PS 3513 G755w WAlt S, OK POEMS BY BERNARD GRADr *H-^HH Hll-^im IIH 1HI IIII^ II* I WAIFS, OR POEMS j BY BERNARD GRADY NEW YORK E ROBERT GRIER COOKE INCORPORATED MDCCCCVII 1IU Itll IHI IIII II? COPYRIGHT, 1907, BT ROBERT GRIEK COOKE, INC. ROBERT ORIER COOKE, INC., NEW YORK PS" 35/3 FOREITORD . /N this little volume are harvested the first- fruits of my Muse, gleaned at very indefinite periods within the past sixteen months, with the exception of a few early poems; for various- dealing Fortune decreed not I should be a child of leisure and devote my days according to my choice. I partake of the painful uncertainty natural to an unheralded intruder into the sacred precincts of Parnassus, as to the reception his first efforts may receive, and yet am nevertheless hopeful for them, and shall appreciate any indulgence my friends and the public may extend these youthful labors. Till now these thoughts have wrought nothing, nor can so long as they repose in the tray of my trunk; but henceforth they are the world s, since I assume the responsibility of sending them forth, in doing which I believe, if no great good is expressed in them, at least no evil is. I bid them Adieu, believing they will bespeak themselves, and charge them to do what good they can in their pilgrimage. BERNARD EDWARD GRADY. August 30, 1906. CONTENTS PAGE GRIEVING MAY S DEPARTURE i My LOST SISTER 2 RETURN OF SPRING 4 THE TRIUMPH OF EASTER 7 OUR Loss 8 IN ARLINGTON, SWEETLY SLEEPING 10 LOVE S ANOMALY 12 FORTUNE OR LOVE? 15 THE SUSTAINING ANGEL . . . ; 17 WHEN I AM GONE 20 WOULD You? 21 A RESCUED FLY 23 BLEST OF A WOMAN S LOVE 24 YOUR Kiss ABIDETH 25 IF THE HEART BE GOOD 26 LEST IT DEPART 27 DISSOLUTION 29 IF EACH ONE DID His PART 30 WOMAN 32 AFFAIRS OF THE HEART 33 THE HARVEST OF DELAY 34 THIS WORK 35 WHY NOT LET IT SLUMBER 36 TILL I MET You 38 WHY I M SAD TO-DAY 39 BURNING YOUR LETTERS 40 vii CONTENTS PAGE To MAT-TIE . t 40 USING TO-DAT 42 THE POET 43 WHAT Is MY LIFE? 45 DAT BT DAT 46 PREVIOUS DISPOSITION 48 To His MAJESTY, THE SAFETT-PIN 49 WHAT A MAN SHOULD GIVE 50 REJOICE WITH ME 52 HEART DESOLATION 53 THOSE ETES OF BLUE 55 A PASSING FACE 56 LOST 57 Two WORDS 60 YE SILENT STRINGS 63 Do WE DIE BUT ONCE? 66 SPECTATOR OR SPECTACLE 69 A TRIBUTE TO TRUST 7 1 THE DEAD 74 Vlll WAIFS, OR POEMS BY BERNARD GRADY GRIEVING MAY S DEPARTURE Good-by is the word that comes to rest Its weight on the heart of the lightest breast; And wakens the soul to thought of gloom, The word of all words I would entomb. The friend that steals from my side away As all do steal is the lovely May: Fair queen of the months, O why depart! And leave in regret this mutual heart ? So few seem to come with joys as true, As shine from the skies of thy deep blue; Or gleam from the earth in countless eyes And scent all the air where thy way lies. Full short was the day of thy sojourn, And thoughts of the soul to thee will turn; Vain man will recall the solemn truth Thus fleet are the days of love and youth! To-day in the flush of the heat and strife, Absorbed in affairs of this false life, To-morrow gone like the sun that s set, O say, like him shall we rise in beauty yet ? I WAIFS, OR POEMS Sweet May, come again and make us glad, Nor stay long away from the Earth so sad, O come with the joys you always bring, And teaeh us new songs of praises to sing. So soon we too must depart this earth, With its oceans of sorrow and rivers of mirth; May we also bring joy as the May in her bloom, And garner sweet rest past the grave and the tomb. May 25, l! MY LOST SISTER She departed with the summer, Departed to a clime Where the seasons do not vary, Where it s ever Springtime. When nature paled and fell asleep, In her grave in the earth, The sunlight of our home went back To Him who gave her birth. And fain would we have detained her, Had it been our power, But the Planter abruptly called, And reclaimed the flower. 2 BT BERNARD GRADT Reclaimed it to fairer gardens, In beauty there to bloom, And in untainted atmosphere Diffuse its sweet perfume. Why, we asked ourselves, mid our grief, Should she be called so young ? But were rebuked, as came the thought - Thy will, O Lord, be done. Although we comprehend not why Youth should be thus cut down, We know that what is lost in Him Shall some sweet day be found. We believe we shall meet again In a life that succeeds, In a day when convened shall be All nations and all creeds; That to be called away in youth, Pure innocence to vice unknown, Gives more promise than tempted age Of a seat on Heaven s throne. As the poet has truly said, "The grave is not life s goal"; For beyond that gloomy region Else doth await the soul! WAIFS, OR POEMS Then sigh thee not, O troubled heart, For the spirit that has flown, For in a better land it lives, Beyond the starry dome. To-day, while her dust reposes Beneath Linconia s sod, Her spirit, ever blessed thought, Is resting with its God. October, 1899. RETURN OF SPRING Sweet step of Spring, have I thee heard ? And comes that music from a bird ? Has magic transformed nature s face, And called to life what did seem waste ? Or do my eyes and ears deceive ? Far lighter now doth seem my tread, And dulness quick away has fled; And life seems new, and oh, how sweet! What has performed this wondrous feat ? For surely I am not deceived ? Deceived ? why no, not so, my friend, Replies from birds and flowers blend; Thou hath not erred, for she is come, And trees will bloom and bees will hum, And life will conquer death again. 4 BT BERNARD GRADT We come to sound no false alarms, With her that gives to life new charms, Alone come we to do a part In making happy mortal heart; No longer doubt that Spring is come. Foretelling her return again, Since thus you speak my doubts do end. You flee the thought that I m unwise By error of my ears or eyes, And glad am I that I am not. Again, mild one, thou art come back; Awak ning nature marks thy track, By landscapes dead, now fair and green, And dreary days now bright, serene, Which wake the heart to glad response. The birds sing carols mid the trees, And fragrance fills the balmy breeze; The air with dainty music rings, Such as comes not from courts of kings, For God s musicians sound their notes! Once more the sap has upward crept, And plant life wakes enough has slept; Awakes to life, though it be brief, Yet life, since Spring in sweet relief Is come with blessings so divine. 5 WAIFS, OR POEMS Dare ye to say there is no God Who wields o er all His mighty rod ? To nature look and get her proof Unto this great and living truth, That more than man hath done all this! Instinct alone enough affords, To trust in Him Who season s cords Can strike at will to death and gloom, Or better yet, to life and bloom; Which deeds defy the will of man. Fair youth, behold a lesson true, The Spring of Life belongs to you; Fresh now that life and undefiled, On it has Heaven sweetly smiled, Nor turned away because of Sin. In spring s bright days the husbandman Lets seed that s sound fall in his land, And waits to see a worthy yield Of grain, from that sound-seed sown field, When comes the merry harvest time. But having placed therein the seed, He keeps the youthful plant from weed; Keeps fresh the soil about the roots, That harvest days may find the fruits Matured, and from corruption free. 6 BT BERNARD GRADT If you would reap a harvest rife, Be careful of that Spring of Life; Then mould the thoughts! then guide the acts! And set their feet on upward tracks, That terminate at Heaven s gate. So keep bright Springtime in your heart Through winter s gloom and sorrow s smart; And in thy weakness look above, The Seat of Strength, the Seat of Love, Will be your all sufficient aid. May, 1 900. THE TRIUMPH OF EASTER The Lord arose on Easter Day; O Jew, defiance to thy deed! He rose His slayers to redeem, And for all sin to intercede. Defeat, O grave! He burst thy bonds, And came the victor o er Death, To prove that man who rightly lives May live beyond his mortal breath. O Sin, defeat! thy rule is broke, In Resurrection man has hope ; The light now shines the night recedes, And in the dark no more we mope. 7 WAIFS, OR POEMS The gloom that settled o er the land, When undeserving death He bore By hand of man, for sin of man, Is now dispelled forevermore. Because He rose, I too, shall rise; The gloomy grave cannot retain Its burden longer than the burst Of that immortal trumpet strain. Then I will rise, and to my Lord In triumph I shall take my way; And round the throne I ll praise Him e er Because He rose on Easter Day. April, 1901. OUR LOSS A thunder-bolt has fallen on America; both far and near, And wrought by its ill-starred descent, A loss which Earth cannot repair. Vain hope! that led us to believe That Providence would heal his wound, For heart-born words sent up to God Did not receive their much-craved boon. The news that flashed across the wires Each day spoke him recovering, 8 BT BERNARD GRADT But human skill saw not the hand Of Death about him hovering. Thus hope was up till Friday night, And then did skill claim its defeat; The stimulants no longer served To make his noble heart to beat. Again the wires announced the news, So sad that fondest hope was fled, And trusting souls broke down at these Heart-rending words, "Our Chief is dead"! And shall we ask why this should be, And murmur at his loss I pray ? Or with the slumberer in Christ Humbly admit, "It is God s way." Not once did he complain to go, He was prepared to cross the span, No fears did haunt his parting hour, He lived and died a Christian man. Well had he won all life can give To him who climbs nor idle waits, And with a grateful people s love Triumphant passes through the Gates. O God, Thou Comforter Supreme! Console his kin and his dear wife, 9 WAIFS, OR POEMS For whom he rallied e en in Death, And comforted last act in life. Console Thou her, an invalid, Whose grief a nation duly shares, And whisper in her stricken ear, "We ll meet beyond this Vale of Tears." And do Thou guide the sturdy one Who sadly undertakes to steer The Ship of State, whose Captain dead We mourn with Sorrow s bitter tear. And in its present upward path, Give him the grace to guide it on, Which will, when he shall quit the helm, Place him where Love and Fame doth crown. September 23, 1901. IN ARLINGTON, SWEETLY SLEEPING Fair heights above the stream That flows in beauty on, A right fit resting-place are ye, With green and grassy lawn, For those within thy grounds, Who sleep the years away; IO BT BERNARD GRADT Whose ev ry grave, with loving hearts, We gladly deck to-day. Again the flowers come, The noble work to aid, As if against the sacred time Their journey had been made. Long years the union men Alone slept in thy grounds; But sad events of nearer years Are marked by new-made mounds. About thy elder beds More heroes we have lain The victims of another strife, For suffering brothers slain. Together there they lie, Cut down by war s ill breath; The North, the South, the blue, the gray, No longer foes in Death! No war-cry more will come, No sound will rouse their sleep, Nor stealthy scout from foeman s rank By Angel sentry creep. His watch will steadfast be Above that camp so still, II WAIFS, OR POEMS Until the trumpet call shall wake The dead of vale and hill. To these, America, Your station proud you owe; In danger s hour who forward sprang And crushed the awful foe. O Liberty, salute Thy each sustaining son, Who gave his all and laid it by The course he d scarce begunl O Seat of Government, An honor that they sleep Thy portals nigh, to mind us of The blood-bought trust we keep. Sleep on, and take your rest, In Jesus sleep, and trust The proper keeping of your graves To grateful ones to us. May 20, 1902. LOVE S ANOMALY The way of Life would dreary be, Devoid of all its joy and bloom, A state of happiless degree A cheerless stretch unto the tomb; 12 BT BERNARD GRADT But, favored soul, a gift was thine, Whose magic name I scarce need call, Since gladly known to most mankind, To ward away this threat ning pall. Two lives I ve seen forever blest By love s sweet spell which made them one; And through all trials have stood the test, Serenely stood till life was done. And when the shadow fell at last, And Death s lone valley opened wide, This love of Earth, about to pass, Foretold the sweets beyond the tide. Two more I ve seen, where Death stole in And tore away the mutual heart, And from the soul s it might have been, No ray of hope but did depart; And starless night her curtain drew, And over softly smiling skies A somber cloud its mantle threw, And reigned the pain that never dies. Yet Death, thy work is mild to this The crudest fate to which man s heir, To feel the fires of Eros bliss, His soul enflame with fullest share, Whose object ne er can rouse in turn That love which doth his heart enslave, WAIFS, OR POEMS And ever must his spirit burn, Beyond the balm of Earth to lave. O Love! why art thou so unkind ? Thou joy-crowned! why bring us woe ? Affection why so oft to bind To hearts that shed no kindred glow ? Why wreck a life which thou couldst make ? O why! anomaly supreme ? What ghastly pleasure canst thou take In shattering man s ethereal dream ? O echoes of the Nile, awake, And lend my ear your mournful tale; Ye mighty sphinx, in trembling shake, The cry is Cleopatra s wail! A serpent s fang was sweeter meat Than life without her Antony; And Egypt s throne far less could treat, With all its claims for life, than he. Nor is respect to classes shown, Thou dealest with each human soul; And Egypt s queen stands not alone Upon thy ghastly honor roll. Come not my way, if thou wouldst sow Within my heart this bitterness, Pass on, nor let me ever know The awful sting thou dost possess! April 21, 1905. BY BERNARD GRADT FORTUNE OR LOVE? A fate unkind once came between Two lovers and their brightest dream; The future which seemed brightly theirs Threw off her smile and bathed in tears. The maid refused to leave her home, In wedded life afar to roam, For Fortune called the youth away, While Love would have him ever stay. He could remain and know Love s bliss, At cost of worldly fortune s miss, But Fortune played his clouded eyes; Pursuit of her appeared more wise. For chance of earthly fortune gave The rarest pearl this side the grave; And she to Wisdom played the fool, O what home ties true love to rule ? The trees near where they parted told To me one eve, when forth I strolled, The trembling words the stars and they In anguish heard that fateful day. The youth spoke first, and Nature paused As if reversed some hand her laws, 15 WAIFS, OR POEMS And Gods of Night came near and wrote, On fadeless scroll, the words I quote. "When in your eyes no more I slake Love s thirsting glance, my heart will break. In years to come, with spirit gone, I ll plod my dreary course along. "And when Death comes, transporting me To lands where dwells no agony, With joy I ll don his dreaded mask, And quit me of this weary task. " For such is Life, your love without, To mitigate each fear and doubt, To make the troubled wave seem smooth, And sharpest pang as balm to soothe." In vain the list ner tried to speak, And colorless was all her cheek; Forth from her side he calmly went, And Night her sighing breezes lent. And Fortune came, but what its worth, Companioned by Affection s dearth ? And oft he wished he d stayed behind In lesser state with Love entwined. When years were gone in twilight s hour A maiden sat within her bower, 16 BY BERNARD GRADT And mused on days when Life to her An object held without a peer. And as the past came swiftly up, She drank again the bitter cup; And looking on the evening star, Her heart again felt all its fire. But Discipline, full cold and stern, Now bade her mind such thoughts to spurn, To bravely bear the lot she d cast, Nor live again within the past. And as Life drew him to a close, In wakeless sleep they sought repose; Each, from the other, laid afar, To tune of Fate s pathetic lyre. O hearts that love, let fam ly ties, Nor naught besides, between arise, But claim your own, nor know the wage No other claim can e er assuage! May 6, 1905. THE SUSTAINING ANGEL Partakers of life that mortals know, The present ye have the future s before; The past is gone, and many bemoan The use they ve made of the days that are flown. 17 WAIFS, OR POEMS And yet they mean sometime to reform, For vicious man in his wildest career In hours resolves, and the breast grows warm, At thoughts which bring to the eye a tear. Sometimes there falls cross the way he goes A whisper that speaks of peace and repose, And yielding him up to this kind friend, His wayward ways he seeks to amend. The call he had heard, but in his despair Had deem d it a demon to mock his plight, And fled at its sound as the hound-chased hare; But still it came dismissing his night. Within the dark walls of a prison cell An innocent lay and thought it was well; Griev d law had ordain d his life should redress A crime which the actor did not confess. I say, to the last, by unseen arms upborne, He felt that the right must finally win; His friends gave him joy where they meant to mourn, For the guilty came to answer his sin. Ye toilers whose efforts have been your best, Ye living and ye who have gone to your rest, How could you struggle on, nor pause, When your labors met not man s applause ? Did a voice seem to say some coming age Of sounder thought would adjudge their worth, 18 BT BERNARD GRADT Would place your names on the rolls of the sage, And crown your deeds round the fam ly hearth ? A conqueror comes whose name is Fate, On whose wild caprices all things wait; But only a moment last his defeats, In vict ry he trembles he turns and retreats! O bosom! as fast as he wrecks thy domain, And strews long thy track some grief, Hope e er is nigh to whisper again, "Some future will bring you desired relief." Whate er disappointment bedims man s dreams, A common fruition that follows, it seems; At thy sweet sigh away floats the cloud, The soul flings off its impotent shroud, The temporal day becomes less a charm To dazzle the soul and rob it of life; At last we flee from the false and its harm, To the perfect joy, whose parent is strife! Sweet Angel of Hope, when Life s light fades, And flickers out in the Vale s deep shades, Make haste thy bark to the Evening Shore, As a final service to row me o er; Thy cheering presence no more I ll need, To caress a wound or banish a sigh, Where spirits ne er wake to pain and bleed, And the days of repining for aye are by. May 1 6, 1905. 19 WHEN I AM GONE Some future day, when I am gone, I wonder will the world go on; Or if its course and mission will Abruptly stop nor be fulfilled ? I would not have all men to know This probably impending woe, Which might disturb their peace of mind, And thus become in me unkind. So I dismiss the serious thought, For much of worry has it wrought; And try to hope that after all Through space will swing the same old ball. I pray the dwellers on its face Will make of it a better place, And may the years that outlive me Advance the race in harmony! Methinks when in the tomb I lay, I ll wake to hear what men will say, To hear the false who played me friends, As if deceptive were my lens, Unfold the weak, dispar ging traits, So passive at the hands of Fates, Right char tibly my deeds to do, As grants the weakest point of view. 20 BY BERNARD GRADT And yet are they whose lives touched mine And both were blessed and brighter shined; Some kindly act may be was done, Unseen to eyes of most who run, And He who knows how best to praise The things that round out earthly days, A gallant hero took me down, And placed a jewel in my crown. So build your monuments, old Earth, To speak thy sons of manly worth, The few with deeds by chance revealed; But leave unsung the larger field. Content are they none can deny Their obelisks will be as high, When dawns, at last, adjustment s day, And each receive their righteous pay. May 17, 1905. WOULD YOU? I would not wound a heart would you ? Tis such an unkind thing to do; A heart with brightly burning fires, That burn when Death itself expires; And whose enduring flame began When you stooped nigh its glow to fan; A heart that knew you but in trust, O better had the sword been thrust! 21 WAIFS, OR POEMS We long may live and cause much pain, Our crimes may make our days a stain, May cause a loving God to frown, And cast our ransom d spirits down; But scarce can they attain a place That will redound to less of grace Than slighting thought or word or deed, For which some heart will keenly bleed. I hold it equal to the worst, Immortal man can call accursed! And sooner had I led the French, To Moscow s fires they could not quench, And let them perish in the snows, While fleeing from the city s woes, Than plunge in tears a heart of love, The sweetest gift all else above! The trait rous Greek for whom there died Leonidas fair Sparta s pride! And all his band of faithful souls, One infamy no more claim holds! And through the ages I might tell Of ghastly deeds that would repel, Yet be unable to impart A parallel to wound of heart. May 19, 1905. 22 BT BERNARD GRADT A RESCUED FLY Why came ye here without your sphere ? But man oft goes to court his woes, And should not blame in thee the same. Thy brother now just bit my brow, But I ll not by and see thee die; From treach rous cup I bear thee up. He who made me also did thee, And me He gave life past the grave; Beyond the Earth ye know no birth. I, too, once fell, and Christ beheld My helpless state, and ere twas late, With outstretched arm drew me from harm; But His life gave my own to save. In saving thine I give not mine; I know no price or sacrifice, No thorns, no nails, no midnight wails; No blood, no tear, no sepulcher! I am not safe; at times I chafe, On danger s brink to stoop and drink; If some swift tide should reach my side And bear me where no help is near, As this poor fly so should I die. But I believe He will relieve My fainting soul where er it roll. May 26, 1905. WAIFS, OR POEMS BLEST OF A WOMAN S LOVE Me, in the gift of your Love do you bless, Till of the measure no words can express; Scarce can I b lieve I am honored thus much, What in myself such a passion could touch ? Know ye the heart you have given to me ? Think to another it never will flee ? Woman is fickle, and often unwise, Calling as Love a brief fancy that dies. Yet I am willing to take it as true, B lieve thou art guileless as morning s own dew; For you ve agreed to embark in my keeping, Taste of my joy and indulge in my weeping. Kingdoms of Earth, I prefer me to rule Realm of her heart though I sat on a stool, Than to be wielder of powers you hold, If at the cost of her life s least control. Riches ne er smiled long the track of my years Ere she bestowed the rich love that is hers; Nor can you rank with the fortunes of men, Wealth of the type that is mine to the end. Thou who hast sent such a treasure my way May I protect it from going astray, 24 BT BERNARD GRADT Feed it on food that its nature doth crave, Keep it from knowing transfer or the grave. Blasts of the North not again can ye harm, Sun of the Summer become over warm; Ills have known flight on the wings of some dove, Left me secure in a woman s deep Love. June II, 1905. YOUR KISS ABIDETH Dear, do you mind that kiss you implanted, In the beautiful days that are gone, When parting I stood there enchanted, And dreamed of a time too delicious to dawn ? A spirited kiss! a passionate meeting Of lips that united in a holy embrace; With a rapture unwonted my heart was beating, And deeply the blush stole up to your face. Just to tease, your head you turned to the side, By way of protecting the loveliest of portals, And again and again my efforts denied, At last to resign most submissive of mortals. And oh, the sweet vision my heart conjured up! It hallowed the future and gladdened its years; But cold-hearted Fate changed the draft of my cup, And where I supped nectar has left me but tears. 25 WAIFS, OR POEMS In your beauty and grace I knew a delight Which scarcely again to my heart shall unfold, And worshiped as truly as ever did knight In the lost and chivalrous ages of old. But reasons so sacred my heart them must hold, Unkindly enshrouded this dream of our bliss; And yet till in Death they are rigid and cold, My lips shall repine for another such kiss. June 15, 1905. IF THE HEART BE GOOD The years have reflected this truth to my soul That men, at the best, are creatures of mood; Oft given to skirt Equanimity s bowl, From the dish of Life s rubs to partake their food. In vain may they strive not to yield the fight, When trifling events annoy the good will, For who is strong when Perverseness would blight ? Alas, that his reign should govern us still! Since Eden no more is mortal s sweet lot, On the calmest soul some ripples stir; The serenest blood will in times grow hot, To prove of the animal man is a share. The wounds he inflicts when his pets inthrall, Are happ lessly born of a happiless mood; I think we would learn to forgive them all If, searching the heart, we found it was good. 26 BT BERNARD GRADT When our friends forget sometimes to be sweet, And recklessly do unlovely things, If we will recall each manly feat, And not fight back their moods will take wings. I hold it is wrong to condemn as mean The lives that offend while swayed by a mood; And odorous flowers we Pilgrims might glean, In forgetting a hurt when the heart is good. We cannot afford in a life so short, Our tempers to lose for a moment s length, Embitt ring the days that should be fraught In gathering Love and Beauty and Strength; For like unto winds that disturb some bay, And seduce the native calm for awhile, Will the strife nursed of men fly away, And the grave give back the buried smile. June 22, 1905. LEST IT DEPART Death, thou dread retainer on Time, Thou whom I ve shunned I loudly call; To-night will explore thy wildest hall. Too sweet this hour too near sublime! 1 feel some pain its pleasure will mar, And give it the flight of a falling star. Without it care I not to live The days vain memory would bring, 27 WAIFS, OR POEMS To which the merest shades could cling Of what its presence once did give. I d fly a future immersed of tears, Of suff ring for that which no more appears. I trust to chance no duplicate, Lest it should die, I d die me first, O Death, I adore thee whom I ve cursed! Importune thee lest thou be too late; And if e er kind, as some would say, From this sweet scene enfold me away. But hark! I hear an Angel say, "Thou timorous soul it may not be, From Life s mingled lot thou canst not flee, Upon its stage each part must play! Nor do joys bloom forever of life, Thy spirit must needs be known to strife. " Tis wicked to wish for premature Death, Afraid of what the future hath To strew along the unknown path, Afraid regrets will tinge its breath; To lull the heart with its rapture at noon, Though Mercy demand indefinite swoon. "Of Life tis apart go meet thy fate; A sorrow but addeth a deeper tone, In touching a life where joys have blown, 28 BT BERNARD GRADT And beneath its cross springs much that s great; Live on, and discipline thy soul If it stays or flees this joy you hold." July 2, 1905. DISSOLUTION Some morn my pen I ll lay aside, Among these scenes no more to bide, Will bid farewell unto my Muse, And mingle with the dust and dews; That which struck awe to eyes of men, The meanest worm shall conquer then, And passions which my bosom swell, The falling clods shall sound your knell. And then my Soul so long confined, And made to dwell mid passions wild, These alien cords shall cease to bind Your life to things that would beguile; Then thou shalt know thy true abode, Which in thy visions thou hast seen, When throwing off thy mortal load Thou dar dst to peep beyond the screen. Yet there be creeds which men would claim Are founded on the truest rock, Supported of Christ s holy name, Whose attributes they grossly mock. 29 WAIFS, OR POEMS They tell us some immortal Souls Shall be forever burned of fire, While some shall reach the Heavenly goals, And bliss eternally acquire. I feel, if waking mid that weal, I find some whom I love amiss, By whose fair sides I might not kneel, And claim them with a long-lost kiss, That in some hopeless other state, Where nothing reigns but keen despair, Their paths had known an opening gate, No fullest joy could be my share! For all their creeds I not believe That God thus deals with Souls of men; His Love is mighty to reprieve, And He will exercise it then. We all are creatures of His will, And equal in His eyes appear; The Love that made will keep us still, And no discrimination share. July 5, 1905. IF EACH ONE DID HIS PART If each one did his separate part There d be no overburdened heart, No brother sink beside the road, 30 BY BERNARD GRADT Because he bore a double load. This would mean duty to all men As duty comes within our ken, And if her laws we did not break, To few regrets our hearts would wake. There is that in us which would do This honest part if we were true; Man erreth not through lack of sight, In knowing which of ways is right, Because he stoppeth not to think Of what great purpose he s a link, Which has a pressure to sustain As great as any in the chain. But for a blunder some one made There ne er had charged the Light Brigade; That fatal day of Waterloo, When great Napoleon withdrew, Might not have been had Blucher s speed Been equal to the hour s need. Tis true this part no fame may bring, And we may court its charming ring; Earth s honors are but fleeting things, To which no lasting flavor clings, As fickle as they who bestow The flow ry garland on thy brow, And may be ere its blossoms pale, Thy right to wear it will assail. My wish would be to do my share, No matter what its burdens were, 31 WAIFS, OR POEMS So none might weep or suffer pain Because my yoke on them had lain; And dying bed will softer lay, If thus I close my earthly day. August 12, 1905. WOMAN A woman has inspired my best wrought deeds, And any heights I ve climbed I climbed for her; Her heart have found the sweetest of all creeds, To win her smile to me was action s spur, No eloquence of man like it could stir! And yet when she an evil angel came, My soul forgot all good it ever knew; If she could sin I scarce could see the shame, And sweet the sin I stooped with her to woo, I sometimes think almost too sweet to rue. Had I to good account the moments turned, That in her witching presence I have spent, I know that higher heights I might have earned, But doubt if I would be the more content; And what I thus have missed do not repent. I pray that she will always come my way, And shape my life as she has heretofore, And I will share with her my fullest day, 3* BT BERNARD GRADT And if I reach a star she too shall soar; With her I have no fear of what s before. O woman! when I close my earthly days, May thy sweet tones be last to greet my ear, Let thy fair face adorn my dying gaze, Until the gath ring shadows it shall blur, And Heaven dawns; than thee alone more fair! August 19, 1905. AFFAIRS OF THE HEART If affairs of the heart run smoothly along, What a diff rence it makes in this life that we live! How it lightens the tasks that the hours give, And makes the world seem a bower of song. For who may be sad when loved and in love ? Are not the emotions all subject to one ? Dependent on which as the planets the sun, If the life of the heart in harmony move. But Love is bound by no law to stay And control the passions productive of woe, Unless of himself full measure he know; In all the world he takes no other pay. Let Love depart, and the ballast power is gone, The scenes it softened are strenuous now, And droops the head that disdained to bow; Like a ship without rudder, the heart flounders on. 33 WAIFS, OR POEMS Tis this if a wish you d have from me, May ever the things of thy heart go well; May Love therein full largely dwell, And the burdens of life will rest lightly on thee. September 3, 1905. THE HARVEST OF DELAY Not even Sleep will come and save My soul awhile from pain, And call it from its fond hope s grave, Where ling ring is in vain. I followed where Ambition led, And bade me win the world, And while I rushed on in his tread I loved a winsome girl. I spoke no word of love to her; I meant to make it known, And little dreamed my doom so near, The chance so nearly flown! While I was winning what is naught, Unless her love adorn, A wiser one the rosebud sought, And left me but the thorn! She is another s; yet I feel My love for her is fresh and strong, 34 BY BERNARD GRADT And nightly when in pray r I kneel, I wish her life a song. It may be wrong to love her now, If so, I sin each day; Alas! two hearts to one should bow, For one in grief must pay. September 10, 1905. THIS WORK It is a joy Which should alloy, The sternest toil we meet to-day, To know it true, This work we do Is unreceptive to decay. For good or ill It ever will A certain cognizance receive; For action live And char cter give To deeds the future will achieve. There lived a race Whose work we trace In the time-enduring pyramid; Some unborn day 35 WAIFS, OR POEMS Will homage pay To us, whose work no less can be hid. These hands that rear Must soon forbear, And fold themselves in final pause; But what they raise Abides all days Immune from Time s ephem ral laws! All that is wrought Is first a thought, Within the mind first had its form; And that is why It may not die, For Death the mental cannot harm. And men alone By works are known; All we may be in them shall show: And truth they tell, If ill or well, Their measure we cannot forego. September 17, 1905. WHY NOT LET IT SLUMBER Why should you come my way and stir afresh The fires of that all most extinguished passion, 36 BT BERNARD GRADT Which through these months I ve labored hard to crush, And teach the painful lesson of submission ? Full long I starved it and deemed it must be dead; Ah! what else can endure such time without food ? As tenacious as Byron s, I find it had not fled; By a single glance its vigor was renewed. Only a look what power could it yield To add fresh fuel to the smoldering flame, Which deep in my heart I thought I had concealed, In a stubborn effort to defeat its claim ? We are told to starve by way of disposition, A passion to which disappointment is given, But virtueless I hold the proffered prescription, In fairness of test its fallacy have proven. The pang of hopeless love is that it remains To sadden and lessen the fullest after hour; To dull the ear to Music s noblest strains, Or blind the eye to Beauty s witching power. Twere merciful if the heart could love again, Could forget by whom its passion was undone, And bow to one of the many in the train Of hearts its fervor could have easily won. And yet that life will aspire to approach the worth Of a love the heart has entertained in vain, And the new ideals which thus acquire their birth Must surely prove the nature s gen ral gain; 37 WAIFS, OR POEMS So Love cannot be fruitless; it must reward Whoever lets it enter in his heart; From its encounter we may turn away scarred, But of the Universe a nobler part! September 28, 1905. TILL I MET YOU Not always seemed the world so bright as now There was a time when days were much the same, Beyond whose tasks to soothe my weary brow No real sufficient object could I name. To dull existence I had learned to bow And thought my heart incapable of flame; But, dear, there came a day when I met you, And life addressed herself to me anew. I had not lived till then, for life pertains To days whose passing records growth of soul; I knew you but to strive for higher planes, And purpose came to combat sin s control; My heart attuned itself to joyous strains, And moments breathed with interest manifold. O, had I known you earlier, those years Had not been wasted, dear not shed these tears! I know if love for you had touched me not, Much less of good my nature had revealed; I should have striven less to raise my lot; 38 BY BERNARD GRADT To best in me has God, through you, appealed; And my old self lies buried on the spot Whence thou appeared; and most its wounds are healed. The sum of all the years my past life knew Meant less than one, since I met you. October 17, 1905. WHY I M SAD TO-DAY Why am I sad to-day ? canst thou not guess, Dear Evelyn ? for thou art good at such, And knowest somewhat this moody heart, beside; Whose varied feelings I ve confided much, Because a common cord they seemed to touch; Then try, and if thou fail I will confess. " Perhaps some dreamed-of fame has been denied r Some friend proved faithless to the name ? The motive of some impulse been belied ? Or does that painful knowledge urge its claim Of something loved which cannot long abide ?" Tis that; I m sad that summer s end is nigh, And though she comes again with charms as great I m not consoled, for not as now this heart will be; Some freshness shall be lost beneath the weight Of seriousness that fading hopes create. And when she spreads again before my eye Some loved ones may be lost to time and me, 39 WAIFS, OR POEMS Whose presence gave a charm to dullest things, Or heightened that of flower, sky, or tree; And thus the joy I find in what she brings Shall nevermore attain the same degree. October 27, 1905. BURNING YOUR LETTERS Too sweet, too tender, to burn, are they, These words you penned in fancy s sway, Thinking close to the heart they lay; And yet are they but painful fetters Of a ling ring passion that should be dead, That should, as the summer that gave it, have fled, And this is a source on which it has fed, These false and vainly-treasured letters! Once more let me read them, once more their lines trace, As we turn again to the sleeper s face, Ere the grave engulfs its beauty and grace; Thus would I view once more these letters. And calmly then will I watch the flame Devour your thoughts, and even your name! Nor any more your fickleness blame, But forget it all in the fate of these fetters. November 17, 1905. TO MATTIE Most lovely didst thou appear to-night, But not for me those eyes shone bright, 4 BT BERNARD GRADT As if twere Love that gave them light; And yet not Love since your fickle heart Could scarce be pierced by Cupid s dart, But finds delight in the empty game To which flirtation owes its name. More beautiful thou than Juliet! Whose charms by thine had quickly set; And hadst thou been a Capulet s guest, With thee his suit had Romeo prest, And the great love tale of Shakespearian fame Had made thy own its heroine s name. But I forget : scarce were it fair Such varied hearts to thus compare, And with you there, that tragic end To their young lives had never been; His love you had taken not to re-give, Nor Juliet had ceased to live. I wish you had been there, then I Haid saved myself full many a sigh. Fair Lady, success I give to thy art, But weep for the day when thy surfeited heart Shall tire of its game and seek in vain To arouse a feeling of a tender strain. If then I be near, but let me know, If comfort I can bring to thy woe, But alas! I fear a heart thus waste, For the joys of life has lost all taste. November 18, 1905. 41 WAIFS, OR POEMS USING TO-DAY Another day! oh, may I strive, While yet it stays to be alive, To waste no more the pregnant hours By trifling with my various powers, Allotted me to cultivate and use, And not to stifle by abuse. Some days were lost before I learned What energies within me burned; I longed for strength to accomplish things, While in me slept the hidden springs Of force, untapped; enough to dispose Of any task life might disclose. As the cocoon bursts at length his shell, So man throws off his lethargic spell, And to-day is here! and I am strong To face whate er it brings along. To know how to use it is knowledge supreme; The solution of life s problem, I deem. It contains some needs so very great, A morrow cannot compensate; A word to-day may urge some on When from their bosoms hope has gone, May relieve the heart that breaks to-morrow Beneath the burden of its sorrow. The wretch whose deeds had cast him down, Might not repose beneath yon mound, If I had stooped and helped to raise 42 BY BERNARD GRADT Him from the level of his ways; But all the tears I now may shed Shall call him not from his lowly bed. It passes but once along my way, Then let me make it all I may, Deferring not its tasks till to-morrow, For days from days should never borrow, Since each is too full of its own affairs To make up what another defers. November 28, 1905. THE POET Do you wonder he bends above the flower so long, Nor mindeth the presence of the passing throng; Or what can so win him in the song of the bird, Whose melody no cord in thy heart has stirred; Why steals he away to walk by the murmuring shore, As though its waves imparted some tangible lore; What charm he can see in the ruin d and broken arch Which perished nations rear d to Glory s march; In musing on which his eyes with tears are filled, And the heart throbs wildly and will not be stilled ? Thou canst perceive no cause for such emotion As oft perturbs his soul like winds the ocean. 43 WAIFS, OR POEMS In the lowly life of insects int rest he finds, You deem it but an idle employment of minds. So the author of the Chambered Nautillus discerns Material for a poem of deepest concerns; From the nature of this strange denizen of the sea He gathered a lesson of immortality! On the stars of heaven thou hast seen him gaze, As though his soul would mingle with their rays; And in such abstract moments o er his face Unwonted expression thou hast seemed to trace, As if of Earth he ceased awhile to be And held communion with Infinity. In fact a creature so differing from you, In vain you have tried his nature to construe. Physical type pronounces you akin, But oh, how opposite the life within! Needs on his soul in those hours of musing wait, Transcending thy power to appreciate. You may have deem d him alone in his moments apart From the contact of man, if so, mistaken thou art. 44 BT BERNARD GRADT A spirit pervades those spots where he seems alone, And gives them a life essential to his own. He is no less than a favor d child of the Muse, And bathes his soul in her refreshing dews; Who lifts his eyes beyond this passing scene, To catch a glimpse of Heaven s fadeless sheen. So let him dream for lowly Earth may rise On wings of some his thoughts till it cleave the skies. December 13, 1905. WHAT IS MY LIFE? What is my life ? I have not your love; What were all the treasure of the Earth beside ? To me it could no blessing prove, With this one gift denied. What can it mean but a weary flight Of empty years ? whose raven wings are all too slow In bringing on that unconscious Night, Whose kindly touch shall lull my woe. In vain your sun shines bright, O Day! Upon my head; or your sweet-scented zephyrs blow; In vain you spring, O flowers of May! Though once I loved you so! But ah! since then a fairer form Has filled my eye and left no room for aught beside; 45 WAIFS, OR POEMS Forgive my heart! tis not less warm Than then, but solely occupied By one less mindful of me than you; Yet won me from you and all that e er could please Ere its beauty met my view, To be the shrine of my loyal knees. O could I return to that olden time Before my heart had narrowed the orbit of its love! And barred the portal to joy s clime, By fixing one object therein to move. When people and things could win its affection, And fill each passing day with more for which to live, And just beyond that Present s benediction Stood the future, with so much to give! But one bright dream had not then come To eclipse the rest, and then yes, then itself to fade; Whose very conception was fraught with doom! What did I, Eros, this curse should be laid ? January I, 1906. DAY BY DAY Gaining a little day by day, In the way that leads to purer living, Despite these lusting bonds of clay, And all the soul s arrayed misgiving. 4 6 BT BERNARD GRADT Subduing self and its attributes, Which sadly hinder man s advance, And feed him on their bitter fruits, What time he yields to their fatal trance. Learning pursuit of baser things But wakes in the heart it pleased, disgust, Which resolves itself into timely wings, On which we mount above our lust; But by degrees, as the nestling learns To gently tempt the unknown air, Which soon its strengthened pinion spurns, As confidence replaces fear. Nor need is there to despair because At times we mark not the gain we make; For tis as true as Nature s laws, That upward steps we daily take. Think how slow the coral grows, Deep buried beneath the ocean s waves, And how its beautiful branches compose A million animalcula s graves; Whose purpose is seen but in their death, Which like their life is not in vain, For when we pluck their sepulchral wreath, Beauty and Art are in the gain. Each forward step each Virtue acquired, Which marks the growth of Mind and Soul, 47 WAIFS, OR POEMS Denotes some Passion at last out-warred, And taught to submit its blighting control. And thus like the coral the temples we build Are founded on graves on Passions subdued; With which we warred until they were killed Until we had drunk their hearts best blood! We will not retreat! but still war on And gain new ground each coming day; Until the Morn of our triumph shall dawn, And eternal peace succeed to the fray. January IO, 1906. PREVIOUS DISPOSITION By some cold critic I may be reproved, Because full oft twas Love my lyre has moved; Why not dispose of him in anticipation, And save him the trouble of his declamation ? I might bid him turn to Greece s lyrical son Beloved of the amorous Muse Anacreon; And note the theme which did his pen engage, And kindle with delight his matchless page; Twas Lovel and hence the charm of what he wrote, Whose accents down the brow of ages float. And Byron s master stanzas charm us so, Because they breathe with Passion s fiery glow. But for the pow r of Love how sad to thee! Without its richest verse the world would be. Or what writes Wilcox in these latter times, BY BERNARD GRADT Comparing with her early love-born rhymes ? I tell you they shall still enrapture the heart, Though all her host of didactic ones depart! The claims of the Muses always best appeal Addressed to the heart; the source of what we feel. Let bard no more the heights of Parnassus ascend, When Love forgets with the chords of his harp to blend! For dull and pulseless and uncolored all Are thoughts the mind, free of the heart, can call. These respirations of my youthful pen Most part are sentimental; but what then ? The facts concerning poesy all prove The kind that best can please is that of Love. Should my Muse again unfurl her wing, I shall, as best I can, attempt to sing; And though within the heart the subject rise, Tis well; its source I never can despise. January 14, 1906. TO HIS MAJESTY, THE SAFETY-PIN Although we ve been acquainted long, And other themes my pen has done, Not once have I burst into song To count the honors thou hast won. And thus it is we oft neglect To give a word of kindly praise To what deserves our best respect, And proves the stay of needy days. 49 WAIFS, OR POEMS Thus far I ve lived a bach lor s life, Which is of some discomforts cursed, But dawns its day of deepest strife When from their places buttons burst! And oh! thou e er didst intervene To save me from embarrassments; Wert ever near to come between, When buttons severed from my pants. Have held me up as best you could, When other friends have turned aside From my distress, and heartless stood, On whom, in thought, I had relied. Some day I may be married, and Most likely will discard you then; But while I live I never can Forget how true a friend you ve been! And this event, if it transpires, May not defeat our intercourse, For husbands, if they be not liars, At times still make thee their resource. January 1 6, 1906. WHAT A MAN SHOULD GIVE A man should give more than merely a name To her who gives him her heart and its love; 5 BY BERNARD GRADT To manhood he should have established a claim Sufficient that gift s protection to prove. His name should be honored where spoken of men, In token of worth its bearer has shown In moments of trial. How behaved he then ? With, the best of his fellows held he his own ? Is he working out some purpose in life Whose end is Honor, Fortune, or Fame ? If so, thou art safe in becoming his wife And shall do well in owning his name. For his is the way that leads to the best That life can give to the earnest soul, Which denies the right on its laurels to rest While remains unchallenged a higher goal. And oh, what chance to develop the good And beautiful traits thy nature reflects, And give greater scope to thy womanhood, To consort with a man a Lord of his sex! The man makes the name the bright thing it may seem, Its charm is not native but simply a dower; In him who bears it exists the beam Which reflects on his title a grace and power. Thou hath not gain d in exchanging thy name For one of a listless son of the Earth, Who not as yet has asserted his aim To prove to the world his genius and worth. 5 1 WAIFS, OR POEMS Then be not content with merely a name; Demand of thy suitor a supplement Of worth, or promise of worth, with the same, Before thou pitchest with him thy tent. February 4, 1906. REJOICE WITH ME Rejoice with me that I am young! As I rejoice with all who are; With all whose hearts are lightly strung, And quickened by an inward fire, Which prompts each action, right or wrong, Of which it stops not to inquire. O careless, trusting time of youth! When only heart-throbs measure truth. O pardonable illusion, thou, Which led some men to sweetly dream Of a hidden Fount where Age might bow And bathe, and her lost youth redeem; But diff rent youth it did endow Which knew no end to her regime; And Time, her fickle paramour, She spurned, and exiled from her shore. Alas! we know twas but a fable, That only prudent living can Disclose the means by which we re able To stay this period of man; 52 BT BERNARD GRADT But youth to prudence is a rebel; Then how shall we apply the plan ? Youth, thou suicide! be thou more tame; By thy excesses thou devour st thy flame. And now is the glowing time of Love; O! who shall spurn that time s strange power? Tho fatal to future peace it prove, Of all our life tis the sweetest hour. Who cares for love that cannot move The heart ? the kind which is the dower Of Age, when sentiment is dead, And the passionless mind controls instead. Small cares the days can bring me now, With bonny youth yet by my side; 1 deem no cloud shall dark this brow While in my heart she doth abide; When I would weep, she contrives somehow To circumvent the rising tide, And sends some pleasure to divert The heart that fancied it was hurt. April 12, 1906. HEART DESOLATION O for a great love of a great woman, To enter my life and reclaim its forces From the nightmare of their lawless courses, 53 WAIFS, OR POEMS To a plane above the vulgar human! Is the cry my heart multiplies in vain, Then dashes into intemp rance again. Will she ever come ? or is she lost to Earth, And on some other Planet has her birth ? At times I ve thought her a fabled creation, A vision of the heart in its desolation; And again in misty distance I seem to trace Her seraph form, as she walks to my embrace; And when she is here, good-by to the siren throng, With hearts for whomsoever comes along. Twas folly, my heart, to fancy for long that these With their false and transferable affections could please; From the first thou demanded a truer glow Than negotiable bosoms can e er bestow. Though their arts engaged thee for awhile The softened word and mechanical smile, Thou art sick of it all; yet where canst thou flee In all the wide world that these shall not be ? Yet hope thee; as the Pharaoh s daughter Found Moses cribbed beside the water, And saved him from her father s brute decree, So yet may this true woman rescue thee; And give thee in her great pure heart a home, Beyond whose gates thou ne er shall care to roam; By which the palace of the Egyptian king That housed the Hebrew babe were a paltry thing. And irrigated by her great womanhood s love, Thy desert shall become as the Vale of Nile, 54 BT BERNARD GRADT Where harvest upon harvest doth swiftly move, By nature s novel plan of enriching the soil. No more would rise thy cry for mortal need, Her love would be thy universal creed, Solving the problems Life and Death array, And robbing Skepticism of its prey. Cry on, my heart, who could reverse thy fate Has heard thee not; or else she tarries late. April 29, igo6. THOSE EYES OF BLUE Turn away from me those eyes of blue, For oh! there s danger in their gaze; The greatest danger man e er knew, The pow r to bless the pow r to craze. None meet them to depart their ways As calm as they had been before; Upon the heart their image preys, As sweetheart s eyes watch from the shore The ship which hence her lover bore. Too long for future peace, I fear, Those eyes have looked into my own, If these disquietudes which stir My heart, true witnesses depone. O sweetest eyes! come and atone The deed, and give me back my peace, 55 WAIFS, OR POEMS Or else my presence but prefer, And joy is mine beyond increase, A joy no wealth of Earth could lease. May 1 6, 1906. A PASSING FACE You looked into my face and passed your way, Which has not been my own since that sweet day, And oh! the thought it nevermore may be, Is fraught with sorrow to this heart of me. O Time and Fate, shall our two paths twice blend, Ere we this mortal pilgrimage do end ? No one saw our greeting, yet we spoke, As ship hails sister ship, our souls awoke, And silently embraced; then tenderly Put each away, perhaps till Eternity; Well knowing the while we were each other s own, Kindred as two roses one bush has blown. To the hard law that Circumstance had made For us, we bow d, though times I did upbraid This false God, for cruel as Death is he, And makes things other than what they should be. To conquer him the soul must battle do So great that the victorious are but few. And, unknown one, I ve thought if down life s track We could have gone the journey arm in arm, 56 BY BERNARD GRADT On more refulgent deeds I might look back, Which love of you had led me to perform. This was denied me, and even your name and sphere, But to know you are, makes the Universe more dear. June 15, 1906. LOST Oh, for the woman my fathers knew! Whose heart to the call of her sex was true; And lived her destined life. No more she deems it her chief duty to be A mother with children aplay at her knee, A loved and loving wife. Behold to-day! she s abroad in the world, By the side of man her banner is furl d, Pitting herself gainst strife; Crowding him out from the things he has done Through all the hundreds of years that are gone, Unfulfilling her life! Acquiring a bold and masculine front, In place of the ways which were her wont, Transmuting her woman s nature; Becoming a man in thought and in deed, Which is to descend from a flow r to a weed, From a pure to a vulgar creature. Once man could retreat from himself and his cares To that inviolate kingdom of hers, 57 WAIFS, OR POEMS Of wife and motherhood; Whose life was all apart from his own, To the sin and strife of the world unknown; And have his strength renewed. And then to the call of his life go out, With heart more pure and sweet and stout. For what was left behind, To cheer again his return at eve With love which knows not to deceive, And which we do not bind. Poor man! these things are sadly chang d, And woman s thought from home estrang d, Which now becomes a name; And yet they say it holds him not, And that his duty is forgot, Nor own themselves to blame. For her who ne er has known the bliss That lives within her baby s kiss, My heart runs o er with tears; For she has missed the sweetness of life, And with her nature been at strife, And great are her arrears. I d say to her with desires to achieve Some position which Fame shall interweave With his uncertain self; For which her name will ring a day, 58 BT BERNARD GRADT Then like a bell tone fade away, Go put them on a shelf! Let Nancy Stair s solution of life, Who denied her genius to be a wife, With babies at her breast, And put away her much-loved pen That she might be a mother of men, For you the question test. That there were more such women as she! Scotland! art thou not proud to be The land that gave her birth ? Who gave you song, and more, her blood Transmitted in a holy flood, In legacy to earth. That unborn son of yours may shame In deeds the greatest prev ous name, Which hist ry hands us down; Thetis son may disrepute, Or e en a Caesar s fame refute, Though great be their renown. For him the world is dying fast, Oh! bear him ere the need be past, Which he the best can fill; Behold therein your noblest work, Nor more aspire to petty clerk, And bid your heart be. still. 59 WAIFS, OR POEMS You cannot still its cry for children I And know ye tis a mighty omen No woman can afford To spurn; though all the world be given, Not till in child-birth she has striven Shall happiness reward. June 30, 1906. TWO WORDS There are two words which do convey Unto my soul supremest doom, And were they tangible, I d slay And place them in the deepest tomb. The crime of Cain reiterate, And think as Brutus that the deed, Like his to Caesar, were expiate In the prevalency of its need. These fatal words are these, "He failed"; Alas! of man they should be said, Whose obstacles should be assailed And crushed e en as the serpent s head. And only have men failed because They lacked the knowledge of their power To overwhelm all hostile laws And circumstances of the hour 60 BY BERNARD GRADT Wherein they wrought; which known, they d scorn The instruments of their defeat, And wish they ne er had been born Than such profound reproach to meet. Should the wolf dispute the lion s path And drive him from his purposed way, Who in his hour of anger hath The pow r to make all beasts his prey, How should we scorn that lion! and take From him his ancient reputation; But he s self-known, nor e er will quake And lose his dignity of station. The man who fails deserves like scorn. As easily as the lion defeats His enemies, each man that s born Can crush the obstacles he meets. His pow r is greater than the gods Which olden Greece and Rome adored, For they have held their last synods, Past mortals call forever soared. At least did ne er exist but in His fancy, which created them; And the creator needs have been Yet greater than his peopled realm. 61 WAIFS, OR POEMS He has awakened from his night Wherein to plural gods he bow d, And seeing with a clearer sight, But one true Deity allow d. Oh, let him not disgrace Him then, By ill-directing the energies Which he hath amply given men To use in their necessities. His highest creature was not made To turn aside from hindrances, More than the avalanche hath play d Around its course s rocks and trees. But dashing through them sweep along Undaunted till the goal is won, While they shall bruised and bleeding throng And ask the way that he has gone. The man who fails commits a crime On which no pardon doth await; Not in Eternity nor Time Shall that offense be expiate. How should he fail whom God has given Such ample pow r with which to win ? A mind almost as high as heaven, Though oft debased to depths of sin. 62 BT BERNARD GRADT Oh, may the day come quickly on When man shall know his proper power, Then on his efforts there will dawn Success; and failure fly his bower. Shall those same words be said of me Who here my hate for them declare ? Ah no, it must not shall not be! Their ignomy I will not share. September 2, 1906. YE SILENT STRINGS Composed upon viewing a collection of stringed instruments in the National Museum at Washington. Collected here from many climes, Ye strings of other days, I m dwelling now upon the times That echoed to your lays; The days that Minstrelsy did live To lighten care with song, And call man forth full oft to give Himself to Pleasure s throng: Ere love of gold preferred its claim And vetoed lighter arts, Ere it enslaved in awful shame The tuneful notes of hearts, 63 WAIFS, OR POEMS And transformed man to a machine To manufacture gold, Which is the end his life the mean; How basely is it sold! Ye silent strings, where are the hands That once thy numbers told ? Do they strike chords on other strands On instruments of gold ? Did their souls taste for music grow Beyond your pow r to yield, Till ye consented they might go And seek an equal field ? Where are the lips that love s sweet note In ecstasy did breathe ? Does Love still on its object dote, Or is this death a Lethe ? And where those eyes ? forever closed ? No more acquaint with tears ? Answer, Death! twas you deposed The beauty which was theirs. Arouse, ye drowsy strings, and tell Me as in tears I gaze, Where are the hearts that once did swell Unto thy buoyant lays ? Beyond the placid sunset shoals Did Death their home bestow, 6 4 EY BERNARD GRADT Where ignorance no more controls, And they life s myst ry know ? Reply of you in vain I seek, Ye deeply-slumb ring strings; Will ye no more forever speak, Ye speech-disdaining things ? Or would your tones break in a wail Too sad to greet my ear, For times and forms beyond the Vale Where floweth mortal tear ? Adieu, sleep on, your work is done; And no mean work it was; Ye gladdened hearts: beneath the sun Preferred is he who does. If aught ye know of their abode Who once your patrons were, No more I ask it be bestowed Upon my hungry ear. In His good time Who knoweth all Much shall unfolded be, Of things which darkly now befall, And puzzle you and me. And I believe He lets us see As far as it were good; And where the limitations be, Tis best for us they should. September 7, 1906. 65 WAIFS, OR POEMS DO WE DIE BUT ONCE? Must one forego his breath and lie A senseless form before man s gaze Ere he be credited to die ? Ah no! death comes in other ways. Not till reclining on our bier Do we confess to mortal death; But oh! the deaths that often tear The soul, untestified in breath. For there be lips that scorn to ope And tell the anguish that s within; Those who prefer alone to cope, And unassisted fall or win. And many graves their spirits know, From which, Christ-like, they rose again, To live despite the taunt and blow Of crucifying fellow-men. Scarce man has lived but has not been A murderer! maybe unhung, And yet full guilty that dark sin, For words or deeds of his that stung To death the heart on which they fell. And this death s violence passeth that Which e er to eye was visible, Where signs of common death have sat. 66 BT BERNARD GRADT For some do pass as peacefully As sink to sleep the weary; Embrace their change so gracefully We scarce would wish them tarry. But like to pangs of that sharp kind Dropp d from the womb of Gethsemane, Where agony did exit find In excrement of blood s degree, Are these same deaths we inly die. They are no bastard progeny! Would st speak with them when they draw nigh ? They ll answer to Gethsemane! Gethsemane! wilt thou ne er cease To get thee more posterity ? Hath not thy bountiful increase Attested thy fertility ? I must be careful lest I kill By some unkindness or neglect, Or ills ingratitudes distil, Some spirit meeting my contact. For some are tender as the first Frail flower that salutes the spring; At lightest shocks their heart strings burst; They vibrate to each passing sting. Such depth of sensibility Their finer temper ments contain, 67 WAIFS, OR POEMS That acts of slightest enmity Present to them aspects of pain. This death s rare wealth in Precedent Extenuates its bitterness To us in order consequent, For His great sympathy doth bless! I crave it for the fellowship Its visitation guarantees With Him who to his conquer d lip Press d death s sharp cup of agonies! And as in that dark hour was given The strength to conquer over pain, When I have similarly striven, His aid shall not be sought in vain. I not disdain the sepulchers That in my bosom find repose: They represent spent blood and tears And triumphs that a spirit knows! We die, but like the Phoenix rise From our own dust, in grand defy, And purified, since all dross dies In tests where essence must reply. October 15, 1906. 68 BT BERNARD GRADT SPECTATOR OR SPECTACLE I would not choose to walk the way of life Without a thorn to wound my treading feet, For if it have no fellowship with strife, The rest it leads unto will be less sweet. The travail of our efforts discipline The quality of joy the harvest yields, And that which costs us little pain to win The highest charm of its possession steals. I would not sit in Fortune s sunny halls; No soulful physic flows from cups of ease; But they who answer duty s hallow d calls, And to no other Goddess bow their knees, Perform a pageant on life s highway More grand than those by kings and princes made, In ostentation of some special day Which doth in newer honors to them trade. For what do such denote but vanity ? They satisfy the eye but not the soul; But in the strivings of humanity Are pageantries our truest parts extol! And they pass not away with the beholding, Like petty things that merely entertain The pilgrim hour that chances their unfolding, And for their levity, unnamed again. 6 9 WAIFS, OR POEMS But do incorporate themselves into Each particle of truth the world contains, And on all senior truth fall like a dew And kiss its harden d face to softer strains: For from its first encounter truth is fresh, Nor dreams how oft the foe will test its steel, But often-tried, its aspect waxeth harsh And menacing to all seeks its repeal. And since in truth they carry heavy stock, Our noble deeds defy oblivion s power; To Time s wide-cance ling agents give the mock, And swear attendance on his latest hour. Who piled on high the mighty pyramid Did pageantry that awes this distant day, And ancient Greece and Rome our wonder bid, Such world-inspiring pageants were they! In life we are Spectators or Spectacles; The passing pageant or looker-on: Like lusty harvesters throw in our sickles, Or imitate the idle bee, call d drone. Who would not rather do the deed than shout In praise of it when other hand has done ? We have our choice, and lay our own course out, Spectator or Spectacle star or sun. I seek the place where things shall sternly prove My naked worth; and they shall acids be, 70 BT BERNARD GRADT Whose action is false surface to remove; O subject me to their sharp chemistry! And as they eat away the false in coin, If it contain compound of counterfeit, So my defective parts they shall disjoin From what is substance and will not submit. Yes, place me where the battle is the strongest 1 Where obstacles on ev ry side abound; On that same field whose conflict lasts the longest, There is the only consecrated ground! There I, contending, may do pageant That shall suggest man past his best endeavor; Create resolve in who are diffident, And falsify the limits some discover. October 23, 1 906. A TRIBUTE TO TRUST No mathematician can ever compute The sum of the good that trusting has done; The harvests of lives that have come to their fruit From the sun and showers of trusting alone! Where native ambition is never at flood, Foreboding scant fraughtage on some life s tide, The physic of trust augmenteth the mood, Till deep-drawing craft on its channel may ride. The stars I have reached in number and brilliance Would fill a less firmament far than they do, 71 WAIFS, OR POEMS And more of my days been wedded to dalliance, Had trust ne er revealed her face to my view. I thank the blest soul, or souls it may be, For that rare moment enlinked with the past, Which argued to them some fulfilment in me, Some unmatured fruit they sought to foretaste. For then I became an heir to their trust, The kindliest spur ever urged me on, Whose prickings I deem in effect most just, And without them should have fewer miles gone. To the fire my bosom s ambition enkindled, That trust of theirs was a fuel most rare; Unnourish d of which it might have low-dwindled, And finally died in the lap of despair. But the trust they reposed I could not disappoint, However my heart its own int rest excused; When my energy lagged their belief did anoint And the spirit that won into me infused. Twill be a small char ty in you or in me, But an alms in riches surpassing all rate, To regard each man as a personal fee, Sometime to be paid to our trust s estate. The debt will assuredly meet reimbursement, If long enough Death withholdeth his check; 72 BT BERNARD GRADT Surer of port than Antonio s shipment, On which he loaned money and which endured wreck. The moneys we loan oft never return, Like Custer who rode on his blundering raid; The notes we indorse, the owners oft spurn, And the forfeits from our coffers are paid. But never will man discountenance give To the fee our trust exacteth in deeds; And the recompense we may hope to receive Shall balance whatever trust s meter reads. Our trust is too selfish; too closely it keeps To its comfortable room in the house of the heart; And lacking its visit some energy sleeps, And subtracts its due from life s busy mart. It needs to be tutor d to bounteous uses, Like the torrent-swell d Nile it should learn to dilate, Till over the banks of the heart it rushes And delivers increase to the human estate. And never did Nile s rich Valley produce Such harvests as then their hands would deliver; And the souls whose trust made their lives so profuse Shall rival in good that remarkable river. I propose a new party whose issue shall be, More trust in men! whose politics fail 73 WAIFS, OR POEMS Because in the sev ral platforms they decree, This plank is exempt from the carpenter s nail. He may slay his mind in search of the way By which to advance his political state, And all his methods conduct him astray, Till his heart instructs him trust is the gate. November 8, 1906. THE DEAD My heart, cannot the present your attention stead, That ye anon turn longingly unto the dead, As ye would pluck them back from their removed abode To do again the labors of this earthly road ? They are delivered, as the mother from the pain Of her first-born, or heavy cloud that bursts in rain. But some deliveries are dear and often kill Who do deliver and who help d the act fulfill. Ask the young husband who has yielded up his bride When scarce the vows were cold which link d her to his side, And seen a happy future shorten d to a year, With life unpropertied to him forever here! Tis likely he can tell you what deliv ry means To those with int rest in the subjects of such scenes. And I should happy be that they no more are torn By thorns which flourish here and in our hearts are worn. But O! their points are sharper since the ear is dull 74 BT BERNARD GRADT Which did receive the heart beyond retention full Whose comfort -yielding voice is hearken d for in vain Whose magic touch is absent from the spot of pain: They were so necessary to our fortitude! We might the firmer stand had they beside us stood. But as some frailer tree emplanted near an oak, Which one day falls to earth beneath the woodman s stroke, Is left without protection from the storm s attack, Are we who in our woes the fallen bulwark lack. And heavily we sigh in mem ry of the arms Which once did corral us from all approach of harms. And so my heart oft flies its duty to the living To speak the dead: I hope the crime may be forgiving. Who are the dead ? Are they not also days or places The nurs ry tale or fickle friendship s empty vases The beauty that did make a Goddess of a mortal, And which we ve seen escape by some remorseless portal Maybe the echo of those silver-pealing chimes Emitted from some living heart in absent times Perhaps the word of love that tremb ling found expression, Or rapture of the heart that answer d its vibration; That we recall as though their subjects too were dead, Because no more we banquet on their meat and bread. And thus the living are the dead in their remove In the inconstant orbits fashion d by their love. Unnamed, recallest thou those early-blighted days, Which briefly join d together then divorced our ways ? Dost think they ever will a resurrection know ? 75 WAIFS, OR POEMS BY BERNARD GRADT That in their ashes doth a spark of essence glow ? Or Love may yet awake them from their fair youth s grave And from a further separating Angel save ? Or that they too are disembodied and interred Beyond the pow r of Love s reanimating word ? I can but hope; and if they are forever fled, I here confess my heart is often with the dead! Who e en from the perspective of the tomb attract And from a vital present s needs our thoughts extract. The dead! can they be dead who thus the living draw? In them must linger yet some share of life s sweet law. December 2, 1906. , * UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Series 4939 UUbUUIHtHN HtblU A 000 925 852 6