THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 BY 
 
 FRANK L. DECKER 
 
 LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA 
 1919
 
 P5 
 P 
 INDEX 
 
 Page 
 
 Panegyric 4 
 
 To My Valentine 5 
 
 The Silver Strand of Life 6 
 
 Poem of the Pacific 7 
 
 The Colorado Columbine 8 
 
 Remotest Recollections 9 
 
 Beautiful Bonneville 1 2 
 
 Imparting to the Queen of Flowers 13 
 
 Disturb Not That Which is at Rest 14 
 
 Friendship 15 
 
 I Will Come Back to Thee 16 
 
 Oft in the Silent Hours 17 
 
 Lines Accompanying a Floral Vase 18 
 
 The Lava Beds 19 
 
 Lines Accompanying the Gift of a Ring 21 
 
 Daring Arrow 22 
 
 Sunset on the Desert 23 
 
 My Twenty-first Birthday 25 
 
 My Diamond Ruby Ring 27 
 
 Tranquility of the Trees 28 
 
 When the Grass Grows Green 30 
 
 Home Without a Hostess 31 
 
 In the Bay of Bengal ., 32 
 
 Satisfaction and Soliloquy <i 33 
 
 Here and There 34 
 
 California 35 
 
 Farewell 36 
 
 Winter Winds 37 
 
 Let Me Come Home in May, Mother 38 
 
 The Lone Pine 39 
 
 A Little Bunch of Buffalo Grass 40 
 
 The Morning of Life 41 
 
 Retrospect 42 
 
 The Noonday of Life 43 
 
 The Evening of Life 45 
 
 February Fourteenth 47 
 
 Inspiration 48 
 
 Destitution of the Desert 49 
 
 The Coming of Spring 50
 
 INDEX Continued 
 
 Page 
 
 Anticipation 52 
 
 A Little Red Leaf : 54 
 
 Coming of Christmas 55 
 
 Poem of the Plains 56 
 
 Mind s Wandering 58 
 
 Seven to Seventy-seven 60 
 
 Pensive Parting 62 
 
 Tale of the Torrey Pine 63 
 
 Lines Accompanying the Gift of a Ring 64 
 
 Autumn in Arizona 65 
 
 Golden Wedding 67 
 
 When I Miss Thee Most 68 
 
 My Diamond Ruby Ring 70 
 
 Dessie and His Dog 71 
 
 The Coldest Current 73 
 
 Pleasing Perplexity 75 
 
 Eight to Eighty-eight 76 
 
 When the Clouds Roll By 78 
 
 Pleasing the Public 80 
 
 "Boston Terrier" 82 
 
 Past and Present :.. 83 
 
 Land and Sea 85 
 
 Caress of the Moon 86 
 
 In the Woodland 88 
 
 Thinking of Thee 90 
 
 Dawn of Day 91 
 
 Course of the Rivers 93 
 
 The Cat and the Rat 95 
 
 In the Realms of Roses 97 
 
 Desideratum 99 
 
 Calling 101 
 
 Poem of the Pines 102 
 
 Midnight on the Desert 103 
 
 Review of the Ocean 105 
 
 As Flows the River of Life 107 
 
 Tribute to the Apple Blossoms 109 
 
 Serenity of the Churchyard Ill 
 
 The Sorrow of Separation 113 
 
 Farewell 115
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 If my indulgent friends these pages peruse 
 
 And accept them as a friendly token ; 
 I infer all errors they will excuse 
 And concur in their having been spoken. 
 
 Then may you revive the mem ry of one 
 By reading these lines and thinking anew 
 
 Of him whose labor, perhaps, is well done 
 In leaving a friendship sacred and true.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 PANEGYRIC 
 
 Of that inspiration my heart ever yearns 
 For the immortal Poets I most adore, 
 Longfellow, Lowell, Scott, Byron and Burns, 
 There is none so sweet as the works of Moore.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 TO MY VALENTINE 
 
 If I could fly on golden wings to India s distant isles, 
 If I could pick the precious pearls from Persia s distant 
 shore ; 
 
 I would prefer by far thy pleasant looks and constant smiles 
 To all such fame and all such fancies forevermore. 
 
 I d sail the seas of every clime in search of peace and 
 pleasure, 
 
 And then return to thee in time to cast my lot with thine ; 
 If thou would impart to me the secret of thy treasure, 
 
 And at last let me claim thee as my own sweet Valentine.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 THE SILVER STRAND OF LIFE 
 
 There is that subtle something, known as Life, 
 Flowing like a river from source to the sea, 
 
 Gaining its substance from turmoil and strife, 
 Defying solution of its mystery. 
 
 There is a majesty in immortal mind 
 That God in his eternal wisdom gave; 
 
 There is a depth to life we canont find 
 
 Throughout the way from childhood to the grave. 
 
 Beautiful birds fly o er the waving grain; 
 
 A hungry wolf will shyly pace around, 
 While hybrid herds on the distant plain 
 
 Are slowly wandering homeward bound. 
 
 Squirrels are busy in their mirthful way, 
 Gathering acorns from the old oak trees 
 
 Preparing in fall for a rainy day, 
 When earth is chilled by Winter s breeze. 
 
 The lesson we learn in animal life 
 
 Is sweet and simple and always wise 
 
 It is but a step beneath man and wife, 
 And fills the law of earthly paradise. 
 
 Thrilled with songs by day and dreams by night, 
 
 The human mind is in a happy state, 
 That believes whatever is, is right; 
 
 And good does good, if it comes not too late.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 Youth looks forward to "happy tomorrow" 
 With the romance of life it will unfold; 
 
 But man feels the keenness of sorrow 
 And joys that are lost when he becomes old. 
 
 In summing up the title of these lines, 
 Mem ry conveys me to many sad scenes; 
 
 But in sorrow and trouble man inclines 
 To depend on God for adequate means. 
 
 Chicago, Illinois, October 6, 1910. 
 
 POEM OF THE PACIFIC 
 
 O! wild and restless waves of the sea, 
 Vast and endless as the heavens above; 
 
 Sickness and 1 misery imparting to me 
 As you bear me away from friends I love. 
 
 Wave after wave, rolling half mountain high, 
 Lost in the distance on the glistening crest, 
 
 Where sunlights glimmer, and the sad winds sigh 
 Over the ocean s awful heaving breast. 
 
 Measureless depths that no plummet can sound, 
 Restless and raging the blue billows foam, 
 
 Scattering sprays for the sea birds around 
 To sweeten the life of their lonely home. 
 
 February 20, 1901.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 THE COLORADO COLUMBINE 
 
 Tall and slender in thy graceful growth, 
 Thou art tinted with the shades of blue; 
 
 Sacred as the lover s solemn oath 
 To his adored he will be true. 
 
 The deepest hue of thy outward edge 
 Fades softly into a mellow gold; 
 
 As the lover makes a faithful pledge 
 That he will to her his heart unfold. 
 
 Delicate and fair, I see thee there, 
 
 Where the waters flow and wild winds blow; 
 On the mountains bare and moonlight stare, 
 
 Meekly and low thou dost sweetly grow. 
 
 No forest flower with thee can vie: 
 With blades of blue and petals of gold; 
 
 And pendants, like comets in the sky, 
 Are grand and beautiful to behold. 
 
 Oh! Columbine, Sweet Columbine! 
 
 Oft I cherish thee in mem ry dear 
 And fain would cast my lot with thine 
 
 If thou my pensive thoughts could cheer. 
 
 July 6th, 1908
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 REMOTEST RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 Remotest recollections survive 
 
 Throughout the hidden depths of the past, 
 Keeping our present thoughts alive 
 
 To the incidents that hold us fast. 
 
 For there is a faint recollection 
 Of those long-ago, juvenile days, 
 
 When we looked forth for protection 
 In our innocent, cherubic ways. 
 
 Facing a little three acre field, 
 Across the lane stood a walnut tree 
 
 Whose morning shade early revealed 
 The glory of nature, sweet to see. 
 
 Out o er this field, in juvenile joy, 
 I walked as proud as proud could be, 
 
 Shouting, "I will be a farmer boy, 
 For a farmer is the life for me." 
 
 "I ll be a farmer boy," so I sang, 
 As o er that emerald field I tread, 
 
 While music of nature sweetly rang 
 Around about my exalted head. 
 
 To the south ran a little clear brook 
 
 Whose banks were steep and shaded by trees, 
 As it wound its way around the nook 
 
 And gently play d with the morning breeze.
 
 10 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 This little stream, in a quiet course, 
 
 Winding its way between house and barn, 
 
 Furnish d many drinks for cow and horse, 
 As it flow d on through adjoining farm. 
 
 Early recollections I recall, 
 
 It seems to me I was barely five, 
 
 When the drowsy cattle, calves and all, 
 From field to barn I learned to drive. 
 
 The straight, smooth road running east and west, 
 Strewn with trav lers from morning till night, 
 
 Gave our courage a crucial test, 
 
 And gave our hearts a tremendous fright. 
 
 One autumn night when coming from school, 
 John Edsinger, with a bad false face, 
 
 Play d the part of nefarious fool, 
 And gave us an awful scare and race. 
 
 Fields and fences we scanned like deers, 
 Pursued by hounds through bush and plain; 
 
 While he kept up his hideous cheers 
 As we rushed on with might and main. 
 
 A deep, dry ditch that before us lay 
 Proved our refuge, when out of breath, 
 
 As by it we made our "get-away" 
 
 When that false face looked like sure death.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 1 1 
 
 In those days few clothes were allowed, 
 Money was scarce, and our feet often bare; 
 
 Of a pink waist I surely was proud 
 And wish d other boys my joy could share. 
 
 From our old home to Grandpa Snyder s, 
 
 A distance of six miles or seven, 
 The trees were fraught with bugs and spiders, 
 
 But even this we thought was heaven. 
 
 By the road, a big butternut tree, 
 
 With its fuzzy fruit upon the ground, 
 Remains a cherished memory, 
 
 Like some treasure that has just been found. 
 
 Thus the "Remotest Recollections" 
 
 That we can recall from day to day, 
 Remain as precious conceptions 
 
 Of times that have long passed away.
 
 12 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 BEAUTIFUL BONNEVILLE 
 
 (Bonnevilie is situated on the left bank of the Columbia River, forty-one 
 miles east of Portland. Is one of the most delightful and picturesque places 
 of the famous river scenery.) 
 
 Serenely sweet in nature s breast, 
 My soul to charm, my heart to thrill, 
 
 Lies nature s gem, in nature s rest; 
 Sweet Bonnevilie, sweet Bonnevilie. 
 
 Beneath the shade of stately pines, 
 Beneath the green of graceful hills, 
 
 Where hang the sacred myrtle vines, 
 And gently run the sparkling rills. 
 
 Oh! beautiful place of paradise, 
 Where the Columbia s emerald walls 
 
 Are kissed by the soft mists that rise 
 From Columbia s distant waterfalls. 
 
 Oh! sweetest spot of all the land, 
 Where youth and age would linger still, 
 
 Where winds Columbia s silver strand 
 At Bonnevilie, sweet Bonnevilie. 
 
 Song birds and bees feast in the trees; 
 
 The ambient space with fragrance fill 
 From every bough and every breeze, 
 
 This grand and beautiful Bonnevilie. 
 
 Portland, Oregon, January, 1902.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 13 
 
 IMPARTING TO THE QUEEN OF FLOWERS 
 
 (Dedicated to the Artist.) 
 
 Oh! ravishing rose of ruddy hue, 
 That, bursting like rockets in the sky, 
 
 Perfume the air and sweeten the dew 
 Where heaven and earth in beauty vie. 
 
 Far dearer to me in language unspoken 
 Are hidden the treasures thy petals enfold, 
 
 And sweet the love that has ne er been broken 
 By rivaling rose, myrtle or marigold. 
 
 Hymen s altar, thou hast ever basked 
 And sooth d the way of man s ardent desire, 
 
 Where pain and pleasure are closely clasped 
 By the consoling of heaven s lyre. 
 
 My wand ring thoughts thou oft dost tranquilize 
 And from thy memories I fain would part, 
 
 But cherish the days that immortalize 
 Their diamond dawn upon my pensive heart.
 
 14 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 DISTURB NOT THAT WHICH IS AT REST. 
 
 Oh! disturb not that which is at rest: 
 
 Rivers that have flown o er hill and plain, 
 
 Form lakes permanent on earth s broad breast 
 And revert not to their source again. 
 
 Disturb not the leaves of our pathway 
 As they have drifted to good and bad; 
 
 Let them remain, even though, half way, 
 They leave us dissatisfied and sad. 
 
 If from absence, our friends become cold, 
 Let them remain in that state of mind; 
 
 As time unrolls, it may have foretold 
 
 That our friendships are mostly that kind. 
 
 The same conditions ever prevail, 
 
 If our confidence they do not rob, 
 In protecting the past from assail 
 
 As 1 they prepare to "finish the job." 
 
 Time knits firm the custom of living 
 And holds us fast to daily routine, 
 
 Without a fear or much misgiving 
 As to the results that intervene. 
 
 Life is fraught with venture and romance 
 Without knowing its ultimate end; 
 
 Largely a risk and largely a chance 
 In which we follow the common trend.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 15 
 
 Quickly the present precludes the past 
 As night comes on after close of day; 
 
 Transforming the scenes that could not last 
 Into the realms that before us lay. 
 
 After all is said and all is done, 
 
 We review the past with pain, or pride, 
 
 And recall that which was lost or won 
 By all who lived and all who died. 
 
 Then disturb not that which is at rest, 
 
 For the Lord will change, in his wise way, 
 
 That which he decrees is for the best, 
 With the perfect passing of each day. 
 
 May, 1919. 
 
 FRIENDSHIP 
 
 Friendship is not immune from the assaults of time; 
 
 It endures to the crucial point of reason, 
 Then breaks under the impeding burden of crime 
 
 And surrenders to the hated act of treason. 
 
 When the magic band that binds our hearts together 
 
 Is broken by an unkind word or action, 
 It leaves the pang of a painful wound forever 
 
 In the dismal depths of our soul s retraction. 
 
 Friendship does not always heal the wounds of error; 
 
 It only aids to a certain human extent; 
 Then becomes dismayed and retreats in terror 
 
 At the pending trouble it cannot circumvent.
 
 16 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 I WILL COME BACK TO THEE 
 
 I will come back to thee, sweet Caroline, 
 If kindly the fates will deal with me; 
 
 If thou wilt forbear and ever be mine, 
 I will come back to thee, come back to thee. 
 
 The snow has fallen and melted and dried 
 Since last we parted in Caledonia fair, 
 
 The roses have bloomed, faded and died 
 Without our having our coveted share. 
 
 The blossoms that scented the vale so sweet 
 Have spent their fragrance on the balmy air, 
 
 And the fruit will ripen ere we shall meet 
 In the perfume of meadows growing there. 
 
 The soft summer winds blow over the sand, 
 The billows roll over the restless sea 
 
 And spend their force on the silvery strand 
 While I am thinking and thinking of thee. 
 
 The feverish days and fretful nights that 
 Have filled my heart with ardent desire 
 
 For the joys of "Everest" and "Ararat," 
 And left my soul in the throes of fire. 
 
 How oft I long to break this endless chain 
 Of mingled grief, embittered sadness, 
 
 And relieve my mind and bewildered brain 
 With a welcome hope of future gladness. 
 
 Then dispel thy doubt and dispel thy fear; 
 
 The ship will come back from over the sea; 
 After years of wandering, far and near, 
 
 I will come back to thee, come back to thee. 
 
 Seattle, Washington, July 1st, 1903.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 17 
 
 OFT, IN THE SILENT HOURS 
 
 Oft, in the silent hours, I think afar 
 Into the sacred realms of distant years, 
 
 And trace the beauty of a silent star 
 That shines forever through sacred tears. 
 
 Oft, in the silent hours, I wander o er 
 Some little act or deed or kindness done 
 
 By one whose noble face I see no more, 
 And one whose noble act some kindness won. 
 
 Oft, in the silent hours, I meditate 
 Upon those varied, vanished scenes 
 
 Upon the strange, mysterious ways of fate 
 That fills our lives with Utopian dreams. 
 
 A flower that blooms but a day and dies 
 
 Bestows upon its brief admirers 
 That cherished mem ry that underlies 
 
 The fondest hope of its chief desirers. 
 
 When leaves have fallen and branches are bare, 
 There lingers a fondness about the tree, 
 
 As we look on the shore in vacant stare 
 As the waters recede to restless sea. 
 
 Oft, in the silent hours, I think again 
 Of one whose journey was early ended 
 
 And wonder why, again, it should have been 
 That her youthful life was 1 so transcended.
 
 18 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 Oft, in the silent hours, I think of thee 
 As some poor, frail and trampled flower: 
 
 Sacrificed a life that had to be 
 
 For some unknown and higher power. 
 
 Oft, in the silent hours, I realize 
 
 That when the blow strikes two hearts with grief, 
 It is a sorrow that never dies, 
 
 And better the one who has quick relief. 
 
 Los Angeles, California, June, 1906. 
 
 LINES ACCOMPANYING THE PRESENTATION OF A 
 FLORAL VASE 
 
 Bright flowers that recall to my childhood 
 Fond memories, as the sweet seasons roll, 
 
 Of rambles through the gardens and wildwood 
 In enchantments that ravish my soul. 
 
 From years that have flown and hopes that are dead 
 I ll sweeten the present with perfumes of the past 
 
 By placing an amaranth upon thy head, 
 
 From the shadows of bliss that could not last! 
 
 Then a bond of love I ll sincerely tender 
 
 To entwine about thy beautiful brow, 
 And a wreath of golden leaves I ll render 
 
 To partly repair the broken bough. 
 
 Kansas City, 1896.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 19 
 
 THE LAVA BEDS 
 
 Black and barren, cracked and crumbling; 
 
 Browned by the heat and gray from time; 
 Crevices, with water lowly rumbling 
 
 Ages are turning thy walls to lime. 
 
 Belched from the earth by awful force, 
 Writhed and rolled upon the ground 
 
 Like a swollen stream that bursts its course 
 And leaves destruction for miles around. 
 
 Emitted from "Infernal Regions," 
 
 Spending thy vengeance on nature s breast, 
 Leaving the proof of frightful legions 
 
 Imprinted upon thy glossy crest. 
 
 Centuries, centuries, since have ruled; 
 
 Races of people have lived and died; 
 Stars have appear d since thou hast cooled, 
 
 To adorn the heavens that o er thee ride. 
 
 Desolate as an ancient tomb 
 Of some wretched Arabian thief, 
 
 Whose dismal life was born of gloom, 
 And lived and died in constant grief. 
 
 Reptiles abound in thy seclusion 
 
 Where silence prevails both night and day, 
 And life is a lurid delusion, 
 
 To those who have wandered that way.
 
 20 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 Mountains have their majestic glory, 
 Hills and valleys their richness of gold, 
 
 But with thee it is one sad story, 
 
 The half of which has never been told. 
 
 Seeds have drifted from far off places, 
 Shrubs are clinging to the rugged stones, 
 
 Striving, struggling like alien races 
 Who have shifted from their native homes. 
 
 Timid flowers will bloom for a day 
 
 Over the smooth, shining "nigger heads;" 
 
 But quickly die and vanish away 
 
 From these dark, desolate Lava Beds. 
 
 Western New Mexicon, October 12th, 1911. 
 
 Like a hidden germ in the heart of a seed, a good 
 thought is conducive to a good deed.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 21 
 
 LINES ACCOMPANYING THE GIFT 
 OF A CAMEO RING 
 
 (H. C. P.) 
 
 Go, thou little serpentine ring, 
 
 Cling fast to my old friend s finger; 
 
 Joy to him may you always bring 
 And loving thoughts of me linger. 
 
 Cement the links of friendship s chain 
 With the golden seal that ne er can part;- 
 
 As to the flowers, so is the rain 
 
 That binds thy mem ry to my heart. 
 
 Then as this sacred, silken band 
 Crowns the head of a noble man, 
 
 May its beauty adorn your hand 
 As only such adornments can. 
 
 Symbol of wisdom, guide thy way 
 In endless song unto this ring, 
 
 While thoughts of me around thee play, 
 And guarding angels round thee sing. 
 
 November 30, 1918.
 
 22 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 DARING ARROW 
 
 (Fearlessness and Fidelity ) 
 
 Indigenous to high altitudes, Pacific Coast of North America. Flower* pale 
 blue, season late autumn. 
 
 Truly dost thou wait till summer dies 
 To catch the spray of autumn s dew 
 
 To kiss the star of midnight skies 
 And crown the summit of Siskiyou! 
 
 Oh beautiful flower I love so well, 
 
 Intrepid and true, when the crimson rays 
 
 Fall o er the heights on which you dwell, 
 And leave a legend of dying days. 
 
 Love inspires my enraptured breast 
 And dreams of happy, passing hours, 
 
 While I repose in infinite rest 
 
 Upon thy balmy, beautiful bowers!
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 23 
 
 SUNSET ON THE DESERT 
 
 Beneath the blue sky, beyond the bare hills 
 The colors denote approaching night: 
 
 Like hopes of the heart that the day fulfills, 
 Completing a scene of sublime delight. 
 
 Darkening shades stretch from peak to peak, 
 Blending with the gray sands, drifted high, 
 
 Where scorching winds from the valleys leap 
 And spend their force against the clear sky. 
 
 A hazy hue hangs o er the canyons deep, 
 A silence pervades the fading light 
 
 That proclaims the day has gone to sleep 
 In the rapturous grandeur of night. 
 
 Immutable hills that stand forever 
 
 Like silhouettes against the sky, 
 Can ne er be traced so clear und clever 
 
 As when the lengthy day begins to die. 
 
 Vast is the space, profound is the sight 
 
 Sublime the transition to behold, 
 When the last of day surrenders to night 
 
 And crowns its end in a setting of gold. 
 
 Lower and lower the sun is sinking, 
 
 Deeper and deeper the shades are falling; 
 
 Of dear ones I am thinking and thinking 
 As their spirits to me are calling.
 
 24 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 The torrid sun has left the arid land, 
 A cool breeze revives the waving trees, 
 
 And brings relief to the seething sand 
 As sweet as honey from the honey bees. 
 
 Supreme spell, where day stops and night starts; 
 
 With the last of light comes the first star; 
 The goddess of night studies her charts 
 
 As the ship passes over the bar. 
 
 Adieu to the desert, adieu to day, 
 Onward, westward, o er the blue Pacific, 
 
 Tinting the skies in crimson array 
 And painting the waves ultra-prolific. 
 
 Bagdad, California, June 6th, 1912. 
 
 As one drop of aniline discolors and destroys the clear 
 ness and beauty of water, so does one false word destroy 
 the beauty and truth of an entire sentence.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 25 
 
 MY TWENTY-FIRST BIRTHDAY 
 
 Of my most memorable birthdays 
 
 From younger years to the present time, 
 
 There is but two that with me stays 
 As up the ladder of thought I climb. 
 
 Youth looks forward to maturer age, 
 As in our fancy we have roamed 
 
 Over the scenes that beset the stage 
 With colors bright and golden domed. 
 
 Picturing many things I would do 
 At the happy age of twenty-one: 
 
 Climbing the gigantic Siskiyou 
 In my mind was already begun. 
 
 Well, oh how well, do I remember 
 
 The visions that before me lay 
 On thaf memorable September 
 
 In which came my twenty-first birthday. 
 
 The golden grain still stood in the field 
 As I looked over the rolling farm, 
 
 Striving with all my might not to yield 
 To that which gave my parents alarm. 
 
 But the spirit of romance had come 
 Like a pall over my restless state, 
 
 And nothing that could be said or done 
 Stayed the destiny of my fate.
 
 26 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 Oh! that discouraged look of alarm 
 That seemed to crush my father s heart. 
 
 When I decided to leave the farm, 
 And within a few days would depart. 
 
 The birthday meal my mother prepared 
 With all her goodness and perfection, 
 
 Was never again together shared 
 
 Throughout the years of intersection. 
 
 Oh, can it be I ll see them no more, 
 As sad recollections make me weep, 
 
 Will they guide me from the "other shore" 
 Until by their side I, too, shall sleep? 
 
 Another birthday in after years 
 I shall never, no never, forget: 
 
 While lying in pain and constant fears, 
 I beheld the waving violet. 
 
 At last the flowers faded away 
 
 And the Autumn leaves began to fall, 
 
 That on the hillside before me lay 
 Where I so long had watched them all. 
 
 Ever faithful nurse, mosr noble girl, 
 Who cared for me both night and day; 
 
 Was to my heart a precious pearl 
 That left its impress on me to stay. 
 
 Oh! how touching the events of life 
 As we recall those events again: 
 
 It is like the cutting of a knife 
 That leaves its sting and alas! its stain.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 27 
 
 But from the sweets of scented clover 
 I feel that I m becoming immune: 
 
 I feel the joys of life are over 
 With the passing of another June. 
 
 MY DIAMOND RUBY RING 
 
 Like two white stars in heaven s crown, 
 Refracting light in distant space; 
 
 Thy sparkling rays without a frown 
 Emits thy beauty and thy grace. 
 
 From far-away Kimberley fields 
 To California s golden strands, 
 
 Old earth her precious treasure yields 
 The treasure of her precious sands. 
 
 From Burmah s damp malignant skies 
 To the heights of the Pyrenees, 
 
 The ruby in its richness lies 
 
 Like carmine blossoms in the trees. 
 
 Red as the noble warrior s blood, 
 When battlefields are drear and dark; 
 
 Ancient as the ancient flood, 
 But bright as an electric spark.
 
 28 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 TRANQUILITY OF THE TREES 
 
 (From actual scenes in four states.) 
 
 The graceful elm, in lavish luster, 
 
 Stands serenely, through sunshine and rain 
 Like an inverted feather duster 
 
 On the beautiful landscapes of Maine. 
 
 Soft summer breeze stirs the waving leaves, 
 Mild shades fall upon the growing grass, 
 
 Consoling those whose weary heart grieves, 
 Under burdens, as they onward pass. 
 
 In the great forests of Ohio 
 
 Where first I saw those tow ring giants 
 The oak, the ash, the lin; fornVd the trio 
 
 That held their heads in bold defiance. 
 
 Many have come, and many have gone; 
 
 Forests have fallen, meadows been made; 
 Millions grown up, then passed on, 
 
 Since first they cast their lingering shade. 
 
 Tranquil trees of the Kansas Valley 
 Clothed in foliage of Autumn s spell, 
 
 While birds of plumage round them rally, 
 Then fly away in final farewell. 
 
 The crimson colois will fade away, 
 
 But the stately trees will stand like mutes 
 
 When wintry winds through their branches play, 
 And resemble tones of dismal flutes.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 29 
 
 Tall, motionless palms of California, 
 Straight and silent as towers of stone, 
 
 Their beauty and power adorn you, 
 
 As year by year they have stronger grown. 
 
 Dear, drooping pepper trees, one by one 
 
 Are scattered o er the fertile fields 
 To subdue the rays of the midday sun 
 
 And charm the beauty that landscape yields. 
 
 Oh! beautiful land of sunlit hue, 
 
 Such hills and valleys are seldom seen 
 
 Emerald and gold and skies of blue 
 Beset the "Tranquility of the Trees." 
 
 Los Angeles, California, November 25, 1914. 
 
 The most is accomplished by saying little.
 
 30 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 WHEN THE GRASS GROWS GREEN 
 
 (To my dear old mother, who knows the circumstances and the vicissitudes 
 of my life, these sentimental lines are inscribed.) 
 
 Deftly the placid seasons come and go; 
 
 Their sadness and gladness I oft have seen ; 
 Their memories quicken, enthrall me so 
 
 When the lilies open and the grass grows green. 
 
 The vivid recalling of youth s young dream, 
 Where pleasure and pain again and again 
 
 Were mingled along life s turbulent stream; 
 And naught but memory can now remain. 
 
 And oh! how fondly my spirit doth dwell 
 On the vigorous hopes of life unseen, 
 
 As the soul is charm d by a magic spell, 
 
 When the lilacs bloom and the grass grows green. 
 
 There comes with the seed time and the sowing 
 On that beautiful borderland of May, 
 
 A thought of the sweet days that were glowing 
 With the approach of a bright wedding day. 
 
 The opulent blessings of fortune, fair, 
 As the golden harvest of waving grain 
 
 Enchants the traveler who lingers there 
 To view the glories of a fertile plain. 
 
 But alas! the pleasures of lost treasures 
 Have vanished, and left their impress keen 
 
 Upon my pensive soul in sad measures, 
 When the myrtles vine and the grass grows green. 
 
 Kansas City, April, 1902.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 31 
 
 HOME WITHOUT A HOSTESS 
 
 On the threshold I pause and listen 
 
 For a loving voice I knew so well; 
 Where the bright sunbeams used to glisten 
 
 And the fleecy snowflakes softly fell. 
 
 Vivid pictures that adorn the walls 
 
 Show the tracing of her magic hand, 
 As the morning light serenely falls 
 
 Like streaks of gold across the strand. 
 
 But not a word breaks the silent spell, 
 And deep tranquility reigns profound, 
 
 Where once the familiar voice of Belle 
 Pervaded the ambient space around. 
 
 When ^Eolian strains have died away 
 
 On the ripples of a limpid stream 
 There lingers that sound we fain would stay, 
 
 And calls us back to memory s dream. 
 
 The dewdrops feed the brilliant flowers 
 While the butterflies are sweetly sleeping; 
 
 Where the night contains the redolent hours 
 And the myrtle vines are softly creeping. 
 
 Then the waving, restless aspen trees, 
 Like the heart in sadness ever grieves; 
 
 When the nights are fraught with mournful breeze 
 And the days with faded autumn leaves.
 
 32 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 IN THE BAY OF BENGAL 
 
 Away, away o er the dark deep sea 
 The murmuring waves are rolling on, 
 
 And I am thinking, thinking of thee 
 As the lonely day is nearly gone. 
 
 Crimson clouds hang in the western skies, 
 The after-glow of golden sunset, 
 
 Where soon the silvery moon will rise 
 And reflect its rays of violet. 
 
 Over the waters night is falling, 
 The day is dim and dimmer growing, 
 
 The stars upon the moon are calling 
 With silv ry tints and lighter glowing. 
 
 Onward, northward the ship is racing 
 From Malacca Straits and Singapore; 
 
 Verdant plains I long to be tracing 
 On India s distant, southern shore. 
 
 Beautiful the stars appear above, 
 Brilliant their light like crystals fall 
 
 Upon the glorious night of love 
 That pervades the great Bay of Bengal. 
 
 Calcutta, October 5th, 1913.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 33 
 
 SATISFACTION AND SOLILOQUY 
 
 (Lines suggested by reading "Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures.") 
 
 Oh! think not of this world s pleasures, 
 Worry not after its treasures; 
 Health is more precious than graces 
 Or fame that is carved in high places. 
 
 Possession proves ofttimes a prison 
 Where delusive desires have risen; 
 Fastens upon; us trouble and care 
 The meek and lowly have not to bear. 
 
 If only our mind is contented, 
 Disease will often be prevented; 
 And happiness will be completed 
 By the small sins we have defeated. 
 
 Each day let us bestow on others 
 The love and affection of brothers, 
 With gratitude for help accorded 
 Those who are divinely rewarded. 
 
 Oh! beautiful thought, oh wondrous deed, 
 
 When from sickness and sorrow we re freed: 
 
 Through infinite love from Him on high, 
 
 It is sweet to live and sweet to die. 
 
 Minds that remain in the immortal 
 As they enter heaven s sweet portal; 
 Where good is crown d with the angel s call 
 And God forever is "All in all." 
 
 Chicago, Illinois, November 10th, 1915.
 
 34 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 HERE AND THERE 
 
 Bright stars shine through the pale blue sky, 
 The moon lies low beyond the hills; 
 
 How sweet to know that you and I 
 Behold the joy that night fulfills. 
 
 Though I am here and you are there, 
 We are as one in common thought; 
 
 For God is with us ev rywhere, 
 
 If with his goodness we are fraught. 
 
 Then away on that southern shore, 
 
 Where fragrant flow rs perfume the air; 
 
 I ll think of you forevermore, 
 While I am here and you are there. 
 
 November, 1917.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 35 
 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 California, oh! California; 
 
 Sweet land of romance and resources; 
 How thy beautiful srteams adorn you 
 
 As they pursue their winding courses. 
 
 Emerald hills and velvet valleys 
 Enhance the view that serenely lies 
 
 Beyond the vale that sweetly tallies 
 With thy charm of eternal paradise! 
 
 Gorgeous flowers of rapturous hue 
 Fascinate the soul with fond delight. 
 
 As the sky, in perpetual blue, 
 
 Enchants the vista both day and night. 
 
 Long, smooth roads, that lead to the ocean, 
 Are shaded by trees that line the way, 
 
 And fill the heart with fresh emotion 
 Of exquisite joy both night and day. 
 
 A mellow light from the evening skies 
 
 Blends with the hue of the golden West. 
 
 Where day so beautifully dies, 
 
 And leaves its mem ry upon my breast. 
 
 March 31, 1918.
 
 36 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 FAREWELL 
 
 "Farewell!" That painful, pensive word she cried 
 Regardless of the grief it would impart 
 
 As if her soul it only gratified 
 To trample upon my broken heart. 
 
 Oh! must we be compelled to believe 
 The sweetest things are an idle dream 
 
 That the human heart is prone to deceive, 
 And earthly joys are not what they seem? 
 
 If the lapse of time will kindly explain 
 
 The motive of my beautiful Belle, 
 I will forever silent remain 
 
 In obeyance to her cruel "Farewell." 
 
 But the fragrance of sweetest flowers 
 
 We so long loved and cherished 
 May remain, and remain yet as ours, 
 
 After the flowers have perished. 
 
 And the melodies that charmed us 
 
 In the grasp of that sweet, magic spell, 
 
 Ere the evil that alarmed us 
 In the repine of a sad farewell. 
 
 Perchance that act of an unknown cause 
 
 May crown itself with a bitter prize, 
 As those who leap before they pause 
 
 Reward their act with bitter sighs. 
 
 After the clouds, we fully realize 
 
 The dual value of the clearness 
 The infinite beauty of the skies 
 
 And their everlasting dearness. 
 
 El Paso, Texas, July 2, 1904.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 37 
 
 WINTER WINDS 
 
 Oh ! hear the winter wind s wild weird sound, 
 From where does it come, whence does it go;- 
 
 Waving the trees and sweeping the ground 
 With the breath of ice and breath of snow. 
 
 An echo of thy voice, sad and sharp, 
 Reverts through the solitude of night 
 
 Like strains of an aeolian harp 
 Tun d to the joy of solemn delight. 
 
 O er fields and forests thou art calling 
 
 The knell of another dying year, 
 While the withered leaves are falling 
 
 With the shedding of another tear. 
 
 Oh! winter winds, whose trace heaven keeps, 
 Sad are thy sounds that around me cling, 
 
 For thou dost pass where my lost one sleeps 
 In the hours of winter and hours of spring. 
 
 1917.
 
 38 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 LET ME COME HOME IN MAY, MOTHER 
 
 Oh, let me come home in May, mother; 
 
 Let me come back to the farm once more, 
 Where you and I and sister and brother 
 
 Used to dwell in the days of yore. 
 
 Let me walk over the dear old hills 
 
 As I have often done, you know 
 For a longing in my soul it fills 
 
 Of some five and twenty years ago. 
 
 Let me come back where the soft winds blow, 
 Let me come in the sweet month of May: 
 
 For it is there my heart yearns to go, 
 And it is there my heart yearns to stay. 
 
 Let me recall those dear, tranquil hours 
 As I stroll o er the fields in old-time way 
 
 As the bee devours the sweets of flowers, 
 In the beautiful month of May. 
 
 Let me come home while the vales are gay, 
 
 While the trees are green and blossoms bright- 
 While the pretty bluebirds sing by day 
 And the shy whippoorwill sings at night. 
 
 Let me come home when the air is mellow 
 With fragrance of flowers both night and day: 
 
 When the rose is red and tulips yellow, 
 In the ever beautiful month of May. 
 
 San Diego, California, 1904.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 39 
 
 THE LONE PINE 
 
 Between the walls of Clear Creek Canyon 
 There stands a lone pine of slender form; 
 
 Quite unlike India s spreading banyan, 
 
 It affords no shelter when swept by storm. 
 
 Stupendous walls of solid gray stone 
 
 Surround this tree on every side, 
 While in the crevices moss has grown, 
 
 And by its roots sparkling waters glide. 
 
 Blue skies above, lucid stream below 
 Enhance the view of this lonely pine, 
 
 As ever onward the waters flow 
 
 Toward the goal of their distant shrine. 
 
 Alone it stands in this serene stage 
 
 Where the lofty heights of granite walls 
 
 Overlook the winding narrow gauge 
 That traverses the blue water falls. 
 
 Straight as a line, pointing to the skies, 
 
 This pretty pine stands unmolested 
 Save by a bird that above it flies, 
 
 Whose aerial flights are uncontested. 
 
 In a distinctive world of its own, 
 
 This lone pine of perpetual green 
 Has no rival in Colorado known, 
 
 Unless it is one that has not been seen.
 
 40 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 Secure against the changes of time, 
 
 As if a jewel in matrix cast; 
 With heights and depths and space sublime 
 
 To protect its future as its past. 
 
 Heaven smiles upon this lonely tree 
 In its majestic walls of granite, 
 
 And elements of tranquility 
 
 Bespeak the beatitude that span it. 
 
 December, 1918. 
 
 A LITTLE BUNCH OF BUFFALO GRASS 
 
 The warm winds bend thy long and slender stems, 
 And wave thy haughty heads to Autumn s spell; 
 
 The arid plains thou wreathed in diadems, 
 Then wither d with the Summer s sad farewell.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 41 
 
 THE MORNING OF LIFE 
 
 Time is mainly of pleasure and strife, 
 
 Given to us as a useful guide 
 While filling that function known as life, 
 
 Ere passing on to the other side. 
 
 How beautiful the morning of youth 
 When the heart is young and full of joy; 
 
 Filled with love and filled with truth 
 That crowns the song of a happy boy! 
 
 Then comes he over fields and flowers, 
 With hope, as the sapling to the tree; 
 
 Portraying to us the sweetest hours 
 Of what he is and expects to be. 
 
 As a mariner sails out to sea 
 
 In eager quest of some far-off goal; 
 
 So does the boy, in anxious glee, 
 Build prospective castles in his soul. 
 
 His agile step, his brilliant mind, 
 
 Bespeaks that age we so much admire, 
 
 While seeking the object he longs to find 
 And gratifies his ardent desire. 
 
 Oh, how sweet is the morning of life, 
 Bright and balmy, the golden sunrise, 
 
 Like the mingled strain of harp and fife, 
 Whose melodious voice never dies.
 
 42 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 Could we but prolong this blissful part 
 Through eternal romance and pleasure; 
 
 How replete would be the joys of our heart 
 In bearing life s most joyful treasure. 
 
 But morning blossoms must fade away 
 As dewdrops vanish under the sun; 
 
 Juvenile joys have served their day 
 And another life has just begun. 
 
 January, 1919. 
 
 RETROSPECT 
 
 (R. G. L.) 
 
 Green were the fields of early springtime, 
 Sweet is the thought of that happy hour, 
 
 When, in the realms of a far-off clime 
 I first saw thee, oh beautiful flower! 
 
 Beaming with pleasant and peaceful face, 
 Marked by the charm of silv ry hair, 
 
 Strong with the poise of womanly grace, 
 An enchantment rare was hidden there. 
 
 Time has pass d and I am growing old, 
 
 But flowers bloom and the grass still grows, 
 
 As years have ripened into gold 
 The beauty of my first loved Rose.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 43 
 
 THE NOONDAY OF LIFE 
 
 As harvest follows the seed sowing 
 And summer the last days of spring, 
 
 So is the noonday of life glowing 
 With the fullness of everything. 
 
 "Wild oats" that perhaps have been sown 
 
 In the early stage of our travels, 
 Have been discarded and long since flown 
 
 As the wisdom of age unravels. 
 
 The sun, in the zenith of our skies, 
 Records the rapid passing of years; 
 
 Leaving us in the depths of surprise 
 And ofttimes in the shedding of tears. 
 
 In planning the daily course of life 
 
 And bearing its various ordeals, 
 Man begins to survey for a wife 
 
 To share his joys and prepare his meals. 
 
 Beautifully the landscape of life 
 
 Expands before the young bride and groom, 
 When to himself he has taken a wife 
 
 And she has taken her future doom. 
 
 It is now that great questions rise 
 In enforcing the dreamed of things; 
 
 It is now that man and woman tries 
 The objects their united strength brings.
 
 44 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 Birds build in forests of oak and pine, 
 No matter how the elements annoy; 
 
 They will, with their little offspring, shine, 
 No matter what the enemies destroy. 
 
 They quietly incubate their brood 
 
 Through days and nights of unutter d words, 
 Then begin to provide needed food 
 
 For their little helpless, hungry birds. 
 
 When they soar out in the open land 
 
 Exciting our pride in passing by; 
 Their means of life begin to expand 
 
 As over the fields they swiftly fly. 
 
 The golden grain is ready to reap, 
 The noonday sun is shining above; 
 
 There is no reason why man should weep 
 While heaven bestows such endless love. 
 
 How touchingly is life s landscape strewn 
 With incidents that bring us to tears; 
 
 Like beds of roses in the month of June, 
 Their mem ry returns in after years. 
 
 February, 1919.
 
 POEAfS OF PASTIME 45 
 
 THE EVENING OF LIFE 
 
 Slowly, softly evening shadows fall 
 Upon the declining age of men, 
 
 When they have reached the timely call 
 Of allotted three score years and ten. 
 
 One by one their customs disappear, 
 And are lost from the daily routine 
 
 Of younger friends that were very dear, 
 But are now with them no longer seen. 
 
 Day after day the same work was done, 
 Year after year the seasons roll d on; 
 
 Varied has been the race they run, 
 And many before has long since gone. 
 
 Juvenile pleasure for them has passed; 
 
 The romance of youth that youth endears, 
 Like autumn flowers that could not last, 
 
 Have faded away with passing years. 
 
 The elastic step and erect form 
 Is yielding to the demands of time, 
 
 As a mighty tree stricken by storm, 
 Can never again regain its prime. 
 
 The ripples of life are dying down, 
 And a quiet pace taking their place; 
 
 Succeeding actors upon us frown, 
 And replace the speed of our lost race.
 
 46 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 Evening shadows around us thicken 
 As our twilight deepens into night; 
 
 With pain and trouble we are stricken 
 Ere entering upon our final flight. 
 
 But darkest clouds precede the clearing, 
 And beyond the mist we look for light, 
 
 As the open doors we are nearing 
 With heavenly portals shining bright. 
 
 Without hope of that hidden treasure 
 Our declining days are dark indeed 
 
 When deprived of that true pleasure 
 We hope to reap in sowing the seed. 
 
 When winds subside, there follows a calm 
 That stays the tempest in tranquil peace; 
 
 Bathing the soul with a soothing balm 
 Of rest and quiet that never cease. 
 
 Frail flowers that grow, blossom and die, 
 Will bloom again with coming of spring; 
 
 But man when gone is gone for aye, 
 And naught but mem ry of him will bring. 
 
 The evening of life, with sadness fraught, 
 Clings to the hope of a brighter day; 
 
 While the lessons we were early taught 
 Proclaim "peace that fadeth not away." 
 
 Our glorious sun is sinking low, 
 Its brilliance shines not as before, 
 
 But its abeyance will onward flow 
 And light our way from the other shore.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 47 
 
 Oh then, dear Lord, as we close our prayer 
 And bid farewell to this fleeting show, 
 
 May we unite with those over there, 
 As by thee we come, so may we go. 
 
 February, 1919. 
 
 FEBRUARY FOURTEENTH 
 
 Wilt thou, oh! my beautifull Belle, 
 
 Kindly hear my humble pleading, 
 While the story of love I tell 
 
 Of a heart for you that s bleeding. 
 
 The lilies have their opening spell, 
 
 The roses have their days of duty, 
 But the love of man will always dwell 
 
 Upon a woman s sacred beauty. 
 
 If thus my story may be told 
 
 In realms of the "Nymph of the Rhine," 
 And I to you my love unfold; 
 
 Accept this as your Valentine.
 
 48 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 INSPIRATION 
 
 Lines suggested by looking at a magnificent piece of statuary, known as 
 Inspiration, in the window of an Italian art store at 220 South Broadway, Los 
 Angeles, California. 
 
 Fair child of Love, from heaven lent, 
 
 A face so pure, a soul so sweet, 
 A life so chaste and innocent 
 
 That angels love and long to meet. 
 
 There is a charm about thy grace 
 
 That holds us in that magic spell, 
 The soul is held in Deistic place 
 
 By an inner force we cannot tell. 
 
 Beautiful as the goddess of Love, 
 
 Bright as the stars of midnight sky, 
 Serene as the angels from above, 
 
 When sorrows have passed them by. 
 
 Peacefully sweet is thy gaze on high, 
 
 Sublime is the soul that rests within ; 
 Men are charmed by the look of thine eye 
 
 And women are banished from sin. 
 
 A garland of leaves like harvest sheaves 
 
 Adorns thy head in grand array; 
 Enchanting the siege memory leaves 
 
 Of sacred wreaths that around thee play. 
 
 Radiant with light that God imparts 
 
 To the spiritual being alone; 
 Buoyant with hope that fills the hearts 
 
 Of those who ascend to His throne.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 49 
 
 Realms of beauty, spirit and prayer 
 Are conveyed in those eyes divine 
 
 Only sacred thoughts are welcome there 
 And only sainted thoughts are thine. 
 
 No fairer face was ever cast 
 
 By sculptor s utmost instigation 
 In the present or in the past 
 
 Than this beautiful Inspiration. 
 
 Los Angeles, California, December 1st, 1912. 
 
 DESTITUTION OF THE DESERT 
 
 Where weary trav ler treads from stone to stone 
 And the hungry coyote from bone to bone; 
 There lies beyond this grayish, ashen hue 
 Barren peaks ne er bathed by rain or dew. 
 
 Silhouetted against the pale blue sky, 
 
 With floating, filmy clouds that seem to vie 
 
 With all the grandeur of these rugged peaks 
 
 Where drifting sand across their bosom sweeps. 
 
 Lifeless and lonely, but sublime and grand 
 Century after century they stand; 
 Crowning the desert in realms of glory 
 And inspiration that tells the story. 
 
 Immutable, serene world of its own, 
 Inanimate, desolate, life unknown; 
 Yet profound in the spirit of splendor 
 That only such scenes nature can render. 
 
 Bagdad, California, February 20, 1918.
 
 50 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 THE COMING OF SPRING 
 
 The chilling winds have ceased to blow 
 And welcome are the flowers of spring; 
 
 As from beneath the lingering snow, 
 
 Pensive thoughts of other days they bring. 
 
 Unto this hour my heart sorely grieves 
 For one who shall console me no more; 
 
 Alas, she went with the coming leaves, 
 That sad day in eighteen ninety-four. 
 
 Flowers of the field are bright ning up 
 And begin to clothe the rippling rill 
 
 With the cowslip, yellow buttercup, 
 Violet and early daffodil. 
 
 Filling the law of "come and go," 
 These little flowers, vivid and sweet, 
 
 That, growing beneath the winter s snow, 
 The earliest days of spring they greet. 
 
 Proclaiming the law of life and death, 
 Close of winter and coming of spring 
 
 Air is laden with the violet s breath 
 And voice of birds that sweetly sing. 
 
 Ice that coated the river s surface 
 Has broken up and floated away; 
 
 After serving its frigid purpose 
 There was no reason for it to stay.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 51 
 
 Then down the river, tis floating fast, 
 Melting as it drifts within the stream; 
 
 Under the sun s rays it cannot last, 
 And fades away like a fleeting dream. 
 
 Bright the fields that from under the snow 
 
 Emerge into nature s grand array, 
 As the tender grass begins to grow 
 
 And with the west winds already play. 
 
 Buds and blossoms are bursting open 
 
 With fullness of beauty and delight; 
 The charm of spring is fully broken 
 
 As morning follows the gloom of night. 
 
 Soft winds, laden with the scent of spring, 
 Fill the heart with new zest of rapture, 
 
 As through the air their melodies ring 
 And lay await our souls to capture. 
 
 Oh! sweet season of springtime and mirth, 
 
 Bless us again as thou hast before; 
 Bless all the lands of this endless earth 
 
 And let us rejoice forevermore. 
 
 March, 1919.
 
 52 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 ANTICIPATION 
 
 As night anticipates the dew drops 
 And morning the glorious sunshine, 
 
 So my longing for you never stops 
 With your image before me sublime. 
 
 Flowers look to the golden sunlight 
 To sustain their beautiful array, 
 
 And perish ere the coming of night 
 If not nourish d by the light of day. 
 
 On far-off mountains and distant plain 
 A squirrel to its mate is calling, 
 
 While fond thoughts of you return again, 
 As the Autumn leaves are fast falling. 
 
 If "hope deferred, sickens the heart" 
 And thy presence appears not to me, 
 
 How can I withstand the sick ning smart 
 Of this prolonged absence from thee? 
 
 We grasp at the shadow of a cloud 
 That, hanging in the heavens above, 
 
 Would render us more happy and proud 
 By entwining the ties of our love. 
 
 It is thus in anticipation 
 
 Of brighter days that may intervene, 
 We live on the intoxication 
 
 Of a constant delusion and dream. 
 
 We build for the future, castles there 
 With a vision of splendor and peace, 
 
 That is as free from trouble and care 
 As the poetical realms of Greece.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 53 
 
 From over the seas and far-off isles 
 
 Where tropical trees wave to and fro; 
 Where the balmy breeze and sunlight smiles 
 
 Upon the rivers that slowly flow. 
 
 We dream of those fantastic abodes 
 
 In distant lands of fruit and flowers 
 Without regard to the thorny roads 
 
 That lie along this journey of ours. 
 
 The spirit of hope is displayed 
 
 In looking beyond the present state, 
 And joy of the future is portray d 
 
 When our ships sail through the Golden Gate. 
 
 Anticipation its goal has sought, 
 
 No further fancy leads us astray; 
 Yet how little is the prize we fraught 
 
 In looking toward a future day? 
 
 Happy is he who seizes the hour 
 
 And looks not on the hopes that arise, 
 But scents the sweetness of the flower 
 
 Ere it fades away and quickly dies. 
 
 SMI Francisco, California, 1919.
 
 54 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 A LITTLE RED LEAF 
 
 From under the snow and the shade of pines 
 A little red leaf peered forth its head 
 
 To welcome the light which pierced the vines 
 That sheltered the spot while it was dead. 
 
 How sweet springtime brings back the latent life, 
 And delicate beauty of tender leaves 
 
 Reveal the victory o er winter s strife 
 As the harvest is fraught with golden sheaves. 
 
 Sequestered protection thou hast found 
 In the infinite care of nature s breast; 
 
 While cold winds blew and chilled the ground, 
 Thou wert slumbering in reposeful rest. 
 
 Then returns the touch of the soft wind s breath 
 To inspire thy hopes to a brighter scene, 
 
 And recalls to thee that "there is no death." 
 But only wak ning from a long sweet dream. 
 
 Oh! could I recall my lost, loved wife, 
 And vanish the years of trouble and grief 
 
 That have crowned my restless, aimless life, 
 With the return of the Little Red Leaf. 
 
 Hope, Idaho, March, 1903.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 55 
 
 COMING OF CHRISTMAS 
 
 Hail! hail the coming of Christmas time! 
 
 With all the joy that we can render, 
 While heaven resounds with church bells chime 
 
 And earth is cloth d in snow-white splendor. 
 
 Whether snow or rain or cold or mild, 
 From far-off north to the southern seas; 
 
 It is the hope of every child 
 To participate in Christmas trees. 
 
 Rejoicing is NOT of one and all, 
 
 For some have felt the weight of sorrow; 
 Burdens of sadness upon them fall 
 
 Yesterday, today and tomorrow. 
 
 Youth, the age in which we see glowing 
 With the romance of life that is sweet, 
 
 Like a river, ever onward flowing 
 Toward the destiny it is to meet. 
 
 We fainly review and remember 
 
 The pleasure of those juvenile years, 
 When the coming days of December 
 
 Brought carols of Christmas to our ears. 
 
 Then away to town, both young and old, 
 
 To behold the stores with pretty toys, 
 That fill d the windows with shining gold 
 
 And pleased alike the girls and boys. 
 
 But the time comes when this is ended; 
 
 Others have taken their place to fill 
 Whose youth with age has long since blended 
 
 And naught but mem ry remains there still. 
 
 December 1, 1918.
 
 56 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 POEM OF THE PLAINS 
 
 The plains of the past and plains today 
 
 Mark the contrast of one generation; 
 The new appears, the old passed away, 
 
 Leaving a wake of strange sensation. 
 
 Transition, rapid and cruel, 
 
 Follows the effect of man s desire; 
 When foe meets foe and fights a duel, 
 
 Chords are broken from the heart s fond lyre. 
 
 From the fighting Indian s native land, 
 
 Wild and weird and undisturbed; 
 The roaming bison pawed the sand 
 
 Where freedom s 1 sway was never curbed. 
 
 Vast, level expanse of gray and green, 
 Tinged in the distance with crimson stain 
 
 Where slowly runs the shallow stream 
 That winds across the arid plain. 
 
 Upon the shallow, treeless banks rise 
 From the Indian s meager camp, by day, 
 
 Curling smoke that blends into the skies 
 On the hazy horizon far away. 
 
 Home of the buffalo, home of the Chief: 
 Sublimely grand in their primitive pride, 
 
 Ere the white man came and brought them to grief, 
 Slaying and slaughtering them, side by side.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 57 
 
 As history tells and carnage spells, 
 
 Fleeting years have left no more of them 
 
 A sad memory forever dwells 
 About the red man s sad requiem. 
 
 Migrating birds that darkened the skies 
 
 Enflight to the warm Southern seas, 
 Are no more seen in the golden sunrise 
 
 Nor heard in the soft summer breeze. 
 
 The blue smoke that went up from the tent, 
 The dim light that flashed out by night, 
 
 Have forever and ever been spent 
 In the cause that was infinitely right. 
 
 The spirit of romance has subsided; 
 
 The wild West has been tranquilized 
 The ways of the cowboy divided, 
 
 When the plains become civilized. 
 
 Oh, beautiful plains, how grand to behold; 
 
 The past, replete with tragic history; 
 The present, with fields of green and gold, 
 
 That unfold thy deepest mystery. 
 
 Western Kansas, March 1st, 1912.
 
 58 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 MIND S WANDERING 
 
 From far away China and Japan 
 To the waterfalls of Assouan; 
 From old Arabia s barren shore 
 To the west winds of Singapore. 
 
 From the cold, icy Polar seas 
 To the emerald Pyrenees; 
 From the heights of Orizoba 
 To the plains of Manitoba. 
 
 From India s highest mountains 
 Td Italy s flowing fountains; 
 From Louisiana s sugar cane 
 To Arizona s arid plain. 
 
 From the Ohio river s mouth 
 To cotton fields of sunny south; 
 From Wyoming s cerulific skies 
 To Hawaii s eternal paradise. 
 
 From the land of Evangeline 
 To the garden of Gethsemane; 
 From Colorado s richest mine 
 To the historic river Rhine. 
 
 From Manila s prison cordon 
 To the sacred River Jordan; 
 From Judea s hills, brown and barren, 
 To the fertile Plain of Sharon.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 59 
 
 Thus my mind wanders o er these scenes 
 That appear to me as vivid dreams; 
 They are, as a fire, dying low, 
 Stirred again, renews the glow. 
 
 How oft I wish I could recall 
 The former romance of them all; 
 And live anew their joyous spell 
 That once upon me lightly fell. 
 
 But previous thought from my mind flees 
 When passing to the Antipodes; 
 As if by one unbounded sweep 
 From here to there I quickly leap. 
 
 1919.
 
 60 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 SEVEN TO SEVENTY-SEVEN 
 
 I saw a timid little girl today, 
 
 Her hair was light, her eyes blue as heaven; 
 The only words she consented to say 
 
 Were, "my name is Ruth, my age is seven." 
 
 I saw a maiden sweet and fair today, 
 Of that buoyant youth I have often seen; 
 
 And beautiful flowers along the way 
 Crowned her radiant life at seventeen. 
 
 I saw a vivacious woman today 
 
 Who seemed the queen of earth and heaven; 
 She looked so graceful and grand and gay, 
 
 And supremely proud at twenty-seven. 
 
 I saw a woman in the fields today 
 
 Whose brow was knit, and her face was riven 
 With the work that along her pathway lay, 
 
 In the noonday life at thirty-seven. 
 
 I saw a woman reflecting today 
 Upon the pure ways that lead to heaven; 
 
 To juvenile friends she wish d to convey 
 The fullness of life a| forty-seven. 
 
 I saw a lady on the sward today 
 
 Whose devotion to home had long been given, 
 Whose head was bending and hair growing gray, 
 
 As she was failing, at fifty-seven.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 61 
 
 I saw a lady with frail form today; 
 
 The raptures of life that youth had given 
 Had passed, like flowers, into decay 
 
 The result, she said, of sixty-seven. 
 
 I saw a sainted old lady today 
 
 Whose tranquil soul was linked to heaven; 
 She bore that ever peaceful, Christian way, 
 
 And this rich reward, at seventy-seven. 
 
 The extraordinary beauty of nature never deteriorates, 
 but the impressiveness of it does, from long continuation 
 and constant contact; while spiritual beauty is enhanced 
 and wears not away; but like the accumulation of immacu 
 late moss on the trunks of forest trees and boulders of 
 the seashore, becomes brighter, more beautiful and per 
 manent from having long been bathed by the divine ele 
 ments that contribute to its inviolable existence.
 
 62 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 PENSIVE PARTING 
 
 O er hills and valleys and distant plains 
 To the beautiful city of Denver, 
 
 My thoughts go back in saddened strains 
 As these selective lines I send her. 
 
 Loath I was to leave that magic home 
 Where trees and flowers and birds abound; 
 
 But the longing of my soul to roam 
 Caught the ocean s beckoning sound. 
 
 I feel the sting of painful parting 
 As one who takes a reluctant course, 
 
 But could not help the final starting 
 As it fill d my heart with deep remorse. 
 
 I saw the pretties on the table 
 And I saw the pictures on the wall, 
 
 Just as they were when she was able 
 To paint them perfectly, one and all. 
 
 Treasured objects from far and near 
 Are assembled in this sacred spot, 
 
 Rendering their presence far more dear 
 By that sweet symbol, "forget me not." 
 
 Oh! golden thoughts of past and present 
 Of one whose beauty I am speaking; 
 
 Whose presence makes my life more pleasant 
 And absence sets my heart to weeping. 
 
 The golden chain of love now broken 
 Starts my restless spirit to smarting 
 
 Under the words that ne er were spoken 
 On the pain of this "pensive parting." 
 
 Salt Lake City, July 28, 1918.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 63 
 
 TALE OF THE TORREY PINE 
 
 (Described from a photographic postcard) 
 
 There is a tree on the rugged edge 
 
 Of California s southern shore, 
 Whose roots are imbedded in a ledge 
 
 That leads to the ocean s open door. 
 
 A tree whose trunk is aged with years; 
 
 Its body blighted, but heal d anew, 
 As ifl it shed some serious tears 
 
 During early days in which it grew. 
 
 A tree whose short and bushy branches 
 Have stood the storms of many seasons, 
 
 Shelter d the sheep of nearby ranches 
 When they came for dual reasons. 
 
 From arid pastures they found their way 
 To cooling shades of that tranquil tree, 
 
 From their restless fold they lov d to stray 
 And listen to the murmuring sea. 
 
 About the top of this Torrey pine 
 
 Whose limbs are gnarled and leaves pale green, 
 There clings a wiry, rambling vine 
 
 That forms an ever beautiful sheen. 
 
 Sunlight filters through this filmy crest 
 
 Casting shadows on the glossy sand, 
 With morning shades o er the ocean s breast 
 
 And evening shades o er the rolling land. 
 
 Against the shore, the blue billows foam 
 Beneath the shades of this Torrey pine, 
 
 Where lonely travelers love to roam 
 And revel in the golden sunshine. 
 
 November 30, 1917.
 
 64 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 LINES ACCOMPANYING THE GIFT OF A RING 
 
 (R. G. L.) 
 
 Friendship has no stated time nor place 
 For welding of her precious chain; 
 
 All along the lane of life we trace 
 
 The links that stand the crucial strain. 
 
 Little seeds of kindness, sown today, 
 May multiply and appear tomorrow 
 
 Along the journey of life s pathway, 
 And heal the heart of many a sorrow. 
 
 Then to my dearly beloved Rose 
 
 This little ring I fondly tender 
 As the symbol of love, that grows 
 
 With the devotion I render. 
 
 Memoir to her trip to the city, 
 I desire this treasure to impart: 
 
 For oh, what a blank and a pity, 
 
 If twere not the off ring of my heart ! 
 
 As sets the clear diamond in its crest 
 
 Like a beautiful star in the skies, 
 So the affections in my breast, 
 
 Silent and sacred, forever lies. 
 
 Oh, amethyst of violet hue, 
 Thy beauty is a charm and delight; 
 
 Then teach me, teach me how to be true 
 And lead me in the rays of thy light. 
 
 From city to the land of the West 
 My heart goes out with this golden ring, 
 
 Hoping to the lady I love best 
 Much happiness to her it will bring. 
 
 Chicago, Illinois, August 31, 1914.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 65 
 
 AUTUMN IN ARIZONA 
 
 (Dedicated to Wm. F. Bean, of Belfast, Maine.) 
 
 The skies are pallid, the soil is gray, 
 
 Yet the blending of cedar and pine 
 Renders the vista this autumn day 
 
 Supremely beautiful, grand, sublime. 
 
 Great herds of sheep and goats clothe the vales 
 
 In a moving mass of black 1 and white, 
 As the closing day serenely pales 
 
 Into the stillness of autumn night. 
 
 Immense columns of solid sandstone 
 
 Defy the vicissitudes of time, 
 While winds of ages, to us unknown, 
 
 Have trac d their walls with a tint of lime. 
 
 Pine trees on the Arizona crest 
 Spread their branches in the azure light, 
 
 Rendering an ever peaceful rest 
 
 For migrating birds ere taking their flight. 
 
 As calmness of day, so is the night; 
 
 Distant mountains in majestic form 
 Assume a weird, wonderful sight, 
 
 Preceding the hours of autumn s storm. 
 
 Fresh snow upon Frisco s lofty peaks 
 
 Glistens in the eternal blue skies 
 With all the glory that nature speaks 
 
 Where infinite heights within her lies.
 
 66 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 Autumn days, how serenely they pass! 
 No rainfall nor falling of the leaves, 
 
 Nor a gentle ripple of the grass, 
 
 Nor the slightest waving of the trees. 
 
 Hazy expanse of shimmering sheets 
 Stretch forth to the distant horizon, 
 
 Where vision of earth and heaven meets 
 In the constant sea of elysian. 
 
 Then softly the shade of evening falls 
 Upon the beautiful gems, unset, 
 
 Around the western cornelian walls 
 At the glorious golden sunset. 
 
 October 31, 1918.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 67 
 
 GOLDEN WEDDING 
 
 Fifty years you have been united 
 In that blissful bond of wedded life; 
 
 Where the soul is truly delighted 
 
 With the pronouncing of "Man and Wife." 
 
 Far away in those juvenile days, 
 
 When you joined your hearts together; 
 
 Fond memory still around you plays 
 Of clear and sometimes stormy weather. 
 
 Morning of life has its hopeful goal 
 As flowers burst forth in buoyant array 
 
 To please the sight and charm the soul, 
 As the sun goes down at close of day. 
 
 Through fifty years of pleasure and pain 
 
 You ve follow d the trail of two as one; 
 
 Battles have been lost and won again 
 Since taking the course you first begun. 
 
 May months and years of peace continue 
 
 As the twilight is softly shedding 
 Rays of joy that abide within you, 
 
 On the eve of your Golden Wedding.
 
 68 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 WHEN I MISS THEE MOST 
 
 (These sentimental lines were instigated and inspired by physical illness, 
 accompanied by that retrospective mood commonly known as homesickness, 
 while lying in the throes of discouragement and despair. It is but the common 
 lot of all who have lost their dearest and best friend mother and realize the 
 irreparability and ineffaceability of that loss, when sickness and suffering in 
 evitably overtakes them.) 
 
 I miss thee most, departed mother, 
 When stricken with anguish and pain; 
 
 Thoughts quicken of thee as no other, 
 And bear me back to our home again. 
 
 I miss the tender touch of your hand 
 
 And the anxious glance of your eyes, 
 While lying in this tropical land, 
 
 Under the cover of beautiful skies. 
 
 Sunlight falls on the beds of flowers 
 
 While mellow winds bear their bloom away; 
 Showing thus how treasures of ours 
 
 Have come, but, alas! come not to stay. 
 
 I miss thee most when day starts to fade 
 And stillness gathers over my room; 
 
 When darkness stretches o er hill and glade 
 With sadness and solitude and gloom. 
 
 I miss thee most, sainted mother, dear, 
 
 As I lie in this state of dismay 
 Without thy presence to allay my fear, 
 
 As you could, in a mother s sweet way. 
 
 My mind is dwelling on scenes like those 
 That convey us back to what has been, 
 
 As ever onward the river flows, 
 But ne er returns to its origin.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 I miss thee most in those little things, 
 So kind and faithful upon thy part; 
 
 When their memory unto me brings 
 Affectionate feelings of my heart. 
 
 Thy very presence would be to me 
 What morning sun is to the flowers, 
 
 If thy peaceful face I could but see 
 And renew those quiet, happy hours! 
 
 But there is no recalling them now; 
 Those juvenile days of life are o er; 
 
 And the effects of time clouds my brow 
 With their shadows, past forever more. 
 
 I miss thee most at the close of day, 
 When all is solemn about my room; 
 
 Where sad mem ries around me play 
 And call me back to thy silent tomb ! 
 
 January, 1919.
 
 70 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 MY DIAMOND RUBY RING 
 
 From Kimberley s distant diamond fields 
 These beautiful stones have found their way, 
 
 As the softest, brightest starlight yields 
 Radiance after the close of day. 
 
 Under cloudless skies of perfect blue 
 These little gems cast their sparkling light 
 
 In that rays of iridescent hue 
 That mock the sun by day and stars by night. 
 
 As whitecaps flash o er the restless sea 
 And brighten the crest of rolling waves, 
 
 So do these diamonds bring joy to me, 
 And dismal thoughts their presence saves. 
 
 Oh, rich red ruby of pigeon s blood, 
 That sparkles like effervescing wine, 
 
 From the valley of Irrawaddy s flood 
 To the hills of Burmah s richest mine. 
 
 India s far off emerald shores 
 Bear not such beautiful stones as these, 
 
 While Burmah s classiest, choicest stores 
 Strive the most fastidious to please. 
 
 Through cold or heat or rain or snow 
 These radiant stones of red and white, 
 
 Remain with me where re I go, 
 And cheer my way both morning and night. 
 
 The stars of heaven cease not to shine, 
 Neither will these gems when I am dead; 
 
 But will adorn other hands than mine 
 When their transient joys from me have fled. 
 
 Rangoon, Burnish, September, 1913.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 71 
 
 DESSIE AND HIS DOG 
 
 (Verses suggested by the affection and indefatigable fidelity of a wander 
 ing dog toward his newly found friend.) 
 
 Dessie lived upon a quiet farm, 
 
 As many boys have lived before, 
 Where beasts and birds complete the charm 
 
 Of juvenile life and rural lore. 
 
 One autumn day there came a lonely dog 
 Across the pasture fields of Dessie s herd; 
 
 He would chase a chicken and bite a hog 
 As quick as Dessie pronounced the word. 
 
 Aimless and friendless, his "wild oats" sowing, 
 
 Far from the land of his happy home, 
 Keener and keener his hunger growing 
 
 As he could not discover a bone. 
 
 Now Dessie was a kindly hearted boy 
 Who wished to help this dog s condition, 
 
 And aided him in his dogship s joy 
 By placing him in a new position. 
 
 Human like, they studied each other, 
 Their friendship growing firmer and faster, 
 
 Until they bore as brother to brother, 
 That love a dog displays for his master. 
 
 Destined to farm, he must build a name; 
 
 From early morning till late at night 
 He trav led with Dessie, through sun and rain, 
 
 And never was known to be out of sight.
 
 72 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 About the house, the barn no matter where 
 If Dessie went out to hitch up a horse, 
 
 This fond and faithful dog was always there 
 As if, without him, it couldn t be, of course. 
 
 Up with the sun, he would lead the way, 
 Where the plowman s daily workr begun; 
 
 And in some quiet spot, beneath the hay, 
 Would wait until Bessie s work was done. 
 
 Then with the plowman s tired, homeward steed 
 Their steps together they d slowly retrace, 
 
 And watch the hungry horses eat their feed 
 
 In the evening shades of this tranquil place. 
 
 At meal time, always looking for a bone, 
 He was a good old dog, so Dessie said, 
 
 Forever faithful, but deaf as a stone, 
 And if allow d, would steal upstairs to bed. 
 
 "Seeds of kindness" scattered here and there 
 Like sunbeams penetrating clouds and fog, 
 
 Help the animals their burden to bear 
 And tells the story of "Dessie and his dog." 
 
 Garden City, Missouri, May, 1912.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 73 
 
 THE COLDEST CURRENT 
 
 POEM OF SATIRE 
 
 From the mouth of the Lena river, 
 Where cold causes the heart to shiver, 
 To the hottest place upon the globe 
 That man has yet been able to probe. 
 
 Difference of three hundred degrees 
 From Sahara to the Arctic seas; 
 The two extremes of heat and cold, 
 As silver is the reverse of gold. 
 
 Sahara s heat I need not mention 
 In this case it is not the question; 
 Of Siberia s northern, frigid zone 
 I shall try to speak and speak alone. 
 
 The coldest current through this region 
 Is closely allied to a legion 
 That, perhaps to one is highly pleasing, 
 But to another, fairly freezing. 
 
 However, we scarcely know nor care 
 How much other s sorrow we should share; 
 If by passing through the fickle fire 
 We fulfill our ardent heart s desire. 
 
 Severely unpleasant and forlorn 
 Is the sharp sting of a woman s scorn, 
 When, for some cause, she has undertaken, 
 Means by which her best friend is forsaken.
 
 74 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 The coldest current, that through my heart 
 Struck me dumb as a poisoned dart, 
 And left me dazed in confusion 
 Upon the throne of her delusion. 
 
 As an iceberg toward the north pole, 
 So her cold attitude froze my soul, 
 While absence should have made her kind 
 To sooth the soreness of my mind. 
 
 But the coldest current of her breast 
 Was equal to a modern ice chest, 
 And the coldness of her icy scorn 
 All pleasure from my heart has torn. 
 
 The irony of those delusive days 
 That was cast about in many ways, 
 Was born of fancy and lived in vain, 
 As upon my soul it left its pain. 
 
 From the shortest days of December 
 There came surprises, I remember; 
 And by the month of February, 
 Was evidence she soon would marry. 
 
 Passing events, no longer in disguise, 
 Revealed the truth before my eyes, 
 And I rejoiced to know at last 
 The coldest current had frozen fast. 
 
 A passing friendship that lives and dies 
 Before its object solidifies, 
 Is perhaps, after all, better lost 
 Than to continue at any cost.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 75 
 
 Through the course of such strange environ 
 Rust eats away the hardest iron 
 And destroys, ere long, the vital part 
 That portends to heal a wounded heart. 
 
 March, 1919. 
 
 PLEASING PERPLEXITY 
 
 Storms of trouble may rise before me, 
 
 Distance and absence may grieve my soul; 
 
 Yet through it all I will adore thee 
 As the changing seasons swiftly roll. 
 
 Links of friendship that were welded fast 
 
 Endure the crucial test of time, 
 And fondly turn to the happy past 
 
 With a< reverence almost sublime. 
 
 If our path through life is divided 
 
 As platonic paths are apt to be, 
 I only wish my love had subsided 
 
 Ere I became so enwrap d in thee. 
 
 June, 1917.
 
 76 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 EIGHT TO EIGHTY-EIGHT 
 
 (A mental portrait of the diversified journey of masculine life from youth 
 to old age.) 
 
 I saw a bright little boy today; 
 
 His face was sweet, his hair soft and straight; 
 He tripped along the busy highway 
 
 With that joy that marks the age of eight. 
 
 Down in the valley at the river s bend, 
 
 Where grazing cattle are often seen, 
 I met a little adolescent friend 
 
 On that beautiful border of eighteen. 
 
 Out in the fields of alluvial soil 
 
 A plowman toils both early and late; 
 Fears no storm nor strife, perchance, will foil 
 
 His happy hopes and plans of twenty-eight. 
 
 Out in the meadow of full noonday sun 
 
 Stands a strong man in the harvest of fate; 
 
 With splendid form and work well begun 
 At the buoyant age of thirty-eight. 
 
 I saw in the city of wealth and woe 
 A man whose presence was truly great; 
 
 His fountain of strength continued to flow 
 As he reached the summit, at forty-eight. 
 
 Upon the banks of a tranquil stream 
 
 I saw a man solemnly hesitate, 
 As if the stream revealed a dream, 
 
 That thrilled his soul, at fifty-eight.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 77 
 
 I saw a man whose hair was iron gray, 
 
 Upon his life he seemed to meditate; 
 From former thoughts he turned away 
 
 And changed his course, at sixty-eight. 
 
 Around an old familiar fireside 
 
 I saw a frail man feebly participate 
 In the sacred joys that with him abide 
 
 At the declining age of seventy-eight. 
 
 I saw a sainted man whose hair was white, 
 His eyes were dim, yet could penetrate 
 
 The films of darkness through heavenly light 
 And see his final rest, at eighty-eight. 
 
 Chicago, Illinois, February 29, 1916.
 
 78 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 WHEN THE CLOUDS ROLL BY 
 
 POEM OF OPTIMISM 
 
 After the storm and the clouds roll by 
 Ther l be brighter days for you and I; 
 We must therefore be contented today, 
 For the future will provide a way. 
 
 There never has been a lane so long 
 That turned not from a sigh to song, 
 And darkest hours that beset our flight 
 Are follow d by a radiant light. 
 
 Troubles, though they appear thick and fast, 
 Like mist before sunshine, cannot last; 
 As sunlight breaks through the misty sky, 
 So will our joys when the clouds roll by. 
 
 Life would; not be appreciated 
 If sometimes things were not mismated, 
 And it is not in the gold s mining 
 So much as tis in its refining. 
 
 The ore being purified at last 
 
 By having through the crucible pass d, 
 
 Glistens brighter in its new array 
 
 As changes take place from day to day. 
 
 The atmosphere, when purged by rain, 
 Is rendered clear and cool again, 
 And leaves a charm in the bright blue sky 
 That compensates, when the clouds roll by.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 79 
 
 We must pass through some very dark days 
 To understand the Creator s ways, 
 And when that darkness is turn d to light 
 We realize His supreme foresight. 
 
 When vanity comes before a fall 
 There is that crush that humbles us all; 
 But when flowers meet the balm of dew 
 Their colors take on a brighter hue. 
 
 And so it is with the human heart, 
 The trivial things that make us smart 
 Will be forgotten by you and I 
 As time goes on and the "clouds roll by." 
 
 1919.
 
 80 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 PLEASING THE PUBLIC 
 
 Pleasing the public in Pullman cars 
 These times of fastidious people, 
 
 Isf difficult as counting the stars 
 From the heights of a gilded steeple. 
 
 Strong and feeble, riding together 
 With only a partition between, 
 
 Are little concerned as to whether 
 Acts of one by the other are seen. 
 
 Here devolves that noble feature 
 So rare and rich in women and men, 
 
 Where we can aid a fellow creature 
 And be by him rewarded again. 
 
 The little things that yield true pleasure 
 At the most critical time of need 
 
 Are those that apply, in a measure, 
 To the performing of a good deed. 
 
 Not only requires an eye and hand 
 But the prompting of mind and spirit, 
 
 The wants of people to understand 
 Or something that comes very near it. 
 
 Not always knowing how to proceed 
 In frequent cases of good intent; 
 
 In trying to meet manifest need 
 The object perhaps we circumvent.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 81 
 
 Inherent prejudice that exists 
 
 In many people of narrow minds, 
 Creates a thread of obstinate twists 
 
 In the human wreath of many kinds. 
 
 Man always meets man about half way 
 
 Regardless of the place it may be, 
 And kindness has been proven to pay 
 
 As the best asset and the best fee. 
 
 Many fine friendships have been founded 
 
 On the strength of a wise beginning; 
 Many pleasant words have been sounded 
 
 During the course of friendship s winning. 
 
 Then pleasing the public is an art 
 
 Acquired by precaution and care, 
 That can be done, if upon the start, 
 
 They are willing to perform their share. 
 
 1919.
 
 82 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 To my little iridescent friend, 
 
 As a joyous Christmas gift I send 
 
 This dog, whose pedigree is listed 
 
 With those whose tails are slightly twisted. 
 
 He surely, surely will protect you 
 If burglars should sometimes select you 
 As a victim of their roguish plight, 
 And slyly disturb you after night. 
 
 "Boston Terrier" you ve wanted bad 
 During dismal days and nights so sad, 
 Now here he is, my youthful lady, 
 Though he may look a little "shady." 
 
 He hails from Boston town, far away, 
 And, unlike some dogs, has come to stay; 
 O er the world he longs no more to roam, 
 But settles here in his happy home. 
 
 With other dogs he will scarcely mix; 
 
 He pretends to do no fancy tricks; 
 
 But will guard your house both night and day, 
 
 And give chase, if thieves come round that way. 
 
 Then may he with you ever abide 
 And recall again at Christmas tide, 
 Peace and joy without a barrier 
 Plac d upon this Boston Terrier. 
 
 Chicago, December 20, 191&
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 83 
 
 PAST AND PRESENT 
 
 There is a lady in Kansas City 
 
 Whose hopes have long been blighted; 
 
 It really is an awful pity 
 That she has been so badly slighted. 
 
 A year ago I fooled her so 
 
 That now I wish to expiate 
 That delusive act, and try to show 
 
 There is respite for those who wait. 
 
 A mystic little trick was played 
 
 Upon this innocent one, we know, 
 And she was very much dismayed 
 
 When her present "hail d" from Buffalo. 
 
 These Boston goods, like babes in the woods, 
 
 Are far away and much awry, 
 They only disturb young motherhoods 
 
 And make the envious babies cry. 
 
 Then dismiss that optimistic dream, 
 
 Take up the realistic being; 
 For things are not always what they seem, 
 
 And mere believing is not seeing. 
 
 But I wish not to deceive you now, 
 It would not be the right thing to do; 
 
 In fact I really would not know how 
 To fool as wise a woman as you.
 
 84 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 I ll send you not a living creature 
 Of brown or blue or red or yellow, 
 
 But something whose general feature 
 Is white and black and gray and mellow. 
 
 So here it is, in natural wool 
 
 From the sturdy sheep of western lands, 
 Carded extra fine and firm and full, 
 
 By the poor Navajo s dextrous hands. 
 
 Then may this rug of warmth and beauty 
 Render your room cozy and pleasant, 
 
 When little acts of household duty 
 Remind you of the "past and present." 
 
 Los Angeles, California, December 20, 1917.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 85 
 
 LAND AND SEA 
 
 (Actutl scenes from a car window of "The Road of a Thousand Wonders.") 
 
 On the way from San Luis Obispo 
 To the great city of San Francisco, 
 The beautiful hills are strewn with cattle 
 Like hundreds of men marching to battle. 
 
 Sometimes the scene is romantic and wild 
 Sufficient to charm the soul of a child; 
 Heights and hillsides that sheep can barely tread 
 Are bounded by roads like a silken thread. 
 
 Brown hills that in winter will change to green 
 Are terrac d like the hills of Palestine: 
 Where the shepherd s voice is lowly ringing 
 And the hungry sheep are closely clinging. 
 
 Live oak trees abound in eternal green, 
 Beautify the ground and endear the scene: 
 Gardens of flowers for their seeds are grown, 
 After their beauty and brightness have flown. 
 
 Golden grain enriches the rolling land 
 
 That extends ofttimes to the ocean s strand; 
 
 While the boughs of prunes, pears, peaches and grapes 
 
 Are bending with fruit in a thousand shapes. 
 
 Tomatoes, in that wondrous tint of red, 
 Color the ground as if some wound had bled, 
 While fields of tobacco in splendid array 
 Extend to the shores of the beautiful bay. 
 
 Oh! what vieing charms has this land for me 
 When I look upon the murmuring sea 
 And think "how glorious" the ocean s shore 
 As its billows roll up forevermore. 
 
 San Francisco, California, September 13, 1918.
 
 86 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 CARESS OF THE MOON 
 
 (Dedicated to Mrs. Dr. Susillo of Columbia University, New York City.) 
 
 Beautiful moon in the western sky, 
 Caressing the mild murmuring waves 
 
 That on the distant horizon lie 
 
 In that reverie where nature raves. 
 
 Suspended in filmy, floating clouds 
 That approach the water s shifting sheen, 
 
 Whose surface now thy soft light enshrouds 
 And changes it to an olive green. 
 
 Oh! beautiful moon of eastern seas; 
 
 As I see thee in all thy glory; 
 Mellowed by the sweet southern breeze 
 
 That adds to thy nocturnal story. 
 
 Alluring touch of thy rapt rous light 
 Is like the spell of a maiden s kiss, 
 
 That enchants the soul with deep delight 
 And endows it with immortal bliss. 
 
 Closer, still closer the water calls 
 To the mild moonbeams over the sea, 
 
 As darker, darker night slowly falls 
 Upon the peaceful tranquility! 
 
 The ship sails on in its northern flight 
 Like some lonely bird flying alone; 
 
 Leaving its wake in silence of night 
 Where rays of the moon is faintly shown.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 87 
 
 Then stillness pervades the deep, dark sea 
 
 That unites the grandeur of the sky 
 With all the beauty that there can be 
 
 When earth and heaven begin to vie. 
 
 Piercing stars look on as judges do 
 When some great rival is taking place, 
 
 And watch the victor as he comes through 
 To claim the prize that has won the race. 
 
 The moon begins to forsake the scene 
 
 And leave the night unto its own, 
 Just as awakening from a dream, 
 
 We realize the phantom has flown. 
 
 Then to this beautiful night adieu; 
 
 Thy charms have vanish d only too soon; 
 But thy heavn ly beauty will renew 
 
 With another "Caress of the Moon." 
 
 Aden, Arabia, November, 1913.
 
 88 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 IN THE WOODLAND 
 
 dedicated 
 
 To my only sister, now at the old homestead, these pensive lines are 
 cated. 
 
 In the depths of beautiful woodland 
 I stood in awe at the dawn of day, 
 
 Where the trees by the breeze were fanned 
 As the deep forest before me lay. 
 
 Red birds and robins began to sing 
 
 As the dewdrops sweet nd the morning air, 
 Making the woodland with music ring 
 
 In exquisite strains everywhere. 
 
 Beautiful flowers adorn the ground; 
 
 May apple blossoms and dogwood trees 
 Permeate the air for miles around, 
 
 Then blow away on the gentle breeze. 
 
 Golden sunbeams penetrate the scene 
 And light a flame of glorious splendor 
 
 Against the colors of richest green 
 That gold and green can only render. 
 
 Beneath the shades a brook is flowing 
 Like a silver thread through hill and dale 
 
 Where violets and iris, growing, 
 
 Sweeten the charm of the tranquil vale. 
 
 Enchanted forest, with bush and vine 
 That intervene the trees and flowers, 
 
 As fond, sweet memories entwine 
 About our past and happiest hours.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 89 
 
 Years have passed and many changes 
 
 Since first we saw the woodland s glory; 
 
 Deep the sorrows and wide the ranges 
 Since we beheld this Woodland story. 
 
 The hills remain, the valleys are there; 
 
 The brook runs on as it did before, 
 But friends have drifted everywhere 
 
 And will return to us no more. 
 
 Then fare thee well, dear land of my heart; 
 
 The joys of youth have forever flown, 
 For the time has come I must depart 
 
 And turn toward the future unknown. 
 
 Garden City, Missouri, May 10, 1914. 
 
 It is no disgrace to make a mistake, but oft-times very 
 humiliating.
 
 90 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 THINKING OF THEE 
 
 Fond thoughts of thee around me rally 
 Since I have wandered far away; 
 
 My heart returns to the Kansas valley, 
 Where quiet reigns at the close of day. 
 
 I cannot find in this far-away land, 
 Midst ev ry fruit and flower that grows, 
 
 A flower so sweet, a tree so grand, 
 As that perennial Kansas Rose. 
 
 Foaming surf rolls up against the shore, 
 Rugged hills outline the distant lea; 
 
 The billows roll on forevermore, 
 While I am fondly thinking of thee. 
 
 The ocean, in all its majesty, 
 
 Its murmuring sound and stormy sights, 
 
 Has not the charm that thou hast for me, 
 In the sunlit days and starlit nights. 
 
 Sublime the meeting of land and sea, 
 Where beauty and grandeur serenely rest; 
 
 My soul is wrapp d in thoughts of thee, 
 In the hours of absences trying test. 
 
 Oh! meet me in this land of splendor, 
 Where birds and bees enjoy their mating; 
 
 Such pleasures you can sweetly render, 
 While I am waiting, fondly waiting. 
 
 Then listen to my lowly reading 
 As I stroll upon the silver strand, 
 
 Where my heart is sincerely pleading 
 For you to behold this lovely land. 
 
 Coast of California, September, 1917.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 91 
 
 DAWN OF DAY 
 
 Faint light in the east already gleams 
 
 Upon the high rolling hills afar, 
 And disturbs the peace of pleasant dreams 
 
 With vanishing of the morning star. 
 
 Slowly spreads over the eastern hills 
 That mellow expanse of gray and gold, 
 
 As the enraptured soul it fills 
 
 With all the rapture that it can hold. 
 
 Little birds announce the dawn of day 
 
 By their cheerful songs throughout the trees 
 
 While sheep and cattle begin to bray 
 As gently blows the murmuring breeze. 
 
 To those who have laid on beds of pain 
 Throughout the turbulent hours of night, 
 
 There comes relief, as showers of rain 
 Refresh the flowers stricken by blight. 
 
 To those who on beds of anguish lay 
 And behold the morning light return, 
 
 Rejoice to see the coming of day, 
 Though they continue their sad sojourn. 
 
 As day dispels the darkness of night, 
 
 So are our hopes renewed! again 
 By that presence of infinite light 
 
 That to the end our trials sustain.
 
 92 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 Oh! how glorious the dawn of day, 
 When golden light envelops the land; 
 
 How deep the prayers we long to pray 
 And extol the works of God so grand. 
 
 Over the restless and rolling seas, 
 Over the frigid and torrid zone 
 
 And over the Spanish Pyrenees, 
 Wherever the golden sun has shone. 
 
 Heavenly light, with ultra-splendor 
 Bursts forth in a glorious array, 
 
 And all the world with beauty render, 
 As the change takes place at dawn of day. 
 
 Oh! how rapturous the dawn of day 
 With its mellow light o er land and sea, 
 
 Blessing the sad and blessing the gay 
 With all the beauty that there can be. 
 
 Then gray gives way to a golden hue 
 That envelops the slow, sluggish Nile, 
 
 While the sun absorbs the fleeting dew 
 And the shadoof* goes on all the while. 
 
 *An ancient contrivance for elevating water, extensively used on the banks 
 of the Nile in Egypt.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 92A 
 
 THE ROCK AND THE ROSE. 
 (Dialogue.) 
 
 Said the rock unto the timid rose 
 Why venture thou in this place serene, 
 
 To blossom a day where no one knows, 
 Then perish and leave thy grave unseen? 
 
 Said the rose unto the barren rock, 
 
 I come to adorn thy hoary crest 
 And mark the time the years unlock, 
 
 As I live and die beneath thy breast. 
 
 Said the rock unto the palid rose, 
 I am bare and bleak and sometimes cold, 
 
 But more sublime in my naked pose, 
 Than all the beauty that thou dost hold 
 
 Said the rose unto the ancient rock, 
 I am frail and fragile, weak and pure, 
 
 But in the earthquake s awful shock, 
 You cannot stand what I endure. 
 
 Said the rock unto the peaceful rose, 
 
 I am the strength of all creation, 
 While plains and valleys around me chose 
 
 To call thee least of all formation. 
 
 Said the rose unto the mighty rock, 
 
 My Creator s work is most sublime, 
 As the smallest wheel completes the clock 
 
 That measures alike our common time.
 
 92B POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 HE WHO PLANTS A TREE 
 
 He who wisely plants a tree today 
 Will perpetuate a memory 
 When its spreading branches beautify 
 Little landscapes that around it lie. 
 
 He who plants a tree in thoughtful youth 
 Will live, perhaps, to confirm this truth; 
 And the future, strange as it appears, 
 Will be revealed in after years. 
 
 In the planting of a tree today 
 He bestows pride along life s highway 
 And leaves a memory of his deeds 
 As plants succeed the sowing of seeds. 
 
 As youth itself is fraught with troubles 
 So is the tree with early struggles, 
 Until it passes that timid stage 
 In which we note the coming of age. 
 
 It then begins to assume a form 
 That affords refuge in times of storm, 
 And extends its shade both east and west 
 To travelers stopping there for rest. 
 
 The beggar and bard may share alike 
 Shade of this tree in passing the pike, 
 And birds of plumage will nestle there, 
 Selecting a place their young to bear.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 92C 
 
 When winds wave its branches to and fro 
 As springtime comes and the summers go, 
 And Autumn arrives with cutting frost, 
 Its effulgent charms will then be lost. 
 
 Winter winds through its bare boughs will moan 
 After the days of Autumn have flown; 
 Its withered leaves having been shed, 
 To the world, it is dismal and dead. 
 
 Yet through all the storms of ice and snow 
 It grows on as seasons come and go, 
 Rendering relief for those who mourn 
 During dismal days and nights forlorn. 
 
 Thus it is, who plants a tree today 
 
 Has left a mark that has come to stay, 
 
 And will confer a memory dear 
 
 Upon those who come from far and near. 
 
 He who fondly plants a tree today, 
 Perchance, like falling leaves, will drift away, 
 And when by the breeze its branches wave, 
 He may be laid in his lonely grave. 
 
 But the reward will repay his toil, 
 Whether it be in far foreign soil, 
 Or in America s Golden West 
 Where the tree itself will stand the test. 
 
 Oh ! then he who plants a tree today, 
 Is surely paving the future way 
 For those who follow his thoughtful spell 
 And note the story the tree will tell.
 
 92D POMS OF PASTIME 
 
 Then praise to him who plants a tree today, 
 Though neath its shade he finally lay, 
 And his silent tomb, like the tree, may stand, 
 Perpetual, beautiful, serenely grand! 
 
 September, 1919. 
 
 IN THE WOODLAND. 
 
 In the woodland, the brown leaves are falling 
 From the sting of Autumn s fatal frost; 
 
 And the squirrel to its mate is calling 
 Like a squirrel that its mate has lost. 
 
 In the woodland, summer scenes are dying : 
 Where the pink and violet once did bloom 
 
 Now the dead and faded leaves are lying 
 Round about them as their solemn tomb. 
 
 In the woodland, the wind is murm ring low 
 Where parting summer fain would linger long, 
 
 And the branches are waving to and fro 
 To the echo of the thrush s farewell song. 
 
 October, 1902. 
 
 He who has not beheld a glorious autumn sunrise from 
 Tiger Hill, six miles above Darjeeling, India, has missed 
 one of the most magnificent, stupendous, bewildering and 
 supremely beautiful sights of this world. It is the grandest 
 of all the Creator s masterpieces.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 93 
 
 COURSE OF THE RIVERS 
 
 Onward, onward through forest and plain, 
 Threading thy way along fields of grain, 
 From lofty mountains to distant sea, 
 Proclaiming a constant mystery. 
 
 Surging downward through the narrow gorge 
 Between walls of rock your way to forge, 
 Then away into the open space 
 As if some wild beast to give a chase. 
 
 Symbolic of young life going forth, 
 So starts the Red River of the North; 
 From the high lands of Minnesota 
 Where the crystal lakes form a quota. 
 
 Then winding thy way across the land 
 Like a silver thread through ashen sand, 
 Passing vast wheat fields in their order, 
 Toward the Manitoba border. 
 
 Northward, coursing thy serpentine way, 
 Peaceful as shades of a summer day; 
 Coaching the storks of long, slender leg 
 To the very doors of Winnipeg. 
 
 Reverting now to the sluggish streams 
 That recall to us some hazy dreams, 
 As they slowly pass the summer shades 
 Beneath the Florida everglades.
 
 94 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 Serenely flows the dark Suwannee 
 Through pine clad lands to the open sea; 
 Conveying with it a memory 
 That is forever sweet to me. 
 
 Behold the clear Penobscot again 
 Flowing through the hilly lands of Maine; 
 Its grassy banks and odorous pines, 
 Fragrant flowers and entwining vines. 
 
 Its clear depths reflect the arching trees 
 That gently wave with the eastern breeze, 
 And leave their shadows, morning and noon, 
 During the beautiful days of June. 
 
 From the East to West there is a change, 
 Where rivers rush down the Cascade range, 
 And ambuscades of ferns and flowers 
 Are moistened by the mountain showers. 
 
 Oh! raging rivers of the Far Northwest, 
 I feel at times that I love them best; 
 As through the forests a way they found 
 To finally reach the Puget Sound. 
 
 Then I wander, oh! far, far away 
 To the southern streams of Florida; 
 Where from them I must sadly sever, 
 While they go on and on forever. 
 
 March, 1919. ,
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 95 
 
 THE CAT AND THE RAT 
 
 (Poem for Bad Boys.) 
 
 "What are you doing around this house?" 
 Said the long tailed rat, somewhat irate; 
 
 "You must be out for a nice fat mouse, 
 As your guilty looks would indicate." 
 
 Said old Tom cat to the long tailed rat, 
 
 "I am prowling about for pleasure, 
 But if you are looking for a spat, 
 
 I ll stop and quickly take your measure. " 
 
 "I don t like your fancy, feline style," 
 
 Said the rodent, with red in his eye; 
 "But if you will kindly wait awhile, 
 
 I ll see you in the sweet by and bye. " 
 
 "My long tailed friend," says old Tom cat, 
 
 "You re ultra polite, it seems, today, 
 But I infer you re out for a spat, 
 
 And will be pleas d to meet you half way." 
 
 "Very well," says the long tailed rat, 
 
 "I ll meet you in the cellar tonight; 
 We will neither argue this nor that, 
 
 But proceed to an up-to-date fight." 
 
 The next few hours were quietly spent 
 
 In resting up for the big melee, 
 While crowds waited the coming event 
 
 With all the eagerness there could be.
 
 96 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 Then at it they went with all their might, 
 
 Screaming and squealing with frightful pain, 
 
 Presenting to view an awful sight 
 As on each other fierce blows they rain. 
 
 It seemed a case of "tit for tat" 
 
 As with ev ry blow there went a cry, 
 And look d as if the cat, then the rat, 
 
 Was surely, surely doomed to die. 
 
 Poor old Tom, with his surplus power, 
 Needed all strength he could get together 
 
 To keep from showing, this crucial hour, 
 True signs of the dreaded "white feather." 
 
 Furious fight of that awful night 
 
 Left its scars upon both cat and rat, 
 And such a vicious, bloody sight 
 
 Was seldom witnessed after that. 
 
 They stole away to their hiding place 
 
 To rest upon laurels lost or gain d, 
 Like men who feel a galling disgrace 
 
 After their face with blood is stained. 
 
 May all bad boys who read this story, 
 
 Take a lesson from the cat and rat 
 And waive their claim to fistic glory 
 
 By keeping aloof from such as that.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 97 
 
 IN THE REALMS OF ROSES 
 
 In the infinite realms of roses, 
 
 With an array of beautiful hue, 
 There is an effulgence that poses 
 
 As the refreshment of morning dew. 
 
 Rare richness of immaculate white, 
 Teeming with the essence of sweetness, 
 
 As there sheds an aurora of light 
 On the beauty of their completeness. 
 
 Oh! gorgeous rose of topaz yellow; 
 
 We will bestow, if thou but let us, 
 Highest praise of thy breath so mellow, 
 
 And sweet as honey of Hymettus. 
 
 Oh! rapturous rose of richest red; 
 
 Soft, velvet petals that fairly speak; 
 And if they but could, it would be said 
 
 That out of thy depths sweet speeches leak. 
 
 Exquisite rose with fresh fragrance fraught, 
 
 Charming colors of delicate pink; 
 Too sweet for words and too deep for thought 
 
 As in thy realms we silently sink. 
 
 Humming birds and golden butterflies 
 
 Inhale the aroma of these flowers 
 In this land of constant paradise, 
 
 And while away their happiest hours.
 
 98 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 Little red ramblers unite the trees 
 
 With all the beauty they can command, 
 
 And sweeten the balmy, bracing breeze 
 That ever pervades this lovely land. 
 
 Eager pilgrims come from north and east 
 To evade the winter s frost and snow; 
 
 To behold this wondrous floral feast 
 And watch the glorious roses grow! 
 
 Within this enchanting city lies 
 
 The crown of all that man disposes; 
 
 To be beneath the ethereal skies 
 
 And dwell within the "Realms of Roses." 
 
 Pasadena, California, April, 1919.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 99 
 
 DESIDERATUM 
 
 Flowers have their time in which to bloom, 
 Then slowly wither away and die; 
 
 Leaves are subject to similar doom 
 As Autumn passes serenely by. 
 
 But man is ever within God s call 
 In the midst of his supreme career, 
 
 As one by one friends around him fall, 
 With the rapid passing of the year. 
 
 And 1 in his diversified state 
 
 Is not immune from the sting of sin, 
 As when he begins to dissipate, 
 
 Contentment leaves and trouble sets in. 
 
 Chasing shadows that are never sure, 
 Looking for betterment by and by; 
 
 Longing for that we cannot secure, 
 Burdens us with a discordant sigh. 
 
 We covet life s gilded butterfly, 
 
 Thinking it will fulfill our desire, 
 But its colors fail to satisfy, 
 
 And leave us like an unquenched fire. 
 
 If we could bask in soft beds of ease 
 And sip the sweets of eternal joy, 
 
 I doubt if our hearts it would appease, 
 Unless we were free from all annoy.
 
 100 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 If with the things that to us are sent, 
 Whether bitter, sweet or none at all, 
 
 We could therewith but be content, 
 We would not grieve over rise or fall. 
 
 But the human heart, prone to wander, 
 Fickle and false throughout its leaven, 
 
 Proves that our days of grace we squander, 
 And there is nothing true but heaven. 
 
 May 31, 1919. 
 
 The best that is in man is sometimes brought out by the 
 trying test of trouble.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 101 
 
 CALLING 
 
 Come where myriads of golden poppies grow, 
 Come where the landscape is a dream of delight; 
 
 Where the mocking bird sings and the soft winds blow, 
 When the moon sinks low in the silence of night. 
 
 Come where the heart would forever fondly be, 
 Come where the beauty enchants the human soul; 
 
 Where the rainbow unites the sky with the sea, 
 And the shores are swept as the blue billows roll. 
 
 Come where the murmur of the waves linger on, 
 Come where the shadows of the dying day falls 
 
 On the fading footprints of those that are gone, 
 As the strains of music, the music recalls. 
 
 Come where the foaming surf returns to the sea, 
 Come where the shells are washed upon the sand; 
 
 Here s where my mother used to walk with me, 
 But now sleeps forever in a far-off land. 
 
 "Come with me" to her spirit I am calling; 
 
 Come back, where the ocean once gave us delight; 
 But now upon my spirit there is falling 
 
 Sadness and sorrow at the dawning of night. 
 
 Santa Monica, California, April, 1910.
 
 102 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 POEM OF THE PINES 
 
 Oh! beautiful pines of stately grace, 
 Forever green and forever sweet; 
 
 The sunlight charms that enchanted place 
 Where the valleys and the mountains meet. 
 
 When the winter skies are tinted blue, 
 When the dark and angry clouds are low, 
 
 Thou art clothed in the greenest hue 
 Beneath the covering of the snow. 
 
 Fantastic frost decorates the space 
 Above the tops of these lofty trees, 
 
 Where the vapors rise like filmy lace 
 
 And float away on the soft, sweet breeze. 
 
 Calm and peaceful as a midnight dream, 
 The pretty pines, so rich and gorgeous, 
 
 Reflect their shade in the crystal stream, 
 As sun and moon upon them forges. 
 
 Serene by day and sublime by night, 
 The beautiful pines in splendor vie, 
 
 And inspire the soul with fond delight 
 As they lift their tops toward the sky. 
 
 Cascade Mountains, Wash., December, 1903.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 103 
 
 MIDNIGHT ON THE DESERT 
 
 The Mojave desert, generally conceded to be incapable of producing any 
 vegetation, has, in the past few years, become partially covered with a species 
 of small evergreen bushes; predominating large areas in green, and even acres 
 of bright, delicate flowers are sometimes seen where formerly they were utterly 
 unknown. But the general surface is void of all vegetation is perfectly 
 desiccated and the barren hills and mountains remain unchanged and un 
 changeable by the cycles of time. 
 
 Sublime and still are the hours of night 
 That kindle my soul with pensive sighs, 
 
 The silvery sands reflect their light 
 As soft and sweet as the star-lit skies. 
 
 Vast and endless thy valleys appear; 
 
 Bleak and barren thy hilltops seem; 
 Yet ever impressive, ever dear 
 
 As the memories of some sweet dream. 
 
 No trace of the day s disturbing breeze 
 
 Remains upon the ambient space, 
 Like calm that follows the restless seas, 
 
 Sweet quiet pervades this lonely place. 
 
 To hear a sound in this arid land 
 
 Where neither reptiles, beasts nor birds dwell, 
 Would portray life in a lifeless sand 
 
 And break the silence of eternal spell. 
 
 Perchance some little bush may be seen 
 
 Venturing upon the hills of brown, 
 Pretending to clothe their sides in green 
 
 While they look on in defiant frown. 
 
 Those little shrubs, and even flowers, 
 
 May clothe the vale and perfume the air 
 
 In the silent depths of midnight hours, 
 While they forever are growing there.
 
 104 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 But the gray and red and barren peaks 
 In their sublime and sacred glory 
 
 Remain the same, as the soul it seeks 
 To fathom their romantic story. 
 
 A lace-like cloud now precludes the moon, 
 But will vanish in the awe of night, 
 
 As the soul is caught in one sweet swoon 
 In the silent realm of this delight. 
 
 The brilliant stars of midnight skies 
 Reveal the desert in grand array, 
 
 And adds to beauty, where beauty lies, 
 
 While the sparkling gems around them play. 
 
 Again, farewell to the desert dear; 
 
 I fain would defer this parting long, 
 Where earth is tranquil and heaven near, 
 
 And mingle their charms in one sweet song. 
 
 Bagdad, California, January 16, 1906.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 105 
 
 REVIEW OF THE OCEAN 
 
 (No word of more than two syllables.) 
 
 When I leave thee and return again 
 I feel my absence has been in vain; 
 Under the charm of thy magic spell 
 There is that solace we love so well. 
 
 Great volumes rolling up; all day long 
 The waves are singing a merry song 
 To the sky above and land below, 
 With a constant roar they come and go. 
 
 Wild surf is lashing the sandy shore, 
 Then follows a calm we most adore, 
 When looking beyond the ocean s breast 
 To the western line of hazy crest. 
 
 Whitecaps glisten far over the sea, 
 Bringing again past vistas to me; 
 The sun soars high in the clear blue sky 
 And brightens the way where seagulls fly. 
 
 Endless depths that no plummet can sound, 
 Billows roll up in a way profound; 
 While the golden sun its rays impart 
 To lighten the sadness of my heart. 
 
 Wild and restless the dark waters roll, 
 Sending nautic thrills throughout my soul; 
 Trackless and tireless they onward play 
 From morning to night and night to day.
 
 106 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 Vast, oh vast is thy endless expanse. 
 Clasping me close in thy strange entrance, 
 As wave after wave mingles its spray 
 With low-lying clouds that round thee play. 
 
 Westward, westward, do we know how far? 
 Pointing toward the evening star; 
 With thy rolling surface broad and long, 
 Stretching to the high hills of Hong Kong. 
 
 Vast, oh! vast as the star-lit skies 
 That with thy beauty nightly vies, 
 And on thy bosom cast their light 
 With all the glory of silent night! 
 
 From the distant, frigid Arctic shores 
 To the South Polar sea s frozen doors, 
 Is one boundless, changeless realm divine, 
 Of wondrous grandeur, most sublime. 
 
 Oh, could I render) my spirit free 
 In endless realms of the dark, deep sea; 
 I would forego all pleasure and strife 
 And there conclude the rest of my life. 
 
 January, 1919.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 107 
 
 AS FLOWS THE RIVER OF LIFE 
 
 As flows the River from heights to sea, 
 
 So are we ever onward going; 
 Toward the abyss of eternity 
 
 The stream of life is swiftly flowing. 
 
 Sad to think, as we have often thought, 
 When standing upon the River s shore, 
 
 Sparkling waters that our eyes have caught 
 Soon pass us by to return no more. 
 
 As flows the River toward the sea 
 
 And never returns to us again, 
 We are wondering if it must be 
 
 That in oblivion we shall remain. 
 
 Perhaps, as by supernal power, 
 
 This water is returned anew 
 In final form of mist and shower, 
 
 Truly showing what nature can do. 
 
 If it returns from heaven above 
 And passes through the channel again, 
 
 May we expect from infinite love 
 To return to this terrestrial plane? 
 
 Oh! what a joyful thought it would be 
 
 If we could continue forever, 
 Like the rivers flowing to the sea, 
 
 And from our glory nothing sever.
 
 108 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 There is hope beneath the breast of man 
 That such perennial joy as this 
 
 Is within the wise Creator s plan 
 To transform us into constant bliss. 
 
 He that restores the faded flowers 
 And controls the sublime universe, 
 
 Shall, perhaps, allay all fear of ours 
 That we cannot otherwise disperse. 
 
 Then as the River glides swiftly on 
 Toward the unknown depths of the sea, 
 
 We think of the many that have gone 
 And resting now in calm eternity.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 109 
 
 TRIBUTE TO THE APPLE BLOSSOMS 
 
 Beautiful blossoms of pink and white, 
 Clustered amidst the mellow green, 
 
 Presenting anew that charming sight 
 In early springtime so often seen. 
 
 Exquisite blossoms of apple trees 
 
 Appear like pearls in the morning light 
 
 When waving with the soft southern breeze 
 That over them blows both day and night. 
 
 Queen of the orchard, queen of flowers, 
 That charm the soul and perfume the air 
 
 With all the beauty and the powers 
 Of infinite grandeur resting there. 
 
 Japan boasts of her cherry blossoms, 
 
 Hawaii her bouganvillia vines, 
 But we have here the merry blossoms 
 
 That they have not in tropical climes. 
 
 Little humming birds and honey bees, 
 
 Attracted by instinctive reason, 
 Come from the distant magnolia trees 
 
 And linger here throughout the season. 
 
 You charm the soul and intoxicate 
 The senses that within us arise, 
 
 While true heaven you approximate 
 In the portrayal of paradise.
 
 110 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 Morning dewdrops around you gleaming 
 Enhance the beauty of your bowers, 
 
 While the air with fragrance is teeming 
 In the freshness of heav nly showers. 
 
 Pure as the first blush of a maiden 
 Returns the apple blossoms of Spring, 
 
 While winds, with aroma are laden 
 
 With the sweetness and pleasure they bring. 
 
 Southwest Missouri, April, 1919.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 SERENITY OF THE CHURCHYARD 
 
 Beneath the shade of hemlock and pine 
 In the silent churchyard our friends lay, 
 
 Where grows the ivy and myrtle vine 
 Around the marble of white and gray. 
 
 What matters it now, departed friends, 
 Whether cold or warm or sleet or snow 
 
 Whether wild winds blow or rain descends 
 Upon the vines that over you grow? 
 
 No day nor night is recorded there; 
 
 Silence and darkness under the sod, 
 Where free from worry and free from care 
 
 All is well in the wisdom of God. 
 
 Father Time will not disturb the lid 
 
 That screens forever your once fair face; 
 While but the song of the katydid 
 
 Pervades the silence of this sad place. 
 
 The golden sun and silvery moon 
 
 That shines upon all the world so bright, 
 
 Lightens not the darkness of the tomb, 
 Nor divides the day from constant night. 
 
 They no longer hear the church bell chimes 
 Sounding the call for vesper meeting, 
 
 As the Hindu his tall tower climbs 
 At four o clock to sound his greeting.
 
 112 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 Then over the hills to the churchyard, 
 All roads lead to this evasive spot, 
 
 Where the rich and poor and titled bard 
 Are placed upon one common lot. 
 
 When the end of this life is reached, 
 No matter what has been our career; 
 
 It matters not where the boat is beached 
 That landed us at the final pier. 
 
 If from the dark chamber of the grave 
 We are in due time taken away 
 
 From bondage of an entombed slave, 
 Oh! the glory of that judgment day. 
 
 But this is as far as we can go 
 It is the end of our futile trail 
 
 And it is as far as we can know 
 Until God reveals his unknown vail. 
 
 June 30, 1919.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 113 
 
 THE SORROW OF SEPARATION 
 
 Think of me, oh fondly think of me 
 
 When these lines perchance you stop to read 
 If such, in the future, there should be, 
 
 As on the swift wings of time you speed. 
 
 How quickly the seasons come and go; 
 
 Springtime and summer merge into one, 
 As the currents of life onward flow, 
 
 Some passing out, others just begun. 
 
 Our yesterday is others today 
 
 Our today is others tomorrow; 
 But what that will be we cannot say, 
 
 Whether pleasure or pain or sorrow. 
 
 We can compare the past and present, 
 
 While the future to us is unknown; 
 But prefer to dwell on the pleasant 
 
 That down the river of life has flown. 
 
 We sometimes see the trunk of a tree 
 
 Stranded in the shallow river s bed, 
 Showing that there is eternity 
 
 When the tree itself has long been dead. 
 
 Good men" and women whom I love well, 
 Whose thoughts my heart with emotions fill, 
 
 Have drifted to where I cannot tell; 
 
 But their latent love clings round we still.
 
 1 14 POEMS OF PASTIME 
 
 Many have come, but come not to stay; 
 
 Time is brief on this terrestrial shore; 
 Like flowers, they bloom, then pass away, 
 
 But un-like flowers, return no more! 
 
 Men and women who wish to be true 
 
 Condemn me not now and praise me then; 
 
 All you might say, what good would it do 
 By the stress of tongue or stress of pen? 
 
 We must beware of the little things 
 That annoy us in our daily tasks, 
 
 And upon us constant trouble brings, 
 If we still persist in wearing masks. 
 
 Then let us try to be fair and plain, 
 Whatever the conditions may be 
 
 Whether it be heat or cold or rain 
 As we sail through life s turbulent sea. 
 
 If there are two, one must be taken, 
 Leaving that void we feel at parting 
 
 When the soul, forlorn and forsaken, 
 Sets the heart to bitterly smarting. 
 
 Oh ! how I miss those pleasant faces 
 That gleamed with the preparation 
 
 Of beautiful smiles and sweet graces, 
 Ere "The Sorrow of Separation." 
 
 July, 1919.
 
 POEMS OF PASTIME 1 15 
 
 FAREWELL 
 
 Dear friends that around me stand on fall, 
 As I close these painful, pensive lines, 
 
 My feelings go out to one and all 
 As gems that lie in the richest mines. 
 
 If from these unpretentious pages 
 
 You trace the thread of a sacred tie, 
 May it remain in after ages 
 
 A silent bond between you and I. 
 
 Ships that anchor on the ocean s shore 
 May remain together months and years, 
 
 Then sail far away to meet no more 
 Except in the act of shedding tears. 
 
 How oft we think of some word spoken, 
 
 Or a kindly deed done by a friend, 
 That remains as a sacred token 
 
 As past and present serenely blend. 
 
 If we could prolong the walk of life 
 
 And continue in eternal youth, 
 It would defeat the poignance of strife 
 
 And teach us how to regard the truth. 
 
 But our friendships are brief and fragile, 
 
 Firmly woven by that magic spell 
 When we are young and strong and agile, 
 
 Then comes the sad and final farewell. 
 
 Like the shifting winds and drifting sands, 
 
 Divided; for where we cannot tell; 
 Some to our graves, some to foreign lands, 
 
 But to all, at last, farewell, farewell. 
 
 3O"
 
 This book is DUE on the last 
 date stamped below 
 
 Jan 3 58 
 Jun 6 58 
 
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