THE WIDENING LIGHT CARRIE WILLIAMS CLIFFORD THE WIDENING LIGHT THE WIDENING LIGHT BY CARRIE WILLIAMS CLIFFORD WALTER REID COMPANY BOSTON I. Primed in the United SUtfs of Am<-rica Copyright 1922 By WALTER REID COMPANY All rights reserved CONDE NAST PRESS GREENWICH, CONN. To MY RACE 2201245 CONTENTS Page A TOAST TO AFRICA i MOTHERS OF AMERICA 2 To PHYLLIS WHEATLEY 3 FREDERICK. DOUGLASS / 4 WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE 5 To HOWARD UNIVERSITY 7 PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 8 WITHIN THE VEIL 9 A DREAM OF DEMOCRACY 10 PERIL n SOUL-GROWTH 12 NEGRO PLAYERS ON BROADWAY 13 THE GOAL 14 RACE-HATE 15 SILENT PROTEST PARADE 16 LITTLE MOTHER 19 DECEIVED 21 THE BLACK DRAFTEE FROM DIXIE - 22 TERCENTENARY OF THE LANDING OF SLAVES AT JAMESTOWN 1619-1919 23 TOMORROW 24 FUTILITY - 25 OUR WOMEN OF THE CANTEEN 26 THE FREEDMAN 27 AN EASTER MESSAGE 28 SHRINES 29 LIKE You 30 THREE SONNETS: 31 I. Appeal II. Demand III. Warning OLD IRONSIDES 33 THE FLIGHT 35 WEEDS 37 THE GIFT 38 RESPITE 39 [vii] Page THE BIRTH OF A NATION 40 PRAYER FOR DELIVERANCE 41 VANITAS 42 MOODS 43 To 44 SON 45 FRIENDSHIP 46 ABANDONMENT 47 TEARS 48 QUEST 49 Loss 50 ENTREATY 51 TOGETHER 52 SUNDAY ON GRASMERE LAKE 53 LIFE AND DEATH 54 GOD 55 SPRING 56 POETRY 57 ECSTASY 58 COMPENSATION 59 EGYPTIAN SPHINX 60 BEAUTIFUL HANDS 61 LINCOLN ^ 62 OLD OCEAN AND THE SHORE 63 THE NEW YEAR 65 [viiij THE WIDENING LIGHT (" But above all comes the New Spirit" CRISIS.) A sound of muttering, faint and far and low A sound of stirring restlessly about A harsher note and frequently a shout Of red defiance? not of peace I trow; Oh, self deceived and blind who do not know The meaning of this unaccustomed rout! Do you not feel the frenzy? Can you doubt The triumph of Race Hatred's overthrow? The moving millions of the darker clan Have wakened to Jehovah's ancient cry Not stunted, greedy, boastful, pale-faced man Omnipotent is "verily none save //" And piercing the dark clouds of dreadful night Behold! they greet the light, the light, The Light! [ix] A TOAST TO AFRICA Christmas, 1920 From a goblet of rarest and richest red gold, Encrusted with jewels of value untold, All flowing and glowing with nectar of wine, Distilled from the spirits of souls sweet and fine As these sons and daughters whose deeds I rehearse, With zeal all-consuming, though halting my verse- I drink to my Race on this epochal morn, Remembering the Christ-child who came lowly- born, Was despised, crucified and rejected of men, But now to whom honor and glory Amen! MOTHERS OF AMERICA A sonnet celebrating the heroism and valor of the women of America, black and white , in the Great War for world democracy, Ye, Queen, who bear the birth-pangs of a world, To whom the nations in this hour of stress, For succor look, and for the ruth to bless, Ye, great, whose fondled darlings, combed and curled, Are in the shell-torn, foreign trenches hurled, To stay the hellish Hun, who else would press, The cup of degradation and distress, To lips of men with freedom's flag unfurled Ye valiant mother-band who gladly gave, The first-fruits of your riven wombs to save, The world from horrors darker than the grave, Ye are the Brave, who in your country's need Did sow the trenches with your Precious Seed The greatest gift of war, and valor's noblest deed. TO PHYLLIS WHEATLEY (First African Poetess) No! Not like the lark, didst thou circle and sing, High in the heavens on morn's merry wing, But hid in the depths of the forest's dense shade, There where the homes of the lowly were made, Thou nested! Though fettered, thou frail child of night, Thy melody trilled forth with naive delight; And all through the throes of the night dark and long, Earth's favored ones harkened thy ravishing song, So plaintive and wild, touched with Africa's lilt; Of wrong small complaint, sweet forgiveness of guilt Oh, a lyric of love and a paean of praise, Didst thou at thy vespers, Dark Nightingale, raise; So sweet was the hymn rippling out of the dark, It rivalled the clear morning song of the lark. FREDERICK DOUGLASS (In honor of the centenary of his birth February 1817-1917} A century of mighty thoughts has passed, Of mighty deeds and Merlin-magic years, Since first his infant wail assailed the ears That knew not how prophetic was the blast! Then swiftly sped the years into the vast Store-house of time! The bitter vale-of- tears Was vanquished, and the dark abyss-of-fears; The thing, transformed, became a Soul at last! Search noble history's most stirring page, And tell what life excelled his in the race; Trace deeds of daring men in every age And say if one out-rivalled this dark face. Great Douglass slave and fugitive and Man, With the immortal host, thou art in the van! [4] WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE (To William Stanley Eraithwaite upon his visit to Washington, D. C., April, / And lost itself in a deep crystal sea, The cleansing Ocean of Democracy. [10] PERIL As, when some filthy sore grows menacing, Polluting all the currents of pure air, Dispersing its vile atoms everywhere While with death-poisoned tentacles they cling, To our hearts' treasuries, devouring, And laying waste the temples of our care, The surgeon with blade kind but firm lays bare And cuts away the flesh, foul, festering: So must the learned doctors of the State Relentlessly cut the leprous sore Of prejudice! else will they find too late, Its rank corruption eating thro' the core Of human brotherhood! Grim germs of Hate, Razing our kingdom with titanic roar! [ill SOUI^GROWTH (Upon the lack of opportunity afforded the Negro} Atom of God! spark of the Infinite! Illimitable thy majestic sway, Where influences salutary play, Thy powers to unfold to utmost height! Potential gods, all, all who strive aright, Defended from the pompous world's array Of hostile forces, dragging to decay Ideals of highest honor, truth and right: Nurtured by rain and shine the queenly rose In sheltered garden to perfection grows; But on the desert, without loving care, Is left to perish miserably there. So with the Soul! if faith and culture fail, "'Twill grow deformed and choked within the veil"! NEGRO PLAYERS ON BROADWAY (The Ridgley Torrence plays presented on Broadway by Mrs. Emilie G. Hapgood^ April^ Behold! a Star is trembling in the East, Whose pale light heralds a triumphant day, The greatness of whose promise none can say, Nor who the guest of honor at the feast, When from the thrall of prejudice released, Men see the Soul behind the Veil of Clay. Then brother recognizing brother, may Divine that least is great and great is least. A beacon in the wilderness, O Star, With ox-like eyes we note your lureful gleam. And Star, so faintly shining from afar, With God-like faith we watch the widening stream Of light! Ho, Christ has come! the perfect day In glory breaks never to pass away! THE GOAL (" To make the world safe for democracy ") Exalted goal! Oh, coveted ideal, Which but to contemplate, causes to steal Within the heart, the sting of ecstasy! Oh, fateful words! Oh, potent prophecy, Which yet shall make entrenched wrong to reel And stagger from the place of power to feel The odium of men, outraged, set free! Tho' now the words are empty, void of life, And soothly uttere,d to allay the strife And discontent with which the world is rife, These words shall yet become a fervent creed, And vivified to meet The Peoples' need, Shall fructify into heroic deed. [14] RACE-HATE (On the East St. Louis riot, July 28, 79/7) What infamies have been condoned, O Hate, What sin, what guilt, what horrors in thy name! Such bestial revelries which else would shame The darkest heathen in his virgin state! Yet know that judgment on thine acts doth wait, And Time will write with pen of leaping flame The ghastly story how thou didst defame God's living temples craven, crafty Hate! For thou hast none deceived, not e'en thyself, Thy bloody hands are raised J or power and pelf! Hath not the lesson of the Ages taught, Thy seeming triumphs are too dearly bought? Cold seas of blood convulse thy coward heart; Already crushed, defeated, doomed thou art! SILENT PROTEST PARADE (On Fifth Avenue, New York, Saturday, July 28, protesting against the St. Louis riots) Were you there? Did you see? Gods! wasn't it fine! Did you notice how straight we kept the line, As we marched down the famous avenue, Silent, dogged and dusky of hue, Keeping step to the sound of the muffled drum, With its constantly recurring turn turn, turn Turn Turn Turn Turn Turn; Ten thousand of us, if there was one! As goodly a sight as this ancient sun Has ever looked upon! Youth and maid Father, mother not one afraid Or ashamed to let the whole world know What he thought of the hellish East St. Louis "show," Orgy riot mob what you will, Where men and e'en women struggled to kill Poor black workers, who'd fled in distress from the South To find themselves murdered and mobbed in the North. We marched as a protest we carried our banner, On which had been boldly inscribed every manner Of sentiment all, to be sure, within reason But no flag not that we meant any treason- Only who'd have the heart to carry Old Glory, [16] After hearing all of the horrible story, Of East St. Louis? and never a word, From the nation's head, as if he'd not heard The groans of the dying ones here at home, Though 'tis plain he can hear even farther than Rome. Oh, yes, I was there in the Silent Parade, And a man (he was white) I heard when he said, "If they had music now, 'twould be great !"- "We march not, sir, with hearts elate, But sad; we grieve for our dark brothers Murdered, and we hope that others Will heed our protest against wrong, Will help to make our protest strong." Were you there? Ah, brothers, wasn't it fine! The children God bless 'em headed the line; Then came the mothers dressed in white, And some my word! 'twas a thrilling sight Carried their babies upon their breast, Face tense and eager as forward they pressed, With never a laugh and never a word, But ever and always, the thing they heard W 7 as the turn turn , turn, turn, Of the muffled drum turn, tum^ turn! And last the black-coated men swung by, Head up, chest firm, determined eye I was so happy, I wanted to cry. [171 As I watched the long lines striding by, (Ten thousand souls if there was one) And I knew that "to turn, the worm had begun," As we marched down Fifth Avenue unafraid And calm, in our first Silent Protest Parade! [18] LITTLE MOTHER ( Upon the lynching of Mary Turner) Oh, tremble, Little Mother, For your dark-eyed, unborn babe, Whom in your secret heart you've named The well-loved name of "Gabe." For Gabriel is the father's name, And the son is sure to be "Just like his father!" as she wants The whole, wide world to see! But tremble, Little Mother, For your unborn baby's fate; The father tarries long away Why does he stay so late? For dark the night and weird the wind, And chilled the heart with fear! What are those hideous sounds and cries Each instant drawing near? Oh, tremble, dark-faced mother, At the dreadful word that falls From lips of pale-faced demons, As the black man pleads and calls. For they're dragging Gabe, at a stout rope's end, And they say, "She is bound to tell!" [19! Something she knows not a thing about, Or they'll "Give her the same as well!" Oh, tremble, helpless mother! They're beating down the door, And you'll never feel the father's kiss, Or the stir of the baby more. Oh } the human beasts were ruthless, And there upon the ground^ Two bodies- -and an unborn babe The ghastly morning found. DECEIVED To war I gave my first-born, debonair And over-flowing with the joy of life! His heart was empty of all thought of strife- He dreamed of radiant life devoid of care. When next Columbia called I gave I gave My little lad, my babe, my youngest-born, Full of the light and promise of the morn, And ready his beloved land to save. These two I gave, my first-born and my last, The Alpha and Omega of my love's dream, So rudely shattered by war's lurid gleam My all into her seething cauldron cast! Whose whose the condemnation then, if I Shame the false lips that lured them with a lie? [21] THE BLACK DRAFTEE FROM DIXIE (Twelve Negro soldiers who had served overseas were lynched upon their return to their homes in the South) Upon his dull ear fell the stern command; And tho' scarce knowing why or whither, he Went forth prepared to battle loyally, And questioned not your faith, O Dixie-land! And tho' the task assigned were small or grand,- If toiling at mean tasks ingloriously, Or in fierce combat fighting valiantly, With poise magnificent he took his stand! What tho' the hero-warrior was black? His heart was white and loyal to the core; And when to his loved Dixie he came back, Maimed, in the duty done on foreign shore, Where from the hell of war he never flinched, Because he cried, "Democracy" was lynched. [22] TERCENTENARY OF THE LANDING OF SLAVES AT JAMESTOWN Upon the slaver's deck, a motley band Of blacks looked out upon the boundless main, Knowing with anguished hearts that ne'er again Their feet, with pride, would press their native land; Theirs thenceforth to obey the rude command Of masters, wielding cruel lash and chain, Wringing three centuries of toil and pain From helpless slaves! Then waved war's magic wand, And, at the sign, up rose twelve million men A brave, patriotic host, of great power, To serve America in her crucial hour; Titanic power, to bless or curse; for when Pent wrong, injustice and oppression break, Vesuvius-like, the heart of earth they shake! [23! TOMORROW ("Ethiopia shall stretch forth her hand") Tomorrow! magic word of promise rare, What witchery inheres in thy sweet name, Inspiring wild ambition, naught can tame, To conquer failure here or otherwhere; The rosy rapture thou dost ever bear Upon thy brow, is but the beacon-flame The luminous lodestone, luring on to fame And high endeavor! Simple friend, beware The fool who says, "Tomorrow never comes"; For opportunities like bursting bombs Shall blast the walls that limit us Today. And a//, who wish within its scope to stay. Time has no end save in eternity Of which Tomorrow is the prophecy. [24] FUTILITY (To be a Negro in America!} To feel emotion struggling and to need O Christ, the power to speak the pregnant word, That o'er these earthly thunders might be heard And flame the souls of men to glorious deed To know the spirit's urge to rise and lead The "hosts that sit in darkness" to be stirred To light a world, by wrong dimmed and blurred, To cry aloud against the groveling greed Of men, with faces ominous and pale, Who stultify the souls of darker men, All this to see, to know, to feel and then And then^ ignoble, shameful word, to fail, Because convention spurns my human cry, Because, oh, luckless fortune, / am I! [25] OUR WOMEN OF THE CANTEEN Who shall tell the story of our women of the canteen? Our women, golden, dusk and brown Ministering in France to our brave boys, Our brave, black boys Fighting in Flanders! Our stevedores in France unloading the ships, Building the roads in Picardy, That world-democracy might be a dream come true! Was a soldier broken, dazed and exhausted by the hell of war ? Was his heart breaking with thoughts of home? Did he yearn hungrily for mother, wife or sister? Then would come these women Dusk and gold and brown, And with the tender, ministering hand of mother, Or with the camaraderie of sister Or the soul-sympathy of an understanding wife, These dark women of the canteen Would mirror to our boys A bit of home, in France, Heartening them for a return to the trenches, And to the building of the roads, And the unloading of the ships. Oh, who shall sing the glory Of our women of the canteen ! .26] THE FREEDMAN Aged and broken and helpless, Sapped with the toil of years, Dumbly he questions the future, Haunted and shaken with fears. Slowly he searches the sad past; Naught does he find there to shame Faith of his heart he was loyal, But whose was the treason the blame? Blindly he faces Life's problems; Where are his children? full five Filial sons strove and labored; He knows not if one be alive! Meekly he ponders, he wonders, Why^ in God's name, he should be Adrift without rudder or compass, Sore-smitten with age, on Life's sea. Vainly he questions the Power Almighty, that sweeps us along, The lonely ones sighing and crying, The mighty rejoicing with song. Aged and broken and helpless, Sapped with the toil of the years, Dumbly he questions the future Haunted and shaken with fears. AN EASTER MESSAGE Now quivering to life, all nature thrills At the approach of that triumphant queen, Pink-fingered Easter, trailing robes of green Swishingly o'er the flower-embroidered hills, Her hair perfumed of myriad daffodils: Upon her trembling bosom now is seen The frail sweet lilies with their snowy sheen As sprightly she o'ersteps the springtime rills. To black folk choked within the deadly grasp Of racial hate, what message does she bring Of resurrection and the hope of spring? Assurance their death-stupor is a mask A sleep, with elements potential rife, Ready to burst full-flowered into life! 28] SHRINES Each heart bows low before some cherished shrine! Westminster Abbey with its sainted dead Is hallowed ground where millions yet shall tread; Love rears the Taj Mahal of rare design, And wondrous beauty wrought in every line; To Rome and Athens other hosts have led, And where the great Napoleon makes his bed; The faithful dream of ancient Palestine. Some seek the home of poet, martyr, seer, Of ruler, beggar, saint or cavalier, According as these lives have left impress Upon the soul of man, his life to bless. Each heart bows low before some cherished shrine The bitter cross where John Brown hung is mine. [29! LIKE YOU Like you, He came unknown and poor, And closed to Him was every door. His race, like yours, was held in scorn, Like yours, was humble and forlorn. Like you, He was of men despised ! (So deeply was the King disguised.) The Roman rulers heeded not The manger-cradle, His rude cot. But Wise Men watching in the East Knew, the greatest is often least. They followed His Star, brought priceless things, Bowed low and worshipped the King of Kings! [30] THREE SONNETS I APPEAL Three centuries beneath your haughty heel, Humble and ignorant, debased and poor, Like mendicants before your Temple-door, The potentates of earth have seen us kneel. With guileless art we made our mute appeal, And tho' you scorned and spurned us, tried the more To love and serve you better than before. Your children we have nursed, your evening meal Set forth : your crops have reaped, your acres tilled, Your burdens borne, your enemies have killed; We've given of our brawn unstintingly, And of our brain, when so you'd let it be. Remembering all, how can you lynch and hate, And with our quivering clay, your passion sate? II DEMAND Torn from our heritage against our will, And here detained by blood-hound and by lash, From dawn to darkness driven by "po' white trash," The onerous tasks to do, the soil to till, Helping your dream of empire to fulfill Thro' blood-baptism and the clanging clash Of war, and its swift clarifying flash The present finds us citizens (tho* nil Our rights and powers in the common state) Who with the volume of Niagara's roar And strength with which her giant waters pour, Demand, with vigor which shall not abate All the prerogatives which are our due Without regard to race or creed or hue. Ill WARNING The Law that spins these toy-top worlds in space, Divides the opaque darkness from the day, Directs the shining of each solar ray, Guides and controls the stellar chariot-race, And holds the whirling universe in place Altho' no particle may stop or stay This Law immutable, you may not sway, Or modify, or alter by your grace! Unfailingly the tides of ocean flow, The giant oaks and modest pansies grow, Inexorably following the deed Comes without haste and without pause, the meed. A tiny tendril creviced in the rock, In time will burst apart a granite block. [32] OLD IRONSIDES! (Formerly the estate of Commodore Stewart, commander of vessel of the same name, and famous in the Civil War; now a school for the training of Colored Youth) Old Ironsides! Historic spot so fair, Whose generous-spreading acres beckon, where In silent beauty sweeps the Delaware, I love you! High on your bluff commanding I looked afar, And saw in retrospect the place where war Dark, grim and terrible Forced Washington and his brave men Barefoot across the icy flood, Fighting for independence! 'Twas liberty for which they fought Relief from tyranny they sought These heroes whom I sing. Around this hallowed spot there cling, E'en yet soul-stirring memories, Of those who walked your paths! Have not these groves re-echoed to the cry "Before we bend to tyrants, we will die!" Brave souls who wrought ofttimes perchance in pain, Yet not one agony endured in vain! Time has destroyed "The Mansion" utterly, [33l And here the walk has crumbled to decay; Upon that knoll, rank grows the shrubbery, And if one glances yonder, there one sees The avenue of old wild-cherry trees Dim vestiges of former glory! Now gone are those who labored, hoped and loved; Yet their indomitable spirit lives, And to these dark-faced children gives The moving inspiration! Today I note your busy crowded halls, Filled with those youths whom learning calls To higher destinies! The noisy workshop sounds again To tune of hammer, saw and plane, As earnest effort moulds to shape The useful things that go to make Man's lot more comfortable. If to be striving contented in the work, Which none would think to shirk, If to love nature and her beauties rare, Here bountifully spread with careless care, If to be drinking at the fount Which makes men wise, And all-encircling the cerulean skies If these things make the heaven for which man sighs, Then here, Old Ironsides, is paradise! [34] THE FLIGHT Away down south in Dixie-land The place where they were born, Where grows the cotton, silver-white Tobacco, cane and corn I see your beauty, feel your charm; I knew your ancient lure For those dark earth-sprites, who for you Did pain untold endure! But now the cabin lonely stands Beneath the spreading tree; The old plantation echoes not The weird slave-melody! Gone! all are gone! how strange it seems! I miss their gleaming eyes Their loud guffaws, whose hearty ring Floats lightly to the skies. What do they seek? Where have they fled? W 7 hy do they roam afar? They go to find the Promised Land, W T ith gates of Hope ajar. Where schools stand ready to impart The precious Rule of Three; I35l And high ambition may be served To even the last degree. Where aspiration soars aloft, And self-respect may grow; Where none would limit nor confine The man who wants to know. O Southland, that they loved so well, The time will come when you Wishing them back, will learn the truth That faithful friends are few! [36] WEEDS The little house in which I live looks out Upon a garden, where I love to walk, Or sit and dream and listen to the talk Of others, moving restlessly about. Sometimes the echo of a merry shout, Again the raucous tones of those who mock, Of those who yield and e'en of those who knock, Inflame my heart, or chill my soul with doubt. These human plants within the garden growing Are they the fruit, the sample of the sowing? And the stink-weeds that flourish wildly there, Are they as well the objects of His care? Of malice, envy, hate and strife, God knows Injustice is the rankest weed that grows. 1371 THE GIFT A priceless gift within your hand is laid, A jewel fashioned by the Master's art; No fleck or flaw bedims its perfect heart, More precious than are emeralds opals jade. This gift, for which gold never can be paid, Is freely given by a Friend, whose part It is to teach its magic to impart A knowledge of the why the gift was made. Possession of this talismanic gift, Like old Aladdin's wonder-lamp, will lift Earth mortals high as heaven, rightly used; But doom to Stygian darkness, if abused. 'Tis yours to will what picture shall appear: The gift, a pure, unsullied, glad New Year! (38) RESPITE At close of day, I couch me at my ease In solitude, far from dull mammon's roar, And let the rain of thought upon me pour In showers, hard or soft as they may please: Sometimes like gentle patter, thro* the trees, Of joyous rains of spring, they touch the core Of my parched self, reviving flowers of yore Pansies and sweet forget-me-nots, to tease Old memories! sometimes a torrent breaks Raging with fiendish fury 'til it shakes My world of dreams wrecking my castles there, Leaving my gardens desolate and bare, When, from life's gilded pleasures shut away, I seek my lonely couch at close of day. [39] THE BIRTH OF A NATION Stay! vain, deluded man! Know not you never can Attain unto your high estate and rich, While holding your dark brother in the ditch? Hold! rash, misguided fool! Why will you be the tool Of passions, devilish, ignoble, base, Wherein no God-like action one can trace? Traducer of a race, You, who are fair of face, Stop! lest the children of a darker hue In love, shall prove superior to you! O, brother, pause! reflect! Each cause has its effect, This is the law: your acts or soon or late, Will reap a bounteous harvest, hate for hate. [40] PRAYER FOR DELIVERANCE Father omnipotent, God of the universe, Thou Great Jehovah, We humbly beseech Thee! Harken our loud lament, See Thou our naked need, Heed Thou our earnest prayer, Witness our tears 1 Father, the enemy Stealeth our lives away, Feedeth us bitter bread, Abaseth our pride! O God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, Of saints and of prophets, Our trust is in Thee! Scourge him who scoffeth us Useth us despitefully Stealeth our substance Thy vengeance, we pray! O Thou who knowest all, O Thou who seest all, O Thou who rulest all, Flay and spare not! VANITAS He breathlessly pursued the dream of Fame Spurred on by a desire insatiate, To win a place secure and make a name Renowned! Thus daily striving, soon and late He wrought; but ever as he closer came The goal receded: then with quickened gait, Disdaining aught of censure or of blame, He gained the height he sought with heart elate! Oh, blessed height which he had seen afar, Thro' gloom and sunshine, thro' distress and pain, But ever luring, guiding as the star Of hope, or as the rainbow after rain: When lo! the sacred Temple-door was barred Against his tarnished, craven soul, sin-scarred! I 42] MOODS Daybreak in the meadow and the song of the lark in the sky; All my hopes are winging and soaring so high, so high! Nightfall in the forest and the nightingale's sobbing song; All my hopes are dead and the darkness so long, so long! [43] TO- Dear friend of mine whose magnet-heart Hath joined mine own to thee, Where'er with changing years thou art Or near or far from me. O friend of mine, I'd have thee know How dear I hold thy worth! Thy sweet companionship, I vow O'ertops the gauds of earth. Dear friend of mine, this faithful thought May joy and solace be, Not separation, death, no! Naught Can change my love for thee! SON \Ve wandered through the meadow, green and cool, My romping, joyous little son and I. Bright was the rippling stream and we, withal, So gay, we noted not the flying hours 'Til suddenly the sun had set, and gray, Dim shadows o'er the earth began to creep. No longer now he sang in childish glee, Or sought the modest flower in cranny hid; But close beside me walked in sober mood, His hand close-clasped in mine; then coaxingly, "Tis dark, dear father; please, sir, take me home!" My little son to manhood now has grown; No longer fears he shadows dim and gray; In fearlessness of youth, he braves the dark, But I, who know the dangers of the dark And all the ills which do in darkness lurk, Am fearful, lest he stumble and so fall Into the pit: but when Life's Day is done, When burst all the bubbles he has chased, And creeping come the shadows of the night, Do Thou, dear Father, hold his trembling hand And through the darkness lead him gently Home. [451 FRIENDSHIP Not by the dusty stretch of days Slow-gathering to lengthening years We measure friendship's chain, But by the understanding touch, The smile, the soul-kiss, yea, the tears That ease the load of pain. [46] ABANDONMENT I want to sail out on the flood-tide of life, To the uttermost reaches of self; Forgetting the petty conventions of men, And the scramble for power and pelf. I want to sail out to the Island-of-Love, And couch myself there on your breast, To be soothed by your passionate viol-sweet voice, And lulled by its music to rest. I want to be warmed by the sun of your smile, Refreshed by the rain of your tears, Content in the clasp of your compassing arms, As we drift down the tide of the years. I want to float out on the ebb-tide of life, As mutely the death watch you keep, And feel the quick pulse of your quivering lips As I fall in the last dreamless sleep. 1 47 TEARS The World today is sad, No light is in her eye, How cold and pale she seems! The dull, gray ashes on her lips Choke back the rippling thrills of glee That yesterday, a joyous river flowed. Why does she weep incessantly With now and then a momentary lull Succeeded by an- outburst More terrific? I wonder if her heart like mine, Pent and restrained, Is sometimes full beyond control! Then comes the torrent, merciful, Relieving, cleansing, purging, And washing free of care and dross, The Soul left clean and purified. [48] QUEST My goal out-distances the utmost star, Yet is encompassed in my inmost Soul; I am my goal my quest, to know myself. To chart and compass this unfathomed sea, Myself must plumb the boundless universe. My Soul contains all thought, all mystery, All wisdom of the Great Infinite Mind: This to discover, I must voyage far, At last to find it in my pulsing heart. [49! LOSS But yesterday The wealth of all the world Did not exceed in value the great gift That heaven to me did send: Today The humblest beggar in the land Is infinitely richer than am I, For I have lost a friend. [50] ENTREATY O, thou, who art more fair than -words can tell Or a fond lover's nimble fancy paint, May I not come to thee, where thou dost dwell With hope that thou wilt heed my mournful plaint? O, I.ove, thou canst not choose but tender be, Knowing my every heart-beat is for thee! [51] TOGETHER O, come, Love, let us take a walk, Down the Way-of-Life together; Storms may come, but what care we, If be fair or foul the weather. When the sky overhead is blue, Balmy, scented winds will after Us, adown the valley blow Haunting echoes of our laughter. When Life's storms upon us beat Crushing us with fury, after All is done, there'll ringing come Mocking echoes of our laughter. So we'll walk the Way-of-Life, You and I, Love, both together, Storm or sunshine, happy we If be foul or fair the weather. [5*1 SUNDAY ON GRASMERE LAKE It was that sweet time we call the twilight hour, On peaceful Grasmere Lake we idly rowed: Before us, matchless beauty lay revealed In sky and hill and gently sloping wood. The myriad thoughts that to our lips came thronging We could not speak, but all entranced sat While at our boat in tender rhythmic cadence The laughing, dancing wavelets softly tapped. No scene in all creation could be sweeter! The tiny cloud that o'er the hill-top hung, The quiet vale, the brown dove-cote * half hidden Would fire to song even the most halting tongue. Small wonder that the poet was inspired To sing of this fair spot he loved so well! Not Bobbie Burns nor yet the Bard of Avon Could of his haunts a lovelier story tell. Then suddenly in voice deep and subdued One began the "Ode" of Wordsworth's to repeat, "On Immortality," thus ending fitly A holy day with holy joy complete. * Wordsworth's home is called Dove Cottage. (531 LIFE AND DEATH Life I saw the candle brightly burning in the room ! The fringed curtains gracefully draped back, The windows, crystal clear! Upon the generous hearth Quick Wit and bubbling Laughter Flashed and danced, Sparkled and pranced, And music to the glowing scene lent cheer. It was a gracious sight, So full of life, of love, of light! Death Then suddenly I saw a cloud of gloom Take form within the room: A blue-grey mist obscured the window-panes And silent fell the rout! Then from the shadows ,came the Dreaded Shape,- The candle flickered out! (54l GOD I know a lot of folk who think That God Is just a great, big tub Of Grub. Descanting on His bounty They will measure His prodigal treasure By so many "Head o' hogs," "bushel o' grain" or "barr'l o' potatoes!" But to me God is the lily's dream, The low, sweet note In the thrush's throat The sun-beam's glory by a dew-drop caught! He is the mighty tide Gripping old ocean's side The mountain's thought! (551 SPRING Spring, thou wilful, changeful maid, Venturesome, yet half afraid King Winter to defy, Come, with all thy airs and graces, Perfumes sweet and flower-laces; When he thy rare beauty faces, He, of love, will die. [56] POETRY What is poetry? A thought of beauty truth, An emotion rife with ruth With love! All rhythmically expressed, Carefully groomed exquisitely dressed. (571 ECSTASY Your eyes star-worlds of beauty are, My long road blazing from afar, Sweet Emily! The essence of the rose's musk Bathes your wine-lips as through the dusk They summon me! The downy pillows of your breast, Sweet Eden where my soul would rest Eternally! (58 COMPENSATION In my infinity of loss I seek to find the gain, The tender glance, the word of love, The kiss divine in vain! No priceless gem of memory, But ah! the pain, the pain! l59l EGYPTIAN SPHINX Inscrutable and awe-inspiring Sphinx, Inimitable and immortal, whose Majestic head of massed and matted kinks Constrains alike the savant and the muse To marvel at thy muted mystery! What age-long memories thy face betrays! What moving visions thou hast seen dost see! Thou art the symbol that, to present days, The ancient years indubitably links! Wherever men their righteous voices raise Such deeds of grandeur to extol and praise, The Sons of Africa, who builded thee, Through us shall swell the song of jubilee: And matchless thou shalt stand, imperial Sphinx. [60; BEAUTIFUL HANDS To a Skilful Surgeon Not perfectly moulded, not smooth and cold Suggesting the touch of senseless gold, But warm and pulsing hands, tenderly Thrilling the wealth of a heart to me. Hands that are willing and busy and warm; Hands that are eager to shelter from harm; Hands that are capable potent indeed, Quickly outstretched to another's need. Ready and restful hands, loving and strong, But soothing and soft as a lullaby song; Hands with the magic given suffering to ease; Oh, who would not worship such dear hands as these! [61] LINCOLN Upon the dedication of the Lincoln Memorial at Washington, May 30, 1922 Son of the people, softly, sweetly rest! Thy universal heart felt all the woes Of mankind! They only were thy foes Who hated right who loved the evil best: How hard man's cruelty upon thee pressed, Thy deeply-lined and tragic visage shows! Thy great soul-agony, only God knows, When this great Union's fate was put to test! But trusting in Jehovah's power to guide, Nor caring if the whole world should deride, With granite will, thou stoodst the Right beside. Thus from the lowly cabin thou didst climb To hallow this memorial sublime, And men shall love thee to the end of time. [62] OLD OCEAN AND THE SHORE Lovers in Three Moods I Smiling, big and full of joy, I saw Old Ocean rush upon the Shore: With wide-spread arms He caught her to his heart. I heard him chuckle softly to himself; I saw his fingers stroke her sea-weed hair; He kissed and kissed and kissed again Her lush, responsive lips! And she who had been pale and cold Grew warm and dimpled at his touch. II I saw Old Ocean sullen, moody, mad; The Shore stretched out her shell-like hands in vain; No bubbling laughter greeted her sad ear; He offered no caress. He glowered at her, grumbling through his teeth! Oh, he was dark and sinister! He would not look upon her, waiting, wan! God! I could better bear his blows Than this indifference! [63] Ill I heard Old Ocean warring in his wrath! He shook and slashed and swore with fury! With heavy fists he beat upon the Shore; He tore her hair; He screamed and raged; He bruised her tender, shining flesh; He gripped her with the strength of many giants,- Shrieking lashing kicking Until at length, his jealous fury spent, He sank exhausted in her waiting arms! " 'Tts we//," the Shore said softly, "For he loveth much" [6 4 ] THE NEW YEAR The New Year comes -fling wide, fling wide the door Of Opportunity! the spirit free To scale the utmost heights of hopes to be, To rest on peaks ne'er reached by man before! The boundless infinite let us explore, To search out undiscovered mystery, Undreamed of in our poor philosophy! The bounty of the gods upon us pour! Nay, in the New Year we shall be as gods: No longer apish puppets or dull clods Of clay; but poised, empowered to command, Upon the Etna of New Worlds we'll stand This scant earth-raiment to the winds will cast Full richly robed as supermen at last! [65] University of California SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 405 Hilgard Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90024-1388 Return this material to the library from which it was borrowed. 2004 A 000129443 8