FROM THE BOOK 
 OF LIFE i^^ c^ 
 
 By RICHARD BURTON 
 
 UC-NRLF 
 
 CD 
 
 o 
 
LIBRARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 University of California. 
 
 Class ^^'h 
 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2007 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/frombookoflifepoOOburtrich 
 
ROM THE 
 BOOK OF 
 LIFE 
 
 ♦ ♦ ♦♦ ♦♦ 
 
 "PO^MS 
 
 By RICHARD BURTON 
 
 AUTHOR OF "DUMB IN JUNE," "LYRICS 
 OF BROTHERHOOD," ETC 
 
 
 SOSVOS^ A LITTLE, BROWN, 
 AND COMPANY .-. 19 09 
 
SEkEHAL 
 
 Copyright^ 1909, 
 By Little, Brown, and Company. 
 
 AU rights reserved 
 
 Published, October, 1909 
 
 Blectrotyped and Printed by 
 THE COLONIAL PJiESS 
 C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, U.S.A. 
 
Acknowledgments are made to the Editors 
 of The Atlantic, Scribner *s Magazine, Harper's, 
 The Century, The Outlook, The Reader, and 
 Putnam's Magazine for permission to reprint 
 many poems originally appearing in their 
 columns* 
 
 192645 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 
 The Ultimate Nation • 
 
 * « 
 
 PAGR 
 
 I 
 
 Ballade of the Brave . 
 
 * ♦ i 
 
 4 
 
 The Saltrte ♦ 
 
 * * 
 
 6 
 
 In the Place de la Bastille 
 
 * • 4 
 
 8 
 
 Out Fathers' Friends . 
 
 • * < 
 
 9 
 
 Dead Otit of Doors 
 
 « • < 
 
 n 
 
 Shakspere to His Mirror 
 
 • • i 
 
 . 12 
 
 Dumb Animals . 
 
 • * 
 
 . J3 
 
 The Final Freedom 
 
 * • 4 
 
 . 14 
 
 Fools of Dream • 
 
 « * i 
 
 16 
 
 God's Gift ; the Air • 
 
 • • 
 
 . J9 
 
 The Discard 
 
 « • 
 
 . 21 
 
 Glimpses of Childhood . 
 
 • • i 
 
 23 
 
 I Mother Magic . 
 
 • • 
 
 23 
 
 II In the Children's Hospital . 
 
 . 24 
 
 m The Dolls' Hospital 
 
 ♦ • 
 
 . 25 
 
 IV Early Loves 
 
 ♦ • 
 
 27 
 
 V Father and Son 
 
 • « 4 
 
 . 29 
 
 Vll 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 
 
 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Vistas of Labor ♦ 
 
 
 31 
 
 I The Steamship Stoker 
 
 
 31 
 
 \v II The Miner 
 
 ^-*:;~^III In a Sweatshop ♦ 
 
 • 
 
 32 
 
 
 33 
 
 ^IV Factory OitHren 
 
 
 34 
 
 The Ancient Chance . 
 
 
 36 
 
 The White Thought ♦ 
 
 
 37 
 
 To One Motjming 
 
 
 38 
 
 The Symbol ♦ . 
 
 
 39 
 
 A Song of Gounod's ♦ 
 
 
 40 
 
 A Night Gty 
 
 
 42 
 
 The World's Desire • 
 
 
 44 
 
 The Two Raptures ♦ 
 
 
 46 
 
 The Passing Pomp 
 
 
 47 
 
 Early Night 
 
 
 48 
 
 Nature's Word ♦ • 
 
 
 49 
 
 Like Qear Music ♦ 
 
 
 50 
 
 With Dickens at the Christmas Hearth 
 
 51 
 
 Christmas Tide ♦ 
 
 « * 
 
 54 
 
 In a Copy of Mrs* Browning's ** Sonnets 
 
 
 From the Portuguese" ♦ 
 
 ♦ ♦ 
 
 55 
 
 Keats' Grave in Rome ♦ 
 
 ♦ ^ 
 
 56 
 
 Vlll 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 
 The Artist's Prayer 
 
 » « « 
 
 PAGB 
 
 . 60 
 
 An Italian Beggar 
 
 ► ♦ t 
 
 . 62 
 
 The Sirocco at Amalfi 
 
 f • * 
 
 . 63 
 
 The Mother Love 
 
 » * t 
 
 , 65 
 
 On the Palatine Hill 
 
 » ♦ • 
 
 . 67 
 
 The Human Note 
 
 » ♦ ♦ 
 
 , 68 
 
 Mttch in Little ♦ 
 
 > * ^ 
 
 . 70 
 
 San and Moon 
 
 t ♦ ♦ 
 
 71 
 
 The Little Ones , 
 
 * * * 
 
 . 72 
 
 Ealogy 
 
 » • « 
 
 . 73 
 
 To an Evoltrtionist 
 
 * « 
 
 . 74 
 
 Li a Place of Honor , 
 
 « • 4 
 
 75 
 
 Ballad of the Prince and 
 
 the Bird ♦ 
 
 76 
 
 Song of the Earthlings 
 
 • « 4 
 
 82 
 
 Two Towns of Fame , 
 
 ♦ ♦ « 
 
 84 
 
 Of Those Who Walk i 
 
 Hone 
 
 87 
 
 The Mother Church 
 
 ♦ ♦ • 
 
 89 
 
 ix 
 
FROM 
 THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 THE ULTIMATE NATION 
 
 fCE Babylon, by beauty tcnantedt 
 Li pleasure palaces and walks of pride. 
 Like a great scarlet flower reared her head. 
 Drank in the stin and laughed, and sinned 
 and died. 
 
 Where Tyre and Sidon teemed with ships aload. 
 The wharves are idle and the waters lone; 
 
 And to the Temple that was His abode 
 Li vain Jerusalem recalls her own. 
 
 Brooding the bygone from her sculptured seats. 
 In living rock her mighty memories hewn, 
 
 I 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 Along the Nile, wonder of water streets. 
 Old fertile Egypt is a stranger^s boon. 
 
 Mark Athens, breathed tipon by breath of gods. 
 With bards and sages to reveal her signs. 
 
 Leap like a flame above life's iron clods. 
 To fall in ashes tfpon vacant shrines. 
 
 And Rome; firm-fotmded in a wide emprise; 
 
 Her laws and legions; her imperial goal. 
 Avail not when her sometime honor dies. 
 
 Smothered in shows that kill the mounting 
 sofiL 
 
 Stich names of pride and power have been 
 brought low. 
 Lapsing alike into the cavernous years: 
 Out of the grayness of the long ago 
 Their ghosts flit homeless and we guess their 
 tears. 
 
THE ULTIMATE NATION 
 
 The destiny of nations! They arise. 
 Have their heyday of tritimph, and in tarn 
 
 Sink iipon silence and the lidless eyes 
 Of fate salttte them from their final tim. 
 
 How splendid-sad the story! How the gtist 
 And pain and bliss of living transient seem! 
 
 Cities and pomps and glories shrunk to dust. 
 And all that ancient opulence a dream. 
 
 Must a majestic rhythm of rise and fall 
 Conquer the peoples once so proud on earth? 
 
 Does man but march in circles, after all. 
 Playing his curious game of death and birth? 
 
 Or shall an ultimate nation, God's own child. 
 Arise and rule, nor ever conquered be; 
 
 Untouched of time because^ all undefiled. 
 She makes His ways her ways eternally? 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 BALLADE OF THE BRAVE 
 
 RATE not to me of weaklings, who 
 Lament this life and naaght achieve. 
 I hymn the vast and valiant crew 
 
 Of those who have scant time to grieve; 
 Firm-set their fortunes to retrieve. 
 They sing for lack a Itisty stave. 
 The world's stattnch workers, by your leave,- 
 This is the ballade of the brave. 
 
 Wan women, steel to staggering blows; 
 
 White sottis from many a nether place; 
 The htttnble heroes and the foes 
 
 Of sham; the hunters of the base. 
 The men with missions in their face. 
 
 The clan who straighten, heal and save; 
 The yotmg who think each card an ace, — 
 
 Tfiis is the ballade of the brave. 
 4 
 
BALLADE OF THE BRAVE 
 
 Those who with stingless latjgh and jest 
 
 Sweeten the labor; those who stake 
 Their all on some sky-reaching qoest. 
 
 Unconquerable for conscience' sake; 
 The warriors who a last stand make. 
 
 Though loss overwhelm them, wave on wave; 
 Smiling, the while their hearts do break, — 
 
 This is the ballade of the brave! 
 
 Brothers, it is a heavenly stake 
 Ye play for, goodlier than the grave. 
 
 Then play it well, for God's sweet sake, — 
 This is the ballade of the brave! 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 THE SALUTE 
 
 [Et abotit to diCf saltitc yoti kindly, — 
 We, the very old, hail yoti, the yotjng, 
 Thotigh the shows of earth we see btrt blindly. 
 And a leaden weight is on our tongoe* 
 
 Btrt our wan old hearts expand in pleasure, 
 Watching how your spirits kindle bright; 
 
 And we dream xss back to springtime treasure. 
 Old, dim ardors, ghosts of gone delight* 
 
 We relive in you the chances splendid. 
 All the btrffetings and all the gains; 
 
 the sense of time and time unended. 
 Ere the hope dies, ere the wonder wanes! 
 
 How yoti love and fight and taste of rapture. 
 How your sleep restores you to the sun, 
 6 
 
* 
 
 THE SALUTE 
 
 How the sweet of every hoar yoti capture 
 Haughtily, as heroes e'er have done! 
 
 We have lived and loved, as you are doing; 
 
 We are glad to see yoti ran the race; 
 Half yo« seem ourselves, — your work, your 
 wooing, 
 
 Yotir high stakes of glory or disgrace^ 
 
 Hail! Farewell! nor blame tis if a sadness 
 Qtrtches at oar throat the while we gaze 
 
 Brokenly, through tears, upon that gladness 
 Once was oars in exquisite old days^ 
 
 Not one bliss nor belief would we dispute you: 
 Once for us as well the whole earth sung* 
 
 We, about to diZf again salute you,— 
 We, the elders, hail our brothers young! 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 IN THE PLACE DE LA BASTILLE 
 
 a clear day in Paris, walking where 
 A centti ry ago red riot leapt 
 Torrent-like down the streets, I was aware 
 How, far on the horizon rim, there crept 
 Pale, ominous clottds; and listening I heard 
 Dim, tmmistakable, a mtrttered word: 
 
 The thtinder's prelude and the tempest's threat. 
 The hotir was bright with stm and jest and song 
 In the blithe Capital, and yet, and yet. 
 The place was Paris and Men's woes are long; 
 Stidden, for me, beneath that tranqtiil sky. 
 The tragic ttimbrils, hark! go rimibling by! 
 
 8 
 
OUR FATHERS' FRIENDS 
 
 OUR FATHERS' FRIENDS 
 
 [In Stockbridget Massachusetts^ may be seen a memorial 
 monument* set on a tree-shaded knoU overlooking a beautiful 
 reach of meadow* It bears the inscription: '^The ancient 
 burial place of the Stockbridge Indians* the friends of our 
 Fathers."] 
 
 |ERE, in this pleasant mcadow-placct 
 By trees o'erhung and with the breath 
 Of summer fragrant, for a space 
 I linger, to recall the death 
 
 Of the red men of yore, whose worth 
 Is here recorded; they were friends 
 
 Unto ottr fathers, and their earth ^ 
 
 Is honored thus; their memory blends 
 
 Benignant with the tales of years 
 When red and white lived brotherly; 
 
 From tokenings of blood and tears 
 These cool, gray stones seem strangely free. 
 9 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 What word, what deed, made peace prevail ? 
 
 Why did they share the ancient good 
 Of wood and sky and river-dalet 
 
 Sealing a pact of brotherhood ? 
 
 We have not learned the lesson yet; 
 
 The generations still arise 
 And smite and plunder, and forget 
 
 The other teaching of the skies* 
 
 The elms, overarching, answer naught, 
 Btit still the scene compels the gaze: 
 
 Beneath this shaft, in kindness wrought. 
 Rest the red friends of older days* 
 
 lO 
 
DEAD OUT OF DOORS 
 
 DEAD OUT OF DOORS 
 
 IGH from the grotmdt and blown upon by 
 air 
 
 Sttn-sanctified; catight from corrtiption's moxAd, 
 Girdled by streams amidst the foot-hills fair, 
 With wind-chants making masic sweet and old. 
 
 This red man rests. Unto the elements 
 He doth return; his sotil soars glad and free. 
 And e'en his body seems, in going hence. 
 To cry, ** grave, where is thy victory! ** 
 
 II 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 SHAKSPERE TO HIS MIRROR 
 
 flTHIN thy crystal depths I see 
 A figare semblable of me. 
 Bat no more me than I am one 
 
 With the brtrte rock I rest apon; 
 For how may brow or eye reveal 
 The infinites wherewith I deal? 
 
 Nay, I will break thee, mirror mine ! 
 
 The tinseen inward is divine. 
 The otitward body btrt a bowl 
 
 That covers in the mounting soaL 
 If any one wotild trttly know 
 
 What manner of man I come and go. 
 Not flesh alone, btrt blood and breath, 
 
 Lo, Lear, Lord Hamlet and Macbeth! 
 
 Poor mammer, I mast shatter thee. 
 Since thoti dost bear false tales of mel 
 
 12 
 
DUMB ANIMALS 
 
 DUMB ANIMALS 
 
 |E call them dtimb — yet daily there 
 uprise 
 
 A million piteot^s calls of agony^ 
 Pleadings for peace and to be let alone; 
 For every inch of earth there is a moan, 
 Through all the air athwart the land or sea, 
 God, how the waitings storm the very skies I 
 
 Call them not dtimb until the master, man, 
 Slow-tatight by fellow-feeling, learns to give 
 Each himiblest creattire in the Mystic Plan 
 The privilege of breath, the chance to live: 
 Then haply shall the clamor <ke away. 
 Lost in the love of that diviner day. 
 
 13 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 THE FINAL FREEDOM 
 
 |T the grim end, no prison for me 
 Wherein my blanched mortality, 
 Immttred, shall lie, because it mtist. 
 Till it resolve itself to dtist^ 
 
 Nay, let a flame, of mystic might 
 To make corruption clean and light. 
 
 Prepare my body for its Fate, 
 From loathly things inviolate. 
 
 Then, standing by great waters, where 
 The heavens stretch wide, and stin and air 
 
 And ampleness inhabit, cast 
 My ashes to the aztire Vast* 
 
 And I shall thank yoti, being blent 
 "With what I love, the element 
 14 
 
THE FINAL FREEDOM 
 
 Of earth refined and catight away; 
 Yes, I sliall thank you and shall say: 
 
 ** The fierce pargation of the fire 
 Has loosed my spirit, I aspire 
 
 Toward God, I mount, elate and free. 
 One with the wind and sky and sea/' 
 
 IS 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 FOOLS OF DREAM 
 
 )U will find them in lone hidings, 
 Yoti may know them by their face, 
 For they seem to bring good tidings 
 
 From some bright, anramored place; 
 Tidings like to be unnoted 
 
 Of the world, yet very sate 
 To bring joy, the golden-throated, 
 When the better things endure* 
 
 Fools, and worse than fools, we call them. 
 And they smile nor make reply; 
 
 The eternal quests enthrall them. 
 Though we hound them till they d^e; 
 
 Even midst the mob they wander 
 With a dream-light in their eyes, 
 i6 
 
FOOLS OF DREAM 
 
 And their look, it seems to ponder 
 An evangel from the skies. 
 
 Something childlike in their laughter 
 
 Leaves a freshness like the spring; 
 At their beck, those follow after 
 
 Who delight in wayfaring 
 Where the road leads ever higher 
 
 And the wind blows back the hair. 
 And the word of a Messiah 
 
 Hatmts and hovers in the air. 
 
 Nay, the world can never datmt them. 
 
 For their gladness is within; 
 Though no human voice may vaunt them. 
 
 Though their deeds be reckoned sin: 
 In the fullness of the Ages 
 
 Lo! they come into their own. 
 And they light Time's dimmest pages. 
 
 Sitting splendid on a throne! 
 I? 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 Let US toast them, since they cherish 
 The unbelievable, quick Gleam: 
 
 To the fools who do not perish. 
 To the deathless fools of Dream! 
 
 i8 
 
GOD'S GIFT, THE AIR 
 
 GOD'S GIFT, THE AIR 
 
 ^^lOW, is there anything that freer seems 
 ^SB Than air, the fresh, the vital^ that a 
 
 man 
 Draws in with breathings boantifal, nor dreams 
 
 Of any better bliss, because he can 
 Make over all his blood thereby, and feel 
 
 Once more his youth return, his mtiscles steel. 
 And Life grow buoyant, part of God's good plan! 
 
 Oh, how on plain and mountain, and by streams 
 
 That shine along their path; o'er many a 
 
 field 
 
 Proud with pied flowers, or where sunrise gleams 
 
 In spangled splendors, does the rich air yield 
 
 Its balsam; yea, how hunter, pioneer. 
 
 Lover and bard have felt that heaven was near 
 Because the air their spirit touched and healed! 
 19 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 And yet — God of the open! — look and see 
 
 The millions of Thy creatures pent within 
 Qose places that are foul for one clean breath 
 
 Thrilling with health and hope and purity; 
 Nature's vast antidote for stain and sin. 
 
 Life's sweetest medicine, this side of death! 
 How comes it that this largess of the sky 
 
 Thy children lack of, till they droop and die} 
 
 20 
 
THE DISCARD 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE DISCARD 
 
 |E is the discard of the pack; 
 
 He wonders, as he's tossed aside. 
 What miss was his, what sorry lacfc 
 In what he erred, for whom he died? 
 
 The two and fifty, comrades good. 
 He loved; he yearned to play the game; 
 
 The rules he thought he understood, — 
 Chances for glory or for shame. 
 
 And so, high-heartedly he leapt 
 Into the maze of queens and kings; 
 
 In careless-wise, the Great Adept 
 His soul into a corner flings* 
 
 21 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 See, the once merry knave lies low, 
 Fiizzledf he broods his fortune black; 
 
 This one thing only doth he know. 
 He is the discard of the pack. 
 
 22 
 
GLIMPSES OF CHILDHOOD 
 
 GLIMPSES OF CHILDHOOD 
 I 
 
 MOTHER MAGIC 
 
 days of childhood^ now long-lapsed and 
 dim. 
 
 Often I sat within a holy place, 
 Where mystic word and solemn-rolling hymn 
 Touched the tranced sotils of men to thoughts 
 of grace* 
 
 Too small to comprehend, yet happy there 
 I lingered, since beside me, close and dear. 
 Sat the sweet mother with her rippled hair, 
 Her smile of angels and her color clear* 
 
 And she would hold my hand and so express 
 In some deep way the wonder of the hour: 
 23 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 Out Spirits talked, by silent tenderness. 
 As easily as flower nods to flower. 
 
 And to this day, when so I creep alone 
 Into some sacred comer, list the choir. 
 Hear the great organ's most melodious moan 
 And watch the windows flash day-light with fire. 
 
 Over me once again those memories steal; 
 I sit as in a dream and understand 
 God's meaning; for, across the years, I feel 
 The meek, sure magic of that spirit hand ! 
 
 n 
 
 IN THE CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL 
 
 |AY be it was her littleness, may be 
 
 Because she looked so dumb and so 
 forlorn. 
 But when, in that sad place, they showed to me 
 The shy, small stranger and I knew the mom 
 24 
 
GLIMPSES OF CHILDHOOD 
 
 Must pass to noon, and noon give place to night. 
 Bringing no promise of a better day. 
 
 And she so meek, so grateful for the sight 
 Of aught to drive her misery away: 
 
 Then with a sacred pity my heart bled. 
 And seemed rebuked for all its easy years; 
 
 Down on that pillow wee I bowed my head 
 And cherished her; her tears became my 
 tears. 
 
 m 
 
 THE DOLLS' HOSPITAL 
 
 a little old hdldkigf up under the roof. 
 Where you grope your way to the door. 
 The Hospital hides, and it seems aloof 
 
 From the city^s rush and roar. 
 And here, to be tinkered as good as new. 
 Come the battered dofls at last, 
 25 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 Who have lived with children the long year 
 throwght 
 The favorites of the past. 
 
 High and low, they are hither borne. 
 
 Troops of them fill the place; 
 The fine French miss with her look of scorn. 
 
 And the rag baby, meek of face. 
 'Tis said, cotild yoti visit the wards by night, 
 
 When the grown-ups are all away, 
 Yoti would witness then a wondrous sight 
 
 That you never will see by day. 
 
 For the small doU people foregather there. 
 
 The maimed and the mended all. 
 The limping beaux and the faded fair. 
 
 For a talk and a festival. 
 They dance to music, their limbs grow fleet. 
 
 They feast with a right good cheer. 
 Their tiny laughter shrifls high and sweet. 
 
 Each walks with his chosen dear. 
 26 
 
GLIMPSES OF CHILDHOOD 
 
 Btrt, best of afl^ when the dance is done. 
 
 They chat of their checkered fates. 
 Of all dofl-doings under the s«n: 
 
 Their griefs, and their missing mates. 
 The st^dden splendors, the chance and change. 
 
 The violence and the bliss; 
 And they whisper: ** The thing called Life is 
 strange! " 
 
 Then they say good-night, with a kiss. 
 
 In the morning, never a doU has stirred. 
 And daylight has dimmed their charms; 
 
 Yoti cotild swear that nothing at all occurred 
 Save the mending of legs and arms! 
 
 IV 
 
 EARLY LOVES 
 
 MIND me of a maid with tawny hair 
 That grew in sombre glory round her 
 head; 
 
 27 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 And of another maid — long since she's dead — 
 
 Stinnily fair. 
 And O I loved them both when I was ten! 
 Theyt being angels^ had no age like men* 
 
 Totfching their hands, I trembled with delight^ 
 Their voices blent to music in mine ear; 
 Together or apart, they were so dear. 
 
 By day or night. 
 It turned me sick with rapture, if they leant 
 Momently down to me with kind intent. 
 
 My choice of these twin flowers of maidenhood? 
 The witless question would have roused my scorn. 
 What need to choose betwixt the night and mom, 
 
 When both are good? 
 The sunlight and the starlight, what are they 
 But one sweet radiance of the Far-away? 
 
 They dubbed me ** little sweetheart,'^ I recall. 
 And with each other vied to give me joy; 
 28 
 
GLIMPSES OF CHILDHOOD 
 
 For they were women grown, I btrt a boy. 
 
 Their hamble thrall. 
 My love was desperate-earnest, holy and high 
 The passion that I nursed beneath the sky. 
 
 So, when they were betrothed, and I most know 
 The transiency that dooms all loves of earth. 
 It seemed a cttrioos, bitter, second birth 
 
 Into man's woe. 
 ** My maids no more, my maids no more/' I 
 
 said, 
 A ten-year-old lamenting o'er his dead. 
 
 V 
 
 FATHER AND SON 
 
 ECE I summoned him, for he 
 Would not own his fault, nor break 
 His proud dumbness, facing me 
 Like a stone, for Courage' sake. 
 29 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 Once again he came, and lo! 
 
 Inspiration from on high 
 "Whispered: ** Fool, do ye not know 
 
 He is only scared and shy? '' 
 
 Fell a silence in the room; 
 
 There he stood, removed^ estranged. 
 Prisoner to hear his doom; 
 
 Suddenly it all was changed; 
 
 Tenderly I drew him near. 
 Held him as men hold their own^ 
 
 Melted all his frozen fear 
 In Love's warmth of touch and tone* 
 
 So, the f ather-sotil he gttessed. 
 
 We no longer were apart. 
 And the son his sin confessed. 
 
 Sobbed it otrt against my heart* 
 
 30 
 
VISTAS OF LABOR 
 
 VISTAS OF LABOR 
 
 ** How long, O Lord, how long I ** 
 
 I 
 THE STEAMSHIP STOKER 
 
 1 WHAT - DRENCHED, and blinded by the 
 heatt he reels 
 Back from the f ttmace, crawls on deck to win 
 A cooling breath or two, ere pitmging down 
 Into his torttire-hotise of Steam* 
 
 In trtrth. 
 He earns his heaven, for, fierce hotir by hour. 
 He knows the bitterness and bite of hell. 
 What more cotild heaven do for any soul 
 Than fan a burning brow with airs as bland 
 As those of Arcady, and soothe the eyes 
 31 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 With totfch of winsome waters, at whose call 
 The seeming dead grow light and labor-strong! 
 
 n 
 
 THE MINER 
 
 |P creaks the car; he leaves his ghastly dream 
 Of f lickeringt strange lights and caverns 
 
 gloomedt 
 Grim fears of death-damp and the rumblings 
 
 deep 
 Of an inferno whence the damned come back 
 Daily to taste of Paradise^ before 
 The Devil bids them down; up creaks the car 
 Disgorging men and mad indifferently* 
 
 How sweet the lingering stm, and yonder, look, 
 The cabin lights are beckoning fondly, where 
 "Warm love awaits him; for a little space 
 He's no machine btrt human, and his God 
 Ottr God, — no mid-earth Devil, btrt a power 
 32 
 
VISTAS OF LABOR 
 
 Benign and near. • * • 
 
 Btrt now the nether pit 
 Reclaims these children of a double worldt 
 And once again Life is a nightmare dream* 
 
 m 
 
 IN A SWEATSHOP 
 
 R^raENT in^ and sickening for one wholesome 
 KHa draught 
 
 Of air, — God's gift that cities sell so dear. 
 They stitch and stitch. The dim lights fall upon 
 Bent bodies, hollowed bosoms and dead eyes. 
 Their very mirth is horrible to hear. 
 It is so joyless! Every needle-stroke 
 Knits into dainty fabrics that shall go 
 Where Fashion flaunts, the protest and the pain 
 Of ravaged lives, of souls denied their food. 
 
 At last the clock-stroke! From the beetling 
 shop 
 
 33 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 The prisoners file, and up and down the street 
 
 Scatter to htrtches htimorists call Home, 
 
 To sin, to diet or, if it may be, cititch 
 
 Some pleasure fierce enotigh to drown the 
 
 thotight 
 That on the morrow they must meet again# 
 
 IV 
 
 FACTORY CHILDREN 
 
 |£R£ toil the striplings, who should be a- 
 swarm 
 
 In open, stin-kissed meadows; and each day 
 Amid the monstrous murmur of the looms 
 That still their treble voices, they become 
 Tiny automata, mockeries of youth: 
 To her that suckled them, to him whose name 
 They bear, mere fellow-earners of Life's bread: 
 No time for tenderness, no place for smiles, — 
 These be the world's wee workers, by your leave I 
 34 
 
VISTAS OF LABOR 
 
 Naught is more piteous underneath the sky 
 Than at the scant noon hour to see them play 
 Feebly, without abandon or delight 
 At some poor game; so grave they seem and 
 
 crushed! 
 The gong! and fouhiess sucks them in once 
 
 more* 
 
 Yet still the message wonderful rings clear 
 Above all clang of commerce and of mart: 
 ** Suffer the little children/^ and again: 
 ** My Kingdom is made up of such as these/' 
 
 35 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 THE ANCIENT CHANCE 
 
 lTTLE and fog and dream. 
 Bounded by birth and death; 
 Pattern of gloom and gleam 
 Woven of cloud and breathe 
 
 Haply the Gods are wise, — 
 
 Blind are we mortal folk; 
 Vision is more than eyes. 
 
 Daily out hearts are broke. 
 
 Btrt O while we feel the sun 
 And still love lures our feet. 
 
 Blithely the way we run 
 And the ancient chance is sweet! 
 
 36 
 
THE WHITE THOUGHT 
 
 THE WHITE THOUGHT 
 
 |E teeming transients of the sun. 
 Until otir eager race be rttn. 
 Bestir as in a hundred ways 
 To leave, before the cavemed dark 
 Engtilf us, some small, vital spark — 
 A firefly in a somber maze — 
 To say to those who follow, we 
 Are not extinguished utterly; 
 Our mortal^ that is less than naught. 
 Fixed in a white, immortal thought. 
 
 37 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 TO ONE MOURNING 
 
 |EAR one, give way to grief. And yet. 
 As sure as doth the violet 
 Smell sweeter, wet with rain, shall you 
 Arise enriched to dare and do. 
 Through this black hotir whose weight like lead 
 Bows you in anguish by the dead; 
 The very silence and the pall 
 May seem sheer kindness, after all. 
 
 So, rest in that Divine perhaps; 
 The pain that stabs, the doubt that saps 
 The spirit, why, they may be naught 
 But shadows of the shining thought 
 That is too splendid and too bright 
 For the endurance of our sight. 
 The otherwise o'er-radiant spheres 
 Being tempered for us by our tears* 
 
 38 
 
THE SYMBOL 
 
 THE SYMBOL 
 
 (** The whole creation groaneth and travaileth together'') 
 
 |HE whole creation groaneth — yet are we 
 Children of Joy: we love, we long for this; 
 Earth's angtiish cannot kill ottr constancy 
 Li clinging to some foolish dream of bliss* 
 Whene'er we meet, we smile as who should say: 
 ^ 'Twill come, the better day/' 
 
 Children of Pain, Ah, yes, children of Sorrow, 
 'Tis trtie; btit with to-morrow, 
 Who knows what bettering of grief and guile? 
 Meeting and greeting our sad fellow-men. 
 
 Over and o'er again 
 Meeting and greeting, we do use, the while. 
 
 This symbol of a smilel 
 
 39 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 A SONG OF GOUNOD'S 
 
 a dim sea-coast, long ago, — 
 Since then, how years and years have 
 sped! 
 We leaned and listened to the low 
 
 Sea voice, and marvelled what it said? 
 While, blown along the gtisty air, 
 I felt the fragrance of yotir hair* 
 
 And sitting there, with tender tone 
 Yoii sang the song that now I hear: 
 
 Sang it as yo« could sing alone. 
 Sweet one, long dead and stifl so dear: 
 
 I cotjid not hear that song again 
 Without the bliss, withotrt the pain* 
 
 Therefore, to-night my heart is true 
 In the hot room: and memory's surge 
 40 
 
A SONG OF GOUNOD'S 
 
 Bears me straight back to yotrth and yoti. 
 And all the passion and the urge 
 
 Rise op once more from otrt the sea. 
 Wedding as twain etemallyl 
 
 41 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 A NIGHT CITY 
 
 [S monster of the myriad lights^ 
 How manifold its mood o' nights; 
 Here pain and pleasure jostle free. 
 Meek Christliness and viflainy, 
 Joyance and stem demand for breads 
 The glittering and the better dead; 
 A weltering mass that seems to sway 
 Blindly, beneath God's starry way* 
 
 Is there some thread of plan to bind 
 This ctfrioas web of htimankindt 
 And make it beatttiftti? These cries. 
 That inartictilate take the skies. 
 Have they their meaning and their song? 
 What central fire impels the throng 
 Up to some mount where Beatrty sits. 
 Or down to Shame's most shameful pits? 
 42 
 
A NIGHT CITY 
 
 Look! 'midst the lights gleams forth the troth: 
 
 Whatso they do, whether in sooth 
 
 They seek Perfectioiit or are bent 
 
 On Mammon, or xsse devilment 
 
 That drags to hell, this seething world 
 
 Is by one Vision onward whirled. 
 
 And all yon tangle comes to this: 
 
 One huge and hungry hunt for Bliss! 
 
 43 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 THE WORLD'S DESIRE 
 
 lUTY is like a star 
 Shamed in the bold day-light, 
 Btrt coming otrt of the far 
 At the call of the mystic night. 
 
 Beatfty is like a dream; 
 
 We wake, and lo, it is flown; 
 If we sleep again, Hwottld seem 
 
 We may make it o«r very own. 
 
 Beatrty is like a flower 
 
 In a dusk garden set. 
 That, reaved away, for an hotif 
 
 Gives of her odor yet. 
 
 Beatfty is like a ttine 
 Soft-played in a perfect place 
 44 
 
THE WORLD'S DESIRE 
 
 Where, slowly under the moon, 
 Walk figtires of wondrous grace 
 
 Beauty 2s like a flame 
 
 That, fanned by the breath of men. 
 Leaps into loud acclaim^ 
 
 Fitfully falls again* 
 
 Yea, and they all are as one: 
 They carry the world's desire. 
 
 Out of far mystery spun. 
 Melody, fragrance and firel 
 
 45 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 THE TWO RAPTURES 
 
 I WO raptures arc there; one is of the 
 spring; 
 
 Life leaps down all her sotirces and is glad 
 
 With gladness that enfolds each humblest thing. 
 
 Ftirrows teem fragrant, trees with btids go 
 
 mad; 
 
 Htisic and color and a stmbright glee 
 
 Tarn sullen earth into sweet Arcady^ 
 
 The atittimn's rapttire is a soberer wight, 
 
 Btrt deep in tender dreams and rich in rare 
 Designs, and mellow harmonies of light* 
 
 The hills lie steeped in memories most fair. 
 The forests blaze with visions, and the year. 
 Two-minded, mingles elegies of dearth 
 With hopeftil hymns of yet triumphant births 
 When May returns, when Spring again is here* 
 
 46 
 
i 
 
 THE PASSING POMP 
 
 THE PASSING POMP 
 
 JOVE, a wildering world of gray, — 
 Mist and rain-wreath and shroud, - 
 Till the splendid stm shall have his way. 
 Breaking the barrier clottd. 
 
 Beneath, walks Atittimn, the regal one. 
 
 Robed in russet and red; 
 Where be the glories of Solomon^ 
 
 The pomps of the stately dead? 
 
 And through it all sounds a spirit-caU 
 
 Mingled of woe and mirth; 
 ^ I am the ghost of a festival 
 
 In the ancient days of the Earth.** 
 
 47 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 EARLY NIGHT 
 
 |HE day was dead, with requiems of the 
 wind; 
 
 Black grew the stinset hills against a flash 
 Of cold, clear yellow, and the air was Itish 
 With scents the stinny noon had left behind* 
 Day's homeliest sights ttimed mystical, refined 
 Within the half-light* Solemn, slow, night's 
 
 hash 
 Came on, soft thridden where a hidden thrtish 
 Vented dim notes that spake a dreamful mini 
 
 A sense of loneliness fell on the earth. 
 The sky seemed tranced in meditation, rest. 
 Or brooded fears of winter and his dearth; 
 A slender moon stole out upon the West, 
 A sickle keen that reaped the single star 
 Tliat shines for lovers, wheresoever they are* 
 
 48 
 
NATURE'S VORD 
 
 NATURE'S WORD 
 
 holy moments, when great Nattirc 
 
 Bf 
 
 Hushed and a-Iisten, earth and air and sky 
 In all their loveliness arotjsed from dreams. 
 Ready for revelations from on high; 
 
 We mortals, too, await in wonder then, — 
 Hearts throbbing like some small, jfist- 
 captured bird, — 
 
 Something divine abotit-to-be, — ah, when 
 Or where we know not, bat we trust the Word* 
 
 49 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 LIKE CLEAR MUSIC 
 
 )NG-BURIED women^ yc arise for me 
 With more of Life and Life's reality 
 Than all the living whom I see and towch: 
 Sappho and Helen, Joan who died for France, 
 And that Scotch qtieen with magic in her glance; 
 And, like clear masic otrt of ancientry, 
 Rizpah and Rtith, and Mary who loved much* — 
 A text yoti are for man's delights and tears. 
 And do birt freshen with the fall of years* 
 
 50 
 
WITH DICKENS AT CHRISTMAS 
 
 WITH DICKENS AT THE 
 CHRISTMAS HEARTH 
 
 jj^QEFORE the Christmas hearth I muse 
 
 B^y alone. 
 
 And visions of the past, for grave and gay. 
 
 Rise from the rtiddy coals* Otitside, the moan 
 Of homeless winds is chidden by the lay 
 Sweet-stmg by children who keep holiday. 
 
 Making the season's mood their very own* 
 
 And slowly, while I gaze and dream and grow 
 Less lonesome, do the sights and sounds of 
 earth 
 Fade, and my fancy wanders to and fro 
 
 "With a great Master of lament and mirth 
 Who waved his wand to gild the Long Ago* 
 SI 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 A wondrous Company! Micawber smiles 
 In spite of poverty; and Little Nell, 
 
 Too frail a flower, travels her weary miles. 
 Then fafls on sleep; and David tries to tell 
 The trials of the yoting; now Pickwick's spell 
 Makes laughter easy; on a pinnacle 
 
 Of sacrifice sits Carton, 'midst war's wiles* 
 
 Now the air sweetens, for those brothers twain. 
 The blithesome Cheerybles, have preached 
 their creed 
 Of kindness; honest Tapley hails again 
 A world too pleasant; while their horses speed. 
 The "Weflers make the welkin ring indeed; 
 Lo! Dedlock House looms darkly through the 
 rain* 
 
 And look! the tiny dressmaker limps by; 
 
 And she, eternal type of faithfuhiess, 
 Dorrit, whom prisons do not daunt; her eye 
 
 Is for her father; next, in seaman's dress 
 52 
 
WITH DICKENS AT CHRISTMAS 
 
 Qtiaint Captain Ctrttic lifts his hook to bless 
 His darlings; Barkis at low tide mtist die* 
 
 DroIIst villains^ gentle folk of all degrees^ 
 Make popaloos the air, an hundred strong; 
 
 Last comes, as fits the season, Scrooge, his knees 
 A-tremble, till he harks the Qiristmas song 
 Of Love, and knows that spite and greed are 
 wrong. 
 
 And how that charity is more than these* 
 
 Master of human hearts! No Christmas tide 
 Whose chants are not the sweeter and whose 
 cheer 
 
 Is not more blest since Dickens lived and diedl 
 The savor of Iiis teaching makes each year 
 Richer in homely virtues, doth endear 
 
 Man tinto man; hence, shall he long abide* 
 
 53 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 CHRISTMAS TIDE! 
 
 >TMAS tide is a time of cold. 
 Of weathers bleak and of winds ablow; 
 Never a flower — fold on fold 
 Of grace and beatity — tops the snow 
 Or breaks the black and bitter moold* 
 
 And yet 'tis warm — for the chill and gloom 
 Glow with love and with childhood's glee; 
 And yet 'tis sweet — with the rich perfume 
 Of sacrifice and of charity* 
 Where are flowers more fair to see? 
 
 Christmas tide, it is warm and sweet: 
 A whole world's heart at a Baby's feet! 
 
 54 
 
IN MRS. BROWNING'S ** SONNETS'' 
 
 IN A COPY OF MRS* BROWN- 
 ING'S ''SONNETS FROM THE 
 
 PORTUGUESE'^ 
 
 RS^NCE a white sotil, meeting her destined 
 ■HI mate^ 
 
 Potired forth her solemn joy in tender song 
 That, like some mystic bird's, rose blithely strong. 
 Shaking off sorrow with a voice elate* 
 Frail was her body, wearisome her fate; 
 Even to dream of Love seemed somewise wrong. 
 For one remote from Life's fall-ptilsing throng 
 And finding btrt in dreams her true estate. 
 Btrt lo! the change, the golden miracle! 
 He came: and lighted all her sombre skies; 
 And she was given the singing tongue to tefl 
 How sodden-sweet the world to lover's eyes* 
 Strength otrt of weakness, glory otit of grief 
 Issuing, — as from dark roots the glad, green 
 leaf. 
 
 55 . 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 KEATS' GRAVE IN ROME 
 
 jHOUGH thotj liest prone and mtrte 
 In this beatrty-girdlcd place. 
 Sweeter than the sotind of Itrte 
 Is thy voice wnto otf r race* 
 
 From the house that fronts the sqtiare 
 Often, dying, thou didst gaze 
 
 Up the stately steps, to where 
 The old church above the maze 
 
 Of the city rings her bells; 
 
 Where the flower-girls are gay. 
 Where Rome's traffic sinks and swells 
 
 Through the livelong summer day. 
 
 From that house, across the wide 
 Sea of city, thou wast borne, 
 56 
 
KEATS' GRAVE IN ROME 
 
 Faithful Severn at thy side; 
 Aht how slight thoti wert^ and woml 
 
 Cestitfs' pyramid, otrtside 
 The Atirelian wall, thy sleep 
 
 Broods above, as thotigh in pride 
 Such a watch and ward to keep* 
 
 It is well thou restest here: 
 
 For thy friends, the trees and flowers. 
 Bend above thee close and dear^ 
 
 Solacing the dreamftil hours. 
 
 And the grass grows tenderly 
 AU about thy sleep, and skies 
 
 Softly smile, and birds make glee 
 And long shadows soothe tliine eyes* 
 
 In the city, stately tombs 
 Carven o'er with saint and sage. 
 
 Hold in their sepulchral rooms 
 The renowned of history^s page, — 
 57 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 Pope or warrior or prince. 
 Set in pomp that cannot add 
 
 Atight of pride or pleastfre, since 
 They arc vanished, good and bad. 
 
 Thott, far better, slamberest long 
 In the large, free air of God, 
 
 Compamed by bloom and song, 
 Qadled in the scented sod; 
 
 And thy lovers, near and far. 
 Faring hither, linger, dream 
 
 O'er thy grave, while stin and star 
 Gtiard thee with fraternal gleam. 
 
 Brother thoti tmto them all. 
 Brother dear to tis, boy. 
 
 For thotf harkedst to Beatrty's call, 
 Wert an-htingered for the joy 
 
 58 
 
KEATS' GRAVE IN ROME 
 
 That lies hid in common earth. 
 That inflames the outer stins, 
 
 "Whose rich mtjsic comes to birth 
 Only through God's chosen ones* 
 
 Thott may'st hear the violets grow — 
 Twas thy wish — and know at last 
 
 That triumphant trumpets blow 
 Thy young name, each silver blast 
 
 Bruiting thee across a world. 
 
 Sleep secure, and, year by year. 
 As the flowers are unfurled. 
 
 As the birds make merry checr^^ 
 
 May thy Spirit, blithe of tongue, 
 Qianting deathlessly and braver 
 
 Keep our souls forever young. 
 Draw our hearts unto thy grave! 
 
 59 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 THE ARTIST'S PRAYER 
 
 (Qnqtsecento) 
 
 [ORD God, I have been guilty in my life, 
 Yet worshipped Beatrty, and aspire to 
 make 
 A work that shall have love and faith, heart- 
 break. 
 Passion and joy and triumph after strife. 
 And all the glow wherewith the sky is rife* 
 
 And I implore thee. Master, for the sake 
 Of this, the longing of my sotil, to give 
 Thy potent aid: since thoti art pain and bliss 
 And faith and love and everything that is* 
 Look down upon my work and let it live 
 And be forever lovely; and for this 
 Great boon of thine, I swear to do thy will 
 60 
 
.THE ARTIST'S PRAYER 
 
 Each several hotift all other wills above; 
 Yea, I will btim six candles at thy shrine 
 That stands betwixt the crossways, as a sign 
 Of the devotion that is in my heart* 
 
 Hark to my supplication, thoti who art 
 
 Merciftil: let my work be sanctified 
 
 And meet for her, the blameless Virgin bride: 
 
 Make me all pare for painting, so I can 
 
 Speak, throtigh my pigments, of the Son of Man. 
 
 6i 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 AN ITALIAN BEGGAR 
 
 |0t little gift, the road beside. 
 
 That winds along by the vineyards gay. 
 All yotf want is oar coin, I know. 
 
 And yoti thru st yotir roses tender otir noses. 
 Hoping to conquer oar scruples so* 
 
 What I shotjid do is to answer: **Noi 
 Beggars should always be denied'' 
 
 What I do, is to throw to yoxs 
 
 All my change, — for my heart beats yoting. 
 This is Italy, skies are bitie. 
 
 All abotrt me I hear a tongue 
 Made for song, — and your eyes are bright. 
 
 Dusk your hair, and your face a-Iight 
 And lovely, — bless me, what money pays 
 
 For this land of lands and this day of daysl 
 
 62 
 
THE SIROCCO AT AMALFI 
 
 THE SIROCCO AT AMALFI 
 
 (The beautiftsl Italian coast town of Amalfi was wcll-nigh 
 overwhelmed hundreds of years ago by a sudden inundation 
 of the sea.) 
 
 W 
 
 mom was bland and stin-drenched; all 
 the air 
 Sparkled and sang, and from the langtiorotjs 
 
 shore 
 One looked and lazed and lingered, glad to be 
 Where everything was sweet and still and fair; 
 Olives and oranges and roses wore 
 A summer aspect, and the smiling sea 
 Lipped the white sands in amorous amity; 
 While far aloft, the mighty crags peered down 
 Upon the sltonber of the white, wee town* 
 
 Then came Sirocco: Lo, the heavens paled 
 Through grey to glooms the waters changed 
 their tune 
 
 63 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 To one of sttbtle sorrow; charged with mist. 
 Blew in a wind that woke the waves and wailed 
 And 6iedf to lift again a kind of crown 
 Above the breakers where they cttrled and hissed: 
 Amalfi shuddered, — did she not divine 
 The anguish and the omen of the brine? 
 
 64 
 
THE MOTHER LOVE 
 
 THE MOTHER LOVE 
 
 (MicBael Angclo's Picti in St Peter's, Rome) 
 
 [S master-stroke that deals with the 
 divine 
 
 Is richly htanan: thoughts of pomp and 
 praise 
 Merge into tender pity; the benign 
 Face of the woman only speaks of days 
 
 When, as a little lad, the Christ would cling 
 Unto her garment's hem, and she would bend 
 
 To help him, or would haply hide to sing 
 Some homespun croon tfiat might his sorrow 
 mend. 
 
 Man^rown, she saw Him crucified, and now. 
 His broken body from the fearful tree 
 
 Cherishing in her arms, with eye and brow 
 Tliat brood the past, she scarcely seems to sec 
 
 65 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 The ftrttire with its glory; yoti bat feel 
 That she is blest all other dames above. 
 
 Because her own sweet son at last may steal 
 Back to the mother-lap, the mother-love. 
 
 66 
 
ON THE PALATINE HILL 
 
 ON THE PALATINE HILL 
 
 |BOVE the palace of the Caesars blow 
 Poppies and btrttercops, and rise cx)oI 
 trees: 
 The palms and pines and slender cypresses. 
 "What pomps and passions btiried under these. 
 Long time agone^ sttch a great while ago! 
 
 67 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 THE HUMAN NOTE 
 
 IHROUGH the hamionics of heaven stole 
 a note of throbbing pam, 
 Totjched with longing, tinged with sadness, 
 seeming human in its birth; 
 Seeming less the stainless music that is meet for 
 stich domain 
 Than the cry of some dazed mortal, yearning 
 backward toward the earths 
 
 Btrt it did not sound forever, this stray note so 
 passionate; 
 Soon the singer, now all-angel, sang with 
 others round the throne: 
 ** Glory, glory! " Past, forgotten, life and love 
 beyond the gate. 
 That before had set his singing to a tragic 
 undertone. 
 
 68 
 
THE HUMAN NOTE 
 
 Yet there vanished then a richness more than 
 psaltery or Itite 
 
 Cotild outpotir^ though seraphs piticked them^ 
 worshiping the Lord anear; 
 For within that vibrant grieving, now forever 
 hushed and mtrte. 
 
 Lay the pathos of endeavor, hope and heart- 
 break, love and fear; 
 
 Yea, the wistftil htmian groping, and the 
 doubt that makes it dear* 
 
 69 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 MUCH IN LITTLE 
 
 rST seven little notes — 
 (For the notes of the scale are seven). 
 Yet tip from their whiteness floats 
 AH passion Hwixt hell and heaven* 
 
 70 
 
SUN AND MOON 
 
 SUN AND MOON 
 
 [OVE'S passion, the stm, haras on high 
 For a day, and Life leaps to its kiss; 
 Oh, the joy of the loved one anigh! 
 Oh, the rush and the rapture of bliss! 
 
 Bttt the dusk falls. Love's memory, a moon» 
 Sliines sad in the mystical night; 
 
 Ah, the passion that passes too soon! 
 Ah, the fair, tmforgotten delight! 
 
 71 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 THE LITTLE ONES 
 
 |HE little onest ah Godt these tiny nestlefs! 
 Amidst OUT sweat and strifet 
 How they do sweeten for tss sorry wrestlers 
 The bitter bread of Life! 
 
 72 
 
EULOGY 
 
 EULOGY 
 
 jETTER than all the tombstone glosses 
 sleek. 
 
 One tear wiped secretly from sorrow^s cheek; 
 Instead of marble complimentings then. 
 Give me warm mention on the lips of men. 
 
 73 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 TO AN EVOLUTIONIST 
 
 fMJOOD, probing friend, I accept yotir view; 
 ^^y We are apes, time-mellowed, yoti and I; 
 
 BtJt yotJ stop half-way, — for if stich be true, 
 We both may be angels, by and bye* 
 
 74 
 
IN A PLACE OF HONOR 
 
 IN A PLACE OF HONOR 
 
 |E was anhtingcred for the bread hight 
 Fame; 
 
 Meanwhile, was btrffeted and spit upon. 
 Doubted, reviled and given every name 
 That stands for hatred underneath the stin^ 
 Btrt when he cried: " How long, how long, 
 
 Lord?" 
 A Voice said: ** This is fame; take thy reward." 
 
 75 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 BALLAD OF THE PRINCE AND 
 THE BIRD 
 
 |ARK to a Moorish legend 
 
 Ottt of old days of Spain, — 
 Land of the lace-work arches, 
 G)Ior and song and pain* 
 
 It happed a King of the country 
 
 Had a well-beloved son, 
 And feared lest he be a worldling. 
 
 Ere ever his youth were done* 
 
 So he kept him close, that never 
 Might sin approach his sotil, 
 
 Wrapt him full soft in riches. 
 Banished all sight of dole* 
 
 76 
 
THE PRINCE AND THE BIRD 
 
 The Prince was clothed in royal. 
 Men bowed to his beck and call; 
 
 Btit he sorely longed for freedom. 
 And sickened of it all* 
 
 And sometimes in his dreamings 
 His heart cried otrt to know 
 
 The why and wherefore of living. 
 The meaning of weal and woe« 
 
 Heavily passed his pleasures, 
 Listless he walked his ways; 
 
 Until, for the sake of pastime. 
 He often let his gaze 
 
 Fall on the birds that fluttered 
 
 Abotrt the sunlit court. 
 Watched them and yearned for freedom 
 
 And envied them their sport; 
 
 77 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 Pondered their words so straitly. 
 That, on a wonderM day, 
 
 Stidden, he understood them, — 
 Their language and their play. 
 
 For a white dove was among them, 
 A bird of peerless sheen, 
 
 Whose note was f Itrte-Iike tender 
 The pillared walks between* 
 
 And lo, he learned their secret 
 From the singing of the dove! 
 
 The world was changed like magic. 
 He knew that life was love; 
 
 For ** love, love, love,'' it chanted. 
 The bird whose breast was white. 
 
 Yea, ** love, love, love '' forever 
 By day time and by night* 
 
 78 
 
THE PRINCE AND THE BIRD 
 
 And soon a strange, sweet story 
 This bird-friend told the yotrth: 
 
 Howt far beyond the palace. 
 There dwelt in very sooth 
 
 A girl, deep-eyed and lissome. 
 
 Engirt with evil charms. 
 Awaiting her deliverer 
 
 To fold her in his arms* 
 
 Then; with his blood a-beating. 
 
 As ne'er it beat before. 
 One starless night the stripling 
 
 Slipped past the outer door. 
 
 And on that dear adventure 
 Stole forth, nor breathed a word; 
 
 Fled through the scented midnight^ 
 Led ever by the bird* 
 
 79 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 And when the place of magic 
 Was reachedt he entered in 
 
 By a great hope tipholdent — 
 His mistress' heart to win! 
 
 Aglow with hope and wonder , 
 In a great trance of bliss. 
 
 The lover claimed his sweetheart 
 With many a clasp and kiss. 
 
 The lone dove poised, contented. 
 
 High on a linden tree. 
 And chanted sweet and loadly 
 
 Of love's divinity* 
 
 So there the Prince won knowledge 
 Of life, and fotind his joy; 
 
 He walked a slave no longer. 
 Nor yet a witless boy. 
 80 
 
THE PRINCE AND THE BIRD 
 
 And those who tell the legend^ 
 Believe with all their heart 
 
 That life is love, that nothing 
 Keeps fated ones apart« 
 
 And they will ever honor 
 That gentle wight, the dove,' 
 
 Who led a Prince from prison 
 To liberty and love^ 
 
 8i 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 SONG OF THE EARTHLINGS 
 
 of the earth we came. 
 Into the earth we go: 
 Out aim leaped high like flame, 
 Btrt Time has brought tis low* 
 
 Under the citistered trees 
 Dreams we dreamt a score; 
 
 By headlands of splendid seas 
 We ravaged and sting and swore. 
 
 Amid the cities of men 
 
 We thrilled to Lifers various qttest; 
 Very far from tis then 
 
 The thought that slumber is best. 
 82 
 
SONG OF THE EARTHLINGS 
 
 Stm and moon and stars 
 
 Lighted \ss on ottr way: 
 Happy, we took oar scars, 
 
 Happy, we earned otir pay* 
 
 Light-foot creatures were we. 
 Each bent on his own device; 
 
 Love or war, par-die. 
 At the throw of the loaded dice. 
 
 One thing, only one. 
 
 Utterly passed xss by: 
 That when otir day was done 
 
 We must cease; mates, and diel 
 
 Btit out of the earth we come. 
 And into the earth we go; 
 
 Otjr shame alike with owr fame. 
 Old Time has laid them low. 
 
 83 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 TWO TOWNS OF FAME 
 
 |W0 tiny towns of Palestine 
 Back in lost years and Orient lands. 
 How jewel-like they shine and shine 
 Out of a mist of seas and sands! 
 For Christ was born and Christ was bred 
 In those two towns, in lowlihed* 
 
 Two tiny towns: In Bethlehem lay^ 
 A tender babe, whose mother kist 
 The little wight, and waited day. 
 While all the manger life was whist; 
 Shepherds below, seraphs above. 
 Acclaimed Him king, sang forth their love. 
 
 And afterward, the chosen three, 
 Joseph and Mary and the Child, 
 
 84 
 
TWO TOWNS OF FAME 
 
 To Nazareth joumeyci there to be 
 In the home-hamlet safe enisled; 
 There waxed the wondrous Boy, and there 
 Mary the mother gave Him care* 
 
 HiU breezes blow upon the brow 
 Of the J«dean town; hard by. 
 Loomed great Jerusalem, where now 
 The two must seek the Temple high. 
 Bringing the Boy, to consecrate 
 His life within the sacred gate. 
 
 In Nazareth of Galilee, 
 Couched in a folding of the hills. 
 The olive groves are good to see. 
 The meadow lands seem far from ills. 
 'Twas there that Jesus, without guile, 
 Waxed tall beneath His mother's smile. 
 8s 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 To-day, how small and mean their guise. 
 
 Poor Bethlehem and Nazareth! 
 
 A traveler might deem it wise 
 
 To pass them by, and save his breath; 
 
 "Why climb gattnt hills or pace lone lanes, 
 
 Where only memory remains? 
 
 Forever musical the sound 
 
 Of Nazareth and Bethlehem! 
 
 Erect, or razed to the ground, 
 
 The whole world will remember them; 
 
 For whatsoever things they do, 
 
 A light of Him shines clearly through. 
 
 The Capitols of pomp and praise. 
 Most populous cities in their pride, 
 What matters their most golden days 
 When set these villages beside? 
 So long as Time and Tide shall be. 
 The twain shall shine through history! 
 86 
 
OF THOSE WHO WALK ALONE 
 
 OF THOSE WHO WALK ALONE 
 
 [OMEN there are on earth, most sweet and 
 high. 
 
 Who lose their own, and walk bereft and 
 lonely. 
 Loving that one lost heart tintil they (Ue, 
 Loving it only^ 
 
 And so they never see beside them grow 
 Children, whose coming is like breath of 
 flowers; 
 
 Consoled by subtler loves the angels know 
 Through childless hoars. 
 
 Good deeds they do: they comfort and they 
 bless 
 Li duties others put off till the morrow; 
 
 87 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 Their look is balm, their touch is tenderness 
 To all in sorrow* 
 
 Betimes the world smiles at them^ as 'twere 
 shame. 
 
 This maiden guise, long after youth's departed; 
 Btrt in God's Book they bear another name — 
 
 ** The faithful-hearted*" 
 
 Faithful in life, and faithful unto death. 
 Such souls, in sooth, illume with luster 
 splendid 
 That glimpsed, glad land wherein, the Vision 
 saith. 
 Earth's wrongs are ended. 
 
 88 
 
THE MOTHER CHURCH 
 
 THE MOTHER CHURCH 
 
 IHE rises in a land that bears no name 
 Amongst mankind: the centuries have 
 
 tried 
 Li vain to hint her beauties, dim her fame; 
 Time in its march has only sanctified 
 Her rttggedness into a wonder wide 
 And noble, and engirt her massy walls 
 With memory that like a deep bell calls^ 
 
 Riches of wreathen stone are here: the length 
 Is fretted o'er with statties, stately spires 
 Do lift their fluted majesty and strength 
 Above the western front: harmonious fires 
 Bum in the windows, whence the chaunting 
 choirs 
 
 89 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 Arc heard at matins and at even-song. 
 Making the worship musical and strong. 
 
 Within, the light is softened, that the soul 
 That shrinks from questions in the glare of day. 
 May meditate and mttse, and let its dole 
 Slip off, and feel sin-sickness pass away. 
 The mighty nave doth seem the straightest way 
 To God, the echoing aisles lead altarward. 
 Where rest the mystic tokens of the Lord. 
 
 Love is the note the organ plays most clear. 
 Work is the legend blazoned for the eye 
 FtiU oft; yet rest from labor, too, is here 
 And sleep for all the weary passers-by. 
 From foot-worn floor to ceiling vaulted high 
 The place breathes prayer, and hope, and pain's 
 
 release; 
 And ttp its towers builds the Dove of Peace. 
 
 90 
 
THE MOTHER CHURCH 
 
 AU climes and countries meet beneath its dome 
 In brotherly exchange of smile and speech; 
 For east and west alike it is a home 
 That beckons men o'er many a desert reach 
 And barren sea; companion-voyagers each. 
 They come together here in common love 
 To praise and pray and get the gain thereof. 
 
 A motley crowd to look upon; for some 
 Misfeattjred are, or swart; and some tincotrth 
 Of garb, and word; and others here that come 
 Fierce-visaged seem, as never touched by rtith; 
 Yet all have hearts and all do yearn in sooth 
 For betterment, since neither land nor dress 
 Can cfiange otir mortal needs nor make them 
 less* 
 
 It is a heartsome sight to see them pour 
 Along the pavement, pause before some shrine, 
 91 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 Obeisance make beside some carven door 
 Or at the altars kneel with symboled sign^ 
 Or offer gifts^ or spill oblation wine* 
 Stich mingling of all creeds were ill to tell. 
 Did not a spirit whisper: ** It is well/' 
 
 Gjntintially they come and go: a year 
 One watching might not see the selfsame face. 
 Yet all show friendly fashion, all appear 
 Like old familiars passing through the place; 
 And issuing forth, a subtle gain of grace 
 Marks everyone, the women and the men* 
 And keeps them heartened till they come again* 
 
 ID 
 
 The work here wrought is wide as is the world. 
 For every coign and Walk and storied spot. 
 For every scented breath of incense curled 
 About the images, there is, I wot, 
 92 
 
THE MOTHER CHURCH 
 
 Some Dorothy or Griscid or Latincelot 
 Journeying forth to succor and to heal. 
 To go divinely at mankind's appeal. 
 
 And when in hovels or in haants more vile 
 
 Some messenger benign draws near to tell 
 
 Of Mother Church, and softly speaks meanwhile 
 
 Of brotherhood, of love ineffable. 
 
 Those sorry folk do feel the wonder-spell. 
 
 And sicken sore to see her tops and towers 
 
 And hear the great bell toll the tranquil hours. 
 
 So come they here, and yearlong they return 
 Kindled to work through worship: they are free 
 Of all the mother-magic and do yearn 
 To show how great a thing is charity; 
 As once those Greeks who saw at last the sea. 
 Leaped in their souls, so do these souls rejoice. 
 Hearing afar the call of God's own voice. 
 93 
 
FROM THE BOOK OF LIFE 
 
 Mother Ctixstch, vision long to seek. 
 When shall oar eyes behold thee, say, when? 
 In what far land, with what demeanor meek 
 Yet queenly, wilt thott rtile the tribes of men. 
 Bringing the fabled days of bliss again? 
 When God means love to every mother's son. 
 When hate is dead — and heaven here begtm! 
 
 THE END. 
 
 94 
 
UNIVERS^iBife^F CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
 
 STAMPED BELOW 
 
 OCT 281915 . 
 
 
 MAR S91922. 
 
 '''^ECD ^^ 
 
 MAT 01925 
 
 '"^'O'es-sPM 
 
 MAR 4 192^ 
 
 
 n 18 1927 
 
 
 ;• FEB m \m 
 
 
 2f,lViay^9^ 
 
 f 
 
 ^ i<Sivfa}:T; 
 
 
 ^ 
 ^ 
 
 
 % 
 
 30rn-l,'15 
 

 1'C161095 
 
 r 
 
 192645