lull their languorous minds 
 With lullabies as low and soft 
 
 As summer evening winds. 
 
 So shall they listen to thy wrath 
 
 Against an ancient foe, 
 And calmly mark the downward path 
 
 Of sins they do not know, 
 And do their own devices still 
 
 Untroubled, undeterred 
 From present profitable ill 
 
 By one disturbing word. 
 
 So shall they reason, "What s the use 
 
 Of fighting these concerns? 
 For vainly we correct abuse 
 
 Until our Lord returns ; 
 So we can check the viler vice, 
 
 The cruder unbelief, 
 And lead to Him who paid the price 
 
 And promises relief." 
 
 74 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 "We shall do better than to waste 
 
 The few remaining hours, 
 Wherein we needs must work with haste 
 
 Against infernal powers, 
 In striving to reform a world 
 
 Which hastens to its doom, 
 While every moment souls are hurled 
 
 To death beyond the tomb." 
 
 "Since institutions rise and fall, 
 
 The creatures of a day, 
 Who saves men s souls does more than all, 
 
 For men live on for aye; 
 And lo, He comes, He comes in cloud 
 
 To take His royal throne, 
 Soon shall He judge both poor and proud, 
 
 Soon shall He right His own." 
 
 Say they not well, in face of this? 
 
 Faith is th oppressor s friend, 
 Beguiling men with bribe of bliss 
 
 From purpose to defend 
 Their rights as men to equal share 
 
 Of present weal and worth, 
 Their will to break the back of care, 
 
 And banish want from earth. 
 
 75 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Say they not well ? who dare deride 
 
 This relic of a race 
 Whose lust for spectacle defied 
 
 The Saviour s gentle grace: 
 This childish creed of drum and fife, 
 
 And strutting Caesar-Christ, 
 Whose tinselled everlasting life 
 
 Is vastly over-priced. 
 
 Say they not well who would prefer 
 
 For such a gilded god, 
 The sovereignty of character 
 
 In either cloud or clod ; 
 Who worship neither show nor force, 
 
 But only light, and love, 
 Nor will and wisdom can divorce, 
 
 Nor here, nor yet above? 
 
 And if thou hold a multitude, 
 
 So strong are human needs, 
 And if thou give, instead of food, 
 
 Such images and beads, 
 What shall it profit thee for strength? 
 
 Since as they children grow 
 They must forsake thy fold at length, 
 
 Wherever else they go. 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Nor will they stay for broader faith, 
 
 If it is dead to life, 
 No tenuous, transcendental wraith 
 
 Can lead the present strife, 
 No optimism of conceit 
 
 And self-indulgent ease, 
 Can wrest the mighty from their seat 
 
 Or steer through stormy seas. 
 
 Dost note the swelling swish of skirts? 
 
 And mark thy want of men ? 
 And is it love, or pride, that hurts 
 
 And moves thy tongue and pen 
 To answer why the workers pass 
 
 By thy beseeching gate, 
 And why so few of all the mass 
 
 Before thine altars wait? 
 
 While Dives, living, comes and sits 
 
 And smiles, and w r ags his head, 
 To hear thy often happy hits 
 
 At some old Dives dead ; 
 And Pilate dares again to lave, 
 
 With what pretense he can, 
 Within thy deep baptismal wave, 
 
 But crucifies the Man. 
 
 77 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Thou hast thy tens of thousands yet 
 
 Both earnest and sincere, 
 Thy words help many to forget 
 
 Or meet their cares with cheer, 
 The good thou doest is not small, 
 
 Nor are thy converts few, 
 Nor scant the charities that fall 
 
 From thee, like heavenly dew. 
 
 Thy ministers are often meii 
 
 Of manly, Christ-like mould, 
 Thy missionaries prove again 
 
 Apostles strong and bold, 
 And many of thy teaching host 
 
 Who feed the lambs of Christ, 
 Might much of loving labor boast, 
 
 And comfort sacrificed. 
 
 All this thou hast, and even more, 
 
 No blood of heretics 
 Lieth against thine ancient door, 
 
 No small dogmatic cliques 
 Have lorded o er thy heritage, 
 
 Or sapped thy life s support, 
 Or poisoned thee with the red rage 
 
 Of carping creedal court. 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 And yet, not wholly guiltless thou 
 
 Of scorning prophet souls, 
 With biting lip, and burning brow, 
 
 And talk of script and scrolls ; 
 Thou wilt not to tribunals hale, 
 
 Nor formal verdicts pass, 
 Nor vigh in the official scale 
 
 Of is 1 . op or of class; 
 
 B it thou wilt force the man to choose 
 
 To yield his daily bread, 
 Ar 1 memories that mean more to lose 
 
 ^ han ever creed hath said, 
 Or else refrain to say the word 
 That God hath made him feel, 
 The thing he hath most surely heard, 
 And doth not dare conceal. 
 
 Thou sayest, "Let him find a fold 
 
 That answers to his thought." 
 But there are messages untold 
 
 No church hath ever taught ; 
 And truth hath accents far too fine 
 
 For any rote of rules, 
 Thou canst not limit the divine, 
 
 Nor shape it to the schools. 
 
 79 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Thou art not quite a church of God 
 
 Until God s man may speak, 
 Nor even be accounted odd 
 
 If he uphold the weak; 
 Or if he question form and phrase 
 
 And dare prefer the new, 
 So that he walk in righteous ways, 
 
 And prove his spirit true. 
 
 Who leaves thee for the right to say 
 
 One word for human kind, 
 Though many of the mighty stay, 
 
 He proves thee poor and blind, 
 If so thou scoff him from thy side, 
 
 And give him cause to claim 
 The full of freedom was denied, 
 
 Or offered him with shame. 
 
 Or if he find thy scripture texts 
 
 Not wholly without flaw, 
 If honored dogma he corrects 
 
 By larger light of law, 
 And thou refuse his honest search, 
 
 And frown him from his place, 
 Thou art the heretic, O Church ! 
 
 And thine is the disgrace. 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 He only is untrue to truth 
 
 Who loves opinion more, 
 His very right is wrong, forsooth, 
 
 Who merely mumbles o er 
 Some superficial Shibboleth 
 
 He hath been taught to tell, 
 As if the shaping of a breath 
 
 Made either heaven or hell. 
 
 Thy droning scribes with proud pretense 
 
 Their commentaries cite, 
 And with their words obscure the sense 
 
 Of simple truth and right, 
 And thou wouldst have us hark to them, 
 
 And ape each trick of tone, 
 But all unheard the man condemn 
 
 Whose message is his own. 
 
 Or else, with old Gamaliel, 
 
 Too dignified to scoff, 
 Thou sayest, "Time alone can tell ; 
 
 Hold persecutions off, 
 And let them go, if they will curb 
 
 Their riot-making talk, 
 And cease their efforts to disturb 
 
 The order of our walk." 
 
 81 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 So says the Sadducee, who fears 
 
 Disturbance more than doubt, 
 But the stern zealot hardly hears, 
 
 Or only hears to scout; 
 Soon is the sword unsheathed to slay 
 
 Some brother of the Lord, 
 And they who dare to preach the way 
 
 Are scattered with the word. 
 
 But though the zealot raves, and throws 
 
 Hard at the martyr s face, 
 Shall not the man who keeps his clothes 
 
 Still stand in Stephen s place? 
 A nobler Stephen after all, 
 
 And his a grander stage, 
 For Caesar s household heareth Paul. 
 
 And each succeeding age. 
 
 What though thy legalists pursue 
 
 Thy Pauls by land and sea? 
 Thy synagogues reject the new, 
 
 And make its heralds flee? 
 And even Peter, though he glimpse 
 
 The broader bounds of grace, 
 Halts in his liberty, and limps 
 
 Before the zealot s face? 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 What though the long, long centime* 
 
 Darken again the morn? 
 And out of strife with heresies 
 
 Another Church is born 
 That gilds and glorifies the Cross, 
 
 But wears a fool s-cap crown, 
 And counting circumcision loss 
 
 Hands heavier ritual down? 
 
 Shall they despair who love the truth, 
 
 And cannot love a lie? 
 Although the lie renew its youth 
 
 When just about to die. 
 Or shall they battle on in hope, 
 
 And spite of doubts and fears, 
 Determined with the lie to cope 
 
 Through any length of years ? 
 
 And wilt thou help, or wilt thou hurt? 
 
 Church I have loved so long ; 
 Wilt shake thy prophets from thy skirt? 
 
 Or bid their hearts be strong? 
 Wilt mark the motes of other sects, 
 
 And thine own beams deny? 
 Or wilt thou cast off thy defects 
 
 At cost of hand or eye? 
 
 83 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Perchance thou thinkest I presume: 
 
 Ah! if I could but know 
 The fires which in my bones consume 
 
 Would warm thy fields of snow, 
 And start one trickling stream to run 
 
 Where the parched pastures wait, 
 Thou couldst disown me as thy son, 
 
 Nor mark my lonely fate. 
 
 Methinks that I could be content, 
 
 Though craving thy caress, 
 However hard my fortunes went, 
 
 To know thy failures less ; 
 And satisfied to be forgot, 
 
 If men remembered thee 
 As one who led where fires were hot. 
 
 And bled to make men free. 
 
 Oft have I said, "I will be still, 
 
 And slip away in peace." 
 I could not so convince my will, 
 
 The burning would not cease. 
 Yet who am I, to chide at thee? 
 
 One child amid the host ; 
 Think kindly as thou canst of me, 
 
 This is my only boast. 
 
 84 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 O Church which I have loved and served 
 
 With joy for many years, 
 Whose faith fell from my mother s lips 
 
 Upon by infant ears, 
 Whose benedictions soothed me, when 
 
 I laid my dead a\vay, 
 Out of the love I bear for thee 
 
 So have I said to-day. 
 
 Reno, Nevada, November 8-13, 1902. 
 
 INSPIRATION. 
 
 ONCE on a day it filled me 
 
 With queler questjionings and qualms 
 When somebody suggested 
 
 David didn t write the Psalms, 
 And there were two Isaiahs 
 
 Who composed that splendid book 
 And it wasn t at all likely 
 
 Moses penned the Pentateuch. 
 
 The story of Creation 
 
 Was harmonious no more, 
 Like the rivers out of Eden 
 
 So the streams at least were four 
 
 85 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Of varying tradition, 
 
 Flowing from some common source, 
 But very much divergent 
 
 All along their after course. 
 
 There wasn t any Eden, 
 
 And there wasn t any fall, 
 And there wasn t any serpent 
 
 That could talk, and didn t crawl; 
 There was a man and woman, 
 
 And somehow the mischief came, 
 And every one admitted 
 
 That the woman was to blame. 
 
 But the stories of the Patriarchs 
 
 Were largely legendary, 
 Perhaps they were real men, perhaps 
 
 They were imaginary, 
 Their <( epics" and their "idyls" 
 
 Told with more or less of tact, 
 Weren t worth a continental 
 
 As a chronicle of fact. 
 
 And Israel worshipped "Yahweh," 
 Not "Our Father" wise and good, 
 
 But a god of storm and battle, 
 Who was never done with blood, 
 
 86 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 And David had his household gods, 
 
 And wasn t half heroic, 
 And Solomon was hardly more 
 
 A Christian than a Stoic. 
 
 And "the Institutes of Moses," 
 
 Were not instituted then, 
 But were shaped in after centuries 
 
 By very different men, 
 When prophetic inspirations, 
 
 Given like some grand Te Deum, 
 Were fixed up for automatons 
 
 To play in some museum. 
 
 And the Gospels are not always 
 
 To be taken out and out; 
 That "the Three" had common sources 
 
 There is hardly room for doubt, 
 And in the main their narrative 
 
 Is quite a sound relation, 
 Though "John s" is less a history 
 
 Than an interpretation. 
 
 Not even Paul s infallible, 
 Although a "grand old man," 
 
 Since his schooling and environment 
 Were wrought into his "plan;" 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 And none of the Apostles 
 
 Knew the Master without measure, 
 Though as His first interpreters 
 
 They left a priceless treasure. 
 
 With holy indignation 
 
 Such conclusions I defied, 
 I scorned the Higher Critics, 
 
 And their learning set aside, 
 I looked on Evolution 
 
 As an interloper then, 
 And insisted that the Bible 
 
 Was God s final word to men. 
 
 But I found that Inspiration 
 
 Didn t need my timid zeal, 
 That the heart of Revelation 
 
 Had no hurt for me to heal, 
 And although I lost the letter, 
 
 When my images were gone 
 I found the spirit better 
 
 For my soul to look upon. 
 
 And I don t care whether Moses 
 Wrote the Pentateuch or not, 
 
 Or if there were ten Isaiahs 
 
 Whom the fires of God made hot, 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Or who said, "The Lord s my Shepherd," 
 Since I know the Shepherd s care, 
 
 And I walk by the still waters, 
 In the pastures green and fair. 
 
 And since I ve learned of Jesus, 
 
 And the blessed ways He went, 
 And have read His holy messages, 
 
 And caught at their intent, 
 I m not afraid of losing Him 
 
 Because the schools advise 
 That some paltry scraps of circumstance 
 
 They cannot harmonize. 
 
 So I read in Paul s theology, 
 
 And I, like Paul, am free, 
 As he was counted heretic 
 
 So may they reckon me, 
 But the spirit that illumined him 
 
 Illumines me to-day, 
 And I call no man my Master, 
 
 But I hark what God will say. 
 
 Thank God for all the prophets 
 
 Who have spoken in the past, 
 For His "peculiar people," 
 
 Though they failed the truth at last 
 Thank God their cruel Yahweh 
 
 Found some yearnings unsufficed, 
 Till the dull dawn brightened slowly 
 
 To the noon-day of the Christ. 
 89 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 And still, still God is with us, , 
 
 Lighting all this earth of ours ; 
 The fogs are lifting, breaking, 
 
 And responsive to the powers 
 Of the sunshine that is flooding 
 
 Every wonted haunt of gloom, 
 The springtime of humanity 
 
 Is hastening toward the bloom. 
 
 Ukiah, California, April 9, 1902. 
 
 THE GREAT HERESY. 
 
 I FEAR no more the blatant cry 
 
 Of that crude unbelief, 
 Which mocks at God, and dares deny 
 
 With hardly show of grief, 
 That recompense of all our strife 
 The hope of the eternal life. 
 
 Let atheist and agnostic prate, 
 The heart of man will crave 
 
 A better deity than fate, 
 An end beyond the grave, 
 
 Deny religion as he will 
 
 Man s heart remains religious still. 
 
 oo 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 The Higher Critics ! God forbid 
 That they should make me start; 
 
 Or shall I do as Uzzah did, 
 And fear a quaking cart? 
 
 I thank God that I understand 
 
 He holds the ark with His own hand. 
 
 I trust that light shall still shine forth 
 
 Upon the sacred page, 
 And so the Bible s matchless worth 
 
 Increase from age to age. 
 Speak out, ye critics! say your say, 
 The word of God shall live for aye. 
 
 I fear no heresy but this: 
 
 The unbelief that still 
 Betrays the Master with a kiss, 
 
 And in His name does ill ; 
 Like Judas, counted with His friends, 
 But seeking only selfish ends. 
 
 The unbelief that bows and prays 
 And builds up shrine and fane, 
 
 But grinds the poor through cruel days, 
 And barters right for gain; 
 
 So sure of God, so self-sufficed, 
 
 It daily crucifies the Christ. 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 The infidelity that stalks 
 
 In pulpit, gown and stole, 
 And with a pious unction talks 
 
 Of Christ who maketh whole, 
 But still, afraid to dare the strong 
 Worships the throned and feted wrong. 
 
 More than the atheist I fear 
 The man of Christian name 
 
 Who meets with careless laugh or sneer 
 The holy gospel s claim 
 
 That, spite of all beneath the sun, 
 
 God s will on earth shall yet be done. 
 
 Is he the scoffer who rejects 
 
 Some dogma of the church? 
 Or he who reverences texts 
 
 But scouts the earnest search 
 Of earnest souls for all things good 
 Which make for human brotherhood? 
 
 I scorn no creed which men confess 
 
 If it is held in love, 
 And if they follow none the less 
 
 The Master mind above; 
 I scorn all creeds which make men blind 
 Against their duty to mankind. 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Arch heretic is he, I say, 
 
 Who fails in love of man, 
 However much he prate or pray 
 
 About salvation s plan. 
 This truth of truths is still the test : 
 They love God most who serve men best. 
 
 Oakland, Cal., November 28, 1898. 
 
 THE GOODNESS OF THE BAD. 
 
 IT used to cloud the sunshine 
 
 In my most hopeful mood, 
 To see the folly of the wise, 
 
 The badness of the good. 
 But now when I am bluest 
 
 It almost makes me glad, 
 To note the wisdom of the fool, 
 
 The goodness of the bad. 
 
 Tis easy to find folly, 
 
 If that is what you seek, 
 For there are faults in everyone, 
 
 The strongest men are weak; 
 Who looks for something better, 
 
 Though often pained and sad, 
 Will find a world of comfort in 
 
 The goodness of the bad. 
 
 93 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 There is no man so stupid 
 
 But he has gleams of sense, 
 And deeper than all depths of sir 
 
 Are depths of innocence; 
 And spite of every triumph 
 
 That sin has ever had, 
 No one can quite deny some bit 
 
 Of goodness in the bad. 
 
 Some hero in the coward, 
 
 Some angel in the clod, 
 And in the wickedest of men 
 
 Some faintest trace of God; 
 Something of truth and beauty 
 
 In every fraud and fad; 
 So shines through evil s darkest night 
 
 The goodness of the bad. 
 
 O soul of mine, be patient! 
 
 For falsehood seemeth strong, 
 And men are slow to do the right, 
 
 And swift to do the wrong; 
 Heed not to-day s illusion, 
 
 Nor deem men wholly mad, 
 But let thine eyes with joy behold 
 
 The goodness of the bad. 
 
 Reno, Nevada, May 16, 1902. 
 94 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 RESURRECTION. 
 
 No real man ever fails; his projects may, 
 But he himself can never know defeat. 
 He may be forced to semblance of retreat; 
 
 He may not conquer in his chosen way, 
 
 And men may mock, or pity him, and say, 
 "Behold the Man!" and nail him hands and feet 
 High on some staring cross, where he may meet 
 
 The death of thieves, and none shall say them nay. 
 
 None say them nay? And if he be a Son 
 
 Of God indeed, while wine of wrath they quaff, 
 Lo, He that sitteth in the heavens shall laugh, 
 For that He seeth e er three days are done, 
 The death of Death, and how they raged in 
 
 vain 
 
 Who thought that the divine Man could be 
 slain. 
 
 San Francisco, California, March 22, 1902. 
 
 95 
 
f|0u Art 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 AFTERWARDS. 
 
 SINCE thou art gone from me the days drag on 
 Like limb-chained convicts, keeping step per 
 force 
 In the dull round of their relentless course, 
 
 With neither laugh nor word ; since thou art gone 
 
 The years before me seem an endless length, 
 No more delighting me with happy view 
 Of dreams unrealized which may come true, 
 
 But grief hath found a sorrow in my strength: 
 
 Wherefore should I succeed ? to drink alone 
 The nectar that I chiefly ciaved for thee; 
 
 That hath no sweetness, save thou sip it first? 
 
 Thy love can only satisfy my thirst: 
 The cup is empty honor proffers me, 
 
 Since thou art gone from me to realms unknown. 
 
 Since thou art gone from me mine eyes have seen 
 More than a thousand leagues of sea and land, 
 Dowered divinely from the Father s hand 
 
 With springtime loveliness, and summer sheen ; 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 And I have walked through miles of splendid 
 
 streets, 
 
 Have seen the last displays of human art, 
 Have shared the tumult of the crowded mart 
 
 And felt how strong the pulse of commerce beats. 
 
 Yet what avails it that the world is fair? 
 
 And man is mighty in his little way? 
 No balm is found for the sad-hearted there: 
 
 Death mocks man s might, and touches with 
 
 decay 
 
 All that is lovely; can the crowd restore 
 The one dear face that answers mine no more? 
 
 I do not murmur; thou art gone from me 
 By no mischance, nor law of soulless fate; 
 I know not where thou art, nor what thy state 
 
 But knowing God I know tis well with thee. 
 
 Some happy purpose marked thy going hence, 
 For thee and me ; mayhap the whole design 
 Lies open there, the tangled ends are mine, 
 
 And yet I trust me in God s providence. 
 
 For I had never loved thee, never known 
 True fellowship with thy believing soul, 
 Touched with the glory of the Father s face, 
 
 If I could doubt, now that I walk alone, 
 Thy high desire hath found its glorious goal 
 And faith and hope are justified of grace. 
 
 99 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Nor do I yield one jot of will to serve 
 
 Unto the utmost of God s thought for me; 
 For I were infidel to Him and thee 
 
 If weight of grief could my devotion swerve. 
 
 Life has some sweetness yet, without pretence 
 Of joys I cannot feel since thou art gone: 
 My heart is glad God s purposes go on, 
 
 And I would fain have part in their defence. 
 
 Heaven asks no more, I trow, of them that weep, 
 Or bear the heartache that is worse than tears, 
 
 Than just their trust in God s good will to keep, 
 And to be filial toward Him through the years. 
 
 Since thou are gone tis more and more my will 
 
 To love Him, trust Him, and to serve Him still. 
 
 IOC 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 A YEAR. 
 
 IT seemeth like eternity, 
 
 This year since thou art gone, 
 So heavily, so wearily, 
 
 The days have travelled on; 
 I cannot make it but a year 
 Since thou wert here. 
 
 Yet it was only yesterday 
 
 I had thee in my arms, 
 And laughed and chatted merrily, 
 
 And made light of alarms, 
 Nor knew how Death was wooing thee 
 Away from me. 
 
 And then twas surely centuries 
 The dreadful dream was on, 
 
 The nightmare of thy maladies, 
 And waking, thou wert gone. 
 
 Have I lain palpitating here 
 Only a year? 
 
 Why it was years that pallid face 
 
 So like, so unlike thee, 
 Refused in spite of words and tears 
 
 Even a smile to me; 
 And many winters cold eclipse 
 Lay on thy lips. 
 
 101 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 A long, long year they talked and prayed 
 
 Above thy coffined clay, 
 Another year we journeyed forth 
 
 To lay thy form, away, 
 And through an age of grief I took 
 That last, last look. 
 
 Kow slow the aeons pass since then, 
 Though others call them days ; 
 
 My soul goes searching everywhere, 
 Inquiring for thy ways: 
 
 Tis longer than my fancy s flight 
 From morn to night. 
 
 Grief hath its own dark calendar 
 None but the sorrowing know; 
 
 Time hath no scales to weigh the hours 
 Of those who walk with woe: 
 
 And all its measures mark in vain 
 The length of pain. 
 
 It seemeth like eternity, 
 
 This year since thou are gone ; 
 So heavily, so wearily, 
 
 The days have travelled on: 
 I cannot make it but a year 
 Since thou wert here. 
 
 Ukiah, California, April 23, 1902. 
 
 102 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 TWO MYSTERIES. 
 
 MY sweetheart looked up softly 
 
 From the sofa where she lay, 
 One sunny, Sunday afternoon 
 
 Before she went away, 
 Before I knew her illness 
 
 Was more than a passing cloud, 
 And said, half to herself I think, 
 
 As if she mused aloud: 
 
 "How strange death is:" and wonderingly 
 
 I answered only, "Yes, 
 Why do you say so darling?" 
 
 And with that same far-off-ness 
 She made reply as quietly, 
 
 "Oh, I was thinking then 
 How little we know of it;" 
 
 And she turned to dreams again. 
 
 There followed weeks of agony, 
 
 When little as I knew 
 Of that vast, awful mystery 
 
 Which ever nearer drew, 
 The promise of relief from pain 
 
 Such rainbow glory cast 
 Against the dull, dark skies of doubt, 
 
 Death seemed to smile at last. 
 103 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Was it a smile, or did I dream? 
 
 So grimly silent since 
 Is he who led my loved away 
 
 I cannot help but wince; 
 As glad as ever that her pain 
 
 Went from her in that breath, 
 But oh, but oh, the mystery, 
 
 The mystery of death. 
 
 "How little we know of it," 
 
 When our boldest words are said, 
 Nor even know our ignorance 
 
 Until our own are dead, 
 And then, ah then, how commonplace 
 
 Our wonted words of cheer, 
 How vague the best that faith can say, 
 
 How huge our doubts appear. 
 
 "How little we know of it," 
 
 Though philosophies are rife. 
 Yet, is death more a mystery 
 
 Than that which we call life? 
 We are, but know not whence we are, 
 
 Nor whither, nor yet why. 
 Is it not just as strange we live 
 
 As it is that w r e die? 
 
 104 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Do our dead wonder less at us 
 
 Than we are mazed at them? 
 Are they as grieved that we are deaf? 
 
 And do they try to stem 
 Our tears, our cries, our questionings, 
 
 Which else might whelm us quite? 
 And marvel when their veils are off 
 
 We cannot see the light? 
 
 Perhaps they pity us with tears, 
 
 And count us stiff and cold ; 
 Perhaps console each other there 
 
 With comfort just as old, 
 And sigh, and say, "How strange life is, 
 
 How little do they know 
 Of what they reckon life and death, 
 
 Our loved and lost below." 
 
 Ukiah, California, April 25-26, 1902. 
 
 105 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 WHEN DEATH IS PAST. 
 
 WHAT happened, dear, 
 
 That night you went away? 
 A moment you were here, 
 
 Then naught but clay; 
 A gasp, a breath, 
 
 A shiver through and through, 
 We called the mystery, Death, 
 
 But what say you? 
 
 Was there no you 
 
 After that fateful gasp? 
 Nothing beyond our view? 
 
 Beyond our clasp? 
 But stiffening flesh? 
 
 And stony, staring eyes? 
 Are faith and hope a mesh 
 
 Of luckless lies? 
 
 As well believe 
 
 That you have never been, 
 If love can so deceive 
 
 Then love is sin; 
 And only fools 
 
 Will talk of sense and right 
 If men are but the tools 
 
 Of such blind spite. 
 106 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Let me confess 
 
 I know not where you went, 
 And can but vaguely guess 
 
 What the change meant; 
 But that you are, 
 
 As truly as you were, 
 Is clearer, surer far 
 
 Than that men err. 
 
 Yet how or where 
 
 I ask, and ask in vain; 
 In far off realms of air, 
 
 As some maintain, 
 Or close beside, 
 
 About me day by day, 
 Eager to help and guide, 
 
 I cannot say. 
 
 Or if, again, 
 
 With something like our birth, 
 Mid a new race of men, 
 
 On some new earth, 
 To you was given 
 
 Another start in life, 
 One farther stage toward heaven, 
 
 The end of strife. 
 
 107 
 
My Country and Other Vene. 
 
 Or, as we fain 
 
 Would have the future be, 
 From sorrow, sin, and pain 
 
 Forever free, 
 Ourselves the same, 
 
 Our consciousness intact, 
 With neither change of name, 
 
 Nor change of fact, 
 
 Save as beyond 
 
 Love shall have larger range, 
 And many shall be fond 
 
 Who here were strange, 
 And life, for all, 
 
 Shall take on larger scope. 
 How, how shall it befall? 
 
 How shall we hope? 
 
 We do not know, 
 
 Nor signs, nor symbols tell, 
 We prattle so and so 
 
 Of heaven and hell, 
 But none return 
 
 To map the shores of doom, 
 Nor can our eyes discern 
 
 Beyond the tomb. 
 
 108 
 
My Country and Other frersc. 
 
 Not eyes, but hearts 
 
 Are Death s interpreters, 
 The hope that in us starts, 
 
 The faith that stirs, 
 The love of life, 
 
 And more, the life of love, 
 Though questionings are rife, 
 
 All point above. 
 
 And we are sure, 
 
 Wherever they have gone, 
 The faithful and the pure 
 
 Who have passed on, 
 That right is right 
 
 Wherever God is God, 
 And life, and love, and light 
 
 Are more than sod. 
 
 We need no touch 
 
 Of groping, ghostly hands; 
 Scorning so crude a crutch 
 
 The true soul stands 
 Its own best proof 
 
 For sound and sense may lie 
 That we are of such woof 
 
 We cannot die. 
 
 109 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Who asks for more? 
 
 Or who hath need to know? 
 What matter to what shore 
 
 Our ships may go? 
 What matter how 
 
 The haven prove at last? 
 Since God guides then, as now, 
 
 When death is past. 
 
 What happened, dear, 
 
 That night you went away? 
 I will not wait to hear 
 
 What spooks shall say; 
 My heart affirms, 
 
 Whatever ways we wend, 
 That nothingness and worms 
 
 Are not love s end. 
 
 Ukiah, California, April 26-28. 1903. 
 
 no 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 MEMORIALS. 
 
 WHEN I was younger, and my birthdays came 
 
 Farther apart, in youth s impetuous thought, 
 I kept them merrily with gift and game, 
 
 And kindly words which my acquaintance 
 
 brought, 
 Nor once rmjagined others might be sad, 
 
 And that the day I hailed with boisterous 
 
 breath 
 Might mean, to many who were once as glad, 
 
 Heart-breaking memories as hard as death. 
 
 And while my sweetheart still abode with me 
 
 We kept our wedding day with cloudless cheer, 
 In love so perfect it was bliss to be: 
 
 We half begrudged the passing of the year, 
 Yet greeted gratefully the gladsome morn, 
 
 Nor recked of others who had loved as well, 
 To whom the day was hapless and forlorn, 
 
 The distant echo of a funeral knell. 
 
 Now that my calendar is often marked 
 
 With mute reminders of my loved and lost ; 
 The stain of tears that fell when they embarked 
 
 Who one by one the Stygian stream have 
 
 crossed, 
 Shall I forget, though the tears start anew, 
 
 Someone is happy even while I weep? 
 Tis some one s birthday, just as brightly blue 
 
 As any I have had the joy to keep, 
 in 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Or when the dreaded day swings slowly round 
 
 Whereon we parted who were one indeed, 
 Though the blood flows the freer from the wound 
 
 That hath not for a moment ceased to bleed, 
 Shall I forget, or to rejoice refuse 
 
 When I remember such an 1 hour as this 
 Some bride and groom perchance as theirs may 
 choose, 
 
 Or mark as the memorial of their bliss? 
 
 Let me not sadden with one thought of grief 
 
 Their glad remembrances who laugh to-day ; 
 God give them joy, and help us find relief, 
 
 Who walk with Memory a shadowed way, 
 Even in their delight, though we may feel 
 
 Their merriment a mockery of our tears: 
 Somewhere, to someone, every day brings weal, 
 
 Somewhere the sunshine always warms and 
 cheers. 
 
 All days are good days, even here and now, 
 
 The wide world over; spite of all distress, 
 Spite of the tearful eye, the clouded brow, 
 
 There is no day but hath its happiness: 
 For men were mlade for laughter, not for sighs, 
 
 And all who weep, and will, may laugh again, 
 Tis grief that passes, misery that dies, 
 
 And everlasting joy that beckons men. 
 
 Ukiah, California, April 7, 1902. 
 
 112 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 PERVERSITY. 
 
 O DEATH, thou art so swift and bold 
 
 To strike the joyous down, 
 Thou art so jealous of the fold 
 
 Which has not felt thy frown, 
 When love makes life a heaven on earth 
 
 Thou canst not bear to wait, 
 Nor bide the music of our mirth, 
 
 But thou must force the gate. 
 
 O Death, thou art so strangely shy 
 
 Of them that wait for thee, 
 The broken heart, and weeping eye 
 
 Thou canst not seem to see, 
 When sorrow takes the place of cheer. 
 
 And loved ones smile no more, 
 Thou wilt not even venture near 
 
 The mourner s open door. 
 
 Reno, Nevada, November 20, 1902. 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 THE LAST TROTH. 
 
 WHEN you were dying, dear, I promised you 
 
 To play the man : 
 
 And as I can 
 To that last troth I hold my spirit true. 
 
 There are who think it womanish to weep, 
 
 Though Jesus wept 
 
 When Lazarus slept, 
 And yet He came to wake him from his sleep. 
 
 There have been hours I could not stem my tears, 
 
 When the wet eye 
 
 Washed life s dark sky 
 As summer storm the sultry evening clears. 
 
 Is it unmanly if I weep alone? 
 
 Since oftenwhile 
 
 I sing and smile 
 That none may see the tear, or hear the groan. 
 
 Nay, I am not ashamed, it is not pride; 
 
 I play no part 
 
 In open mart 
 That in my inmost conscience is denied. 
 
 114 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 But I am loth to add to the world s woe 
 
 By word, or sign, 
 
 One grief of mine: 
 Would God that I had always been as slow. 
 
 Yet sometimes when my sorrow will not rest, 
 
 If I speak out, 
 
 Not blame, or doubt, 
 But just the heartache, eased to be expressed: 
 
 Is this unmanly? Is the world the worse 
 
 To know my laugh 
 
 And cheerful chaff 
 Are only ripples where the depths immerse? 
 
 God help me bear my burdens, and be glad ; 
 
 But if I slip, 
 
 And eye or lip. 
 Betray how much there is to make me sad, 
 
 Let love withhold my words and tears from harm ; 
 
 Let my distress 
 
 Still help and bless, 
 Or let me shrink from sorrow with alarm. 
 
 God give me grace to know and do His plan, 
 
 And through the years, 
 
 In smiles, or tears, 
 Help me to keep our troth, and play the man. 
 
 Reno, Nevada, December 8, 1902. 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 THE MISSING LAUGHTER. 
 
 Do you remember, dear, that night I dreamed 
 
 That you were dead? 
 And sobbed heart-brokenly in sleep, it seemed, 
 
 Upon my bed, 
 
 And when I told you in the light of day, 
 How lovingly you laughed it all away? 
 
 But now sometimes I dream you living, dear, 
 
 And in my sleep 
 I am so happy just to think you here, 
 
 Then waking weep, 
 
 And there is no one now to laugh away 
 The fact that fronts me in the light of day. 
 
 Reno, Nevada, December 7, 1902. 
 
 116 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 A BIRTHDAY WISH. 
 
 Do they keep birthdays, dear, where thou art 
 
 gone? 
 
 Do they remember this, thy natal day? 
 Or since thy death, as we are wont to say, 
 Are our memorials naught to think upon? 
 Is death itself a birth to life so fair 
 There is no place for our poor festals there? 
 
 How shall the winged butterfly recall 
 
 In the vast freedom of his airy flight 
 
 The earth-worm s birth? how shall the stars 
 
 of night 
 
 Shine when the glorious sun illumines all? 
 Or how shall the immortals in their bliss 
 Discern the dawn of such a day as this? 
 
 And yet, art thou so far, so far from me? 
 Canst thou forget the happy years we spent 
 When hand in hand life s common ways we 
 
 went? 
 
 Canst thou forget how much I was to thee? 
 How much I loved, how much I love thee yet? 
 Canst thou forget? dear love, canst thou forget? 
 
 117 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 And thou wert with me I would keep the day 
 With fond memento, and with words of 
 
 cheer ; 
 Thou shouldst not lack for love if thou wert 
 
 here: 
 Let God be merciful to me, I pray, 
 
 And bear thee token, dear, some word or sign, 
 That still I keep this day supremely thine. 
 
 Palo Alto, California, December 15, 1901. 
 Reno, Nevada, 1902. 
 
 118 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 GOD BLESS THEE STILL. 
 
 THEY say that thou art gone beyond my prayers ; 
 That when I talk with God, at morn and night, 
 To think or speak of thee no more is right, 
 
 Or if thy loved name slips me unawares 
 
 For still miy every thought thy image bears 
 I must recall my birdlings from God s sight, 
 And stay them sternly from their heavenward 
 flight, 
 
 Though they seem winged to cleave the upper airs. 
 
 For thou art dead : and it were useless now, 
 Or worse than useless if I prayed for thee. 
 Thou hast no need of word or wish from me ; 
 
 So hath death changed thee, as our creeds allow: 
 I may still love thee, but I dare not tell 
 My love to heaven, or say I wish thee well. 
 
 And yet I cannot stay my thought of thee. 
 I do not doubt that thou art in God s care, 
 And I am glad thou dost not need my prayer, 
 
 Glad that thy joy doth not depend on me, 
 
 Glad for such blessedness as thine must be, 
 I would not have my tears disturb thee there, 
 Nor call thee thence to help me do and bear ; 
 
 I do not ask a sign, to hear, or see. 
 
 119 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 I only ask God s pity if I err, 
 And His forgiveness if I tell too much 
 
 Of thoughts and feelings that within me stir, 
 But while my yearning toward thee, love, 
 such, 
 
 How shall my prayer be faithful, full, and free, 
 
 If I must needs deny all thought of thee? 
 
 Shall God be vexed because I ask His grace 
 
 On my beloved in the better land? 
 
 And if I may not guess what He hath planned 
 For His redeemed who dwell before His face, 
 Do I not know that love hath always place? 
 
 "Love never faileth," wrote th Apostle s hand ; 
 
 And shall God s love our human love with 
 stand? 
 Else, who shall limit love by time and space ? 
 
 Do I not love thee yet, where er thou art? 
 Or hath my love lost aught of power to bless 
 Perchance thou hast no craving for caress, 
 
 And canst not count my love a thing apart; 
 I ask it not, so that I still may pray 
 God s blessing on thee, dear, from day to day. 
 
 120 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 ANNIE LAURIE. 
 
 MY beautiful, my bonnie, 
 
 With whom I walked for years, 
 Love, thou art still remembered 
 
 With longing and with tears; 
 With longing and with tears, 
 
 Since thou art gone from me, 
 And to be with thee, my bonnie, 
 
 I ami often fain to dee. 
 
 Thou wert so pure and gentle, 
 
 So faithful and so true, 
 As fair as summer roses, 
 
 As sweet as morning dew, 
 As sweet as morning dew, 
 
 And all the world to me, 
 And to be with thee, my bonnie, 
 
 I am often fain to dee. 
 
 I will not fail thee, darling, 
 
 Though life seem often long, 
 Through tears and tribulations 
 
 God make and keep me strong, 
 God make and keep me strong 
 
 Whate er my lot may be, 
 Till with thoughts of thee, my bonnie, 
 
 I lay me down, and dee. 
 
 121 
 
Olross 
 
 AND 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 UNDER THE CROSS.* 
 
 UNDER the cross where the Saviour bled, 
 
 Under the cross that day, 
 While the Man of Calvary bowed his head, 
 
 And sighed his sad soul away, 
 They bickered and bartered for paltry gain, 
 And laughed while the Christ of the world was 
 slain, 
 
 Under the cross that day. 
 
 Under the cross where Love bleedeth yet, 
 
 Under the cross to-day, 
 With hands by the blood of their brothers wet, 
 
 Some bit of cloth for their pay 
 For such a wage men can bargain still, 
 And murder Pity, and scorn Good-will, 
 
 Under the cross to-day. 
 
 Under the cross where the Truth was nailed, 
 
 Nailed to the wood that day, 
 Thorn-crowned, and bloody, and rudely hailed, 
 
 The butt of their brutal play, 
 There stood the rulers in Church and State, 
 Proud, and exultant, and full of hate, 
 
 Under the cross that day. 
 
 *(John xix, 23, 24.) 
 
 124 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Under the cross stand they even now, 
 
 Under the cross to-day, 
 Where some new truth, with a pierced brow, 
 
 Falleth again a prey ; 
 The Scribes and Pharisees, even here, 
 Laugh in their triumph, and mock, and sneer, 
 
 Under the cross to-day. 
 
 Under the cross where their Prophet-King 
 Suffered and died that day, 
 
 Counted a base and unholy thing, 
 To be piously put away, 
 
 Were many who worshipped Messiah s name, 
 
 Yet heaped Messiah himself with shame, 
 Under the cross that day. 
 
 Ah, the pity of it, the tragic truth, 
 
 Under the cross to-day, 
 Stand many who scoff at the Christ forsooth, 
 
 And turn from His words away < 
 Who long for His coming in yonder skies, 
 Yet miss Him again in His mean disguise, 
 
 There on the cross to-day. 
 
 125 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 YESTERDAY AND TO-DAY. 
 
 I dare not ask for chance to live 
 
 My vanished years anew, 
 Though all I have I fain would give 
 
 If so I might undo 
 At any cost of toil and tears 
 The evil of my bygone years. 
 
 I dare not ask another test, 
 With all that I have won; 
 
 I might do better, but my best 
 Would still remain undone, 
 
 And I might mourn with keener smart 
 
 The larger failures of my heart. 
 
 So though I often wince with pain 
 For some remembered wrong, 
 
 Though oft some penitential strain 
 Breaks in upon my song, 
 
 I only dare ask God to give 
 
 Grace for the hour in which I live. 
 
 I dare not even pledge the days 
 
 That wait me on before, 
 Or promise to amend my ways, 
 
 To "go, and sin no more ;" 
 I can but pray, "Lord, give me power 
 To serve Thee better hour by hour." 
 126 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 "Make both my past and future, Lord, 
 
 A present help to me, 
 From vain regret, and boastful word 
 
 In mercy keep me free, 
 Be past or future what they may, 
 Help me to walk with Thee to-day." 
 
 A PRAYER. 
 
 GIVE me a faith that makes men crave, 
 More than the boon of endless bliss, 
 
 The willingness to serve and save 
 Their fellows in a world like this. 
 
 A faith that does not cry, and cry, 
 
 "O God, be merciful to me!" 
 But rather yearns to do and die 
 
 That others may be strong and free. 
 
 A faith that cannot all be crammed 
 And shaped to fit dogmatic mould, 
 
 That knows no fear of being damned, 
 But shrinks from being hard and cold. 
 
 127 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 That dreads far more than wrath to come 
 The sense of failure to do well, 
 
 The cowardice that makes one dumb 
 In presence of a present hell. 
 
 That dreams far less of pearly gates 
 And golden streets beyond the skies, 
 
 Than of the death of human hates, 
 The downfall of all earthly lies. 
 
 Lo, I am in my Father s hand! 
 
 Let Him deal with me as He may, 
 So that He give me grace to stand 
 
 And battle for the right to-day. 
 
 I want no upper seat above, 
 
 Nor shining crown with stars impearled, 
 But just to know my life and love 
 
 Made this a little better world. 
 
 And just to go, and just to do 
 As love leads on to service still, 
 
 My only hell to be untrue, 
 
 My heaven to simply do God s will. 
 
 128 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 PROVIDENCE. 
 
 (Tune, Naomi.) 
 
 O FAITHFUL Father, grant us all 
 Such fullness of Thy grace 
 
 That in whatever lot befall 
 We may behold Thy face. 
 
 In cares or comforts, gain or loss, 
 
 In sickness or in health, 
 Teach us the wisdom of the cross, 
 
 Where even want is wealth. 
 
 Teach us how all our pains and aches, 
 
 Of body and of mind, 
 Our very missings and mistakes 
 
 Some heavenly end shall find. 
 
 Teach us until we learn to trust 
 
 Thy perfect purpose still 
 When we are humbled in the dust 
 
 By some triumphant ill. 
 
 So shalt Thou prove us as Thou wilt, 
 
 Thyself our sure defense 
 While we from faith to faith are built 
 
 Upon Thy providence. 
 
 Newton Boulevard, Mass. Tune 21, 1901. 
 129 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 THINE. 
 
 Tune, Louvan. 
 
 THOU Christ of God, incarnate word, 
 Both Son of Man and Sovereign Lord, 
 Flesh of our flesh, and yet divine, 
 We joy to know that w r e are Thine. 
 
 Thine by the grace that brought Thee down 
 To wear our nature as Thine own ; 
 Thine by Thy life of pain and loss, 
 Thine by Thy passion and Thy cross. 
 
 Bought at a cost we cannot know, 
 Bought from a destiny of woe, 
 Bought for the endless years, to be 
 Thine own through all eternity. 
 
 Thine own whate er befall us here, 
 Or if Thou givest smile or tear; 
 Thine own through seeming good or ill, 
 We are Thy blood-bought people still. 
 
 Since we are Thine grant us the grace 
 To show the glory of Thy face, 
 That all, whate er our lot may be, 
 May know that we belong to Thee, 
 
 Composed on the street cars, between Concord 
 and Lexington, Mass., June 20, 1901. 
 
 130 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 TO UNION LABOR. 
 
 I WOULD not say one word unkindly meant 
 To the vast toiling masses of all lands; 
 So have I labored, numbered with the "hands;" 
 
 And I am proud that so my youth was spent: 
 
 My heart is with them in their just intent 
 To seek the utmpst that their weal demands, 
 As I am with the weakest man who stands 
 
 For fullest freedom to fulfill his bent. 
 
 Nor do I doubt it is the toilers right 
 To band together in their own defense, 
 
 Or with the money magnates to unite 
 
 And do their best to bring the reign of sense, 
 
 When our industrial civil wars shall cease, 
 
 And business know stability and peace. 
 
 But let not labor think to profit long 
 By any union, either with their own 
 Or those who once as enemies were known, 
 
 Though such an union may seem more than strong, 
 
 If labor reckon not with right and wrong, 
 Or scorn the public for themselves alone, 
 Grasping their wages as some dog a bone, 
 
 And scouting wisdom as an idle song. 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 None but the broadest brotherhood will live ; 
 And selfishness, triumphant though it seem, 
 Fails at the last, whatever be its scheme; 
 They who would get must also learn to give : 
 Nor any class, however great or small, 
 Shall save themselves except by saving all. 
 
 THE TRUE TEMPLE. 
 
 Tune, Ward. 
 
 Lo, God is in his temple now, 
 Let every heart in homage bow 
 So shall He fill this happy place 
 With present tokens of His grace. 
 
 He dwelleth not in desk or pew, 
 But with each faithful heart and true; 
 Nor word, nor sign, shall hold Him here, 
 
 Who to the lowly draweth near. 
 
 . ; -^ 
 i* 
 
 For what to him are learned phrase? 
 Or the loud anthem we upraise? : 
 
 Or cloth or candle, wine or bread ? 
 If faith, and hope, and love are dead? 
 
 132 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Bring Him the love and trust He craves, 
 And ye shall know how well He saves; 
 Bring Him the true intent that lives, 
 And ye shall know what joy He gives. 
 
 Bring Him yourselves, and test Him here, 
 If God will not indeed draw near, 
 And make this hour and place to be 
 Remembered through eternity. 
 
 Clarendon St. Baptist Church, Boston, Sunday 
 morning, June 30, 1901. 
 
 IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN. 
 
 WHEN I remember what my life has been, 
 
 And all the hapless blunders I have made, 
 How often I have fallen into sin, 
 
 How often have been foolish and afraid ; 
 Let me not grow morose, nor yield to grief, 
 
 Nor be content my failures to rehearse, 
 While Hope and Courage run to my relief, 
 
 Let me be thankful that it wasn t worse. 
 
 133 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Sad are the words indeed, "It might have been," 
 Yet is there gladness in them if we will; 
 
 Do they remind us how we failed to win? 
 Lo, there are battles that await us still. 
 
 We have not yielded to the utmost yet, 
 We have not felt the fullness of reverse; 
 
 Away with whining and with vain regret, 
 
 This be our spirit to the very end 
 
 Whenever we look back upon our ways, 
 Let us make Memory our constant friend, 
 
 And gather comfort from our yesterdays; 
 So shall our losses blossom into gains, 
 
 And our to-morrows we shall reimburse 
 Out of our disappointments and our pains, 
 
 And still be thankful that they were not worse. 
 
 IN OREGON. 
 
 I VE hunted here, and hunted there, 
 For something new to rhyme at, 
 
 And if it wasn t wrong to swear, 
 I d write about the climate; 
 
 But I will not begin in vain: 
 
 Here is to-morrow s forecast RAIN. 
 
 J34 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 TO PLAY THE MAN. 
 
 OUT of the mystery I came, 
 
 Into the miystery I go, 
 But whence I caught the vital flame, 
 
 Or whereunto this spark shall glow 
 Who knows? Or who may think to tell 
 
 The scope of the eternal plan? 
 Yet this I know and feel full well, 
 
 That I am here to play the man. 
 
 I know not what I am, nor why, 
 
 Nor wherefore anything should be; 
 And that men live, or that men die, 
 
 I know not which most puzzles me. 
 Lo, there are endless questionings 
 
 Whichever way I seek to scan ; 
 This only peace and comfort brings, 
 
 That I am here to play the man. 
 
 I know not even how I know 
 
 That I am bound to do the right; 
 That this impulse is mean and low, 
 
 And for this other I must fight; 
 Nor why self-sacrifice appeals 
 
 And selfishness is under ban, 
 Save that the heart within me feels 
 
 That I am here to play the man. 
 
 135 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Not here to cavil and to doubt ; 
 
 Not here to gibe and scoff, and sneer ; 
 Not here to weep, and whine, and pout; 
 
 Not here to cringe and crawl with fear; 
 But here to meet life face to face, 
 
 And do the very best I can; 
 Whatever comes, with grit and grace 
 
 To stand right up and play the man. 
 
 Aye, here to hope, and here to trust, 
 
 And here to labor and to love; 
 Here to be gentle, kind and just, 
 
 To live as for the life above; 
 And here to prove through old and new, 
 
 However worlds or men began, 
 That those things are most surely true 
 
 Which help me most to play the man. 
 
 136 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 I M GLAD I LIVE TO-DAY. 
 
 SOME folks are always sighing 
 
 To get back the good old days; 
 They say that modern life is just 
 
 One-round of crime and craze: 
 It isn t what it ought to be, 
 
 Yet I am bound to say, 
 Whenever I read history 
 
 I m glad I live to-day. 
 
 I like my Welsbach burner 
 
 Better than a tallow dip; 
 The stage would be too slow for me, 
 
 In spite of spur and whip ; 
 And telegraph and telephone 
 
 Are handy by the way; 
 So, though the croakers croak, I own 
 
 I m glad I live to-day. 
 
 No doubt, our worthy fathers 
 
 Were of quite heroic stuff, 
 But I suspect their manners 
 
 Were at least a little rough; 
 They knew too much of hardship, 
 
 And not half enough of play; 
 So, much as I admire them, 
 
 I m glad I live to-day. 
 
 137 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 And though some decent people 
 
 Claim the world is getting worse, 
 And cite the daily papers 
 
 And their lists of crime rehearse 
 Although the rising sun may show 
 
 Some spots night hid away, 
 I like the daylight better, and 
 
 I m glad I live to-day. 
 
 And even if to-morrow 
 
 Be a better day than this, 
 And I was born too early 
 
 To enjoy earth s rarest bliss, 
 I ll do my best to hasten on 
 
 The age of dream and lay, 
 And, when the battle s sorest, sing 
 
 I m glad I live to-day. 
 
 138 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 TO-DAY. 
 
 LET us live well to-day; there is no morrow 
 
 That we can claim. 
 To-day is our s, for either joy or sorrow, 
 
 For praise or blame; 
 Whatever part in life we plan to play 
 Let us be faithful to our role to-day. 
 
 Let us be glad to-day, nor dream of blisses 
 
 The years may bring; 
 Who waits for happiness too often misses; 
 
 If we would sing 
 
 Let us sing now, and let our hearts be gay 
 With the God-given laughter of to-day. 
 
 Let us be kind, to-day, nor sigh for splendor 
 
 Of larger sphere; 
 We can be gentle, generous, and tender, 
 
 Right now and here ; 
 So much there is of good to do and say 
 Life is significant for all to-day. 
 
 Let us be brave, and true, and calm, and cheery, 
 
 And strong, and free, 
 However hard the road, however weary 
 
 Our feet may be; 
 
 All that we would have been along the way, 
 And all we would be, let us be to-day. 
 
 139 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 TO LIVE, AND LOVE, AND LEARN. 
 
 MOST of the things that worry u? 
 
 Don t matter much. 
 Too many of us fret and fuss 
 
 At every touch. 
 
 There s nothing that s of great concern 
 Except to live, and love, and learn. 
 
 Suppose the world don t go our way, 
 
 What of it, then? 
 We have the better chance to-day 
 
 To act like men, 
 And still insist at every turn 
 We re here to live, and love, and learn. 
 
 It isn t doing what we would 
 
 That counts for most; 
 It s being brave, and kind, and good, 
 
 Amid the host; 
 
 For better than to crave and yearn 
 Is just to live, and love, and learn. 
 
 We make too much of ease and joy, 
 
 And sordid gain ; 
 The things that vex us and annoy, 
 
 The toil and pain, 
 And every malady we spurn 
 May help us live, and love, and learn. 
 140 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 And there is nothing else to fear 
 
 Of good or ill 
 Than just the failure of good cheer 
 
 And honest will; 
 No loss need fright us if we earn 
 More power to live, and love, and learn, 
 
 WHEN BABY CROWS. 
 
 IT matters not what work we do, 
 Or what the pleasures we pursue; 
 We always stop, and laugh anew, 
 When baby crows. 
 
 It doesn t matter ,who is here, 
 Though Judge, or Minister appear, 
 We just can t help but clap and cheer 
 When baby crows. 
 
 Somtimes the day is dark enough, 
 And life seems very harsh and rough, 
 But somehow tisn t half so tough, 
 When baby crows. 
 
 There s some light in the darkest cloud, 
 And some release from cares that crowd, 
 For hope and courage cry aloud, 
 When baby crows. 
 141 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Tis such a funny little noise, 
 The jolliness of all our joys, 
 The gold of glee without alloys, 
 When baby crows. 
 
 The angels seem to sing again 
 Of "Peace, good will to earth," and then 
 The pure in heart respond, "Amen," 
 When baby crows. 
 
 Laugh at my fancies if you will; 
 I know that all things false and ill, 
 Grow shamed a sudden, and are still, 
 When baby crows. 
 
 And when we see no cause for play, 
 What starts the laugh so blithe and gay, 
 If angels sing not far away, 
 When baby crows. 
 
 Come whence it may, in loving hearts, 
 Worn with the noises of the marts, 
 A flood of heavenly music starts, 
 When baby crows. 
 
 And blessed are the ears that hear, 
 And hearts that answer to the cheer, 
 And eyes where the love-lights appear, 
 When baby crows. 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 NOT OUR OWN. 
 
 OH blessed Master, thine we are; 
 
 The little that we seemi to own, 
 Is ours indeed to make or mar, 
 
 And yet, it is not ours alone. 
 
 Tis ours because it first is thine, 
 And only as a loan we claim 
 
 The priceless heritage divine, 
 
 Which bears awhile our mortal name. 
 
 It is not ours to spend at will, 
 
 Or fail to spend if we deem best, 
 Tis ours to use with profit, till 
 Thou summon back thy high bequest. 
 
 No, not our own are we, who live 
 Redeemed and sanctified by thee, 
 
 The price none but a God could give 
 Thou gavest, and Thine own are we. 
 
 Thine own forever; though we roam 
 Awhile in paths by mortals trod, 
 
 Yet do we find our lasting home, 
 In Thee alone, the Love of God. 
 
 Seattle, W. T., February 26, 1889. 
 143 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 DOROTHY. 
 
 Born August 2, 1899. 
 
 WHAT a dainty bit of flesh 
 
 Is Dorothy. 
 And how soft and sweet and fresh 
 
 Is Dorothy. 
 
 Oh, you needn t lift your lid, 
 But I know you never did 
 See so cute a little kid 
 
 As Dorothy. 
 
 She s as smiling as the day, 
 
 Is Dorothy. 
 And as pretty as the May 
 
 Is Dorothy. 
 
 She s as proper as a saint, 
 She don t powder, primp or paint. 
 But she s in it, if you ain t, 
 
 Is Dorothy. 
 
 Oh, she cries sometimes, of course, 
 
 Does Dorothy, 
 Till she gets quite red and hearse, 
 
 Does Dorothy. 
 
 ?44 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 She don t care for rank or ilk, 
 She don t care for gold or silk, 
 But she just does yell for milk, 
 Does Dorothy. 
 
 But she smiles and coos and crows, 
 
 Does Dorothy. 
 And she wrinkles up her nose, 
 
 Does Dorothy. 
 
 And she throws her hands about, 
 And her little feet pop out, 
 And she makes us laugh and shout, 
 
 Does Dorothy. 
 
 And such nonsense as we talk 
 
 To Dorothy, 
 And how funnily we walk 
 
 For Dorothy. 
 
 There s a thousand things we do 
 That would seem absurd to you, 
 But we ve always something new 
 
 For Dorothy. 
 
 And what s more, we long and pray 
 
 For Dorothy. 
 God be with her all her day, 
 
 Dear Dorothy. 
 
 M5 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Come what may of hopes or fears, 
 Come what may of smiles or tears, 
 God be with her through the years, 
 With Dorothy. 
 
 Then here s to the little Miss, 
 
 To Dorothy. 
 What a bonnie blessing is 
 
 Dear Dorothy. 
 
 No, you needn t lift your lid, 
 For I know you never did 
 See so cute a little kid 
 
 As Dorothy. 
 
 December 30, 1899. 
 
 140 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 THE COMING AGE. 
 
 IT is writ on history s pages 
 
 How the poets and the sages 
 
 Have looked forward through the ages, 
 
 With a faith few understood, 
 To that happy consummation 
 When all men of every nation 
 Shall make up God s new creation, 
 
 Love s eternal brotherhood. 
 
 High and holy is the vision 
 Of that coming age elysian 
 And it stirs the harsh derision 
 
 Of the unbelieving throng. 
 But some hearts forsake it never, 
 Some are true to it forever, 
 To it give their best endeavor, 
 
 And it still inspires their song. 
 
 May we count among their number 
 Who have waked from selfish slumber, 
 And, whatever doubts encumber, 
 
 Still believe that over all 
 Broods the love that never faileth, 
 Love that for all men availeth, 
 And that in the end prevaileth 
 
 O er whatever ills befall ; 
 
 147 
 
My Country and Other Verse 
 
 Who believe the day draws nearer 
 When men s vision shall be clearer, 
 And to each, each shall be dearer 
 
 Than we count our kindred now. 
 This is no hallucination, 
 No mere dream or speculation, 
 But the calm, sure expectation 
 
 That our lips and lives avow. 
 
 Though our faith may long be slighted, 
 
 Men shall yet be all united, 
 
 And a world-wide troth be plightea 
 
 At love s altar by and by, 
 War shall cease, base competition, 
 And all strife and all division, 
 When men ask no higher mission 
 
 Than for men to do and die. 
 
 Aye! that better age comes slowly; 
 Still it lingers with the lowly; 
 Still the high despise the holy, 
 
 And the Truth is crucified. 
 But through all the sad, sad story, 
 Though the cross be dark and gory, 
 Through it glows the golden glory 
 
 Of the kingdom there denied. 
 
 148 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Scorned and scourged, entombed and guarded, 
 Still Love rises unretarded, 
 And the cross is now rewarded 
 
 By the crown of endless life. 
 They who laughed, with fear are shaken ; 
 They who took, themselves are taken ; 
 They exult who were forsaken ; 
 
 So forever ends the strife. 
 
 Love may still be long rejected, 
 Love s disciples scorned, suspected, 
 Love s ideals mocked, neglected, 
 
 But, beyond the cross and tomb, 
 Truth and Love, one flesh and spirit, 
 Shall arise, and yet inherit 
 Heaven and earth. O ye who hear it! 
 
 Pray in faith, "Thy kingdom come." 
 
 149 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 LIVE FOR SOMETHING. 
 
 LIVE for something, have a purpose, 
 
 And that purpose keep in view ; 
 Drifting like a helmless vessel, 
 
 Thou can st ne er to life be true. 
 Half the wrecks that strew life s ocean, 
 
 If some star had been their guide, 
 Might have now been riding safely, 
 
 But they drifted with the tide. 
 
 Live for something; yes, and something 
 
 That is worthy of thy life; 
 Something that will well repay thee, 
 
 When tis won, for all thy strife. 
 Be not dazzled by the glitter 
 
 And the tinsel of the world ; 
 For the noble, true, and lasting 
 
 Let thy banner be unfurled. 
 
 Live for something; live in earnest, 
 Though thy work may humble be, 
 
 By the careless world neglected 
 Known alone to God, and thee. 
 
 150 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Every act has priceless value 
 To the Architect of Fate, 
 
 And the spirit of thy doing 
 This alone may make it great. 
 
 Live for something; every mortal 
 
 Wields the scepter of a king; 
 Every soul may waken echoes 
 
 That shall never cease to ring. 
 We are living for the ages 
 
 To the farthest end of time, 
 And the weakest life is mighty, 
 
 And the humblest is sublime. 
 
 Live for something; God and angels 
 
 Are thy watchers in the strife, 
 And above the smoke of battle 
 
 Gleams the victor s crown of life. 
 Live for something; God has given 
 
 Freely of His stores divine, 
 Richest gifts of earth and heaven, 
 
 If thou wiliest may be thine. 
 
 Waltham, Mass., 1881. 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 A PARAPHRASE. 
 Psalm I. 
 
 GREAT are his joys, the righteous man 
 Who walks not in the thought or plan 
 
 Of men of wicked heart, 
 Nor in the way of sinners stands, 
 Nor sits among the scornful bands, 
 
 And with them has no part. 
 
 But toward Jehovah s perfect law 
 His soul inclines with sincere awe, 
 
 And bows with holy fear. 
 And in his law both day and night 
 He meditates with sweet delight, 
 
 Through each succeeding year. 
 
 Like to a widely spreading tree 
 O er living waters, he shall be, 
 
 In perfect strength complete. 
 His fruit in proper time shall fall; 
 His leaf shall wither not, and all 
 
 He does success shall meet. 
 
 152 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 The wicked are not so, but they 
 Are like the chaff that flies away 
 
 Before each passing wind. 
 Therefore they shall not stand with those 
 Who keep His covenant and laws, 
 
 Nor with them favor find. 
 
 For God the righteous man beholds 
 In all his ways, and kindly folds 
 
 Around him love and grace; 
 But the unrighteous man shall stray 
 Far from the good and perfect way, 
 
 And never see His face. 
 
 Newton Centre, Mass. 
 
 153 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 GOD GARNERS NO GREEN GRAIN. 
 
 OUR God makes no mistakes: O heart oppressed, 
 And eyes all blinded with the mists of pain, 
 Eternal love pursues no fruitless quest, 
 God garners no green grain. 
 
 Death seems untimely when our dear ones go, 
 And some mischance our hearts regret in vain. 
 It only seemeth, for it is not so, 
 
 God garners no green grain. 
 
 Even the babe that dieth with a breath, 
 By arrow of outrageous fortune slain, 
 Serveth some purpose through such early death, 
 God garners no green grain. 
 
 The strong who leave us ere their work is done, 
 As our w^eak faith is wonted to complain, 
 Despite our doubtings do not die too soon, 
 God garners no green grain. 
 
 Whether the reaper cometh soon or late, 
 Nor life, nor death, can ever be in vain, 
 His will transcends the seeming whims of fate, 
 God garners no green grain. 
 
 Oakland, Cal., January 10, 1894. 
 154 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN. 
 
 "BLESSED are they that mourn," the Master said; 
 But, weeping bitterly above my dead, 
 I murmiured, unbelievingly, "Ah, no! 
 It is not so." 
 
 He did not chide me for my willful word, 
 My every tear s pathetic plash he heard, 
 My every sigh; and thus He answered low, 
 "Child, thou shalt know." 
 
 He touched mine eyelids with His ringer tips, 
 And through the midnight of my grief s eclipse 
 I looked on life, and strangely large and clear 
 Did life appear. 
 
 I saw life s brevity as ne er before, 
 I saw life s true intent; and more and more 
 I saw, in spite of glamour and of guile, 
 What is worth while. 
 
 And loves long lost came thronging back again, 
 My heart was kind toward all the sons of men, 
 Tears washed all trace of bitterness away, 
 That sad, glad day. 
 
 155 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 And I drew very near the world unseen, 
 Mine eyes did all but pierce the veil between 
 I almost heard the sweet, angelic song 
 Of yonder throng. 
 
 "Blessed are they that mourn," The Master said; 
 And, still in tears, I lifted up my head 
 And answered, on that happy faith upborne, 
 "Blessed are they that mourn." 
 
 Oakland, Cal., November, 1897. 
 
 A VISION OF FAITH. 
 
 BESIDE the shaded couch, where weak and faint 
 
 A dear one suffering lay, 
 Bearing her agony without complaint, 
 
 In the old martyr way, 
 I saw two forms, like waiting angels, stand 
 
 On either hand. 
 
 I knew that one was Faith ; the calm, clear brow 
 
 And the uplifted eye 
 Shone with assurance, like the tender glow 
 
 On morning s kindling sky, 
 And all her mien triumphant trust expressed, 
 
 And perfect rest. 
 
 156 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 The other seemed Faith s very twin at first, 
 
 So like in form and face, 
 Save that her calm was as some part rehearsed, 
 
 And there was lack of grace; 
 And in her eyes a vague impatience stirred, 
 
 And thrilled each word. 
 
 She spoke and Faith was still : "Thou needest not 
 
 Lie thus on bed of pain; 
 Hath God His old-time healing power forgot? 
 
 Can He not cure again? 
 Believing prayer shall save the sick; believe! 
 
 And health receive." 
 
 The sufferer stirred, and feebly made reply, 
 
 "I do not doubt God s care, 
 But though for strength I daily make my cry, 
 
 He doth not grant the prayer." 
 The Presence answered, "They shall have who 
 seek ; 
 
 Thy prayer is weak." 
 
 Then Faith drew near, and gently whispered. 
 "Peace! 
 
 They do not love God most 
 Who are most urgent for their quick release 
 
 From pain s severe impost. 
 Who can pray better than the suffering Son? 
 
 Thy will be done." 
 
 157 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 "They trust God most who most accept God s 
 
 will, 
 
 Whate er that will may be; 
 Bearing with patient calm life s every ill; 
 
 Their first and dearest plea, 
 That God will grant, through pleasure, or 
 
 through pain, 
 In them to reign. 
 
 "God often heals, and often healeth not, 
 
 As we have greater need; 
 To be submissive to His blessed thought, 
 
 Oh, this is trust indeed! 
 And this shall be the sign thy prayer is heard, 
 
 GOD S WILL PREFERRED." 
 
 The vision vanished, but the voice remained, 
 And still, "God s will preferred," 
 
 Pointed the path by which all good is gained, 
 And gave the conquering word: 
 
 Or sick, or well, or rich, or poor, how small! 
 God s will is all. 
 
 158 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 WHERE NONE ARE OLD. 
 
 SOMEWHERE, beyond all human ken of distance, 
 Beyond our childish measurings of space, 
 
 There is a land where life, with sweet persistence, 
 Goes on forever, with no loss of grace, 
 Where none are old. 
 
 Where none are old ; for pain and weakness never 
 May find a footing on that far-off strand, 
 
 But health and youth forever and forever 
 Possess the borders of that better land 
 Where none are old. 
 
 There deathless beauty, all our thought transcend 
 ing, 
 
 Fills up the measure of the eye s delight, 
 And changeless love guards there against offend 
 ing, 
 
 And shares the kingdom with eternal right, 
 Where none are old. 
 
 There shall attainment equal expectation, 
 There are no Pisgahs for our hindered feet, 
 
 No wearing out in strife and tribulation, 
 And there no yielding of plans incomplete, 
 Where np^e are old. 
 
 159 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 There shall we know no limit to our learning, 
 There shall our energies be always new, 
 
 No thirst unslaked, no heart-sick hungry yearning 
 Shall make our life seem empty and untrue, 
 Where none are old. 
 
 No partings with our loved, no sad forgetting 
 Of the dear faces half forgotten now, 
 
 No anxious tears, no doubting and no fretting, 
 But shining peace, clear written on each brow, 
 Where none are old. 
 
 Earth-life is but a segment of the ages, 
 
 Our longest years with men are but a span, 
 
 There shall we fellowship the saints and sages 
 Of all the centuries since time began, 
 Where none are old. 
 
 No burden of remorse, no heart repining, 
 No sin to scatter thorns upon our way, 
 
 No effort to behold the silver lining 
 
 Beyond the clouds, in that fair realm of day 
 Where none are old. 
 
 Where none are old ! O land of life immortal, 
 When shall I lay the things of time aside? 
 
 When shall I pass rejoicingly the portal 
 To walk forever with the glorified? 
 Where none are old. 
 
 Salem, Oregon. 
 
 160 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 LOOKING UNTO JESUS. 
 
 LOOKING unto Jesus, when our hearts are sick 
 
 with sin, 
 When the vain world mocks our crying for His 
 
 blessed peace within, 
 When the shadow of our sinning hangs above 
 
 us like a pall, 
 Looking unto Jesus who forgives and pardons all. 
 
 Looking unto Jesus, when temptations hover near, 
 When our boasted strength is weakness, and our 
 
 wonted courage fear, 
 When the things in which we trusted vanish like 
 
 the early dew, 
 Looking unto Jesus who alone can bear us 
 
 through. 
 
 Looking unto Jesus, when our weeping eyes are 
 
 sore, 
 When the long-loved voice is silent, and the dear 
 
 heart beats no more, 
 When our hopes like withered roses droop and 
 
 perish at our feet, 
 Looking unto Jesus for His consolation sweet. 
 
 161 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Looking unto Jesus, when we gather at His 
 
 throne, 
 With the ransomed hosts to praise Him who hath 
 
 bought us for His own, 
 Oh what joy to spend the ages in the shadow of 
 
 His wing, 
 Looking unto Jesus as our Prophet, Priest, and 
 
 King. 
 
 Seattle, Washington, 1889. 
 
 INCREASE OUR FAITH. 
 
 LORD, Thou hast given with a lavish hand! 
 
 How are we blessed in basket and in store, 
 The favored people of Thy favored land, 
 
 Yet would we crave of Thee one mercy more, 
 Increase our faith. 
 
 Increase our substance as Thou seest best, 
 Increase our fame, if so it be Thy will, 
 
 Increase in us pure learning s holy quest, 
 
 But, more than all, O God, we pray Thee still 
 Increase our faith. 
 
 162 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Our faith in God; our confidence in Truth; 
 
 Our soul-persuasion of eternal years: 
 Pity our timid age, our careless youth, 
 
 And in Thy providence, through smiles or tears, 
 Increase our faith. 
 
 In all that makes for high and honest worth, 
 Kindness, and gentleness, and holy peace; 
 
 In that unselfishness not born of earth, 
 
 The love that suffers long, and doth not cease, 
 Increase our faith. 
 
 And in ourselves, our better selves indeed, 
 Our power to be the sort of souls we will 
 
 Our power to get the things we truly need, 
 Our power to overcome life s every ill, 
 Increase our faith. 
 
 O Father! when our souls are sore beset, 
 When we are driven by the whips of pain, 
 
 When we forget Thy care, and fume, and fret, 
 Strengthen us still, the while we pray again 
 Increase our faith. 
 
 Oakland, California, November 30, 1897. 
 
 163 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 HE KNOWETH BEST. 
 
 HE knoweth best, my human eyes are blinded 
 
 By fog and haze, 
 And I am yet too often worldly minded 
 
 To choose my ways. 
 
 I doubt not that God s thought for me is better 
 
 Than thought of mine, 
 And though I fret because my duties fetter 
 
 Some fond design, 
 
 Yet I can trust Him, and abide His leading 
 
 Through all my way, 
 Until, beyond the storms and clouds receding, 
 
 In heaven s new day 
 
 I shall behold with pure and perfect vision 
 
 God s plan for me, 
 And in the blessedness of life s fruition 
 
 Contented be. 
 
 What w T ill it matter if my life when ended 
 
 A failure seems, 
 If God hath wrought more than I comprehended 
 
 In all my schemes? 
 
 164 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Wherefore I pray, O wise and holy Father, 
 
 Abide with me; 
 Let me not live for sense and self, but rather 
 
 For heaven and Thee. 
 
 Salem, Oregon. 
 
 TEACH ME THY WILL* 
 
 LIKE Mary at the Master s feet 
 
 I would be still ; 
 This quiet prayer alone repeat, 
 
 Teach me Thy will. 
 
 Teach me Thy will until I learn 
 
 To make it mine, 
 Till any way shall suit me, so 
 
 That way is Thine. 
 
 Teach me Thy will, though slow I am 
 
 To learn it well, 
 Thy love for me doth more and more 
 
 My faith compel. 
 
 Teach me Thy will, though oft I scan 
 
 The text through tears, 
 So shall my soul rejoice in Thee, 
 
 Through endless years. 
 
 Oakland, California, January 6, 1897. 
 165 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 CHOOSE THOU FOR ME. 
 
 MY thought of life is oft amiss, 
 I know not yet what ought to be, 
 
 Or which were better, that or this, 
 Dear Lord, choose Thou for me. 
 
 Whether I run life s rugged way 
 
 With limb and muscle strong and free, 
 Or bear some load of pain each day, 
 
 Dear Lord, choose Thou for me. 
 
 \ 
 
 Or want, or wealth, or dearer yet 
 The competence I fain would see, 
 
 What measure of earth s goods I get 
 Dear Lord, choose Thou for me. 
 
 I would not wish for length of days, 
 Though every age hath ecstasy, 
 
 I leave with Thee my yesterdays, 
 My morrows, choose for me, 
 
 Thy will is best, is always best, 
 No other good I crave of Thee, 
 
 But just in Thy sweet will to rest, 
 Dear Lord, choose Thou for me. 
 
 Oakland, California, Sunday morning, October 
 30, 1898, 
 
 166 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 A TRAVELLER S TRUST. 
 
 WHEN love or duty calls me forth 
 
 I counsel not with fear; 
 Or east, or west, or south, or north, 
 
 I go my way with cheer, 
 Secure am I on land or sea 
 Because my Father keepeth me. 
 
 No foolish confidence have I 
 That mishaps may not come, 
 
 For life hath much of mystery, 
 And man may well be dumb, 
 
 Nor boast God s purpose, since it lies 
 
 Far hidden from our human eyes. 
 
 No claim of service can I make 
 That God should spare me still, 
 
 For if He give me grace to take 
 My burdens with good will 
 
 There is no burden I can bear 
 
 His might and wisdom could not spare. 
 
 And still I go my way in peace, 
 
 On land or sea the same, 
 Until He makes my goings cease, 
 
 167 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 And calleth me by name; 
 The way before is ever dim 
 But I can leave it all with Him. 
 
 So on I freely go at call 
 
 Of duty or of love, 
 I know that nothing can befall 
 
 That is not willed above ; 
 It matters little when or where 
 Since I am always in God s care. 
 
 Lodi, California, November 26, 1898. 
 
 GOD S GRACE. 
 
 I AM not what I should be the Word of God 
 
 reveals, 
 I am not what I could be my heart within me 
 
 feels, 
 
 I am not what I shall be when I behold His face, 
 But what I am I am through Him and only by 
 
 His grace. 
 
 If there is any good in me it is not of my own, 
 If there is any grace it is the grace of God alone, 
 My sin is mine, I blame it not on anyone beside, 
 The fault is mine, the grace alone is His. the 
 Crucified. 
 
 168 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 I tremble when I see myself the man I might have 
 
 been, 
 I dare not count impossible the deepest depth of 
 
 sin, 
 The meanest mortal whom I meet, however low 
 
 he be, 
 But for the saving grace of God is none too low 
 
 for me. 
 
 I know that God has more for me than I have 
 
 ever dreamed, 
 Though I be counted least among the host of 
 
 the redeemed, 
 But whether much or little of His blessedness be 
 
 mine 
 I cannot count it my reward, tis all of grace 
 
 divine. 
 
 God s grace is all my confidence, His goodness all 
 
 my stay. 
 I stand upon His promises, He will not say me 
 
 nay; 
 I trust no arm of flesh to save, no merit of mine 
 
 own, 
 But my faith abideth ever in the grace of God 
 
 alone. 
 
 Oakland. Cal., Oct. 31, 1898. 
 
 . 
 169 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 "IN EVERYTHING GIVE THANKS. 
 
 "!N everything give thanks." In everything? 
 
 Aye! soul of mine! 
 In all thy lot, whate er thy years may bring, 
 
 Let praise be thine. 
 
 Thou dost not know the evil from the good; 
 
 Why moan thy fate? 
 Some day God s leadings shall be understood : 
 
 Give thanks, and wait. 
 
 Would st thou receive His blessings with com 
 plaint? 
 
 Be patient then, 
 Lest thou mistake Him; still thy childish plaint, 
 
 Give thanks again. 
 
 Give thanks in everything; when troubles come 
 
 And cares perplex, 
 
 When the world chills thee, and thy heart is 
 numb 
 
 Amid life s wrecks: 
 
 When loved ones leave thee broken-hearted here 
 
 To follow Death, 
 And all life s sunshine seems to disappear 
 
 With their last breath: 
 
 170 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Aye ! when Death beckons thee to leave the known 
 
 And loved below, 
 When thou art trembling on the brink alone 
 
 Afraid to go: 
 
 In everything give thanks; in joy or pain, 
 
 In life or death, 
 Let come what will, do thou give thanks again 
 
 With every breath : 
 
 And God shall hold thee, God shall help thee 
 through, 
 
 Aye! more than this, 
 Thou canst not praise Him as thou shouldest do 
 
 And fail of bliss. 
 
 In everything give thanks, and God shall give 
 
 Heaven s better part, 
 The grace that makes it worth the while to live, 
 
 A thankful heart. 
 
 On Pullman Car, "Cordero," en route from Los 
 Angeles to San Francisco, Thanksgiving Day, 
 November 24, 1898. 
 
 171 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 INFLUENCE. 
 
 life is of little moment" 
 She said with a weary sigh; 
 
 When the day was done, 
 
 And the summer sun 
 Went down in a clouded sky. 
 
 All day have I toiled for trifles, 
 In the city s crowded ways; 
 
 With the busy throng 
 
 Have I rushed along, 
 Alas, for my wasted days." 
 
 So spake she, and wept in sadness, 
 For life seemed so empty then, 
 And she longed to do 
 Something great or new, 
 To work for the weal of men. 
 
 She little knew that at noon-day 
 A poet had passed her by, 
 And had somehow caught 
 From her face a thought 
 That filled him with melody. 
 
 172 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 She stayed her steps but a moment 
 To read from a recent book, 
 
 But a passing sage 
 
 Saw the title page, 
 And the theme for an essay took. 
 
 She smiled with unconscious pleasure 
 At some fancy pure, and glad; 
 
 But she never guessed 
 
 How the joy light blessed 
 A soul that was faint and sad. 
 
 She saw not the sinful woman, 
 
 To whom she was grace and truth; 
 
 Who longed for the days 
 
 And the sinless ways 
 Of her own long-buried youth. 
 
 Thus on through the day she journeyed, 
 And knew not the gift she had; 
 
 But so strangely blind, 
 
 And so dull of mind, 
 That the hours but made her sad. 
 
 On a harp of a thousand heart-strings, 
 She played with unconscious might; 
 
 And the music grew, 
 
 All the long day through, 
 Like widening waves of light. 
 
 173 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Far down through the misty mazes 
 Of the labyrinth of time, 
 
 To the shoreless sea 
 
 Of eternity, 
 Echoed and swelled the chime. 
 
 And the angels almost envied 
 The good that she did that day, 
 For the world will fail, 
 And the stars grow pale, 
 But our works live on for aye. 
 
 Yet she wept that night in sadness, 
 For life seemed so empty then, 
 And she longed to do 
 Something great or new, 
 To work for the weal of men. 
 
 Salem. Oregon. 
 
 174 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 HAND AND HEART. 
 
 GIVE me the man who loves his work 
 
 However hard ft be, 
 Who only thinks it mean to shirk 
 
 And hates the hireling s plea; 
 Though hands and face be hard and brown, 
 
 That were a trivial thing; 
 Who wears his duty like a crown 
 
 Is every inch a king. 
 
 No honest labor can disgrace 
 
 The man whose heart is true; 
 He scorns himself and not his place 
 
 Who can consent to do 
 In any mean, half-hearted way 
 
 The smallest service given; 
 The common tasks of every day 
 
 Are all ordained of heaven. 
 
 Is thy task lowly? Lift it up! 
 
 Let it be wisely willed. 
 Who cares how poor and plain the cup 
 
 So it be richly filled? 
 Be it thy task to till the soil, 
 
 Or do the drudge s part, 
 Fill thy poor cup of common toil 
 
 With nobleness of heart. 
 
 Oakland, Cal., 1898. 
 
 175 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 WISHING. 
 
 IF some fair visitant from realms of light 
 
 Could speak to you, 
 And promise to fulfill each wish to-night, 
 
 What would you do? 
 
 You care for riches, only thus to bless 
 
 Another s need ; 
 But wealth that noble passion might repress, 
 
 And spoil the deed. 
 
 And even health, so rich and rare a boon, 
 
 Unfailing strength, 
 As wearisome as an eternal noon 
 
 Might prove at length. 
 
 Nor would it satisfy if you could gaze 
 
 Beyond the tomb, 
 And read the mysteries of coming days, 
 
 The scrolls of doom. 
 
 Even the wish to comprehend all truth, 
 
 And know what is, 
 Would rob the soul of its unfailing youth, 
 
 And highest bliss. 
 
 176 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 There is no wish your human lips could speak 
 
 That is not ill, 
 Which you, yourself, however poor and weak, 
 
 Cannot fulfill. 
 
 The things you covet in your daily speech 
 
 Are not for you, 
 Or else they lie already in your reach 
 
 If you pursue. 
 
 And so, believe me, what you wish to-night 
 
 Is either ill, 
 Or you can win it, and enjoy the fight, 
 
 If you but will. 
 
 And you can say, of things which lie beyond, 
 
 Toward which you run, 
 With quiet patience, and with faith most fond, 
 
 "Thy will be done." 
 
 You need no angel from the realms of light 
 
 To work for you ; 
 For, better than you dare to wish tonight, 
 
 Yourself can do. 
 Salem, Oregon. 
 
 T77 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 A DREAM OF JUDGMENT. 
 
 THE Year was dying, as I slept, and dreamed, 
 
 
 
 Methought I sat upon some heavenly hill, 
 And lo! an angel, with reluctant look, 
 
 Brought me, in silence that portended ill, 
 A ponderous book. 
 
 I opened then, and on the title leaf 
 
 I saw my name, and, written overhead, 
 
 "Here is the record, for this year so brief, 
 What thou hast said." 
 
 I smiled to see the .year began with prayer, 
 And high resolves, and wishes good and true : 
 
 In golden letters they were written there, 
 Though very few. 
 
 Soon were they followed by such foolish words, 
 Such trivial talk, and unbecoming jest, 
 
 My feelings fell, like poor wing-wounded birds, 
 And fled my zest. 
 
 178 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 My face was fire, and gladly had I turned 
 From reading the long record of my shame, 
 
 The endless pages held me, though I burned 
 As in a flame. 
 
 Nor blushed I only for my speech inane : 
 
 Wild words were there; keen, poison-pointed 
 darts, 
 
 And reckless words, still dyed with the red stain 
 Of bleeding hearts. 
 
 I writhed the while I read what cruel things 
 My pride had counted clever on my lips; 
 
 Their serpent beauty hid the serpent stings 
 Of gibes and quips. 
 
 On, on I read, nor could lift up mine eyes, 
 So strength forsook me, so my will was gone; 
 For days, and days, and days, with groans ana 
 
 cries, 
 I read right on. 
 
 Oh I had swooned with pain, mine eyes had burst, 
 But for the golden-lettered words between, 
 
 For where the record of my speech was worst 
 Some good was seen. 
 
 179 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Alas, how little! though God marked it all; 
 
 No goodly word but shone with kindly light, 
 No accent missing charity could call 
 
 Or true, or right. 
 
 My task undone, again the angel came, 
 
 And softly placed a kindred volume near; 
 And here was written, nothing but my name, 
 
 And, "The New Year." 
 
 * * * 
 
 I waked, and wept, as the New Year began. 
 Oakland, Cal.. December, 1897. 
 
 MOURNING FOR MOSES. 
 
 DEAD was their great Commander, 
 
 That meek but mighty man, 
 The strength and hope of Israel 
 
 Since Israel s course began; 
 Before whose face the Chosen Race 
 
 Had come to manhood s years, 
 The children of the wilderness, 
 
 Born of his prayers and tears. 
 
 180 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 After the days of mourning 
 
 Came the divine command, 
 "Moses is deadj now therefore 
 
 Go on, and take the land! 
 Moses is dead, who long hath led 
 
 The host of God below, 
 But still abide the promises, 
 
 Let Israel forward go." 
 
 "Now, therefore," strange conclusion 
 
 Of logic all divine; 
 God makes their vast calamity 
 
 The nation s rallying sign ; 
 The great soul gone yet bids them on, 
 
 And cheers them to the fray, 
 For he who died on Pisgah still 
 
 To Canaan leads the way. 
 
 How could they mourn him better? 
 
 How could they praise him more? 
 "Moses is dead, now therefore, 
 
 By all he braved and bore, 
 Let us go on till we have won 
 
 The land he loved and sought, 
 The land which last his eyes beheld, 
 
 Which last was in his thought." 
 
 181 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 His was no tomb of marble, 
 
 No proud triumphal arch, 
 Grander was his memorial, 
 
 A nation s forward march; 
 Their onward ways all spoke his praise, 
 
 Though others held command, 
 They wrote the great man s epitaph 
 
 Upon a conquered land. 
 
 O friends whose eyes are heavy 
 
 With tears for heroes gone, 
 They best mourn their beloved 
 
 Who faithfully press on; 
 Let fall who will God liveth still, 
 
 Still human duties stand, 
 And still God guides His Israel 
 
 On toward the promised land. 
 
 Not by our vain repinings, 
 
 Nor yet by idle tears, 
 We build their best memorials 
 
 Who wrought with us for years; 
 We honor most our loved and lost 
 
 By holding on our way, 
 By doing what themselves would do 
 
 If they were here to-day. 
 
 Oakland, Cal. 
 
 182 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 A REVERIE. 
 
 [On a San Francisco ferry-boat.] 
 
 WITH what indifference a thousand eyes 
 
 Have passed me by; 
 
 Only a stranger whom none recognize, 
 Nor love, nor hate, nor envy, nor despise, 
 Scarce deemed as worthy of a second glance 
 As yonder waves that in the sunlight dance ; 
 
 With careful eye 
 
 I seek some face that will respond to mine, 
 Not one is here to give me friendly sign. 
 
 Yet here are hundreds, some of whom no doubt 
 
 Had Fate ordained, 
 Might have been friends whom life were void 
 
 without, 
 
 Might have transfigured me and all about; 
 The inspiration of their lives and thought 
 Who can determine what it might have wrought? 
 
 What I had gained 
 
 If, by some trifling change of circumstance 
 We had been freed from mutual ignorance. 
 
 183 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Who knows but yonder stranger s heart contains 
 
 Such wealth of love 
 
 As might have eased me of a hundred pains, 
 And more than doubled all life s lasting gains? 
 Who knows but that we sometime yet shall meet ? 
 If not on earth, where life is incomplete, 
 
 Perhaps above 
 
 When countless ages shall have passed aw r ay 
 We shall be friends, who meet and pass to-day? 
 
 Oft, as a stranger passes me, I think 
 
 What might have been, 
 
 Had Fate supplied us friendship s missing link. 
 One word had bridged the gulf, from brink to 
 
 brink, 
 
 And to a sweet companionship had led ; 
 But somehow that one word was left unsaid, 
 
 And we have seen 
 
 Each other s faces, but we do not know 
 How much we lose to pass each other so. 
 
 184 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 FLOOD-TIDES. 
 
 How fret the waters of this shallow stream 
 Gainst the half stranded logs on either side, 
 Too soon entrusted to the feeble tide 
 
 Whose strength the sun hath sapped with piercing 
 beam: 
 
 A little while and all will changed seem ; 
 Here the abundant floods will smoothly glide 
 While on their bosom the great timbers ride, 
 
 Light as the drift wood fancies of a dream. 
 
 So when the flood tide of emotion fills 
 
 The oft depleted channels of my thought, 
 And one strong purpose all my life doth 
 
 sway, 
 I shall uplift the thousand petty ills 
 
 With which my present course seems over- 
 fraught, 
 And bear them uncomplainingly away. 
 
 Salem, Oregon. 
 
 185 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 SUMMER-NOON IN THE SISKIYOUS. 
 
 HERE in this high-swung cradle of the hills 
 The languorous breezes all are lulled to sleep, 
 And the great trees a whispering vigil keep, 
 
 While Mother Earth some insect ditty trills. 
 
 Now falls a veil of haze, and lightly fills 
 
 With its voluptuous folds, from steep to steep ; 
 Save where some sunbeam lifts an edge to peep, 
 
 Or tears the tender fabric as he wills. 
 
 Dost hear the baby-breathings of the breeze? 
 And see ! how lifts the silken sheen a while, 
 WTiere yonder one hath waked, and turned 
 
 him o er; 
 Even the whispers cease among the trees, 
 
 And the sly sunbeams, with approving smile, 
 
 Let all the lifted edges fall once more. 
 Salem, Oregon, 1892. 
 
 186 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 DEATH AT THE WORLD S FAIR. 
 
 HE came, whom none invited to the Fair; 
 
 Robed in the darkest raiment of the Night, 
 
 He stalked unseen through colonnades of white, 
 Himself the only Monarch who was there. 
 None but the most despondent slave of care 
 
 Paid willing homage to his sovereign might; 
 
 And yet his least command none thought to 
 
 slight, 
 Nor gates, nor guards his kingship could impair. 
 
 His touch had crumbled beauty, fortune, fame, 
 But love restrained him: only once he rode 
 
 Resplendent in his chariot of flame; 
 And once again he baffled with a breath 
 
 Life s leaping purpose, whose last ember glowed 
 A huge reflection of the face of Death. 
 
 Salem, Oregon, 1892. 
 
 187 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 AN EARTHQUAKE IN CALIFORNIA. 
 
 THE virgin earth beheld her beauteous face 
 So fair reflected in our silver skies 
 She half denied the vision of her eyes 
 
 Nor could concede herself such gift of grace. 
 
 The warm blood bounded through her veins apace, 
 She smiled, and blushed again, with sweet sur 
 prise, 
 And felt her fawn-like bosom fall and rise 
 
 Like maiden s breast, beneath its veil of lace. 
 
 And lo ! as men flocked forth in false alarm 
 Their petty fears amused the roguish miss; 
 
 More anxious now to trifle than to charm 
 
 She tossed her ringlets back with merry zest, 
 And threw the bending skies a saucy kiss, 
 
 While laughter rippled over all her breast. 
 
 Oakland, Cal. 
 
 1 88 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 COLUMBUS. 
 
 COLUMBUS, when thy mortal bark drew near 
 The thronged shores of the Islands of the Blest, 
 Where still they follow life s eternal quest 
 
 Whose faith wrought wonders while they labored 
 here, 
 
 Who gave thee welcome to that wondrous sphere ? 
 Some old Phoenician, whose divine unrest 
 Drove him beyond the pillars of the west, 
 
 The "Ne Plus Ultra" of Greek pride and fear? 
 
 Or he whose many tales of many lands 
 
 Filled Greece with wonder? Or yet he who 
 
 bore 
 The name of kings, and more than kingly 
 
 sway? 
 
 Surely there met thee on those golden sands 
 Some soul of the great mariners of yore, 
 Some prophet of the fame thou hast to-day. 
 
 Salem, Oregon, 1892. 
 
 189 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 TO AN ARGONAUT AT SEVENTY. 
 
 "THREE score and ten! all s well!" the watchers 
 
 cry, 
 
 And from the rounding ramparts of the soul 
 Like loud artillery the echoes roll 
 Through the broad arches of the boundless sky. 
 And lo! the clock of life makes slow reply 
 From its red turret, where the blood beats toil 
 For the dead hour: Night lifts her saffron stole, 
 And the eternal morning draweth nigh. 
 
 Stay thy departure, well-beloved guest, 
 
 Till Nature s timepiece sounds another score. 
 Thy comrades, the brave argonauts of yore, 
 May spare thee yet a little from their quest: 
 Stay thou, and take with us thy well-earned rest, 
 While waiting Charon leans upon his oar. 
 
 Oakland, Cal. 
 
 100 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 IN TIME OF MELTING SNOW. 
 
 BEAUTY has fled the half-worn web of snow 
 That erst-while robed her in divinest white: 
 Now limp and soiled it meets the offended sight ; 
 
 Ho! rain-maids, bear the cast-off garb below! 
 
 But where has Beauty gone? Hist! Would st 
 
 thou know? 
 Where dwells the Great Modiste, and day and 
 
 night, 
 From out the stores of everlasting light, 
 
 Her silent shuttles flashing to and fro, 
 
 Fashions the ever-changing robes of earth, 
 And dyes them in the blushes of the sun. 
 
 There in her slippered feet has Beauty gone. 
 There, while the day s forlornness checks our 
 
 mirth, 
 
 The fairies bring her vestments, one by one, 
 And lo! she puts her spring-tide costume on. 
 
 Salem. Oregon. 
 
 191 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 THE UNEXPRESSED. 
 
 -j 
 
 THE monarch of the forest plays his part 
 With poor effect when caged within our reach ; 
 And thoughts are native to the human heart 
 Which lose their greatness when constrained by 
 
 speech : 
 
 In the vast solitudes of every soul 
 What mighty passions move with kingly tread, 
 What voices through the depths of being roll 
 That e er they reach the outer world are dead. 
 
 Salem. Oregon. 
 
 CHRISTMAS. 
 
 O, CHILD of Bethlehem, blest Mary s Son! 
 
 This day recalls Thy pure nativity ; 
 
 The swaddling clothes of our humanity 
 Again invest Thee, God s own Holy One. 
 Thy manger-throne, refulgent as the sun, 
 
 Shines o er the centuries with prophecy 
 
 Of largest and divinest destiny 
 For our low nature by Thy advent won. 
 
 192 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Our hearts without Thee are but stony stalls 
 In which the lean kine of unfed desire 
 
 Lie famished, while the darkness spreads apace. 
 
 Thy birth makes every heart God s dwelling place 
 Where light of love o er all our being falls 
 And makes of our brute bodies something 
 higher. 
 
 Oakland, Cal., 1897. 
 
 WHO WEEPS TO-DAY? 
 
 (A Song of consolation for the sorrowing at 
 Christmas-tide.) 
 
 O SORE and sad at heart this happy morn, 
 
 Who almost dread the merry Christmas-tide, 
 For that its gladness maketh more forlorn 
 
 With memories that will not be denied; 
 Grieving beneath the smiles you would comipel 
 
 That others may not miss their wonted cheer: 
 Hath not this morn of morns some word to tell 
 
 To make it vet the gladdest of the year? 
 
 193 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 And who shall more rejoice on Christmas morn 
 
 Than they who most have need to know God s 
 
 love? 
 Who more be comforted that Christ is born 
 
 Than hearts that ache for glimpse of life above ? 
 Since by His advent hope and comfort came, 
 
 Who shall more welcome Him than sorrow s 
 
 heirs ? 
 The grieving and the heart-sick well may claim 
 
 This blessed morning as divinely theirs. 
 
 The haughty-hearted well may weep to-day, 
 
 Since His low birth condemns the pride of man ; 
 The selfish rich may view with sore dismay 
 
 The manger cradle where His life began. 
 No comfort is there in this holy morn 
 
 For the world-wealthy, and the self-sufficed, 
 But for the sin-sick and the sorrow-worn, 
 
 What joy to greet the birth-morn of the Christ! 
 ".-; 
 
 Aye ! day of days is this for them that mourn 
 
 Day of the revelation of God s grace, 
 Day of immortal hope that knows no bourn, 
 
 Day of all consolation for our race; 
 Day of all expectation; long foretold; 
 
 The dream of ages upon ages gone; 
 Day whose remembrance never shall grow old 
 
 While the slow march of centuries goes on. 
 
 194 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 Wherefore be comforted, nor weep to-day 
 
 When earth is joyous with triumphal song. 
 Well may we put our sorrowings away 
 
 To join the chorus of the angel throng; 
 Well may we welcome Him with holy glee, 
 
 Though some sweet fellowship we sorely miss, 
 Whom God hath given evermore to be 
 
 Pledge of unending fellowship in bliss. 
 
 Oakland, Cal.. Christmas, 1897. 
 
 KISS-POCKETS. 
 
 SHE has no pockets in her dress; of course that 
 wouldn t do; 
 
 But in her pretty, dimpled cheeks the Lord Him 
 self made two ; 
 
 And though the styles may change again, dress 
 pockets come and go, 
 
 Those blessed dimpled pockets in her cheeks are 
 always so. 
 
 I call them her kiss-pockets, for it s plain enough 
 
 to see 
 That s what they were intended for; those two 
 
 were made for me ; 
 195 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 I have some twenty pockets, if she wants them 
 
 for her pelf, 
 But the pretty pockets in her cheeks I claim them 
 
 both myself. 
 
 A woman s pockets, some folks say, a man can 
 
 never find^ 
 But I could find those pockets though the blindest 
 
 of the blind ; 
 The darkness doesn t phase me, and I just don t 
 
 care a whang 
 When I m hunting for those pockets, how or 
 
 where her dresses hang. 
 
 Ah those pretty dimple pockets, they are lined 
 
 with softest silk; 
 Sometimes it s red as roses, and sometimes it s 
 
 white as milk; 
 Sometimes they re wide, wide open, with a happy 
 
 laugh or grin, 
 And sometimes I am puzzled how to get my 
 
 kisses in. 
 
 But they never, never fail me; even when she 
 
 tries to pout 
 
 My lips are sure to find them and they quickly 
 open out; 
 
 196 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 And the nicest thing about them is, each pretty 
 
 nectar cup 
 Is never empty of delight, and never quite filled 
 
 up. 
 
 Los Angeles, Cal., November, 19, 1898. 
 
 IN ANGER. 
 
 THY friend was wrathful, and with angry word 
 And harsh complaint, berated thee for faults 
 Thou knowest not; and his unkind assaults 
 
 With sense of injury thy heart have stirred. 
 
 Such vile abuse thou hast not often heard, 
 Nor been so wronged : but when thy passion 
 
 halts, 
 And reason rules again, search all the vaults 
 
 Of thy profoundest being; yea, and gird 
 
 Thyself with candor, if thou would st be pure. 
 Wrath sometimes makes men honest, and they 
 speak 
 
 What in their usual moods they dare but feel, 
 To utter which they are too kind or weak. 
 The lightning flash of anger may reveal 
 
 Faults that the sheen of praise doth but obscure. 
 
 Salem, Oregon. 
 
 197 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 MY BOZZER BODY." 
 
 MY little girl the other day 
 
 Came roughly rushing in from play 
 
 Her feet all soiled and soddy, 
 And straightway climbing on my knees 
 She gave my neck a hearty squeeze, 
 And said, the roguish little tease, 
 
 "Here comes ur bozzer body." 
 
 I drew her quickly to my breast 
 And as she nestled there at rest 
 
 Her quaint phrase I repeated ; 
 My "bozzer body," and I smiled, 
 And kissed the forehead of the child, 
 And into restful sleep beguiled 
 
 The babe so over-heated* 
 
 The earthy shoes I laid aside, 
 
 Brushed back the tumbled curls with pride, 
 
 And then, with touch most tender, 
 I laid my "bozzer body" down, 
 And straightened out her crumpled gown, 
 Nor stain nor wrinkle made me frown 
 
 Upon the sweet offender. 
 
 198 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 How little could my loved one know 
 The measure of a mother s woe, 
 
 Her long self-abnegation; 
 My "bozzer body," and I thought 
 What cost of care my babe had brought, 
 What aches and pains were daily wrought 
 
 Into her education. 
 
 And yet I prize her more for this, 
 For even troubles yield me bliss, 
 
 And pain is rich in pleasure, 
 All I have suffered through the years, 
 The mother s tribute, toil and tears, 
 My "bozzer body" but endears 
 
 And makes her more my treasure. 
 
 And if to gain her highest good 
 I needs must eat the plainest food, 
 
 And wear the meanest shoddy, 
 If all my pains were doubled twice 
 I would not then refuse the price 
 Since sweet is every sacrifice 
 
 For her, my "bozzer body." 
 
 Salem, Oregon. 
 
 199 
 
Afy Country and Other Verse* 
 
 A SLANG SONG. 
 
 WHEN the world looks dark, my brother, and you 
 
 don t know where to turn, 
 When in spite of every help your spirits droop, 
 There s a homely bit of slang it will do no harm 
 
 to learn, 
 You re not the only oyster in the soup. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 You re not alone in sorrow, you re not alone in 
 
 bliss, 
 
 This world s a pretty crowded bit o hoop, 
 But you ll get a lot of comfort if you ll just re 
 member this, 
 You re not the only oyster in the soup. 
 
 When you re whining and complaining o er the 
 
 ailings of the flesh 
 For you ll not get rid of all of them with 
 
 croup 
 Just remember this, my brother, as you turn, and 
 
 and toss, and thresh, 
 You re not the only oyster in the soup. 
 
 200 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 When you ve had a little triumph, and you re rosy 
 
 with success, 
 When you re longing just to get out doors and 
 
 whoop, 
 Shout all you will, and frolic, but remember none 
 
 the less, 
 You re hot the only oyster in the soup. 
 
 And when you get to thinking that the world 
 
 can t get along 
 
 Unless you kill yourself, don t be a dupe; 
 Take things a little easy, there are others just as 
 
 strong ; 
 You re not the only oyster in the soup. 
 
 Just be a bit unselfish, live for others all you can ; 
 
 To your fallen brother s weakness kindly stoop ; 
 And remember this, my brother, if youM be a 
 gentleman, 
 
 You re not the only oyster in the soup. 
 
 Oakland. Cal., October, 1898. 
 
 201 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 SUNSET THROUGH THE GOLDEN 
 GATE. 
 
 GOD flings His furnace doors ajar, 
 
 The red glow flashes forth; 
 And now, with yonder fog-wreathed bar, 
 
 Some Titan of the North 
 Stirs madly till the gleaming mass 
 
 Throws out ten thousand jets of gas. 
 
 The cloud doors close, and from below 
 
 Gushes the molten tide, 
 Over the sea its yellow glow 
 
 Spreads swiftly far and wide, 
 And moulds unnumbered hide away 
 
 The glory of departing day. 
 
 Oakland, Cal., October 2p, 1898. 
 
 202 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 I. WOOD. 
 
 (A Poetical Pun.) 
 
 (Lines written on the occasion of the Silver Wed 
 ding of Rev. and Mrs. I. D. Wood, 
 of Oakland, Cal.) 
 
 WHEN first it was proposed to me 
 
 With many words polite, 
 That I should the toast-master be, 
 
 And lead the fun to-night, 
 I own that I was somewhat scared, 
 
 And didn t think I could, 
 But there the answer sat and stared, 
 
 A living pledge I. Wood. 
 
 I thought I wouldn t try to rhyme, 
 
 But keep to sober prose, 
 For verse don t always come to time, 
 
 As everybody knows; 
 But though he didn t ask me to, 
 
 WTiich certainly w r as good, 
 I didn t know what else to do, 
 
 Of course he knew I. Wood. 
 
 What shall my theme be ? then I thought, 
 
 Domestic love and bliss? 
 Or shall I sing what men have wrought 
 
 Since these gave their first kiss? 
 203 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 I won t be personal, I know, 
 
 I said in lofty mood ; 
 Alas; I couldn t make it so, 
 
 The muse just said, I. Wood. 
 
 So I begin where he began, 
 
 And venture to suppose 
 That when the baby, now a man, 
 
 On life s horizon rose, 
 His mother had a time, I fear, 
 
 To get him to be good, 
 For when she said, "I wouldn t, dear," 
 
 He knew she meant, I. Wood. 
 
 And when the babe became a man, 
 
 And courting went his way, 
 I guess his girl, whate er her plan, 
 
 Was puzzled what to say. 
 What could she do in self defense. 
 
 And still be understood? 
 When if he asked her preference 
 
 She had to say, I. Wood. 
 
 Why even Peter at the gate 
 Will hardly understand 
 Just what this man may mean to state 
 
 If, when he makes demand, 
 "Your name must on my book appear 
 
 Among the true and good, 
 If you would think to enter here," 
 He meekly says, I. Wood. 
 204 
 
My. Country and Other Verse, 
 
 SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA. 
 
 DOWN in the sunny south-land, where the flowers 
 bloom all the year, 
 
 Where the splendor of the sunshine makes the 
 canopy appear 
 
 Like John s celestial vision of the sea of glass 
 and fire 
 
 Down in the sunny south-land is the Eden of De 
 sire. 
 
 The glory shimmers softly from the empyrean 
 down 
 
 On the tanned and sun-burned mountains; smil 
 ing through their freckle-brown 
 
 They lift bare, swarthy faces ever upward toward 
 the light 
 
 Save when the winter veils them for a little while 
 in white. 
 
 The olive, and the lemon, and the orange groves 
 
 are green 
 Down in the sunny south-land, never richer hues 
 
 were seen, 
 
 They gleam with gold and silver, pop-corn blos 
 som, yellow sphere, 
 
 For in the sunny south-land it is Christmas all the 
 year. 
 
 205 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 The cities of the south-land on her beauteous 
 
 bosom rest, 
 Like gems of pearl and diamond on lovely 
 
 woman s breast; 
 They flash with beauty, throb with life, they 
 
 bring the heavens near; 
 The very saints and angels in their shining streets 
 
 appear. 
 
 Oh sunny, sunny south-land, favored of the fav 
 ored state! 
 
 California s California! land where God doth 
 recreate ! 
 
 Thy praises linger lovingly upon the willing 
 tongue, 
 
 And still when we have said our best thy praises 
 are unsung. 
 
 Los Angeles, Cal., November 23, 1898. 
 
 206 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 A MINISTER OF JESUS. 
 
 (Lines written at the ordination of Frank W. 
 Woods, of Pasadena. Cal., Nov. 21, 1898.) 
 
 A minister of Jesus, an ambassador of Christ! 
 Surely, such an holy office for the angels had 
 
 sufficed ! 
 And we ! we are but human, let men dub us what 
 
 they will, 
 In spite of cloth and title we are only mortal still. 
 
 A minister of Jesus, of the pure incarnate Word ! 
 How shall we speak the message that in spirit we 
 
 have heard? 
 How shall we tell the story, tell it o er and o er 
 
 again, 
 Undimmed and undiminished by the foolishness of 
 
 men? 
 
 A minister of Jesus, of the Christ of Calvary s 
 cross, 
 
 Who for the world s redemption counted every 
 thing but loss! 
 
 How shall He be uplifted by our greedy, grasping 
 hands ? 
 
 How shall we show His passion as the depth of 
 it demands? 
 
 207 
 
My Country mid Other Verse. 
 
 A minister of Jesus, of the tempted and the weak! 
 Oh, who but God shall help them ? who but God 
 
 shall dare to speak? 
 Who shall heal the broken-hearted? who shall 
 
 comfort them that weep? 
 Who shall say the word of truth and love for 
 
 those who "fall on sleep?" 
 
 Oh, brother, God be with thec, God be with thee 
 
 all the way! 
 The arm of flesh will fail thee, God alone can be 
 
 thy stay; 
 Yet even for thine office hath His wondrous grace 
 
 sufficed, 
 Happy minister of Jesus, blest ambassador of 
 
 Christ. 
 
 First Baptist Church, Pasadena, Cal., Novem 
 ber 21, 1898. 
 
 208 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 MY PENNY. 
 
 With happy heart, and eager hand, 
 In the sweet days of old, 
 
 I took the penny father gave, 
 As if it had been gold, 
 
 And proudly to the church I went, 
 
 And gladly gave my shining cent. 
 
 Too soon I learned its paltry worth, 
 And then my pride witheld, 
 
 Or envy filled my foolish heart 
 When giving was compelled ; 
 
 The gift indeed was often more, 
 
 But less the offering than before. 
 
 There came another change; I learned 
 
 My childish wisdom o er, 
 And with glad heart I gave again 
 
 My gift, or less, or more: 
 My penny shone like gold again 
 Because I gave it not to men. 
 
 209 
 
My Country and Other Verse. 
 
 So was it when I learned to sing; 
 
 My penny seemed so bright 
 I gave it with no little pride, 
 
 And all a child s delight: 
 It seemed too pretty to be mine, 
 And I was glad to see it shine. 
 
 But when I found it wasn t gold 
 
 I hid my gift away, 
 My penny was so poor beside 
 
 The wealth I saw each day, 
 It didn t seem worth while at all 
 To make an offering so small. 
 
 My gift is still a common coin, 
 A penny, nothing more; 
 
 Yet I have learned to give again, 
 Not with the pride of yore, 
 
 But with a willing heart and free 
 
 I give as God has given me. 
 
 210 
 
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