UC-NRLF 
 
 SB 273 E31 
 
 NGS 
 
 VERSES 
 
 

An Old Man's Musings 
 
 and 
 
 OTHER VERSES 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM HATHORN MILLS 
 
 SECOND EDITION 
 
 LEDERER, STREET & ZEUS COMPANY 
 BERKELEY, CALIFORNIA 
 
 1922 
 
Contents 
 
 MUSINGS 
 
 De Senectute 7 
 
 Irrequieta Quies 8 
 
 Aequam Memento 9 
 
 Straight 10 
 
 Gentleship 1 1 
 
 A Training School 13 
 
 Sunt Lacrimae Rerum 14 
 
 Beyond the Veil 15 
 
 The Valley of Baca 17 
 
 Discipline 18 
 
 Amplius 20 
 
 Sublimius 21 
 
 Avalon 22 
 
 Words 23 
 
 A Pilgrim's Progress 24 
 
 A Mighty Monosyllable 25 
 
 The Mystery of Being 26 
 
 Euge 28 
 
 MISCELLA 
 
 Kinship 31 
 
 A Cameo 32 
 
 Vates Sacer 33 
 
 Posies 34 
 
 Mirrors 37 
 
 Epigrammata Quaedam 38 
 
 Old-Time Apothegms 40 
 
 D. E. S 41 
 
 Christmas Day 43 
 
 Amaranto 43 
 
 Homeward Bound 44 
 
 Troth-Plight 44 
 
 Einheriar 45 
 
 Our Dead 47 
 
 On Mount Soracte 48 
 
 Dogged 49 
 
 491578 
 
MUSINGS 
 
De Senectute 
 
 are the things, the lessons, which old age 
 Teaches a man, when he has come to it? 
 Three things, at least; and he need be no sage 
 To know them ; they are learnt by native wit. 
 
 First tolerance tolerance of the infirmities 
 To which all flesh is heir, of aims and views 
 
 Not his, of youth's impetuosities; 
 For each and all of these he finds excuse. 
 
 This tolerance is not careless unconcern, 
 Not weak assent to things he scorns and hates; 
 
 It's patient hope that ignorance may learn; 
 
 For better things he works and, hoping, waits. 
 
 Next level-mindedness. "Naught in excess" 
 Is Nature's word to him; he does his best, 
 
 Aims at the golden mean, desires success, 
 But, missing it, is not over-much depressed. 
 
 Life, he has seen, has many ups and downs, 
 But mostly strikes an average on the whole; 
 
 And so he sets its smiles against its frowns, 
 And keeps unswayed the balance of his soul. 
 
 Lastly submission to the Eternal Will; 
 
 He slighted it, maybe he fought it, when 
 His life was young within him; now the still 
 
 Small Voice speaks to him, and he says Amen. 
 
 He knows that death cannot be far away, 
 
 Ponders its mystery, and, in the light 
 Shed on it by the Resurrection Day, 
 
 Sees in its witness grace no less than might. 
 
 It bids him realize God's omnipotence; 
 
 It bids him realize also God's intent 
 To bring us thro' this world of time and sense 
 
 To the eternal world, and bows consent. 
 
 [7] 
 
Irrequieta Quies 
 
 EST is not idleness ; there's rest in work, 
 In quiet industry ; 
 A thousand demons of unrest may lurk 
 In sloth and lethargy. 
 
 Labour there is, of course, whose moil and toil 
 
 Makes soul and body faint; 
 Aye, and there is the work that seeks to foil 
 
 The work of seer and saint. 
 
 These are not restful labours, nor are these 
 
 The work we have to do; 
 We must be busy as the busy bees, 
 
 If peace we would ensue. 
 
 Add to such industry the charities, 
 Which serve our brethren's need; 
 
 These crown our work; our very ministries 
 Bring peace and rest indeed. 
 
 The idler is a weary soul, to whom 
 
 Rest is a thing unkent; 
 Satan employs him, and he earns a doom 
 
 Of restless discontent. 
 
 [8 
 
Aequam Memento 
 
 ONCE, fired by thoughts of high success, 
 I cherished dreams of wealth and fame, 
 And learnt to know the bitterness 
 Of disappointed hope and aim. 
 
 Now, by a life's experience taught, 
 I wait to see what time will bring, 
 
 Not downcast, but expecting naught 
 Of any man or any thing. 
 
 That's to throw up the game of life ; 
 
 Yes ; but is gaming life's intent, 
 Life's meaning? Anyhow, rid of strife 
 
 And disappointments, I'm content. 
 
 I keep my head, or do my best 
 
 To keep it; bear what bear I must; 
 
 Work as I may; as for the rest 
 Well, Providence has the rest in trust. 
 
 Keep your mind, said the Roman bard, 
 
 Level, or in prosperity, 
 Or when life's path is steep and hard; 
 
 Tough work, but good philosophy! 
 
 9| 
 
Straight 
 
 F you would hit the waiting nail 
 Upon the head, and never fail, 
 Aim straight. 
 
 If you would keep your goal in sight, 
 And, when ways differ, choose the right, 
 See straight. 
 
 If you would win success, that's worth 
 The name, on this phantasmal earth, 
 Run straight. 
 
 If you would gain the trust and love 
 Of those with whom you work and move, 
 Live straight. 
 
 If from earth's shadows you would rise 
 To the clear light of Paradise, 
 
 Qimb straight. 
 
 [10] 
 
Gentleship 
 
 HO is a gentleman? 
 Is he a man whose pedigree 
 Is as long as the length of a poplar tree? 
 
 Is he a gentleman? 
 That is a prima facie 
 Sense of the word, but a pedigree 
 Doesn't make a gentleman. 
 
 Is he a man who bears a name 
 
 Set by forbears on the scroll of fame? 
 
 Is he a gentleman? 
 Yes, if he lives up to its claim; 
 If not, no title, no rank, no name, 
 
 Can make him a gentleman. 
 
 Is he a man who has a right 
 To bear a coat of arms a quite 
 
 Easily won right now? 
 That's heralds' law; whether a soul, 
 Thus licensed, is on true honour's roll 
 
 It does not, and cannot, show. 
 
 Smart dress, fine jewels, wealth do they 
 Set on a man the grand cachet, 
 
 The stamp, of a gentleman? 
 A churl may be smart, and have money-bags ; 
 And a man may be poor and clothed in rags, 
 
 And still be a gentleman. 
 
 A gentleman is a man who is 
 Gentle to all about him this 
 
 Is the test of a gentleman. 
 If he isn't gentle, not noble birth, 
 Not titles, not all the gold on earth, 
 
 Can make him a gentleman. 
 
 [ii] 
 
This gentleness is of sympathy 
 With weaker souls in it you see 
 
 The heart of a gentleman. 
 It makes, with the graces of loyalty, 
 Simplicity, generosity, 
 
 The perfect gentleman. 
 
 The poet is born; to learn his art 
 
 You must have within you the poet's heart- 
 
 His inborn wit and ken. 
 Thus humblest souls, with an inborn gift 
 Of gentleness, by this grace uplift, 
 
 Are Nature's gentlemen. 
 
 Note: Compare the saying "Noblesse oblige." 
 
 [12J 
 
A Training School 
 
 HY are we born into this life, 
 This world of pain and care, 
 Where troubles vex us and where strife 
 Is rampant everywhere? 
 
 Two things at least are plain to sight, 
 
 For all who will to see : 
 Two truths that, realized, throw light 
 
 Upon the mystery. 
 
 One is that we are born to work, 
 
 To keep our garden drest; 
 If difficulties make us shirk, 
 
 We are not worthy rest. 
 
 Rest is the prize of work well done 
 Work done with zeal and zest, 
 
 Of effort till success is won; 
 The idler cannot rest. 
 
 Again, what means the instinctive tie, 
 
 The bond of common blood, 
 But that men are one family, 
 
 One blood-bound brotherhood? 
 
 Cain slew his brother, and thereby 
 
 Brought jealous passions in; 
 Aye, but all true humanity 
 
 Cries out against that sin. 
 
 Ambitious wars, trade-jealousies, 
 
 Self-seeking politics, 
 The grafter's game of grab at these 
 
 The true world-conscience kicks. 
 
 Life is, in brief, a training-school; 
 
 It trains to energy, 
 And, if men learn its golden rule, 
 
 To kindly sympathy. 
 
 [13] 
 
Sunt Lacrimae Rerum 
 
 SCULPTURED upon a temple-wall, 
 Where Dido ruled the Libyan strand, 
 The Trojan prince astonished scanned 
 The story of his country's fall. 
 
 "Here, even here, is sympathy 
 
 With Troy," he cried; "these pictured tears 
 
 Call us to put aside all fears, 
 And promise us hospitality/' 
 
 The oneness of humanity 
 
 That was the truth he saw in part; 
 It's ours to lay that truth to heart, 
 
 And fear to break that unity. 
 
 Cain broke it, and the curse of Cain 
 Awaits all souls who stir up strife, 
 And shed the blood, which is the life, 
 
 For pride of place or selfish gain. 
 
 Against the curse a blessing stands 
 The blessing won by souls who fight 
 In the defence of Truth and Right, 
 
 With loyal hearts and willing hands. 
 
 Aye, and it rests on those who make 
 The cause of suffering souls their care: 
 Who serve the poor and weak,, and bear 
 
 Burdens of others, for love's sake. 
 
 "War" said a soldier once, "is hell," 
 
 And yet he fought for liberty; 
 
 And they who fight for unity, 
 And what it means and claims, do well. 
 
 Words may mean much or little; three 
 Are charged with meaning high and broad- 
 These sign-posts on the upward road, 
 
 Unity, Sympathy, Charity. 
 
 [14] 
 
Beyond the Veil 
 
 they no thought for us, no care 
 The dear ones who have gone before? 
 Are they incurious how we fare? 
 Is all forgot that was of yore? 
 
 Ah no; a stream of sympathy 
 
 Runs thro' Creation's mighty whole 
 
 A limitless telepathy, 
 That links forever soul to soul. 
 
 Why, even of old the Roman bard 
 Knew this, who with his poet's ken 
 
 Saw how the dead still have regard 
 To all the things of mortal men : 
 
 Telling how old Anchises' shade 
 Watched o'er Aeneas' wander-years : 
 
 How for his weal he yearned, and made 
 His own the wanderer's hopes and fears. 
 
 Thus too, by love and pity moved, 
 From out their sphere beyond the veil 
 
 May friends, true-hearted souls we loved 
 On earth, reach after us, nor fail. 
 
 We cannot see, we cannot hear, 
 
 Thoro' the intervening screen; 
 They can, and still they hold us dear; 
 
 Still they remember what has been. 
 
 And as they prayed for us of old, 
 And we for them, so pray they yet, 
 
 So pray we; otherwise love were cold, 
 And hearts were learning to forget. 
 
 They cannot shape our destinies. 
 
 And yet from them in very deed 
 May come the thoughts that make us wise, 
 
 Or comfort us, in time of need. 
 
 [15] 
 
Their influence, all unfelt, unseen, 
 May shield us from some threatened blow 
 
 May, as a barrier, stand between 
 Us and the onset of some foe. 
 
 Death, thou canst slay this body; thpu 
 Canst take our dear ones from our sight ; 
 
 But break our fellowship? That, we trow, 
 World-conqueror, is beyond thy, might. 
 
The F alley of Baca 
 
 LL things are charged with tears. Ah, why? 
 
 Because the life we live on earth 
 Is all a strange complexity 
 
 Of pain and pleasure ; grief and mirth. 
 
 It's mortal life, and yet has gleams 
 
 In it of immortality; 
 It's fallen life, and yet has dreams 
 
 Of Eden and recovery. 
 
 All Nature suffered by the Fall 
 
 That banished man from Paradise; 
 
 Evil came in, and therefore all 
 Creation, anguished, groans and sighs. 
 
 Sin's discords marred earth's harmonies, 
 And, fell as blasts of poisonous breath, 
 
 Came strife, disease, disorder, lies, 
 And, overshadowing all things, death. 
 
 That's why all things have tears in them 
 Tears moved by suffering, failure, loss; 
 
 That's why the Babe of Bethlehem 
 Was born to death upon the Cross. 
 
 Yes, but that death waved back the sword 
 That barred the gates of Paradise ; 
 
 The guardian cherubs knew their Lord, 
 And welcomed Him in glad surprise. 
 
 For us He opened out the way 
 
 To where death has no empery, 
 Where light and life and love hold sway, 
 
 And tears are wiped from every eye. 
 
 [17] 
 
Discipline 
 
 HOM the gods love, die young," 'tis said ; 
 What does that mean? Is it that life 
 Is but a curse, and that the dead 
 Are blest as freed from toil and strife? 
 
 That's what the saying means, I guess ; 
 
 But is it true? For is not life 
 A training school for blessedness? 
 
 And is not peace born out of strife? 
 
 The world is full of evil yes; 
 
 And life has many a care and pain ; 
 Wars of ambition bring distress 
 
 On nations; toilers toil in vain. 
 
 But not all strife is evil strife; 
 
 Life has its joys as well as woes; 
 Pain may be as the surgeon's knife; 
 
 To strength thro' toil the toiler grows. 
 
 "Strive," said Christ, "to enter in 
 By the strait gate" aye, "agonize"; 
 
 There's the good fight the fight with sin 
 And life eternal is the prize. 
 
 Failures may open out the way 
 
 For high success; the difficulties 
 Which thwart our hopes, and vex us, may 
 
 Be priceless blessings in disguise. 
 
 Life is a trial-time; each test 
 
 Tries us to brace our energies. 
 Battling with evil, doing our best, 
 
 Nor losing heart, we win the prize. 
 
 [18] 
 
Stragglings in weariness of heart: 
 The agony of self-sacrifice 
 
 These shape the soul to bear its part 
 In the fair life of Paradise. 
 
 Some tender souls there are who need 
 Little of this world's discipline; 
 
 Such souls God's angels haste to lead 
 Back to the world which knows no sin. 
 
 [19] 
 
Amplius 
 
 FAMOUS painter looked upon 
 A student's work, and wrote thereon 
 Just Amplius. 
 
 "Work out your visions, your designs," 
 It said, "on broader, ampler lines" 
 That Amplius. 
 
 "Lengthen thy cords," the prophet cried; 
 "Make wide thy bounds, and yet more wide"- 
 'Twas Amplius. 
 
 We too, to meet our spirit's need, 
 Should on our work, our aims, our creed, 
 Write Amplius. 
 
 For hearts are selfish, narrow, cold, 
 
 Till they have learnt the secret told 
 
 By Amplius. 
 
 "Get beyond self, get beyond all 
 Self-seeking narrowness," is the call 
 Of Amplius. 
 
 "Think thoughts, do deeds, of charity, 
 Sympathy, generosity," 
 
 Says Amplius. 
 
 It's ours, in answer to that cry, 
 To make our hearts and lives reply, 
 "Aye, Amplius." 
 
 So shall we come to realize 
 The truth of things in clearer wise, 
 And Amplius. 
 
 So shall we make our life's design 
 Copy more nearly the Divine; 
 That's Amplius. 
 
 [20] 
 
Sublimius 
 
 OF all the mottoes, which a man 
 Can choose, there is none better than 
 Sublimius. 
 
 The youth who clomb the mountain side 
 Crying Excelsior! should have cried 
 Sublimius. 
 
 "Taller" was what he said, but his 
 Idea was "Higher up" that is 
 Sublimius. 
 
 It brings hard work, for it implies 
 Ascent; by difficult steps we rise 
 Sublimius. 
 
 Yes, but it's worth it all the time; 
 
 We mount to happiness as we climb 
 
 Sublimius. 
 
 You hear as it were a noble chord 
 Of solemn music in that word, 
 Sublimius. 
 
 High purpose, scorn of self and sin, 
 Patient endeavour, meet within 
 Sublimius. 
 
 It says what "Sursum Corda" says, 
 And adds, "Lift up your lives always 
 Sublimius." 
 
 Labour is prayer; aye, and it's praise; 
 "Work out your aspirations" says 
 Sublimius. 
 
 It means the path of duty trod 
 The path which leads, as up to God, 
 Sublimius. 
 
 [21] 
 
Avalon 
 
 AMBKIN and wolf that is, tame beasts 
 
 wild 
 
 "Shall dwell together, and a little child 
 Shall lead them" this, said Judah's seer, shall be 
 In the Messiah's reign of equity. 
 
 Not yet is that new order consummate; 
 Not yet is this world rid of strife and hate ; 
 Wild beasts still ravin for their prey, and still 
 Men, wilder than wild beasts, work death and ill. 
 
 Yet there's a ministry of leading on, 
 
 Which children serve, unto an Avalon 
 
 Of peace their own small world of shows and plays 
 
 Where tired old souls may rest, e'en nowadays. 
 
 Led by a little child, sharing its joys, 
 Its interests, its fancies, its employs, 
 Souls, weary of life's war, find a surcease 
 From the long agony, and are at peace. 
 
 And it may be that, when stern punishment 
 Has purged brute souls, Heaven's after-instrument 
 Of discipline will be not judgment's rod, 
 But hands of children, leading them to God. 
 
 [22] 
 
Words 
 
 OT words but deeds 'tis an old tale 
 Yet words have worth and use; 
 True words are gospels; if they fail, 
 'Tis ears that need excuse. 
 
 "Words, idle words," folk say, and yet 
 
 Words may be things that do; 
 "Up, Guards, and at 'em" sped the onset 
 
 That settled Waterloo. 
 
 "Noblesse oblige" a phrase may mean 
 
 Devotion unto death; 
 Words may be fire aye, words have been 
 
 As wafts of heavenly breath. 
 
 Rightly we blame the man whose tongue 
 
 Does all he cares to do; 
 But what of him whose words mean strong 
 
 Purpose and effort too ? 
 
 Rightly again we blame the man 
 
 Who speaks to curse or lie; 
 Speech that is used for lie or ban 
 
 Savours of blasphemy. 
 
 Mere words, bad words these are as naught, 
 
 Or, worse, as injury; 
 But words that echo gracious thought 
 
 Have a true ministry. 
 
 But ears must hear; in vain the sower 
 
 Sows seed in barren earth ; 
 Dull hearts rob eloquence of its power, 
 
 And make speech nothing worth. 
 
 Who scorn good words scorn seeds of Truth, 
 
 And miss her fruits thereby; 
 They had and this shall be their ruth 
 
 Their opportunity. 
 
 [23] 
 
A Pilgrim 's Progress 
 
 is the door to life to that large life 
 That lies beyond the grave : the life wherein 
 Souls are delivered from earth's ceaseless strife, 
 
 And cleansed by purgatorial discipline: 
 The life that, as aeonian, stage by stage 
 Lifts souls, that will, to man's true heritage. 
 
 Aeonian life that is, a life that grows 
 Thro' ages to the fulness of its height; 
 
 Each life-age has its death, to mark its close, 
 And usher in an age of higher light; 
 
 And souls rise thro' these stages of ascent 
 
 Just as God calls them, and their wills consent. 
 
 Man's heritage what is it? God designed 
 That man should be to Him a very son, 
 
 To stand before His Face: to know His mind, 
 And do His bidding gladly and anon. 
 
 Man is an heir of Heaven, and Heaven is still 
 
 Open to every soul that does God's will. 
 
 Ah, if the prodigal will but return, 
 He yet may win back to his lost estate ; 
 
 The vision of God, Godlikeness, life eterne, 
 Await him, beckon him home thro' mercy's gate; 
 
 Return may mean a weary pilgrimage, 
 
 And long; yet may he make it, stage by stage. 
 
 [24] 
 
A Mighty Monosyllable 
 
 OVE what is love? A love there is, 
 
 So called, that is of selfishness; 
 True love has naught to do with this; 
 It seeks not blessing, but to bless ; 
 With faith and hope on either side, 
 It leads the graces that abide. 
 
 Yes, that is love the charity 
 That is a temper of God's heart, 
 
 Requickened in all souls that die 
 To self, and choose the better part; 
 
 Self-love spells death; love cannot die; 
 
 Its life is of eternity. 
 
 Its name, a monosyllable; 
 
 Itself unutterably great, 
 Love is of Heaven, as lust of hell; 
 
 It masters self, and conquers hate. 
 The Hebrew Tetragrammaton 
 And it, for God is Love, are one. 
 
 [25 
 
The Mystery of Being 
 
 HAT man was, what he is, what he 
 May be who has not sought 
 To solve the threefold mystery 
 Of being, of will, of thought? 
 
 Seers have caught mirrored gleams of Truth 
 
 In Revelation's light; 
 But did they see the very Sooth, 
 
 And understand the sight? 
 
 That faithful souls may come to be 
 
 True children of the Lord 
 We know from Christ's own lips, and we 
 
 Can rest upon His word. 
 
 But there were those about His path 
 
 As Scribe and Pharisee 
 To whom He said, in righteous wrath, 
 
 "Children of hell are ye." 
 
 Is man a complex entity 
 
 Part devilish, part divine, 
 Part brute wherein perversity 
 
 Has marred a great design? 
 
 In body to the brutes akin, 
 
 He shares their life in part; 
 But Satan, save thro' man's own sin, 
 
 Has no place in his heart. 
 
 Into man's nature at his birth 
 God breathed two lives so runs 
 
 The record one, the life of earth, 
 The other, of His sons. 
 
 And, had not his self-will transgressed 
 
 The Father's single ban, 
 Man had grown up, blessing and blest, 
 
 Unto the perfect man. 
 
 [26] 
 
'Twas selfishness brought down a curse, 
 
 By opening hearts to sin; 
 Man had free choice; he chose the worse, 
 
 And Satan entered in. 
 
 And still he enters every heart 
 
 Ruled by self-will, and still, 
 Playing in it the Tempter's part, 
 
 Betrays it into ill. 
 
 Aye, and there are who, giving place 
 
 To Satan, come to be 
 Dehumanized too brute, too base, 
 
 To be of the family. 
 
 Yet souls have that in them which can 
 
 Resist the Evil One ; 
 The life of God is in each man, 
 
 And God claims him as son. 
 
 Still lies before him the Great Choice; 
 
 Still penitence finds grace; 
 Aye, and it makes God's heart rejoice 
 
 When sinners seek His Face. 
 
 No soul need be a brute; no soul 
 
 Need be a devil's child; 
 The Father's house is our true goal 
 
 The home of the undefiled. 
 
 Twixt the old Paradise and new 
 
 A weary desert lies; 
 Aye, but thro' it pure souls and true 
 
 Win to the Heavenlies. 
 
 [27] 
 
Euge 
 
 OD and my own right hand the cry 
 Echoes Saint George's creed 
 'Tis Faith and Work in harmony, 
 God's strength behind man's deed. 
 
 God first no work can be good work 
 But what His will commands; 
 
 Man next God helps no souls who shirk 
 Tasks that lie to their hands. 
 
 Life is no day of idleness, 
 
 Or sin; its span is given 
 For work, for acts of righteousness, 
 
 For Teachings after Heaven. 
 
 Duty to God, duty to man 
 
 That's life's true industry; 
 Two words sum up its scope and plan 
 
 Holiness, Charity. 
 
 Who make this royal rule their own, 
 
 And shape their lives thereon, 
 Shall win, before the Great White Throne, 
 
 The Master's kind "Well done." 
 
 [28] 
 
MISCELLA 
 
Kinship 
 
 STAND by your own ; stand by 
 Your kith and kin ; 
 Stand by the family, 
 
 Thro* thick and thin; 
 Stand up for its good name; 
 
 It's your name too ; 
 Never let taint of shame 
 Hurt it thro 1 you. 
 
 If fortune seems to frown, 
 
 And things go ill 
 With them, stand by your own ; 
 
 Hold to them still. 
 Keep kinship's claim in mind, 
 
 Remembering 
 This that "akin" and "kind" 
 
 Mean the same thing. 
 
 You may not turn your face 
 
 From any soul 
 That needs and asks your grace 
 
 Your pity's dole. 
 To flout such were a sin, 
 
 But the blood-call 
 The cry of kith and kin 
 
 Ranks first of all. 
 
 Traitors, who love a lie, 
 
 For profit's sake 
 Break other ties; this tie 
 
 They cannot break. 
 Nothing, All Nature saith, 
 
 Snaps the blood-bond; 
 It holds thro 1 life to death, 
 
 Aye, and beyond. 
 
 [31] 
 
A Cameo 
 
 BOY'S verse, dedicate years ago 
 To her, whose tender sympathy 
 Mothered him 'tis a cameo, 
 Clear-cut as in chalcedony. 
 
 A picture but in words? Well, yes; 
 
 And yet what carver's artistry 
 Could make this vision of loveliness 
 
 More present to our spirit's eye? 
 
 Her "hyacinth hair," her "classic face," 
 Her "Naiad airs/' the charm that gives 
 
 Her form its spiritual grace 
 All this we see, and for us she lives : 
 
 Lives as they lived in breathing bronze, 
 Or marble, whom the golden age 
 
 Of sculptors imaged the mighty ones 
 Of mythic cult and epic page. 
 
 Art-gems there are that are for the few, 
 But, thanks to Edgar Allen Poe, 
 
 No matter where they be, or who, 
 All souls may see this cameo. 
 
 [32] 
 
Fates Sacer 
 
 HE poet is born, not made; aye, and yet he 
 Must make himself, if poet he is to be: 
 Must learn the secrets of the poet's art : 
 Must find his way to -the great human heart : 
 Must see in fragrant flower and glittering star 
 Mirrored reflections of the things that are: 
 Must hear the solemn music of the spheres, 
 And echo its harmonies to duller ears : 
 Must use all Nature as a parable, 
 Telling what else were all ineffable. 
 No "frenzy fine," no sweep of "rolling eye," 
 Will make an expert in this alchemy. 
 The poet by birth to reach majority 
 Must nurse and train his native faculty; 
 Poetic genius in embryo 
 Is his, but he must rear and make it grow. 
 It needs self-knowledge and self-discipline 
 To make his heart drink in the Breath divine. 
 It needs the learner's patient industry 
 To store his mind with language pure and high. 
 Words noble must he seek for noble thought, 
 Nor rest content with less than that he sought : 
 Must file and chasten, alter and erase, 
 Till the true word at last finds its true place. 
 The mighty bards of Hellas and of Rome 
 Must beckon him to the heights whereto they clomb ; 
 Milton and Dante too must point his aim 
 Above the petty lust of vulgar fame. 
 To lift men's hearts, to make them see and feel 
 True Beauty its example and appeal 
 That is the poet's work the enterprise 
 Which is at once his calling and its prize. 
 So and so only shall he train his soul 
 To climb Parnassus' peak the poet's goal. 
 So and so only shall he make his rime 
 A thing to conquer death, and outlive Time. 
 
 [33] 
 
Posies 
 
 OETRY is the language of the soul 
 Its thoughts made utterance by the spirit's 
 
 breath ; 
 
 To reach the great world-heart that is its goal ; 
 Its themes the things that count in life and death. 
 
 Carols of birds, the thunder's echoing roll, 
 The rivulet's laugh, the South Wind's quiet sigh, 
 
 The still small voice that thrilled the prophet's soul, 
 All meet in that which men call Poetry. 
 
 In this phantasmal world, which men count home, 
 We see but outward shows, and call them real ; 
 
 To the true bard, as to the seer, there come 
 Visions of that which IS of the ideal 
 
 She came the Spirit eterne of Poetry 
 
 Into this order of created things 
 To find interpreters, and voice thereby 
 
 To human ears the message that She brings ; 
 And hearts are ever answering to her call, 
 But only one small bird has heard it all. 
 
 Poetry, Music, and the painter's art, 
 Aye, and the sculptor's, are a harmony 
 
 Of revelations, imaging to the heart 
 The Beauty that is of Eternity. 
 
 Poetry is the workmanship whereby 
 
 The inspirations of immortal breath 
 Are fashioned into song a symphony 
 
 Of words, whose echoes ring thro' life and death. 
 
 Sevenfold as the voice of Music 
 Is the voice of Poetry, 
 
 [34] 
 
Ranging from the stately Epic 
 
 To the mirth of Comedy; 
 But its best loved note is Lyric, 
 
 Sweet Euterpe's specialty. 
 
 When Poetry came to this Babylon, 
 She found a babel of discordant cries; 
 
 She called in Music, and with her anon 
 Resolved the discords into harmonies. 
 
 So Arcady took birth. Ah ! Well-a-day ! 
 
 That souls who will not hear brawl on for aye ! 
 
 A Poem is of heaven and earth; its soul 
 Is of the breath divine; its symmetry 
 
 Is of the poet; bowing to the control 
 
 Of rhythm and rime he shapes his artistry, 
 
 Until the thing stands forth a perfect Whole 
 Thought clothed in words that match it Poetry. 
 
 Poesy is a craft; a breath divine 
 
 Must be its vital spark, but artistry 
 Must shape its fancies, and the outward sign 
 
 Must match the inward grace in dignity. 
 Pure words and noble lend verse majesty; 
 Balance and pattern give it symmetry. 
 
 The Arts are sisters; Poetry is kin 
 
 To Music, kin too to the painter's art; 
 
 Thus each interprets each, and thus all win 
 Alike their triumphs as they touch the heart. 
 
 Poetry is creation, it must call 
 
 That into being which were elsewise naught; 
 He who would fashion it needs first of all 
 
 The inspiration of a noble thought; 
 This won, his art must image it must give 
 It substance shaped in words that breathe and live. 
 
 [35] 
 
Beauty the beauty that is goodness too, 
 For both are of one stock whatever things 
 
 Are fair and noble, innocent and true 
 Of beauty such as this the poet sings. 
 
 He sees a vision beckoning souls to rise, 
 
 And points their hopes and longings to the skies. 
 
 Co-operant in one great design, 
 Music and Poetry combine 
 
 To lift man's heart and mind; 
 It is not poetry, it is 
 Not music, that comes short of this; 
 
 It is but noise and wind. 
 
 Music and Poetry are one at heart 
 
 Two bodies, but one soul ; 
 Together, as each plays its proper part, 
 
 They make a perfect Whole. 
 
 They have their own trench-songs the men 
 Who face the Hun, now and again 
 
 Varied by joke or story; 
 But, when they stand affronting death, 
 And less dour souls might hold their breath, 
 
 The Scots sing "Annie Laurie." 
 
 Strained nerves what helps them in the tense 
 Pause of expectance or suspense, 
 
 When battle is at hand? 
 Ah then, the trenches' length along, 
 You'll hear the lilt of some old home-song, 
 
 That speaks of Motherland. 
 
 [36] 
 
Mirrors 
 
 ERE in enigma and in mystery 
 We see and hear what lies beyond the veil, 
 Now in some sunset's mystic imagery, 
 
 Now in the melody of the nightingale ; 
 For Nature is a mirror, broken in part, 
 Yet flashing gleams of truth upon the heart. 
 
 "Draw up the blind, friends, and let in the light"- 
 So spake the dying seeker after Truth; 
 
 Death answered, and flung open to his sight 
 The gates of light ideal of God's own Sooth. 
 
 In Nature's mirrors here we see 
 
 The mysteries of Eternity; 
 
 And we may mirror that which lies 
 
 Beyond their ken to mortal eyes : 
 
 May train our hearts to be in sooth 
 
 Reflectors of eternal Truth. 
 
 For, as we gaze with open face 
 
 Upon the glory of God's grace, 
 
 It takes us, shapes us, stamps on us 
 
 The image of itself ; and thus 
 
 Makes hearts and lives reflect to sight 
 
 The beauty of the Infinite. 
 
 (Cf. 1 Cor. XIII. 12. 2 Cor. III. 18.) 
 
 [37] 
 
Epigrammata Quaedam 
 
 Life 
 
 ' IFE is existence, manifest 
 * In its activities : 
 A spiritual thing expressed 
 
 In sacramental wise. 
 Its tenements are the outward sign : 
 Itself, a spark of fire divine, 
 
 The Gospel story tells us what 
 Life perfect life must be; 
 
 It's being, and it's doing, that 
 Which is of Charity. 
 
 Life is a spring of energy; 
 
 It's being, and it's doing; 
 And, as the doing, so must be 
 
 The being joy or ruing. 
 
 The Breath of Lives 
 
 (Gen. 2: 7.) 
 
 What is man's life ? A breath ; 
 
 It breathes once, and is gone; 
 Yes, but man's spirit outlives death; 
 
 That breath breathes on. 
 
 Facilis Descensus 
 
 The Roman bards apparently 
 Led off with forms of Comedy 
 The rude Fescennine verse, whose chaff 
 And jokes were sung to raise a laugh 
 
 [38] 
 
Which shows that in world-history 
 
 There was a human infancy; 
 
 For childhood's tastes are gastronomic, 
 
 And, when not gastronomic, comic. 
 
 That' s natural enough, for both 
 
 Tastes answer to the laws of growth. 
 
 But what if any later age 
 
 Falls back to life's infantile stage, 
 
 And, proudly posing as adult, 
 
 Yet makes Thalia's sock its cult, 
 
 And turns up its aesthetic nose 
 
 At everything but jokes and shows? 
 
 So fell Old Rome degenerate 
 
 A warning never out of date 
 
 To childish man and childish State. 
 
 [39] 
 
Old-Time Apothegms 
 
 back your shield or be brought back upon 
 your shield, my son" 
 So Spartan mothers sent their sons to war; so wars 
 were won. 
 
 That is the worst corruption which corrupts that which 
 
 is best; 
 That, which was best, corrupted is of all things rot- 
 
 tenest.. 
 
 So fallen Lucifer became of fiends the fiendliest; 
 So fallen saints too may become of sinners sinfullest. 
 
 When men desert their senses, when they cast out 
 
 reason, then** 
 God wills that they should perish that is, as being 
 
 no longer men, 
 He turns them to destruction, that they may be born 
 
 again. 
 
 We bear two wallets, one upon our breast, one on 
 
 our back; 
 Our neighbours' faults they're handy there to see 
 
 fill the front sack; 
 Our own we store, well out of sight, within the 
 
 hinder pack. 
 
 "Big book, big ill" the sentiment reflects old-world 
 
 ideas, 
 Perhaps our own. But what about Encyclopaedias? 
 
 Water will hollow, drop by drop, the hardest rock 
 
 'tis said; 
 Eternal cataracts wouldn't even dent a Know-All's 
 
 head. 
 
 **Quem Deus vult perdere, prius dementit. God does 
 not will to destroy a man until the man has, by 
 sinning against it, quenched the light that is in him 
 the light that makes him man. The transitive form 
 "dementat" lacks authority. Cp. Psalm XC. 3. 
 
 [40] 
 
D. E. S. 
 
 her dying bed, in perfect peace, 
 Diana lay; within the solemn room 
 Still with the stillness of a holy calm 
 Her nearest and her dearest with sad eyes 
 Watched her fast-failing breath; 
 
 when suddenly 
 
 A radiant glory lighted all her face 
 With a half-satisfied, half-yearning smile; 
 And eagerly with upward look, as though 
 She saw heaven's hosts descending from on high 
 To carry her aloft to rest and peace, 
 She strove to raise herself, and lift her hands 
 Towards them as they came; and joyfully 
 She whispered "Two of them can carry me 
 Easily, easily"; 
 
 her pale lips closed, 
 
 But o'er her happy features still there shone 
 The smile of glad content, still in her eyes 
 The light of welcome ; and, while thus she gazed 
 On the bright glories bursting on her sight, 
 She passed into the Paradise of God. 
 
 O crowning triumph of a life that had, 
 By grace of the most Holy Trinity, 
 Fought the good fight and conquered; for the strife 
 Was over now ; the victories won : and lo ! 
 The angels came and ministered to her. 
 
 Dear in the Father's sight is such a death, 
 And holy; but not simply for her sake 
 Whose eyes beheld it was that vision shown, 
 But also for their sakes who stood around, 
 Aye, and for those to whom the tale should come. 
 It took from grief its sting, and bade them know 
 Who loved her that thrice blessed was her lot, 
 And that beyond earth's changes, where are set 
 
 [41] 
 
The many mansions of the Father's House, 
 There, 'mid the waiting throng of ransomed saints, 
 The peace of God was hers for evermore. 
 
 But not to loved ones only did it speak. 
 It came a token to the Church at large, 
 As came Epiphanies to Paul, and John, 
 And martyred Stephen, eloquent of love 
 And tender care His care and love Who blessed 
 The exiled Jacob, in his hour of need, 
 With Bethel's vision, and made manifest 
 The hosts of Dothan to a doubting soul. 
 "O human hearts," it said, "endure and trust 
 As seeing Him Who is invisible. 
 Heaven is about you, though your eyes are blind, 
 Or catch but faint reflections of the truth, 
 And the Sabaoth of the King of kings 
 Not only battle, ranged in serried ranks, 
 Against the legions of the Prince of Hell, 
 But also have their several ministries 
 Of comfort and of help, as sent to guide 
 Through this dark wilderness of doubt and fear 
 To opened heavens the souls which Christ's dear love 
 Has ransomed from the 'grave of self and sin, 
 And called to live His life, and share His joy." 
 
 [42] 
 
Christmas Day 
 
 (S. Luke I. 78) 
 
 S God's heart room for sympathy 
 With fallen man, with sinful earth? 
 That is man's question. God's reply 
 Stands written in the Virgin Birth. 
 
 Amaranto 
 
 are the flowers which we brought our child, 
 As she lay on her dying bed ; 
 They gave their message, and now each bloom 
 Is withered and dry and dead. 
 
 And faded the wreaths which hid her grave 
 
 Till it seemed like a garden's pride; 
 They sent their message, and they too now 
 
 Are things to be cast aside. 
 
 But the love which they witnessed that is not dead; 
 
 Love is of eternity; 
 And the tale which they told her is told her still 
 
 By flowers that never die. 
 
 [43] 
 
Homeward Bound 
 
 SOFT and kind was the morning breeze, 
 As it sprang from its home in the West, 
 And kissed the pale face of a dying child, 
 Clasped close to its mother's breast. 
 
 And fresh and clear was the midday breeze, 
 As it swept o'er the dancing sea, 
 
 And filled with its breath the bellying sails 
 Of a good ship, running free. 
 
 And calm and quiet the evening breeze, 
 
 As it died o'er land and sea; 
 For child and ship it had wafted home 
 
 To the haven where each would be. 
 
 Troth-plight 
 
 E plighted troth upon a day 
 The day my lad went off to sea; 
 We swore that we'd be true for aye, 
 And true for aye we'll surely be. 
 
 I know that we shall meet again; 
 
 Aye, but it won't be here and now; 
 His ship lies low beneath the main, 
 
 And he well, he's aloft, I trow. 
 
 [44] 
 
Einheriar 
 
 were brave men ere Agamemnon's days, 
 Aye many, but all unwept they lie, unknown 
 For lack of sacred bard to hymn their praise, 
 Of epic song to publish their renown. 
 
 So mourned the Roman poet; his lament 
 Echoes itself not once nor twice again, 
 
 As heroes fall; as gallant soul is rent 
 
 From stalwart body, and earth receives her slain. 
 
 It's always so, it always must be so, 
 In war; for in the battle's fierce pell-mell 
 
 Men fall by thousands fall as foe meets foe, 
 Fall to the fiery storm of shot and shell. 
 
 And many a doughty feat of arms is known 
 Only to those who wrought it as they died 
 
 Acts of self-sacrifice, of lives laid down 
 
 For comrades, in life's beauty and life's pride. 
 
 Who shall rehearse such golden deeds as these? 
 
 How shall the whole wide world of nations breed 
 Poets enow to hymn such gallantries 
 
 In full tale, and according to their meed? 
 
 But not unknown upon the other side 
 Are heroes when they pass from mortal ken: 
 
 Not whelmed in darkness, as the poet sighed, 
 But manifest as the souls of valiant men. 
 
 Their record goes before them, and the name 
 
 Of each true soul, for its fidelity, 
 Finds place in the triumphal Hall of Fame, 
 
 The Panheroion, of Eternity. 
 
 [45] 
 
Aye, and to all, who do their duty, come 
 
 Due recognition and a sure reward 
 The "Well done" of approval, and a home 
 
 Of rest, and then work for their King and Lord. 
 
 Their badge of honour is no heraldic shield, 
 
 No bar or jewel or any earthly sign; 
 Blazoned upon their foreheads stand, revealed 
 
 In mystic hieroglyphs, the Names Divine. 
 
 Not nameless, O not nameless, are they there; 
 
 Each name is entered on the Eternal roll; 
 Not lost to sight; the everlasting Care 
 
 Numbers them, and would miss a single soul. 
 
 Note "Einheriar" is the Norse name for warriors who 
 enter Valhalla. 
 
 [46] 
 
Our Dead 
 
 shall we say of those who gave 
 Their lives at Britain's claim, 
 Nor held them dear so they might save 
 Their Motherland's fair fame: 
 
 Who fought and fell for kith and kin, 
 
 For Freedom and the Right; 
 To whom disloyalty was sin, 
 
 And Justice more than Might? 
 
 From the Homeland and from afar, 
 
 Across the seas, they came; 
 The blood-bond drew them to the war 
 
 That, and the British name. 
 
 Now, of the hearts that beat so high, 
 
 Many are stilled for aye; 
 And lives that seemed too young to die, 
 
 Too dear, have passed away. 
 
 Shall we deplore them? Hearts are rent, 
 
 And weeping were no shame; 
 Nay, they are lift above lament; 
 
 Paean, not dirge, they claim. 
 
 As Hellas in the olden days 
 
 Bent o'er her gallant dead, 
 And gave them not her tears, but praise, 
 
 We dry our tears, half-shed; 
 
 And, with the thanks, the grateful praise, 
 
 Of those he died to save, 
 We lay a wreath of deathless bays 
 
 Upon each hero's grave. 
 
 [47] 
 
On Mount Soracte 
 
 (Written for a Druidical function.) 
 
 OTau-Bel-Hesus, as before 
 This karn, your local shrine, 
 We stand, as Druids wont of yore, 
 We make our mystic sign. 
 
 Refrain. Hey derry down, derry 
 down.* 
 
 We offer too of mistletoe 
 
 A spray, by way of sample ; 
 We want the rest ourselves, and so 
 
 We hope you'll think this ample. 
 Refrain. 
 
 And on your altar, see, we light 
 
 An emblematic fire, 
 Not simply as a pretty sight 
 
 A thing for to admire. 
 Refrain. 
 
 Nor does it flame, as once it would 
 Have flamed, to make a pyre ; 
 
 Its object is to speak of good 
 Purpose, and high desire. 
 Refrain. 
 
 We burn no human victims now, 
 Nor eat them when they're torrid ; ** 
 
 Our laws such customs disallow 
 In fact, we think them horrid. 
 Refrain. 
 
 The fires we kindle symbolize 
 
 Truth, purity, devotion; 
 And Tau-Bel-Hesus, if you're wise, 
 
 You will accept this notion. 
 Refrain. 
 
 ' Said to be an old Druidical chorus 
 
 '* According to Pliny, the Druids ate their victims. 
 
 [48] 
 
Dogged 
 
 MOST unscrupulous little sinner, 
 Bearing a soft romantic name, 
 Sheila, with naught of softness in her 
 Into our home and hearts she came. 
 
 Of bluest aristocratic blood, 
 
 Bred of the stock they breed in Skye, 
 
 Long-haired, short-legged, sharp-nosed, she stood 
 Somewhere about six inches high. 
 
 Thoroughly spoilt, she had a hot 
 
 Temper, and any amount of pride; 
 Her tastes were dainty; she claimed and got 
 
 The best of all that the house supplied. 
 
 Once, thought to be delicate, she was clad 
 
 In a jacket; she had no use for it; 
 Tho' little more than a toy, she had 
 
 A bulldog's pluck, and a bulldog's grit. 
 
 She'd a sense of sport in her soul all right, 
 
 But limited in its range and scope; 
 She had no sympathy of delight 
 
 With the spaniel's joy, or the setter's hope. 
 
 In a sort of half-hearted way she'd run 
 After rabbits; at times she would chivy cats; 
 
 But, if you wanted to see some fun, 
 You had only to mention the one word "Rats." 
 
 One day we missed her; she didn't come 
 
 To dinner a most unwonted thing; 
 She had followed the old rat-catcher home, 
 
 We thought, to return when she'd had her fling. 
 
 [49] 
 
She never came back again; we sought, 
 
 But sought her vainly, everywhere, 
 Till, all of a sudden, occurred a thought 
 
 Of the moat had somebody drowned her there 
 
 Some tramp she'd bitten? She was, we knew, 
 
 A trifle free with her teeth, if vext; 
 So we drained the moat, and then the true 
 
 Story some out comment and text. 
 
 For three feet down we found her dead, 
 Gripping a dead rat, thigh and shank 
 
 A rat whose shoulders, fore paws and head 
 
 Were wedged in a hole in the root-bound bank. 
 
 She had chased the rat, when it made a bolt, 
 To the moat's steep brink, to the depths below; 
 
 She had caught it just as it gained its holt, 
 And died with it rather than let it go. 
 
 [50] 
 
YB 12049 
 
 491578 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY