. i \ A ROYCROFT ANTHOLOGY Selected and Edited by JOHN T. HOYLE Editor of THE FRA Magazine THE ROYCROFTERS East Aurora, N. Y. MCMXVII Copyright, 1917 By The Roycrofters List of Authors Stack ftnne* ADD1SON, JOSEPH Liberty 135 ADLER, FELIX The City of the Light 25 ANDREWS, GEORGE LAWRENCE Winter Wind 17 Harvest! 26 ARMSTRONG, C. L. Just Don'tl 1$ BAILEY, PHILIP JAMES We Live in Deeds 70 BANN, FREDERIC When God Nod* US BARBAULD, ANNA LETITIA Life! we 're been long together 47 BARTON, FRANCES V. To Joaguin Miller, the Poet of The Eights 181 BEEBE, GEORGE War 71 The Ties Fraternal 103 Good-Night, Daddy! 117 BELL, JEROME B. Mystery 27 BENT, GEORGE P. The Millionaire 91 BISHOP OF EXETER Give Ut Men! 50 BOURDILLON, FRANCIS IF. The night has a thousand eyes 155 BOURNE, HUMPHREY M. Victory 11 BRAMLEYKITE Can You Blame Him? 38 BREMER, CORA Night and Waning Day 24 The Sea 93 The Butterfly 118 BROOKE, RUPERT The Great Lover 49 BROOKS, FRED EMERSON Pickett'i Charge 78 BROWN, MAURICE R. Aurora Borealis 76 BROWNE, IRVING A Boy and a Girl 77 BROWNING, ROBERT My Star 11,6 BURNS, ROBERT The True Pathos 109 BURTON, HELENA BINGHAM Hope! 168 BURTON, RICHARD A viewless thing is the wind 49 BYRON, LORD Stars 107 CARTER, JOHN Prison Song 82 CHAPPELL, HENRY The Day 88 CHASE, JOSEPH E. At the Grave of Edgar Allan Poe. . 89 CLARK, ADELBERT Myrrh 75 The Old House on the Hill 84 CLARKE, JOSEPH I. C. The Peaks of the Ideal 90 CONRAD, JOHN LEONARD Our Hope S3 COOPER, WILLIAM COLBY The Feller With the Hoe 74 COX, KEN YON Work thou for pleasure 161 CRANE, STEPHEN The Black Riders $6 The Maniac's Complaint 73 Each Small Gleam Was a Voice. . 86 The Chatter of a Death-Demon. . .108 CRAWFORD, CAPT. JACK A New-Year Poem 136 The Boomerang 163 For Ninety Years CROSBY, ERNEST Now I Understand Education 51 The Ladder of Truth 72 Life and Death 87 " Morituri Salutamus " Truth 137 The Way and the End 146 DARLING, ERIC A. Phyllis / > 7 Spread Out! 94 DAVIS, EDWARDS A Dream of the Death of God.... ISO DAW SOX, WILLIAM J. My Wife 108 DICKSON, WILLIAM BRADFORD An Appeal %% DOLE, NATHAN HASKELL Pochades 52 DOOLITTLE, FRANK HENRY Christmastide 96 DOW SON, ERNEST Cynara 95 DRUMMOND, DR. W. II. Leetle Bateese 54 EDDY, WILLIAM H. Opportunity 6S EDUOLM, CHARLTON LAWRENCE Wings 122 EHRMANN, MAX Who First Draw Sword HO ELLIOTT, EBENEZER When Wilt Thou Sane the People? 56 EMERSON, MARIE LOUISE Rosemother 179 EMERSON, RALPH WALDO friend, my bosom said 59 FERGUSON, ALBERT More Kindness Needed 145 FERG USON, NA TH A N1EL Elbert Hubbard 90 Stenogs 98 When Kreisler Played HI A Prayer H8 FISCHER, JACOB The Lady Poverty 191 FLETCHER, J. Man His Own Star , 83 FOSS, SAM WALTER The House by the Side of the Road GRIFFITH, WILLIAM Rhymes in Time of Agitation ..... 138 GUNDELFINGER, GEORGE F. The Lawn-Mower .............. 1S1 HAGGARD, DAVID DILLARD Where Art Thou, God? ........... 68 HASTINGS, MILO Immortality of Germ-Plasm ...... IIS HAWTHORNE, JULIAN Punishment .................... 30 HAYES, EDNAH P. (CLARKE) The Mockingbird ............... 14 HENDRICKS, T. N. The Bachelor .................. 85 HERRICK, ROBERT Alms..: ...................... 87 HINES, EARLE REMINGTON The Call of the Footlights ........ 144 " Stevie " Crane ................ H7 HODGES, LEIGH MITCHELL " Vive La France " ............ 19 4 HOOD, THOMAS The Departure of Summer ....... 193 HOYLE, DAVID Destiny ....................... 59 HYDE, HOMER Little Mites and the Almighty ..... m INGALLS, JOHN J. Opportunity .................... 62 INGHAM, JOHN HALL Genesis ....................... 4* GLYNN, JOHN FRANCIS The Prisoner's Lament 135 GRIFFIN, BARTHOLOMEW F. Off Kintale The Army of Bleeding Feet 190 JEFFERSON, JOSEPH Immortality .................... SO JOHNSON, RICHARD L. Abraham Lincoln ............... 150 KINGSLEY, CHARLES The Day of the Lord ............. 154 KINNE, ORLANDO W. The Supreme Manifesto ......... 156 KINSELL, 8. TYSON The Convict ................... 159 Existence Eternal KISER, S. E. I Will ........................ 18 KITTREDGE, HERMAN E. Good-Bye ...................... 16 By the Forest .................. 175 V h KLEISER, GRENVILLE Laugh It Of 185 LANDON, G. WARREN En Avant 19 LAN DOR, WALTER SAVAGE Leaf After Leaf Drops Of S6 LANIER, SIDNEY The Mockingbird 177 LAW, LAURA RAITZ Imprint 14 LE GALLIENNE, RICHARD Ad Librot 15 Illusion 63 The Cry of the Little Peoples 100 Back to the Mother: A Prayer. . . .158 LEIBFREED, EDWIN Persevera Ad Victoriam 153 LEISER, JOSEPH Consolation 113 Defeat 157 LENTZ, KATE ALEXANDER To a Clock 99 LONGFELLOW, HENRY W. Peace 64 The heights by great men reached and kept 173 LOWELL, JAMES RUSSELL Candor 147 LUEDY, ARTHUR E. A Sonnet 171 MC CALEB, W. F. Life's Mysteries 149 Mary Magdalen 189 MCCREARY^J. L. There Is No Death 164 MAC DONALD, ARTHUR ROYCE Morning 755 MACKINTOSH, CHARLES HENRY The Scientist Speaks 97 MC LEOD, FIONA The Prayer of Women 174 M ALONE, WALTER The Agnostic's Creed 126 MARKHAM, EDWIN Brotherhood 128 MARTINEAU, HARRIET Equality 130 MARTIN, WILLIAM HAROLD The Sea 129 MASON, HARRISON D. Abraham Lincoln at Gettysburg. . .115 At Nathaniel Hawthorne's Grave. 125 MAXWELL, WILLIAM HUNTER Fast Asleep 55 MILLER, JOAQUIN To the Jersey Lily 114 My Brave World-Builders 133 The California Poppy 137 Columbus 180 MILLER, JOSEPH DANA The Hymn of Hate 124 1 MONTAGUE, JAMES J. The Peasant Soldier 166 MOORE, THOMAS Memory and Hope 128 MORRISON, GEORGE. GRANT Belgium 44 MURDOCK, MILTON A May Idyl 39 The King's Ride 162 NAYLOR, JAMES BALL The Law of Life 42 The Eternal Quest 46 NELSON, CARL The Embryo Citizen 41 Summer 119 Sing Him to Sleep 192 NELSON, FREDERIC COOKE Onions 187 NEW BOLT, HENRY Play the Game! 45 NORDQUIST, JOHN E. Living Death 43 NO YES, ALFRED A Prayer in Time of War 169 ORR, HUGH ROBERT Worship : . .167 POE, EDGAR ALLAN Out out are the lights out all! . . 58 PORTER, EDWARD Envy 15 PUTNAM, FRANK Ballade of Justice 40 QUINN, SAMUEL The Sun Speaks 1S3 REPS, PAUL The Fire 13!, ROlilllNS, FRANK Church KMs ROONEY, JOHN JEROME A Beam of Light .lie SAPIR, EDWARD Epitaph of a Philosopher US SAXE, HENRY S. Tolstoy 118 SCHLEIF, OSCAR Space 186 SCHWARTZ, MARTHA C. Rowena 60 SCOLLARD, CLINTON Song of the Ships 36 SERCOMBE, PARKER H. Heroes of the Home 39 SHAKESPEARE, WILLIAM Reputation HO SHELLEY, PERCY BYSSHE Death and Sleep 129 The Invitation 183 SICKELS, DAVID BANKS What Would He Say? 32 SLATER, MARY WHITE Europe 1914 SS SMALLWEED, EDWIN The Drum-Beat 31 SMITH, WILLIAM HAW LEY The Cry of the Crammers 34 STEVENS, GEORGE W. Poverty 188 STEVENSON, ROBERT LOUIS Requiem 149 If This Were Faith! 170 STILWELL, ARTHUR EDWARD Electricity S3 SWAIN, JOHN D. In Re Villon 110 SWINBURNE, ALGERNON CHARLES Spring 66 SYMONDS, JOHN ADDINGTON The Days That Are To Be 109 TALLMAN, MRS. A. J. Soldiers' Facet 114 TAYLOR, BERT LETSON The Great Obsession 104 TENNYSON, ALFRED, LORD In Scorn of Consequence 119 TERRY, EDWARD H. S. Kinship 35 God of Wrath 67 Fruition 102 G. Bernard Shaw 131 THOMAS, CORAL Martial Music 103 THOMPSON, WILL H. High Tide at Gettysburg 68 THOMSON, JAMES Freedom of Nature 106 TRAMS, A. FRANCIS Consecration W TRIPPET, OSCAR A. The Call of the Vast 65 VAN DYKE, HENRY My Work 72 WAKEMAN, THADDEUS B. A Prayer 71 WATERMAN, NIXON A rose to the living 163 WELLS, JOHN D. An Old Sayin of Mother's 132 WEST, JAMES HARCOURT Nature's Foundlings 106 WHITE, JOSEPH BLANCO Light and Life 107 WHITMAN, WALT The City Invincible 38 With All Thy Gifts 81 Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road 130 Dead poets, philosophers, priests.. 189 WIGHTMAN, RICHARD The Daredevil 105 WOOD, CHESTER For You 190 The Song of the City 178 WORDSWORTH, WILLIAM My Heart Leaps Up 82 YOUNG, JULIA DITTO The World to the Poet 73 ZEHLIMAN, F. M. The Old National Road 176 V c? A Roycroft Anthology We get no good By being ungenerous, even to a book, And calculating profits so much help By so much reading. It is rather when We gloriously forget ourselves and plunge Soul-forward, headlong, into a book's profound, Impassioned for its beauty and salt of truth 'Tis then we get the right good from a book. Elizabeth Barrett Browning Victory Humphrey M. Bourne TO run a race to lose and yet to win, Still striving on without a thought of rest; To know no word that "failure " has for kin; To always feel you 've done your level best. To guard the gate of bitter mood when Fate Shall give command " You shall " or " You shall not ", To learn to labor wisely and to wait Till comes a day when glows the iron hot. To take in hand the task that looks too hard; To use it in attaining greater heights; To play the game while lasts a single card; To feel that fortune favors him that fights. To have the force to be to thyself true, And know that thus you ne'er can play the knave; To feel howe'er the world your act may view, To compromise you have not been a slave. To look a humbling fact straight in the eye, Nor cast about for words to fix the blame; To bear the brunt and say that " It was I " To know that all you do can not bring fame. To make your job a real part of your life; To feel that by its force you grow and rise; To know that Victory comes through honest strife; That happy labor is itself a prize. Then, looking back, you 'II know why right is right; Nor feel false pride since you have played some part; For glory comes not simply of the fight, But from the true resolves of each clean heart. Immortality of Germ-Plasm Milo Hastings THE night-wind moaned, the embers breathed, Red glowed the cavern wall. With dreaming ears the caveman heard His fallen rival's call; Again the stress of combat waged, And taught untutored man That in the filmy night-born world The dead may live again. In Egypt's man-made mountains, The royal coffins rust, And the sacred cat and the bovine god Are covered with mummied dust; The slave will become the master When death ends the weary strife, And the toiling ass is a woman Who sinned in a former life. The willow weeps on tear-stained ground, The cypress points the sky, The Christian reads the marble slab, Which says he can not die; On bricks of gold his ghost shall walk, Gold borrowed of Israel 's dream, For hope, as faith, calls back to him Across the silent stream. A crystal lens in a brazen frame Is thrust in a drop of slime, And highest mind finds lowest life As endless a chain as time; k D 12 Life without end, cell sprung from cell, Through blood and brain and sperm, Of man who manufactures gods, Or fish or frog or worm. And if the soul of man be dust, The human form but clay, And if man yearns for yet more life When Time his scythe shall sway, Should he, whom love of life hath called Immortal art to ply, Imprint his fingers in the sand Or good red clay supply? Though Faith looked bright amid the gloom Of theologic night, The tungsten film of fact shall dim Her wick-and-tallow light; To him who knows Faith's work is done, Shall Death hail from afar, Unto his living, throbbing soul The gates shall stand ajar. Imprint Laura Raitz Law / MARKED ichere malice limned her subtle way, And etched upon a face that God made fair Lines that nor grief nor travail could trace there; Only the rancor of a bitter fray. There, with the stylus of ill-will, each day She wrought the picture with much cunning care; With pique and spite, into the plastic rare, She sank the point of steel and graved dismay. The smiles and dimples that had won fair praise, Melted like wax before the heat of strife And marred the record of those happy days. The venom, mordant, deepened the keen knife, And left a gruesome portrait on the glaze, When Death took the impression of her life. The Mockingbird Ednah Proctor (Clarke) Hayes LIST to that bird! His song what poet pens it? Brigand of birds, he 's stolen every note! Prince though of thieves hark I how the rascal spends it ! Pours the whole forest from one tiny throat ! Ad Libros Richard Le Gallienne WHEN do I love you most, sweet books of mine ? In strenuous morns when oer your leaves I pore, Austerely bent to win austerest lore, Forgetting how the dewy meadows shine, On afternoons when honeysuckles twine About the seat, and to some dreamy shore Of old Romance, where lovers evermore Keep blissful hours, I follow at your sign? Yea! ye are precious then, but most to me Ere lamplight dawneth, when low croons the fire To whispering twilight in my little room, And eyes read not, but sitting silently, I feel your great hearts throbbing deep in quire, And hear your breathing round me in the gloom. Envy Edward Porter y A BAREFOOT boy, his face with health aglow, Gazed at the man in princely motor-car, And murmured, " I wish I was like him! " A master man, his face with ills oercast, Gazed at the boy upon the rocky road, And muttered, " Were I again like him! " Good-Bye Herman E. Kittredge GOOD-BYE, old house. Long hast thou sheltered me and mine, Through storm and calm, In toil and leisure, joy and pain. Together have we known In immeasurable, changeless time The measured, changeful hours. And now, Alone, Forthgoing, I linger 'neath thy sacred roof Within thy walls bereft; And in thy vacant spaces eloquent I pause with reverent head, In mute farewell. Good-bye, old house. When first I came to thee, Through ways of dream now dim, And dimmer growing with the waning years, The Spring companioned me With gladdening smile Mid startled cries and soothed murmurings To careless tread of myriad music And lavished round thy door The fragrant petaled emblems of her soul. Now sear leaves fall Adrift on Autumn's fitful breath (With twilight failing, As fails mine ebbing spirit); And as I finally go forth They graze my form in whispering caress The touch and voice of aged friends In last farewell. For on each leaf, From shyly budding birth to withering death, Is writ the mystic rune of universal life : " In changeless time is naught but change." And so, As I reluctantly depart A sloth for mine endearment Affection's falterer, Irresolutely glancing back, Thy long-time welcoming path and smiling casements Thy bliss-inviting door Grow dim and fade in unillumed dusk and tears. 8? Winter Wind George Lawrence Andrews THE winter wind goes wailing loud, And whistles sharp and keen; It lifts the snow up like a cloud, And earth is cold and gaunt and lean. Like winter wind some lives there are, Austere souls never glad or warm, Who know no summer night, no star, The green of life or friendship's charm. / Will S. E. Kiser / WILL start anew this morning with a higher, fairer creed; I will cease to stand complaining of my ruthless neighbor's greed; I will cease to sit repining while my duty's call is clear, I will waste no moment whining, and my heart shall know no fear. I will look sometimes about me for the things that merit praise; I will search for hidden beauties that elude the grumbler's gaze; I will try to find contentment in the paths that I must tread, I will cease to have resentment when another moves ahead. I will not be swayed by envy when my rival's strength is shown; I will not deny his merit, but I 'II strive to prom my own; I will try to see the beauty spread before me, rain or shine / will cease to preach your duty and be more concerned with mine. En Avant C. Warren Landon THOUGH the path of life be stormy, Play the game. Troubled waters may surround, Disappointments will confound : Yet, though heartaches still abound, Play the game. Do you think your life a failure? Play the game. Discords all the songs you sing, Lost your grip on everything, Have you known keen sorrow's sting? Play the game. Friends there be with love unselfish, Playlthe game. Beacons they, for every mile On the road; so you can smile For they make this life worth while: Play the game. Immortality Joseph Jefferson TWO caterpillars crawling on a leaf, By some strange accident in contact came; Their conversation, passing all belief, Was that same argument, the very same, That has been " proed and conned," from man to man; Yea, ever since this wondrous world began. The ugly creatures, Deaf and dumb and blind, Devoid of features That adorn mankind, Were vain enough, in dull and wordy strife, To speculate upon a future life. The first was optimistic, full of hope The second, quite dyspeptic, seemed to mope. Said number one, " / 'm sure of our salvation." Said number two, " I 'm sure of our damnation. Our ugly forms alone would seal our fates, And bar our entrance through the golden gates. Suppose that death should take us unawares, How could we climb the golden stairs? If maidens shun us as they pass by, Would angels bid us welcome to the sky? I wonder what great crimes we have committed, That leave us so forlorn, so unpitied? Perhaps we 've been ungrateful, unforgiving. 'T is plain to me, life is not worth the living." " Come, come, cheer up," the jovial one replied " Let 's take a look upon the other side: Suppose we can not fly like moths and millers, Are we to blame for being caterpillars? Will that same God that doomed us crawl the earth, A prey to every bird that 's given birth, 20 Forgive our captor as he eats and sings, And damn poor us because we have no wings? If we can't skim the air, like owl or bat, The worm will turn for a' that." They argued through the Summer Autumn nigh; The ugly things composed themselves to die And so, to make their funeral quite complete, Each wrapped him in his little winding-sheet. The tangled web encompassed them full soon Each for his coffin made him a cocoon. All through the Winter's chilling blasts they lay, Dead to the world, aye, dead as any human clay. Lo! Spring comes forth with all her warmth and love; She brings sweet justice from the realms above She breaks the chrysalis she resurrects the dead Two butterflies ascend, encircling her head. And so, this emblem shall forever be A sign of Immortality. Now I Understand Ernest Crosby / TAKE my place in the lower classes. ... / renounce the title of gentleman because it has become intolerable to me. Dear Master, I understand now why you too took your place in the lower classes, And why you refused to be a gentleman. 'Courtesy of Small, Maynard & Co. Eurojpe--igi4 Mary White Slater / SAW a thousand towers cathedral-towers Arise serene and white Into the blue of crystal morning hours, Into the moonlit night Z heard them sing above the centuried clan Of human work and learning, The song of peace, of brotherhood for man, Of Christian altars burning When lo, the soids that sent the lily towers Aspiring to the sky, Reminding men through sad and joying hours, Of love, that must not die Z saw them rushing passionate for gain, Storming a brother's gate, Blasting his temples, making all the plain A slaughter-pit for hate! I heard the leader of a royal game Give the command, God on his lips, to murder in God 's name, To crucify the land! Not yet, strong and tender Nazarene, Thy temple-towers arise, Not yet while such a human scene Can dawn on childhood's eyes: Two thousand years and still the monster-god Callous of love and wit, Who at a king's devout, fanatic nod, Makes earth a slaughter-pit! \ V Electricity Arthur Edward Stilwell IN the dim, distant past, before Old World began, Or Sun or Moon or Stars their wondrous courses ran, I was born in the Ether of the great Long Ago, Before Time's great Creator had sent the Rain or Snow; A million and a million years before twice one was two, I was just an Idea in Space's azure blue. I saw the whirling world come forth from out the womb of Night; I watched the wondrous Heavens formed of twinkling Stars most bright; I sported in the Dipper and ran the Milky Way, I watched Nature's evolution of Night turned into Day; I saw both land and mountain rise from out the deep, Earth's verdure spread o'er all my silent watch I 'd keep. For I was just an Idea destined for earth some day, And had to wait for Man decreed to come that way; For his was the dominion of land and all the sea; Part of this dominion was bound to come through Me. So thus in caves I wooed him before the Age of Stone, I courted him in pairs, I courted him alone. I tried to force the minds of youth and then of hoary sage, And, had my years been counted, 't would register an Age. I saw the years of War, when Might was in full sway, And watched and waited long such Dreams must pass away Then straight from out that Ether, sent to bless all Earth, I slid down Franklin's kite-string a humble way of birth. But, when once I landed, I grew by leaps and bounds, And now for Power and Light am used by all the towns; I am used for scaling mountains and used for sailing seas, To carry Conversation fulfilling God's decrees. Night and Waning Day Cora Bremer THE Night awakes, and in her waking calls Unto the chastened Day, that, sinking low, Doth gently speak her sister: " Give them rest! I fed them; gave them arm to wing the sword; Fled with them to the fields of rip'ning grain; Did leap within the cidprit's prison-walls, And taught the infant larks to sing their lay. Softly, I followed women to the grave Of their dear loved, who entered heav'nly halls; Guiding, I led the lambkin back to fold; And withered streams, and dried the sheaves to gold" " Day! I held the dear ones deep in sleep, And sent them dreams, to make more sure the way, For Angels 9 visits, to the cots of men All spent with toil, and doubt, and dread of day; And gave to women, holding in their arms Their new-born babes, the truth that Truth was all; Then, hearing far the call of seamen tossed, With my dear moon, I lit the wind-blown sea, And sent the stars to guide them in their barks, And bind their souls to knowledge of the where Of things, not seen or near; and then the dew I scattered far and wide, o'er field and plain; And halting on the stones of cities' streets, For sin I saw / held there fast the gloom! " k h The City of the Light Felix Adler HA VE you heard the Golden City Mentioned in the legends old ? Everlasting light shines o'er it, Wondrous tales of it are told; Only righteous men and women Dwell within its gleaming wall, Wrong is banished from its borders, Justice reigns supreme o'er all. We are builders of that City; All our joys and all our groans Help to rear its shining ramparts, All our lives are building-stones: But the work that we have builded, Oft with bleeding hands and tears, And in error and in anguish, Will not perish with our years. It will be at last made perfect In the universal plan ; It will help to crown the labors Of the toiling hosts of man: It will last and shine transfigured In the final reign of right, It will merge into the splendors Of the City of the Light! Harvests George Lawrence Andrews FOR us our verdant fields are white and fair With golden harvest of a fruitful year; Our brothers harvest awful woe and care On blood-red fields that should be white with cheer. Our reapers sing at work and life is good, The very air is sweeter than of yore; Afar the swathes of dead through field and wood, The unreturning gone from every door. War's awful harvest claims the young, the gay, The earth is bathed in tears, the world's joy dead; We can but hope that this will haste the day When all earth shall Christ's peaceful way be led. The Black Riders Stephen Crane BLACK riders came from the sea. There was clang and clang of spear and shield, And clash and clash of hoof and heel, Wild shouts and the wave of hair In the rush upon the wind : Thus the ride of sin. Mystery Jerome B. Bell WHA T is this mystery that men call death ? My friend before me lies; in all save breath He seems the same as yesterday. His face So like to life, so calm, bears not a trace Of that great change which all of us so dread. I gaze on him and say: He is not dead, But sleeps; and soon he will arise and take Me by the hand. I know he will awake And smile on me as he did yesterday; And he will have some gentle word to say, Some kindly deed to do; for loving thought Was warp and woof of which his life was wrought. He is not dead. Such souls forever live In boundless measure of the love they give. A Beam of Light John Jerome Rooney A BEAM of light, from the infinite depths of the midnight sky, Painted with infinite love a star in a convict's eye; When, lo! the ghosts of his sins were afraid and fled with a curse, And the soul of the man walked free in the fields of the universe ! An Ajpjpeal William Bradford Dickson 8 THE dogs of war hellhounds of death Are straining at the leash the while Their saber-tusks drip red with blood. With bated breath they scent the trail Of murder, woe and crime the while Their baleful eyes inflame with hate. Beneath the mask of patriot-love Of country, home and fatherland Their keeper, man, with whip in hand Goads into frenzy with his lash The frantic beasts of shame and death. How long, stupid man, how long, Shall paltry, petty, foolish kings Strut to and fro in spangled garb, Blaspheme our God, usurp His throne, Reverse His laws of Brotherhood, His Christ-taught law of " Peace on earth, Good-will to men," and lead thy sons To strife and death? How long, stupid man, how long, Shall this God-world of yours and mine, From which springs forth in glad array The lilies of the field, the rose, And all the wonders infinite, Be drenched with sacrificial blood Of brother strife? How long, stupid man, how long, Wilt thou play puppet to the whims Of idle kings, man-made and weak, And devastate the gift of God, Your homes and flocks and bounteous fields? Oh, blind, purblind and foolish man! Rise in God-given might and claim Thy rightful heritage of Peace. Off Kinsale Bartholomew F. Griffin [Only the baby's cap floating showed where more than a score sank. News Item.] AN admiral, bearded, ponderous, grim, At his desk with charts bespread, And some four thousand miles from him A babe in a trundle-bed How could they meet and when and where And their alien paths collide? Go ask yon mist-loved headland there Long brooding above the tide, With candy-stick lighthouse capped red-white And girt with the fishers' sail, That the Dane kings saw and Armada fight Ask the Old Head of Kinsale! In sight of the rude, warm fisher-cot At foot of the watching cliff, Only a little white cap afloat O'er grave of a foundered skiff. More souls two thousand various wrapped With flesh and with circumstance, Were in yon steel-gilt-plush cage trapped Two-thirds had never a chancel But what of number or of weight In souls or in gold or steel? To the rocking babe 't were equal fate Had his cradle been the keel! An admiral bearded, ponderous, grim, At his desk with charts bespread, And some four hundred miles from him A babe in an ocean bed! Punishment Julian Hawthorne FILING along, filing along, See where they come, eight hundred strong, Shuffling feet and jaded faces, Down the aisles, dropping into their places! Some upstanding, some bowed down, With grin, or snarl, or sneer, or frown Here come the eight hundred of Deadmen's Town! Filing past, filing past, Nose to the front and eyes downcast, Each in his jumper of shabby blue (With the " U. S. P." and the number, too!) Twice four hundred, clad as one! Are they maskers, masking for fun? Or souls in Hell, all damned and done? Filing by, filing by, Each with his separate agony, With his hoarded secret, never told, Of a life's fire quenched in a world dead cold! Murder, robbery, falsehood, lust, Pellmell into one caldron thrust, To swim if they can, or to sink if they must! (From the caldron a cry: Why are we here alone? All men are brothers in sin! Must we for the others atone? Came answer : All Flesh is a prison, whose Jailer is Time! More grievous the sword falls on the veiled than the unveiled crime! The hurt that you take may be healed; not theirs who, blameless here, Wear robes snow-white before men, hiding ulcers of evil and fear!) Filing along, filing along, Ages of folly, hate and wrong, Each with its tale of Might is Right, With its secret dark, with its flickering light ! And our Christ on His Cross amidst them there! Is He dead? Will He rise? Does He hear our prayer? Will He leave us to perish in our despair? I The Drum-Beat Edwin Smallweed (n as grone, he ' growe away, he 's gone away for good; He 's called, he 's killed. Him and his drum lies in the rain, lies in the rain where they was stood, Where they was stilled. He was my soldier boy, my Ned, Between these breasts he 'd lay his head But now he 's killed. My soldier 's gone. His head lies now between two naked stones, His drum is broke. There 's none to mourn him in the rain, only the rooks which watch his bones : Which watch and croak. His great red hand is wasted bare, That tapped his drum, that touched my hair, Hark! Not a stroke. But what is this beside my heart, beside my heart that sounds ? Tap tap, tap tap ! Oh, what is this that beats within, like drummers beating bounds, Rap upon rap? What wonder have I felt and heard ? Is it the wing-beats of a bird? Tap tap, tap tap! My boy is gone, yet near my heart another boy lies now. Though he be dumb, He thumps my heart like soldier's thump, he thumps a tow-row-row, To say he 's come. A drummer-boy, all gaily drest, Will yet again be at my breast. Hark! There 's his drum! What Would He Say .' David Banks Sickels WHAT would He say, If Christ should come on earth again, After long centuries have passed away, Since last He judged the hearts of men ? What would He say, To find unconquered, still the same Wild passions have their fatal sway, As when He bore the cross in shame? What would He say, To see the nations armed for war, With battleships in stern array, As in the blood-stained years of yore? What would He say, To know the maddening greed for gain And grasping hands that none can stay, Still rule the human heart and brain? What would He say, To hear that gold can garnish crimes, Where timid virtue fears to stay, Like Sodom in her direful times? What would He say, To learn of stealthy bribes and fraud, As in the time of Rome's decay, Defying right and law and God? What would He say, Of him who gains the poor man's mite By lying lips, then dares to pray, As though his God were far from sight? What would He say, Of those whose hidden guilt profanes The altar where they deign to lay Their hearts, where vengeance yet remains? What would He say, Of those who think that money's power Can drive the curse of sin away The coward creatures of an hour ? What would He say, Of men whose pilfered gold is given With vulgar pride from day to day In vain, to bribe the Court of Heaven? What would He say, Of men renowned in church and school Who strive to teach and preach and pray, And then forget the golden rule? What would He say, Of those who spurn their sacred vows, When sin has led their hearts astray And written crime upon their brows? What would He say, Of men who rear a gilded fane, Where Pharisees may proudly pray To mitigate the curse of Cain? What would He say, To find that ancient rites and creeds, Still lure the mortal mind away From higher thoughts and nobler deeds? What would He say, To see the ruin rum has made With splendid minds from day to day The joyless homes and hearts betrayed? What would He say, In judgment that His words sublime, By impious hands are thrown away, While echoing down the aisles of time? 7 he Cry of the Crammers William Hawley Smith HYGIENE and history, Asiatic mystery, Algebra, histology, Latin etymology; Botany, geometry; Ram it in and cram it in, Children's heads are hollow. Scold it in, mold it in, All that they can swallow; Fold it in, hold it in, Still there 's more to follow. Faces pasty, pinched and pale, Tell the plaintive, piteous tale; Tell the hours robbed from sleep, Robbed from meals for studies deep All who 'twixt these milestones go TeU the selfsame tale of woe. How the teacher crammed it in, Rammed it in, jammed it in, Crunched it in, punched it in, Rubbed it in, clubbed it in, Pumped it in, stumped it in, Rapped it in, slapped it in, When their heads were hollow. Kinship Edward H. S. Terry / AM part of the sea and stars And the winds of the South and North, Of mountain and moon and Mars, And the ages sent me forth 1 Blind Homer, the splendor of Greece, Sang the songs I sang ere he fell; She whom men call Beatrice, Saw me in the depths of hell. I was hanged at dawn for a crime Flesh dies, but the soul knows no death; I piped to great Shakespeare's chime The witches' song in Macbeth. All, all who have suffered and won, Who have struggled and failed and died, Am I, with work still undone, And a spear-mark in my side. I am part of the sea and stars And the winds of the South and North, Of mountain and moon and Mars, And the ages sent me forth ! Song of the Ships Clinton Scollard THE great ships go a-shouldering Along my line of shore; The little ships like sea-gulls fly Under the blue tent of the sky, And some will lie a-moldering Where phosphor lights are smoldering, And sail no more, no more! Spruce and trig Is yon bounding brig " Whither away, my master? " " Oh, just for a bit of a jaunty trip, From the lazy ooze of Salem slip To where the long tides roar and rip Round the coral keys Of the outer seas, And the combers cry ' disaster! ' Out and up with the topsail there! There 's plenty of God's free briny air To crowd her a little faster ! " Ah, like a lark Dips yonder bark Poises and dips and rises; " Whither away? " " To the clear blue day, And the Lost Lagoon Where the flame of noon Is full of rapt surprises, And the tropic moon As it swings aswoon, Entangles and entices." It 's " champ! champ! champ! " Goes the wheezy tramp, With her funnels low and raky ; " Whither away? " " Well, the good Lord knows Where we 'II land if it up and blows, For the keel is foul (that 's one of our woes) And the screw is mighty shaky; But we 'II weather to port although it be Under the gray-green roof of the sea, And we'll warp to the pier With a rouse of cheer Though queer be the pier and quaky." Like an arrowy shaft From fore to aft Onward urges the liner; " Whither away? " Strong comes the hail " O'er creamy crest and o'er beryl vale To the gates of the Ultimate East we sail Where the rose abides and the nightingale Sits caroling none diviner. A myriad hopes not a wraith of doubt Throb between our decks as we hurtle out; And the mind and the shaping hand of man, Since the ancient surge of Time began, Ne'er fashioned a splendor finer" With sparkling spar Glides the man-o'-war, Her great-gunned turrets towering; " Whither away? " " To the verge of earth To guard the rights of the free of birth, And give them a taste of our Yankee mirth Wherever the foe be lowering; And should it come to the last appeal, To the cruel chrism of fire and steel, Be it man on bridge, in hold, at wheel, There 'II be no caitiff cowering! " And so the ships go shouldering Along my line of shore, And whether they dare the threat of the Horn, Or make for the Golden Isles of the Morn, Under the sapphire tent of sky, Some will range back by and by, And some will lie a-moldering, Where phosphor lights are smoldering, And sail no more, no more ! Can You Blame Him ? BramleyKite YOU have ridiculed the farmer all your life, You have taken but have given point of knife. He is now in a position to declare, " You scoffed at me, but now your shelves are bare, I will raise enough to feed my family well The rest of you may josh your way to hell" 7 he City Invincible Walt Whitman * / DREAM'D in a dream, I saw a city invincible to the attacks of the whole of the rest of the earth. I dreamed that was the new city of Friends; Nothing was greater there than the quality of robust love it led the rest, It was seen every hour in the actions of the men of that city, And in all their looks and words. A May Idyl Milton Murdoch* WITH rake and hoe doth Gladys go A-gardening this sunny weather, Sweet peas about her porch to sow Midst hollyhocks and princess-feather. She sends me here, she sends me there, And loving aid I gladly lend her, My Gladys, oh ! how passing fair With violet eyes so softly tender. How bright the day; the air of May How sweet with breath of blossoms laden, And can you wonder that I stay ? The tempting scene, the lovely maiden I What reck I though we ne'er may wed, I kiss her cheek, who could resist her ? Through pearly portals cherry red She whispers, " Phyllis, dearest sister I " *In " Century Magazine" Heroes of the Home Parker H. Sercombe FULL many a restless soul has dared to climb The yardarm's end lashed by the fretful sea. Others have sought the din of war sublime And risked the chance of death or victory. Of what cheap, gilded stuff are " heroes " made Who thus invite oblivion's tranquil knell! The truly brave know every cliff and glade, Live out their span AT HOME and live it well. Ballade of Justice Frank Putnam OF all sad tales that ever were told None more bitter has reached my ears Than hers who, gay in a gown of gold, Man with derrick and windlass rears To guard his weal, to allay his fears And prove to the gods his own great worth. She wrings my heart, so excuse these tears! Poor little Justice, blind at birth! High on the Court-House dome she stands, Symbol of man's supreme desire, Scales and sword in her shapely hands, Brow that glows in the sun's red fire; Beneath her, men sell Truth for hire And make her a mock in their mad mirth; They sell her, too, when they find a buyer : Poor little Justice, blind at birth! Others our gods do we likewise flout, Praise or punish with gross disdain; Kind when our future seems in doubt, Cruel when life leaps up again. I take no heed of other gods' pain Wrought by the wayward sons of earth; In pity of her my peace is slain : Poor little Justice, blind at birth! L'Envoi Prince, some day under fairer skies, Enshrined in love above each hearth, She will guide our steps with opened eyes : Poor little Justice, blind at birth! The Embryo Citizen Carl Nelson HERE I salute you, infant son of Democracy, As you sit there laughing and pouting by turns What will your contribution be to the sum of Existence ? Those bold brown eyes and rich red locks Will they be lost in the shuffle Or will they serenely bob up in succeeding contests? You massive, healthy and wholesome boy, Of pure blood and untainted progenitors, I wish you well as you start on the highway of Life, And in these lines my hopes and prophecies for you I commingle : In what path you may choose for the upward climb, Whether music, or agriculture, or journalism or commerce, Be a bold adopter and innovator of new formulas, Be not in any sense a conventional trailer. Be sure you are right, then herald to the world your opinions. Be an Enjoyer, a Lover, a Patriot and a Universal Citizen, A despiser of meanness and a communer with Nature, A climber of hills and a measurer of mighty distances. Of your own rights and your country's laws you are the sentinel; When you meet Wrong on the way, don't give up the path, But be a bold and fearless challenger. When Kindness comes to you, give her your right hand And speed her on the way cheered and laden with tokens. If Falsehood and Avarice would stealthily come to make terms, Or if Vice draws near with his subtle blandishments, Tell them all to go to the Devil. Be a Soldier of Good And when you have learned to step in unison With other good Lovers, Comrades and Countrymen, Throw out your chest and give voice to your Slogan I The Law of Life James Ball Naylor LO ! this is the law of life : A song of peace, and a day of strife; A day of strife, and a song of peace And the thunder of battles that never cease. And this is the law of life! From the morning gray of the farthest day, Down the centuries there has come To the clash of arms, and the mad alarms Of trumpet and fife and drum This eternal truth: that the War God's ruth Is akin to the fiercest hate; That Man, in the game, is as flax to flame And the pitiful fool of fate! From the days forgot and when time was not, And the first man stood alone To the days of old when the barons bold Built their castles of oak and stone, Then to drink and fight in a wild delight Was the order of church and state; And Man, in the game, was the moth in the flame And the pitiful fool of fate! From the days of old to the days of gold That we moderns so highly prize, Have the cries and groans and the sighs and moans Of the dying assailed the skies; And to slave and fight from morn till night Is the rule of the wise and great; And Man, in the game, is as flax to flame And the pitiful fool of fate! Yea, the War God quaffs of our blood and laughs At the mothers who give us birth; For his skull-deck'd throne is the brawn and bone Of the strenuous sons of earth! And the months roll on and the years are gone. Yet his passion does not abate; And Man, in the game, is the moth in the flame And the pitiful fool of fate! For this is the law of life : A song of peace, and a day of strife; A day of strife, and a song of peace And the thunder of battles that never cease. And this is the law of life! Living Death John E. Nordquist WHAT is a living death? ' T is when the love of progress dies Within the human mind; When vainly better nature cries Against the dull day grind; When reason will not harken, But is constrained to darken And make the mourner blind. SUCH LIFE IS LIVING DEATH! Belgium George Grant Morrison SWIFT to the fore the nation leaped, To breast the rushing hordes of hell; Shock upon shock it stood, blood-steeped, One against twenty, but God, how it reaped Their legions in masses of dead, high-heaped, And struck the monster's knell. Into the little kingdom crashed The mightiest murder-engines wrought; Belgian soul to soul was lashed; Belgian courage in miracles flashed ; And ever, though cities and forts were smashed, The Belgian stayed and fought. Grim and alone, but by each side The silent, unseen push of God; Holding in check the monster's stride, Crumpling his fist in the mail of his pride, And battling till Vengeance aroused, allied, Swung on the field full-shod. Long o'er the world the monster gloomed, A dread unrest through every land; Civilization's menace loomed; Honor was strangled and conscience entombed; But Prophets of old have him marked and doomed; Yea, this is God's command. Play the Game! Henry Newbolt THERE 'S a breathless hush in the close tonight- Ten to make and the match to win A bumping pitch and a blinding light, An hour to play and the last man in. And it 's not for the sake of a ribboned coat, Or the selfish hope of a season's fame, But his captain's hand on his shoulder smote f^" " Play up! play up! and play the game! " The sand of the desert is sodden red Red with the wreck of a square that broke The galling 's jammed and the colonel dead, And the regiment blind with dust and smoke. The river of death has brimmed his banks, And England 's far, and Honor a name, But the voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks : " Play up! play up! and play the game! " This is the word that year by year, While in her place the School is set, Every one of her sons must hear, And none that hears it dare forget. This they all, with a joyful mind, Bear through life like a torch in flame, And falling fling to the host behind " Play up! play up! and play the game! " The Eternal Quest James Ball Nay lor MAN whimpered and crouched in his rocky cave In the heart of the lonesome wild, For just without was a shallow grave Containing his wife and child; And Man, a primitive, untamed thing, Cared naught for the silence drear, But he heard the flap of an owlet's wing And he shuddered in nameless fear. And " avaunt! " was the timid cry he gave; "Are ye living ye who died? " But only the wind swept o'er the grave And only the wind replied! In the dewy dusk, from his shepherd's tent, Man glided with sandaled tread, And led by the rising moon he went To the place of his silent dead; And there, on the lone, rock-girdled plain As the night-breeze loitered by, He lifted his voice to his heart's refrain And his face to the starry sky. " Oh, gods of my fathers! " he wailed aloud, "Are they living these who died? " But the moon hid under a fleecy cloud And never a god replied! At dawn of day, in a temple grand, Knelt Man with his head low-bowed; And above and about him, on ev'ry hand, Were the works of his genius proud : i en Paintings and sculptures of fabled beasts, Demons, angels and gods, And most insignificant, lowliest, least! Himself, as the king of clods. " Thou Almighty One! " was his anguished moan, " Shall they wake again the dead? " But the Great One nodded upon His throne And never a word He said! And today Man delves into science, deep In a futile effort to gain A hint of the life that shall follow sleep, A glimpse of the soul's domain; But, as fruitless always has been his quest And groundless his hopes and fears, The riddle today remains unguessed Unsolved by his toil and tears. And Man yet cries to the Powers that be : " Oh, grant that my pray'r be heard! Is a future existence in store for me? " But never an answering word! Life Anna Letitia Barbauld LIFE! we 've been long together Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; ' T is hard to part when friends are dear Perhaps 't will cost a sigh, a tear; Then steal away, give little warning. Choose thine own time; Say not Good-Night but in some brighter clime Bid me Good-Morning. Just Dont! C. L. Armstrong DO you feel you 'd like to quit ? Don't I Get to feeling you don't fit? Don't! Do you want to yell " all-in" Cause your wind 's a little thin And you think you 'II never win ? Don't! There 's a kick you want to make ? Don't! There 's a head you want to break ? Don't ! Do you feel you want to whine Like a genuine canine And send blue streaks down the line ? Well Don't! When you see a chance to duck, Don't! When you want to chuck your luck, Don't! Keep right on without a stop And you 'II sure show up on top, If, just when you want to flop, You Don't! Genesis John Hall Ingham DID Chaos form and water, air and fire, Rocks, trees, the worm, work toward Humanity That Man at last, beneath the churchyard spire, Might be once more the worm, the rock, the tree? The Great Lover Rupert Brooke THESE I have loved: White plates and cups, clean-gleaming, Ringed with blue lines; and feathery, faery dust; Wet roofs, beneath the lamplight; the strong crust Of friendly bread; and many-tasting food; Rainbows; and the blue bitter smoke of wood; And radiant raindrops couching in cool flowers; And flowers themselves, that sway through sunny hours, Dreaming of moths that drink them under the moon; Then, the cool kindliness of sheets, that soon Smooth away trouble; and the rough male kiss Of blankets; grainy hair; live hair; that is Shining and free; blue-massing clouds; the keen Unpassioned beauty of a great machine; The benison of hot water; furs to touch; The good smell of old clothes; and others such The comfortable smell of friendly fingers, Hair's fragrance, and the musty reek that lingers About dead leaves and last year's ferns. A VIEWLESS thing is the wind, But its strength is mightier far Than a phalanxed host in battle-line, Than the limbs of a Samson are. And a viewless thing is Love, And a name that vanisheth; But her strength is the wind's wild strength above, For she conquers Shame and Death. Richard Burton Give Us Men ! Bishop of Exeter GIVE us Men! Men from every rank, Fresh and free and frank; Men of thought and reading, Men of light and leading, Men of loyal breeding, The Nation's welfare speeding: Give us Men! I say again, Give us Men! Give us Men! Men whom highest hope inspires, Men whom purest honor fires. Men who trample Self beneath them, Men who make their country wreath them, Men who never shame their mothers, Men who never fail their brothers, True, however false are others: Give us Men! / say again, Give us Men! Give us Men! Men who, when the tempest gathers, Grasp the standard of their fathers In the thickest fight: Men who strike for home and altar (Let the coward cringe and falter) . God defend the right! True as truth, though lorn and lonely, Tender, as the brave are only; Men who tread where saints have trod, Men for Country Home and God: Give us Men! I say again again Give us such Men! Education" Ernest Crosby HERE are two educated men. The one has a smattering of Latin and Greek; The other knows the speech and habits of horses and cattle, and gives them their food in due season. The one is acquainted with the roots of nouns and verbs; The other can tell you how to plant and dig potatoes and carrots and turnips. The one drums by the hour on the piano, making it a terror to the neighborhood; The other is an expert at the reaper and binder, which Jills the world with good-cheer. The one knows or has forgotten the higher trigonometry and the differential calculus; The other can calculate the bushels of rye standing in his field and the number of barrels to buy for the apples on the trees in his orchard. The one understands the chemical affinities of various poisonous acids and alkalies; The other can make a savory soup or a delectable pudding. The one sketches a landscape indifferently; The other can shingle his roof and build a shed for himself in workmanlike manner. The one has heard of Plato and Aristotle and Kant and Comte, but knows precious little about them; The other has never been troubled by such knowledge, but he will learn the first and last word of philosophy, " to love," far quicker, I warrant you, than his college-bred neighbor. For still is it true that God hath hidden these things from the wise and prudent and revealed them unto babes. Such are the two educations: Which is the higher and which the lower? 'Courtesy of Small, Maynard & Co. Pochades Nathan Haskell Dole /: SEA-GULLS THE beach curves like a Moorish simitar; Behind it are high dunes of shifting, drifting sand. A tidal river skirts them; And where it flows into the sea a bar Is left whereon a thousand sea-gulls stand Preening their glossy gray plumage. They face one way they face the wind. As I approach them from behind With one accord they spread their wings and rise With wild discordant cries. Their flashing feathers fleck the fleckless skies; Then, turning, wheeling, from afar They float like living snowflakes on a summer day Above the green and violet waters of the Bay! II: SANDPIPERS A FLOCK of eager sandpipers Forms my bodyguard as I pace the beach. Half a hundred of them, with twinkling feet, Hurry on ahead of me, just out of reach. There they stop, where the dying wavelets meet The fringe of dry sand, red with fine garnets, And peck at the living things thai make their food. This pretty game a dozen times they repeat. Then, as I raise my arm, Suddenly, in alarm, Taking wing, in a long curve They swerve And pass me just over the crests of the breakers And settle far behind. To them their life is sweet; But a Huntsman, with primitive instinct to kill, And armed with a shotgun, flushes them. He fires a sharp report: the bevy, all broken, scatters! A dozen, maimed and dying, dot the sands: He grasps them in his cruel hands. What matters Their agony compared with his desires? To him his cruelty seems not ill: He, like as they do, hunts his food. But for me the sky is darkened. At what Huntsman's weapon must we die? Consecration A. Francis Trams I DO not ask, God, that I Should always find my pathway fair ; I only pray that I may try To " knit the raveled sleeve of care." I do not ask, God, for fame Along the highway I must take; I only pray that I may name Some guerdon for lone hearts that break. I do not ask, God, that I May one day find my homing nest; I pray to blaze for passers-by The shining trail where ends the Quest. Leetle Bateese Dr. W. H. Drummond YOU bad leetle boy, not moche you care How busy you 're kipin your poor gran'pere, Tryin to stop you ev'ry day Chasin' de hen aroun' de hay Wy don't you geev dem a chance to lay? Leetle Bateese I Off on de fiel' you f oiler de plow, Den wen you 're tire you scare de cow, Sickin' de dog till dey jomp de wall So de milk ain't good for not' ing at all An' you 're only five an' a half dis fall, Leetle Bateese! Too sleepy for sayin' de prayer tonight? Never min' I s'pose it 'II be all right. Say dem tomorrow ah! dere he go! Fas' asleep in a minute or so An' he 'II stay lak dat till de rooster crow, Leetle Bateese! Den wake us up right away toute suite Lookin' for somet 'ing more to eat, Makin' me t'ink of dem long leg crane Soon as dey swatter, dey start again, I wonder your stomach don't get no pain, Leetle Bateese! But see heem now lyin' dere in bed, Look at de arm onderneaf hees head ; If he grow lak dat till he 's twenty year I bet he 'II be stronger dan Louis Cyr An' beat all de voyageurs leevin' here, Leetle Bateese! Jes' feel de muscle along hees back, Wont geev heem moche bodder for carry pack On de long portage, any size canoe, Dere 's not many t'ing dot boy won't do, For he 's got double-joint on hees body too, Leetle Bateese! But leetle Bateese! please don't forget We rader you 're stayin' de small boy yet, So chase de chicken an' mak' dem scare An' do w'at you lak wit' your ole gran'pere, For wen you 're beeg feller he won't be dere Leetle Bateese! Fast Asleep William Hunter Maxwell * OPPORTUNITY knocked at the door, Of a man needy and poor; He waited long to be let in, To bid the man go work and win; To knock upon knock was no reply, Yet loath was he to pass him by. Pondering, wondering, he went away, No word could he to that man say. Since, such, man sows, that shall he reap, Suffer shall he, for being fast asleep. Such is the world, we find more and more, He who needs most, bolts fast his door, Nor e'en through the lattice does he peep, And when Opportunity knocks, he 's fast asleep. When Wilt Thou Save the People ? Ebenezer Elliott WHEN wilt thou save the people? God of mercy, when ? Not kings and lords, but nations! Not thrones and crowns, but men! Flowers of Thy heart, God, are they; Let them not pass, like weeds, away Their heritage a sunless day. God save the people! Shall crime bring crime forever? Strength aiding still the strong? Is it Thy will, Father, That man shall toil for wrong? " No," say Thy mountains; " No," Thy skies, Man's clouded sun shall brightly rise, And songs ascend instead of sighs. God save the people! When wilt Thou save the people? God of mercy, when? The people, Lord, the people, Not thrones and crowns, but men! God save the people; Thine they are, Thy children as Thine angels fair; From vice, oppression and despair, God save the people! Phyllis Eric A. Darling PHYLLIS, from her latticed casement, Where the climbing roses twine, Plucked a dewy bud one morning, Dropped it from her hand to mine. Butterflies and blooming flowers Helped to make that window gay; Fitting background for the picture Phyllis in her negligee. Just a glimpse of frills and ribbons, Just a memory of a face Framed about in buds and roses, And a cloud of misty lace; Laughing eyes, still dark with slumber, Soft red lips where dimples play, Round white arm, hair in disorder Phyllis in her negligee. At my high desk in the city, Where I earn my daily bread, On the margin of the blotter, There are sketches of a head: Bending o'er the office-ledger, Double-entries fade away, And instead all framed in roses Phyllis in her negligee! Where Art Thou, God ? David Dillard Haggard WHERE art than, God? My soul cried out in longing for the infinite; I long have sought Thy face But to my darkened soul there comes no light. I sought to find Thee, Lord, Among the throng within the marts of trade. Alas, I found not Thee But greed and self 'gainst self and greed arrayed. In search of Thee I scanned the books of men whose names endure. waste of words ! Their thoughts are stale they guess, they are not sure. 1 seek in vain, And in my eyes unbidden teardrops start. I laugh it dawns on me That Thou, God, art ever in the heart. OUT out are the lights out all! And, over each quivering form, ,The curtain, a funeral pall, Comes down with the rush of a storm, And the angels, all pallid and wan, Uprising, unveiling, affirm That the play is the tragedy, " Man," And its hero the Conqueror Worm. Edgar Allan Poe Destiny David Hoyle FA TE holds our lives, and all unseen of us Guides, as with reins, despite our puny strain, To the predestined goal; where garnered hopes In plenteous fruition, all the sweets Of aspiration followed and fulfilled, Ambitions gratified, fears turned to joys, Requited loves, fame, fortune! or despair, Or wreck, or lesser ills (but ills the same) In aspect multiform our coming greet. But goals are starting-points of new careers, Each from, each differing; in aspiring curve Progressing, till equated good and ill Shall balance in a vibratory pause, And coalesce in mystic union! And as twin gases, merged, are crystal dew, They, good and ill, shall each in each absorbed, Thence form one infinite Beneficence! And Fate, at length unveiled, is Love revealed. FRIEND, my bosom said, Through ihee alone the sky is arched, Through ihee the rose is red, All things through ihee take noble form And look beyond the earth, And is the mill-round of our fate, A sun path in thy worth. Me too thy nobleness has taught To master my despair; The fountains of my hidden life Are through thy friendship fair . Ralph Waldo Emerson. Rowena Martha C. Schwartz I AM Rowena, Daughter of the wind, And of the rain And of the sunshine ; Lover of the flowers, And of the trees, And of the brooklets; Sister of the bees, And of the birds, And of the butterflies. My haunts are in the fields, And in the woods, And by the creeksides. I laugh and sing and skip and dance Across the verdant meadows, And let the breeze play hide-and-seek Among my tangled hair. I roam the woods at leisure, I gambol with the squirrels, And with the birds I raise my voice in song. I love to watch the ripples On the waters of the brook, And listen to the music That the passing wavelets make. And on the rainy days and cold, I write and sing and dream. I write about the flowers, And of the birds, And of all nature. I sing their praises in good poetry. I love to hear good music, Sweet music with a soul, Or better still to run my flngers O'er the ivory keyboard And let the quivering melody Sink deep and penetrate My inmost heart. am a dreamer: In Wintertime I dream about the Summer; In Summer, of the fluttering flakes of snow. Yes, I am Monarch of the Earth and Sky. And yet / am their slave. For miles and miles and miles I chase the butterfly, Until, exhausted, down I sink Upon some grassy knoll. For hours and hours and hours, I count the twinkling stars, Until bewildered, mystified, I fall asleep. For days and days and days, I watch the lily-bud That slowly opens into life, Until at last a glorious, fragrant bloom ! I pluck the flower and lo ! A shower of petals at my feet remains. Is there in all this world A greater happiness Than I possess? Can there be sweeter peace Than in my bosom reigns? A greater love can any mortal preach Than I have for these beauteous things ? Hast seen this curious vision All dressed in snowy white, Go flitting o'er the meadows Outwitting coming night ? Hast seen her nimbly skipping Across some rocky crag Or leaping yawning chasms To greet approaching day? Hast heard her joyous laughter Ring through the forest trees, Or echoing from the hillside In soft, sweet melodies? Think not I am a gypsy, An enchantress or insane, I 'm Mother Nature's daughter Rowena is my name. Opportunity John J. Ingalls 8 MASTER of human destinies am I : Fame, Love and Fortune on my footsteps wait, Cities and fields I walk; I penetrate Deserts and seas remote, and passing by Hovel and mart and palace, soon or late, I knock, unbidden, once at every gate. If sleeping, wake; if feasting, rise before I turn away ; it is the hour of Fate, And they who follow me reach every state Mortals desire, and conquer every foe Save Death; but those who doubt or hesitate, Condemned to Failure, Penury and Woe, Seek me in vain and uselessly implore; I answer not, and I return no more. William H. Eddy FOOLISH is he who says that at his door I knock but once, a furtive moment stay, Fearing lest he shall hear, then haste away, Glad to escape him to return no more. Not so; I knock and wait and o'er and o'er Come back to summon him. Day after day I come to call the idler from his play Or wake the dreamer with my vain uproar. Out of a thousand, haply, now and then One, if he hear again and yet again, Will tardy rise and open languidly. The rest, half-puzzled, half-annoyed, return To play or sleep, nor seek nor wish to learn Who the untimely, clownish guest may be. 62 Illusion* Richard Le Gallienne WAR I abhor, And yet how sweet The sound along the marching street Of drum and fife! And I forget Wet eyes of widows, and forget Broken old mothers, and the whole Dark butchery without a soul. Without a soul save this bright drink Of heady music, sweet as death; And even my peace-abiding feet Go marching with the marching street : For yonder, yonder, goes the fife, And what care I for human life? The tears fill my astonished eyes, And my full heart is like to break; And yet 't is all embannered lies, A dream those little drummers make. Oh, it is wickedness to clothe Yon hideous grinning thing that stalks Hidden in music, like a queen That in a garden of glory walks, Till good men love the thing they loathe! Art, thou hast many infamies, But not an infamy like this. Oh, snap the fife, and still the drum, And show the monster as she is. *Courteiy of John Lane Co., owners of copyright. Peace Henry Wadsworth Longfellow WERE half the power that Jills the earth with terror, Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts, Given to redeem the human mind from error, There were no need for arsenals and forts. The warrior's name would be a name abhorred! And every nation that should lift again Its hand against a brother, on its forehead Would wear for evermore the curse of Cain. I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus, The cries of agony, the endless groan, Which through the ages that have gone before us In long reverberations reach our own. Is it, Man, with such discordant noises, With such accursed instruments as these, Thou drownest Nature's sweet and kindly voices, And jarrest the eternal harmonies? Down the dark future, through long generations, The echoing sounds grow fainter and then cease; And like a bell, with solemn sweet vibrations, I hear the voice of Christ once more say, " Peace! " Peace! and no longer from its brazen portals The blast of War's great organ shakes the skies! But beautiful as songs of the immortals, The holy melodies of love arise. The Call of the Vast Oscar A. Triplet HA VE you camped in forests vast and wild That lift the load and leave you child Where the light falls dappled upon the earth, Where the heart is filled with joy and mirth ? Then come with me. Have you roamed in forests where silence prays To knit up the sleeve that business frays? Feeling the forest is your faithful friend Does your longing soul thither trend? Then come with me. Have you slept high up by mountain streams And heard the music that gives sweet dreams Nature's music that can never cease; That always sings of rest and peace ? Then come with me. Have you ever trudged to the top of a trail, Trudged and toiled, till tired and frail, And gazed from the crest And found peace and rest ? Then come with me. Have you stood on mountains peaked to sky, And heard whisperings of God from His throne on high? Then, standing uncovered, the vastness see And the blessing feel ; " Come unto me, And I will give you rest!" Spring Algernon Charles Swinburne HOPE, wide of high and wild of wing, Rose with the sun-dawn of a reign Whose grace should make the rough way plain, And fill the worn old world with spring, And heal its heart of pain. Peace was to be on earth; men's hope Was holier than their fathers had, Their wisdom not more wise than glad. They saw the gates of promise ope And heard what love's lips bade. War after war, change after change, Hath shaken thrones and towers to dust, And hopes austere and faiths august Have watched in patience stern and strange Man's works, unjust and just. As from some alpine watch-tower's height Night, living yet, looks forth for dawn, So from Time's mistier mountain-lawn The spirit of men, with inward sight, Yearns towards a hope withdrawn. ^ The morning comes not, yet the night Wanes, and men's eyes win strength to see Where twilight is, where light shall be When conquered wrong and conquering right Acclaim a world set free. God of Wrath Edward H. S. Terry of wrath, if such there be, As men were taught in days of old, How canst Thou look on patiently At Hate and Murder uncontrolled? Let down the whirlwind and the flood, The lightning and the chastening scourge; Afflict the land that first spilled blood, And out of it let Love emerge. Canst Thou watch on indifferently, When righteous men are put to shame At deeds upon the land and sea Too terrible for any name ? Some say that Thou art impotent, And Gabriel's sword is didl with rust; Stretch forth Thy hand ere Faith be spent; Restore Thy people to their trust. Be Thou the God Thou wast of old, Who crushed Injustice 'neath Thy heel; Indifference hath made men bold, They keep Thy mighty earth a-reel. Still let them know that Thou art God, Nor let Thine awful anger cease Till they, beneath Thy chastening rod, Have learned the perfect way of Peace! High Tide at Gettysburg This beautiful poem was written January, Eighteen Hun- dred Eighty-seven, by Will H. Thompson, of Seattle, Washington, who served in the Fourth Georgia Infantry, C. S. A., and who took part in this battle. A CLO UD possessed the hollow field, The gathering battle's smoky shield; Athwart the gloom the lightning flashed, And through the cloud some horsemen dashed, And from the heights the thunder pealed. Then at the brief command of Lee Moved out that matchless infantry, With Pickett leading grandly down, To rush against the roaring crown Of those dread heights of destiny. Far heard above the angry guns A cry across the tumult runs The voice that rang through Shiloh's woods And Chickamauga's solitudes, The fierce South cheering on her sons! Ah, how the withering tempest blew Against the front of Pettigrew ! A Khamsin wind that scorched and singed Like that infernal flame that fringed The British squares at Waterloo! A thousand fell where Kemper led; A thousand died where Garnett bled; In blinding flame and strangling smoke The remnant through the batteries broke And crossed the works with Armistead. " Once more in glory's van with me! " Virginia cried to Tennessee : " We two together, come what may, Shall stand upon these works today! " (The reddest day in history.) Brave Tennessee! In reckless way Virginia heard her comrade say : " Close round this rent and riddled rag! '' What time she set her battle-flag Amid the guns of Doubleday. But who shall break the guards that wait Before the awful face of Fate? The tattered standards of the South Were shriveled at the cannon's mouth, And all her hopes were desolate. In vain the Tennesseean set His breast against the bayonet! In vain Virginia charged and raged, A tigress in her wrath uncaged, Till all the hill was red and wet! Above the bayonets mixed and crossed, Men saw a gray gigantic ghost Receding through the battle-cloud, And heard across the tempest loud The death-cry of a nation lost! The brave went down ! Without disgrace They leaped to Ruin's red embrace; They only heard Fame's thunders wake, And saw the dazzling sunburst break In smiles on Glory's bloody face! They fell, who lifted up a hand And bade the sun in heaven to stand! They smote and fell, who set the bars Against the progress of the stars, And stayed the march of Motherland! They stood, who saw the future come On through the fight's delirium! They smote and stood, who held the hope Of nations on that slippery slope Amid the cheers of Christendom. God lives! He forged the iron witt That clutched and held that trembling hill ; God lives and reigns! He built and lent The heights for Freedom s battlement Where floats her flag in triumph still ! Fold up the banners! Smelt the guns! Love rules. Her gentle purpose runs; A mighty mother turns in tears The pages of her battle years, Lamenting all her fallen sons! We Live in Deeds Philip James Bailey WE live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths; In feelings, not in figures on a dial. We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best. A Prayer Thaddeus B. Wakeman WORLD, Man, and Soid of M The Endless All; our Holy Three! 1 live and love in work and joy, With Thee in Thee! So may my life to all give meed, As other lives supply my need. To each I dedicate my all, In thought and deed. let me learn to know the True, So that the Good my hand may do That what is life to me shall live The ages through. may my will as thine be done Thy will and mine so closely spun That in the pattern of the years We shall be one. So come our splendid reign of Man Our Paradise of Earth to plan For Each and All; for Me and All. Amen, Amen. War George Beebe "8 NIGHT marshaled up her scattered troops and fled Along the darkened desert of the west, As Morning led her shining armies forth, And took possession of the waking world. My Work Henry Van Dyke 8 LET me but do my work from day to day, In field or forest, at the desk or loom, In roaring market-place or tranquil room; Let me but find it in my heart to say, When vagrant wishes beckon me astray : " This is my work; my blessing, not my doom. Of all who live, I am the one by whom This work can best be done in the right way" Then shall I find it not too great nor small, To suit my spirit and to prove my powers; Then shall I cheerful greet the laboring hours, And cheerful turn, when the long shadows fall, At eventide to play and love and rest, Because I know for me my work is best. k n> The Ladder of Truth Ernest Crosby SIN, justice, fear, an angry Judge with these we are on the lowest round of the ladder of truth. How long the world dwelt there, and how many still look back regretful to those days! One step higher and we find forgiveness and a Father. For most men that is the last word, but we must press upward. Beyond fatherhood and brotherhood we grope toward organic oneness we dimly feel that God is palpi- tating, all-embracing love. *Courtesy of Small, Maynard & Co. The World to the Poet Julia Ditto Young NOW the dull, weary world at last doth rouse From the deep stupor of its opium-drowse And laughs : "A seraph child hath lost his way Among the stars! Come hither, pretty stray What curls, what dimples! Sing again the song That thou wert singing as thou cam'st along, And I will give thee corals, lilies, gold, More treasure than thy little arms can hold, And thou shall rest, and sing for me again. And my cracked pipe shall join the song, and then, If thou must go and wilt no longer stay, I'll garland thee with ivy-leaves and bay, And set thee safely on thy homeward way!" The Maniac s Complaint Stephen Crane " / HAVE heard the sunset song of the birches A white melody in the silence. I have seen a quarrel of the pines At nightfall. The little grasses have rushed by me With the wind-men. These things have I lived," quoth the maniac, " Possessing only eyes and ears. But, you You don green spectacles before you look at roses." The Feller With the Hoe William Colby Cooper BY naich'ral upwardness, the troglodyte Stepped out 'n the ape. This was some time ago. Borned was the troglodyte with club in hand. 'T was fittin, this, fer it was 'noughfer him He made his livin' with the dub. That time 'T was true, society had neither top Ner bottom, fer these was identical. The first of anarchists, the troglodyte, To wear the " big stick," first. The upwardness Kept busy and it come to pass, they was Two children borned, one with a sword within Its hand, and t ' other with a hoe. Both was Consumers, but it is a cranky fact That only one was a producer, and The world swings ever 'twixt the two. The hoe Runs from the field-hoe up, and up, and up Unto that hoe that dug out Hamlet. Now, The hoeless feller, he leans on the hoe The other feller's hoe. He gits along Quite well, thank you. The most importantest hoe 's The hoe that tickles up the sile. 'Thout it, They would n't be no grub; 'thout grub, you know, We 'd lose the hoe itself, and 'thout the hoe, They would n't be nothin' for us but to go Back to the club! The feller with the hoe 's God 's pardner; they work touchin' elbows, and The angels, they look on, and smile and wait. Myrrh Adelbert Clark TONIGHT, the sunset's splendor Has left a tiny bloom; The fairest tint of lavender To break the purple gloom. And from the garden's glory My pretty garden-close. There comes the tender fragrance Of one belated rose. How sweet and calm and peaceful God sends the time of rest, And yet, how oft in sorrow We face the flaming west. We waste the time in worry O'er things misunderstood The things that God the sender Created for our good. We reach across the silence For things that ne'er return; We do not seek contentment, But pray and plead and yearn. We make our loss just double And deepen every woe, Because we cling to Sorrow, And will not let her go! Aurora Borealis Maurice R. Brown BRIGHT, gleaming, flashing beams of Northern Light That darting upwards in the heavens high Doth form a fiery arch across the sky, Imparting mystery and awe to Night, What Menace is there in thy flash for man? Art thou reflections of the flaming sword Whose glittering blade restrained the sinful horde From Eden, where God now had put a ban, Lest they should take the tree of life and eat And live forever, and God perhaps defy, When He condemned all sinful men to die Lest Heaven's plans for men should meet defeat? Is this the secret of the Northern Light? Doth God still keep His angel guarding there To bar the entrance to an Eden fair? Do men think this who brave the Arctic Night? Is this the secret of the North Pole Game? Are there men who think the Northern Pole The tree that everlasting life may dole To them by giving never-dying Fame? A Boy and a Girl Irving Browne A BOY and girl upon the yettow beach Blew shining bubbles in the Summer air; And as they floated off they named them, each Choosing what seemed to him or her most fair. " I name mine Wealth," exclaimed the careless boy; " So may I never have to count the cost, But ships and houses own, as now a toy "; But Wealth was driven far out to sea and lost. " I name mine Beauty," said the pretty girl; " So women all shall envy my fair face, And men shall kneel and beg me for a curl "; But Beauty vanished quickly into space. " I name this Fame," essayed the boy again; " So may I hear my praises every hour, As orator or soldier, sung by men "; But Fame was wrecked against the beacon-tower. " This is Long Life," returned the little maid; " So may I happy be for many a year. Nor be till late of ugly death afraid "; But Long Life broke within a graveyard near. At last twin globules they together blew. And named them Love, as slow they rose on high; The sun shone through them with prismatic hue, Till Love was lost within the glowing sky. Pickett' s Charge (July 3* 1863} Fred Emerson Brooks WHEN Pickett charged at Gettysburg, For three long days, with carnage fraught, Two hundred thousand men had fought ; And courage could not gain the field, Where stubborn valor would not yield. With Meade on Cemetery Hill, And mighty Lee thundering still Upon the ridge a mile away; Four hundred guns in counterplay Their deadly thunderbolts had hurled The cannon duel of the world! When Pickett charged at Gettysburg. When Pickett charged at Gettysburg, Dread war had never known such need Of some o'er mastering, valiant deed; And never yet had cause so large Hung on the fate of one brief charge. To break the center, but a chance; With Pickett waiting to advance; It seemed a crime to bid him go, And Longstreet said not " Yes " nor " No,' But silently he bowed his head. " I shall go forward! " Pickett said. Then Pickett charged at Gettysburg. Then Pickett charged at Gettysburg: Down from the little wooded slope, A-step with doubt, a-step with hope, And nothing but the tapping drum To time their tread, still on they come. Four hundred cannon hush their thunder,