A VOICE 
 FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 diaries Philip.Neftleton 
 
 I; 
 
A VOICE 
 FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 CHARLES PHILIP NETTLETON 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 INA COOLBRITH 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH AND POEM 
 BY 
 
 ISABEL DARLING 
 
 APPRECIATION 
 BY 
 
 REV. HAMILTON LEE 
 
 I WNIVERS/TY ) 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO 
 
 Si. $$ 
 
 J 904 
 
Copyright 
 
 Alice L. Frickstad 
 1904 
 
 PRINTED BY THE STANLEY-TAYLOR COMrANY. S. F. 
 
A FOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 CHARLES PHILIP NETTLETON. 
 
 So the child was named when he appeared in his first 
 home at New Haven, Conn., as the only son of George W. 
 and Charlotte L. Nettleton. Lack of physical strength made 
 him the object of continual solicitude and prevented the long 
 school course, as well as a vigorous participation in the usual 
 youthful sports and adventures, so his childhood was even 
 less eventful than that of the ordinary New England boy. 
 
 Instead of an actor he was a reader and a dreamer, sen- 
 sitively shrinking into silence at a touch of ridicule or harsh 
 criticism, longing desperately, at times, for a place among 
 the world's recognized workers yet without the boldness, the 
 endurance, the push and trample needed to win and keep 
 what he prayed for and seemingly deserved. His hardest 
 battles, like those of Bunyan's Pilgrim, were mental and 
 spiritual, fought in silence and solitude, and their results 
 offered to the world with diffidence because of his reverence 
 for the works and uttered thoughts of that world's greater 
 minds. 
 
 No one knows when he began to write. The first pub- 
 lished effort which has been traced was not original, but 
 shows the effect of much reading. It consists of one-line ex- 
 tracts from many authors, arranged in verse, and was found 
 in a New York paper. 
 
 Soon after, while he was still but a boy, the family was 
 suddenly uprooted and removed from the Atlantic Coast to 
 the Pacific, to a new and more arduous, but still unsatisfy- 
 ing, life. In the intervals of out-door work, or at night, he 
 studied by himself, grew familiar with deep thinkers, even 
 learning the language of the Greeks, and wrote poems and 
 short stories, essays or parables, for the "Chautauquan," "Inde- 
 pendent," "Modern Culture," "Springfield Republican," 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 ''Overland Monthly," "Philistine" and other periodicals, as he 
 could, gradually giving up one hope and accepting another, 
 turning from literature toward the ministry, while waiting 
 for his opportunity. 
 
 After nearly twenty years it came, and he entered the 
 San Mateo School of Divinity, entered with the eager plunge 
 of one who, though coming late, is determined to deserve the 
 full recompense as only justice, because of the deferred call, 
 his very soul crying out, "Oh, the little time there is!" Two 
 short years of this and then the shadow overtook him and 
 drew him away before the Lord of the Harvest had counted 
 the sheaves and given him his portion of reward. 
 
 We who might have helped him more but did not, may 
 read again his pure, unselfish words and offer them as stimu- 
 lus and comfort to others who may be called before the sun- 
 set, before the reckoning time. Surely his work has not been 
 wasted, surely it is to be continued. 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Biographical Sketch 3 
 
 Of Our Friend 11 
 
 An Appreciation 13 
 
 The One Who Knows 15 
 
 Recall the Good Alone 16 
 
 "Nay, Ask Me Not" 17 
 
 When Greece Is Named y. . . 18 
 
 The Search 19 
 
 The Vision Beautiful 20 
 
 The Long Vacation 21 
 
 At Night 21 
 
 The Two Mysteries 22 
 
 Glimpses 23 
 
 What Am I, Love? 24 
 
 Quatrains on Authors 25 
 
 Edwin Arnold 27 
 
 St. Augustine 27 
 
 Alfred Austin 28 
 
 William Blake 33 
 
 Sir Thomas Brown . .30 
 
 Robert Browning . . . . . .30 
 
 Mrs. Browning 30 
 
 La Bruyere 26 
 
 Bryant 33 
 
 Bobby Burns . . . .- . . .... . . 28 
 
 Byron . .36 
 
 Carlyle 31 
 
 Confucius 35 
 
 Dante . 28 
 
 De Quincey 36 
 
 Emerson 25 
 
 Epictetus 29 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Quatrains on Authors 
 
 Firdusi 27 
 
 Goethe 35 
 
 Goldsmith 33 
 
 Hawthorne 31 
 
 Heine 32 
 
 Homer 35 
 
 Leigh Hunt 26 
 
 Jean Ingelow 32 
 
 Author of Job 35 
 
 Keats ". . 36 
 
 Lamb 34 
 
 Lanier 26 
 
 Longfellow 33 
 
 Marcus Aurelius 29 
 
 Joaquin Miller 29 
 
 Milton 30 
 
 Montaigne 28 
 
 Moore 34 
 
 William Morris 27 
 
 Omar Khayyam 27 
 
 Plato 25 
 
 Poe 34 
 
 Pope 26 
 
 La Rochefoucauld 26 
 
 Christina G. Rosetti 34 
 
 Rousseau . 25 
 
 Ruskin 31 
 
 Saadi 25 
 
 Sappho 36 
 
 Shakespere 35 
 
 Shelley 36 
 
 Socrates 25 
 
 Robert L. Stevenson 34 
 
 Swinburne . ..... 32 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Quatrains on Authors 
 
 Tennyson 31 
 
 Theocritus 29 
 
 Thomas a'Kempis 33 
 
 Thoreau 30 
 
 Paul Verlaine 32 
 
 Villon 32 
 
 Walton 31 
 
 Walt Whitman 29 
 
 Wordsworth 28 
 
 The Seashore at Night 37 
 
 Her Portrait 37 
 
 California 38 
 
 Dawn in the San Joaquin Valley 38 
 
 The Play in the Vestibule 39 
 
 Opposition 42 
 
 The Old Story 42 
 
 The Pilot 43 
 
 Too Late 44 
 
 To William Watson, Author of "The Purple East" . . 44 
 
 The Bookworm vs. Nature 45 
 
 What Seekest Thou? 46 
 
 The Greater Scale 47 
 
 Before the Fire 47 
 
 Easter 48 
 
 Contentment 49 
 
 Moderation 49 
 
 Inscription for a Statue of Anacreon (Theocritus, Frag- 
 ment XVI.) 50 
 
 Charity 50 
 
 My Age 50 
 
 Maternity 50 
 
 Love's Prooflessness 51 
 
 A Valentine 52 
 
 My Celestial Visitor 53 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 The Poet 54 
 
 The Hermit 55 
 
 The Unpaid Ransom 57 
 
 July Fourth 57 
 
 Quatrains . 58 
 
 Beyond the Face 60 
 
 The Change 58 
 
 Doubleness 59 
 
 Doubt "... 60 
 
 Inconsistency 58 
 
 Little Things 60 
 
 On the Voyage 59 
 
 The Poet 59 
 
 Poetry 59 
 
 Silence 59 
 
 The Sacred Reserve 59 
 
 The Travel of the Soul 60 
 
 Unselfishness 58 
 
 When Time Has Ceased 60 
 
 Wisdom 58 
 
 A Vision (Dedicated, without Permission, to Stephen 
 
 Crane) 61 
 
 Mother Goose Revised 61 
 
 Couplets 61 
 
 The Two Gospels 64 
 
 The Sight of a Soul 65 
 
 For One Sweet Day 65 
 
 His Song .66 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 THOUGHTS AND PASTELS. 
 
 Thoughts 69 
 
 Pastels 96 
 
 Duty 96 
 
 A Saint 96 
 
 In the Shadow 97 
 
 The Turning of the Leaf 98 
 
 The Measure of the Draught of Life 99 
 
 In the Night 100 
 
 The Outcast .101 
 
 Lost 102 
 
 "If You Love Me, Lean Hard" 103 
 
 Seraphael and Seraphita 105 
 
 The Dance . . 107 
 
 The House of Annihilation . 108 
 
 Through Men 109 
 
 The Passing of a Man's Soul 110 
 
 The Unbuilt Temple Ill 
 
 The Worshipers 112 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 OF OUR FRIEND. 
 
 Gone! And then Memory came 
 
 And swiftly, with sad surprise, 
 Gathered his voice and his name, 
 
 His step and the flash of his eyes, 
 Saying, "All these were of him, 
 
 But not for unanswering earth; 
 Now, while your eyes are yet dim, 
 
 Speak each unto each of his worth. 
 
 'Question his words yet again, 
 
 For they are not friends who forget 
 Question the strokes of his pen; 
 
 Not one will you find to regret. 
 Young, was he not, to be done 
 
 With all that it means but to live; 
 Young, all the good to have won 
 
 This hurrying world had to give? 
 
 "Life is 'a feast or a fast?' 
 
 His life was a longing, a light 
 Shaded for fear of the blast, 
 
 Yet shining afar in the night. 
 Life is 'a song or a moan?' 
 
 His life was an anthem, a trill; 
 He was a wind-harp, alone, 
 
 Breathed on by the Infinite Will. 
 
 11 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 "So, in the days that are long, 
 
 Though tempted to listen and weep, 
 Join in the reverent song, 
 Not dead, nor yet hushed into sleep." 
 
 Tenderly Memory turned 
 
 And locked in our innermost heart 
 That which each one of us earned 
 
 While thus he was walking apart. 
 
 ISABEL DARLING. 
 
 12 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 AN APPRECIATION. 
 
 The author of the work which this book contains was 
 remarkable both for the character of his life and for the 
 quality of his thought. His mind lies open, to a certain ex- 
 tent, in the pages that follow, but the nobility of his soul and 
 the remarkable fidelity with which he met the varied duties 
 which called forth his activity, can be known only to those 
 who were familiar with the man himself in his home and in 
 his intercourse with his associates. An intimate and close 
 acquaintance of more than fifteen years enables the writer 
 of these lines to appreciate the nature of the difficulties, the 
 struggles, the discouragements, the aspirations, the attain- 
 ments, the successes, which made up the human existence of 
 his friend, Charles P. Nettleton, and of none, as it seems to 
 him, could words of truer praise be spoken than of the son, 
 the brother, the man who offered up all that he had and was 
 upon the altar of duty, of filial affection and friendship. 
 
 The chief desire of Mr. Nettleton, for many years, had 
 been to devote himself to the service of God in the sacred 
 ministry. At last the way seemed opened, but the call was 
 to a higher service, and to those who knew him best, as they 
 think of his departure, there comes a remembrance of the 
 words of the Master, which seem so appropriate for such 
 a one: "Well done good and faithful servant; thou hast been 
 faithful over a few things, I will sit thee over many things; 
 enter thou into the joy of thy Lord." 
 
 Rev. Hamilton Lee. 
 
 Berkeley, Cal., October, 1903. 
 
 13 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 gofb open ity, boot of i 
 (Keac0 ouf as 3 reac$ unto 
 
 jganb in ^anb fef u0 ponber 
 3n f^ S^org of quest for f^e true. 
 
 14 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 THE ONE WHO KNOWS. 
 
 The day is dead, and now, before 
 Life's tender nurse, the night, bestows 
 
 On me her transient death, once more 
 I seek the One who all things knows. 
 
 My Father, pardon weakness, sin! 
 
 Out of the pathway still I go, 
 And when at night I look within 
 
 My shame, my comfort is, You know. 
 
 You know my every need and dream, 
 You know each doubt, delight and woe; 
 
 The passion strong and vague extreme 
 Of body, mind and soul, You know. 
 
 The careless word that hurt a friend, 
 The deed of shame that pleased a foe, 
 
 The secret thoughts none apprehend- 
 In sorrowing joy I feel You know. 
 
 I cannot hate the thing abhorred 
 
 By You enough to leave it; no, 
 Nor even pray aright; but, Lord, 
 
 The heart You made, that heart You know. 
 
 The spotless love and prudent brain 
 And mighty hand, that reach down low 
 
 And gather golden human grain, 
 I lack; the bitterness You know. 
 
 The waves of pain and grief swell high; 
 
 Doubt's piercing winds forever blow 
 And challenge hope itself, but I 
 
 Will conquer with the thought, You know. 
 
 15 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Pure peace, deep joy, the swelling heart 
 Is powerless to prove, the glow 
 
 In friendship's eyes how dumb the art 
 Of gratitude for these! You know. 
 
 The miracle of human breath 
 
 I gratefully receive, and oh! 
 The mystery of human death 
 
 I joy in knowing that You know. 
 
 Of all the loving souls who smile 
 And weep and bear with us below, 
 
 Who knows us perfectly the while? 
 O, happy are we that You know. 
 
 My faith in such a God increase, 
 And prayer be wise and patience grow! 
 
 I close my eyes in love and peace, 
 
 Because You know, because You know. 
 
 RECALL THE GOOD ALONE. 
 
 Behold, there is a brighter side to all 
 The memories of life! Put grief away, 
 
 Declare a truce with troubles great and small, 
 And wisely join me while I bravely say, 
 
 "Recall the good and let the evil die." 
 
 Thy gold is now a thing of nought? But still 
 Thy soul and God are left! And is it nought 
 
 That once the Lord of Life your hands did fill 
 With many pleasant things, in deed and thought: 
 
 Recall the good and let the evil die. 
 
 16 
 
A FOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 The friend you thought so true is false? But still 
 He once was true! The dear old days were light 
 
 With friendship pure, and on her holy hill, 
 
 Hand clasped in hand, you clearer saw the right. 
 
 Recall the good and let the evil die. 
 
 The one loved best has gone before? But still 
 Be glad for her sake, now at rest and glad. 
 
 Exalt thy happy days, and let them thrill 
 The heart allowed to think of joy once had. 
 
 Recall the good and let the evil die. 
 
 Behold, there is a brighter side to all 
 The memories of life! Sit calmly down 
 
 In the sun of memories sweet, where still may fall 
 Upon thy soul the touch of some dear crown. 
 
 Recall the good and let the evil die. , 
 
 "NAY, ASK ME NOT." 
 
 Nay, ask me not, sweet love, the reasons why. 
 
 I love thee! 
 
 Can words avail these words to amplify, 
 "I love thee?" 
 
 Why, if each star above could speak today, 
 
 (I love thee!) 
 And reasons were revealed with every ray, 
 
 (I love thee!) 
 
 Love still would be a miracle, indeed, 
 
 (I love thee!) 
 Unfolded now or never in the creed 
 
 "I love thee." 
 
 17 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 O look within, where love is lord and king, 
 
 (I love thee!) 
 And ask no more for causes while I sing 
 
 "I love thee!" 
 
 Let heartless sages analyze that vow 
 
 "I love thee!" 
 
 In wiser ways 1*11 tell thee why and how 
 I love thee. 
 
 WHEN GREECE IS NAMED. 
 
 How richly young and full of joyous dreams 
 
 Our latter day of heavy life appears 
 
 When Greece is named! Snapped is the strand of years, 
 And quick the pulse of spirit bounds and seems 
 At one with natural life beside fair streams, 
 
 With gay Theocritus, with Sappho's tears, 
 
 With Homer, Plato, Poesy's high peers, 
 Who lived for beauty and her sister themes. 
 
 As on a road I know, a sudden breeze 
 Of warmer air than common, at one place 
 Sweeps down the hill with sweeter, balmier breath, 
 
 So comes the thought of Greece; lo, jubilees 
 Of wildwood beauty, statured strength and grace, 
 Spontaneous songs, which yet rule us and death! 
 
 18 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 THE SEARCH. 
 
 Lo ! even as one may dream of space, 
 And turn at night his face 
 
 Unto the heavens and speed his strongest thought 
 Beyond, beyond, past stars, and evermore beyond 
 Past stars and systems, till 
 He feels a solemn chill 
 Strike down his finite power and will, 
 And make the soul despond 
 
 In that vast boundless, awful space that God has wrought, 
 While close beside him, to and fro 
 God's waves of space around him flow, 
 
 So man looks up to Him. 
 He dwells beside us, ay, and in us evermore, 
 But we forget Him often, choosing to explore 
 All space until we touch the rim 
 And find, perchance, His Face. 
 
 And yet, 
 
 I look around, and know that He is near; 
 I stretch my hand and lo! a swift embrace; 
 I question hark! within me, loud and clear, 
 A voice that never dies; 
 A voice that testifies 
 My soul is part of Him, although it wander far. 
 
 Shall I regret 
 The finite mind, the failure dead 
 
 His boundlessness to bound, 
 When perfectly my little cup is filled with Him, 
 
 And daily I am led 
 By the same law of love that rules each distant star? 
 
 19 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Shall I explore the vast profound 
 Where countless stars and systems sing His praise, 
 When clearest sight is still too dim 
 To reach the outer rim 
 
 Of my own infinite soul, so strong and yet so weak? 
 Though failure pass success one still must seek 
 
 The wisdom of all ways 
 That urge the soul to flight and press it back with light. 
 
 Lost is our sight 
 Within His endless space, 
 And, lost in loving, infinite light, 
 The soul that seeketh God finds Him in every place, 
 Yet may not find His Face. 
 
 THE VISION BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 In faltering words of prayer a grace I sought; 
 I longed the vision beautiful to see; 
 
 that my Savior's glance might rest on me 
 And in my heart the change of love be wrought! 
 
 The answer to my prayer was swiftly brought; 
 
 1 saw ah, passing bright! the way that He 
 Had marked among the shards and thorns that we 
 
 Might follow there, by His example taught. 
 
 O path illumined by my Savior's feet! 
 I'll follow where it leads, and love shall give 
 The full significance to duty; meet 
 Shall be the humblest task; my joy to live 
 And walk the path His weary feet have trod, 
 Content to find therein approach to God. 
 
 20 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 THE LONG VACATION. 
 
 No sweet vacation-day may be 
 
 Just now for me, 
 Although I slow and wearily 
 
 Go to and fro. 
 
 Would I could rest! Long years ago 
 
 It seemed that so, 
 Alone, could I still courage show 
 
 For duties nigh. 
 
 But wait! Since Time my soul would try 
 
 So utterly, 
 I'll mock him, scorn him and defy; 
 
 For comes a morn 
 
 When of his strength Time shall be shorn, 
 
 When will be born 
 Vacation-day without a thorn! 
 
 Then rest may I. 
 
 AT NIGHT. 
 
 A truce to time and all humanity! 
 No longer slave to life the passionate, 
 One's soul may pause a space and celebrate, 
 
 In silence, freedom from the litany 
 
 Of day's tumultuous froth, half blasphemy 
 And wholly crude, and feel night re-create 
 The weary world and wearier soul. Love, fate, 
 
 Life, death, at night we almost hold the key. 
 
 21 
 
A FOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 With tranquil eyes the starry sentinels 
 Of heaven look down, and whisper of that day 
 
 Whose perfect round forever dawns anew. 
 With tranquil eyes, where faith the loyal dwells, 
 We answering look up and calmly say, 
 
 "All's well, all's well, my heart, so, heart, be true." 
 
 THE TWO MYSTERIES. 
 
 We know not what it is, dear, this sleep so deep and still 
 The folded hands, the awful calm, the cheek so pale and chill; 
 The lids that will not lift again, tho' we may call and call, 
 The strange white solitude of peace that settles over all. 
 
 We know not what it means, dear, this desolate heart-pain, 
 This dread to take our daily way to walk in it again; 
 We know not to what other sphere the loved who leave us go, 
 Nor why we're left to wonder still, nor why we do not know. 
 
 But this we know: our loved and dead, if they should come 
 
 this day, 
 Should come and ask us, "What is life? " not one of us could 
 
 say. 
 
 Life is a mystery as deep as ever death could be. 
 Yet, oh, how sweet it is to us, this life we love to see! 
 
 22 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 GLIMPSES. 
 
 Set before thy high-born soul 
 Nothing smaller than the Whole. 
 Earth is great but thou art greater. 
 Wouldst thou be her all-translator? 
 
 Pass behind her veiled face: 
 Hidden deeply lies the grace 
 Thou art kin to, waiting thee, 
 Grace of love and purity. 
 Parts are parts, but thou art one; 
 Satisfy thyself with none, 
 When thy high soul, infinite, 
 Throbbing, bounding, will admit 
 Songs of beauty from all spheres, 
 All eternity's full years, 
 And the Master! 
 
 Good is one, 
 
 Soul of beauty and bright sun 
 For thy doubt and agony; 
 Come thou home, mortality! 
 Child, who vivid visions sees 
 Of pain's possibilities, 
 Visions mirrored from the past, 
 Striking pale the face aghast, 
 Thinkest thou that not for thee 
 God ordained a jubilee? 
 Brother, love! Great love within 
 Killeth pain and covereth sin. 
 
 All things call thee to rejoice; 
 
 Hast thou heard their still, sweet voice? 
 
 Be their meaning well inferred, 
 
 For these voices are as seeds; 
 Follow, if thou once hast heard! 
 
 Deeper, deeper than all creeds, 
 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Broader far than sages thought, 
 Higher, holier than have sung 
 
 Poets, by their rapture taught, 
 Is the soul, that still is young 
 
 After speech has set a bound, 
 Young, but old from wandering. 
 
 Nature's mountain-tops await, 
 Half explored, her equal mate; 
 Glories infinite surround 
 
 Each and all; they cannot bring 
 Light to those who love the part 
 More than God's great circled Heart. 
 Nature, Beauty, Good, enthrone 
 High the soul that knows its own. 
 
 WHAT AM I, LOVE? 
 
 What am I, love, that thou shouldst turn to me? 
 Thou, gifted rarely with the power to thrill 
 The hearts of men with song; thou, with high skill 
 
 The imprisoned soul in instruments to free; 
 
 Thou, eloquent in tongues and with the key 
 Of wisdom in the painter's art at will, 
 With other gifts and knowledges that fill 
 
 Thy life? Can love descend to me from thee? 
 
 One gift, one little gift is mine, to bring 
 And offer in exchange for what thou art, 
 
 Some trifling power, some little song to sing. 
 I equal thee in one thing only, heart, 
 
 And love thee for thyself alone; if thou 
 
 Wilt so love me, repeat, renew thy vow. 
 
 24 
 
f ^ OFT 
 
 te 
 
 ^ VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 QUATRAINS ON AUTHORS. 
 
 Emerson. 
 
 He heard the morning stars together sing 
 
 God's song of light and joy supernal, 
 Translated part in language faltering, 
 
 Then joined them in their chant eternal. 
 
 Socrates. 
 
 "Corrupter of the youth." O fools and blind! 
 
 He was your one great Polar Star to Truth, 
 A bright immortal light of soul and mind. 
 
 That hemlock killed not him, but your own youth. 
 
 Plato. 
 
 Ask not if Socrates or Plato speak, 
 
 When such white light would glorify a score. 
 Each shines a star on Wisdom's highest peak 
 
 Or as twin stars! Could one reflect such lore? 
 
 Saadi. 
 
 Blend wit and grace, and with a silver tongue 
 Laud holiness and wisdom yea, with speech 
 
 Like wedding-bells ring to a bridegroom young, 
 Then hang thy head and thee let Saadi teach. 
 
 Rousseau. 
 
 He dared to lay himself full length upon 
 The grim dissecting-table and with keen 
 
 Unwavering scalpel bare the flesh and bone. 
 Do human nature's charms redeem the scene? 
 
 25 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Sidney Lanier. 
 
 Nay, Pan is dead and him it cannot be! 
 Yet from the marshes O, what jubilee, 
 Attempered with the years, rings out from one 
 Whom music-lovers name Song's worthy son! 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 I hear a pleasant rumor, loving friend, 
 That various high paths may claim thee; good! 
 
 And fame go with thee! for, if just, they blend 
 With that God-given gem on brotherhood. 
 
 La Bruyere. 
 
 A princely courtier in this palace where 
 
 King Truth, Queen Beauty, both are bought and sold. 
 Hearts loyal please him; knaves had best prepare 
 
 To be most neatly pinked with rapier bold. 
 
 La Rochefoucauld. 
 
 A one-eyed diver in the heart's deep sea, 
 
 Who set in gold the worthless bones he found. 
 
 The setting gives them worth or can it be 
 Self-love reads on because our friends they wound! 
 
 Pope. 
 
 Truth's homeliest home of body is here, with rhyme 
 And rhythm as hands to fend the touch of time, 
 And brilliant sparkling eyes to charm our wit, 
 But but the heart was left outside of it! 
 
 26 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 William Morris. 
 
 A blithe romancer, happiest in the past! 
 
 Brave healthy knight of beauty, chief of needs! 
 Up, friends, and joy in the magic ever cast 
 
 On wholesome life by wholesome natural deeds. 
 
 Edwin Arnold. 
 
 One, ever one and beautiful is Light, 
 
 Though bearing many names. Love thou each ray, 
 And warm thy sluggish soul with some new rite. 
 
 Light calls to prayer and actions pure: Obey. 
 
 Firdusi. 
 
 Chivalrous, smooth, pathetic, sweet, sublime! 
 The balanced bearing in the mosque of time 
 Of one who was to song a true high-priest, 
 Proves well his title, "Homer of the East." 
 
 Omar Khayyam. 
 
 Dwell here three sad sweet Spirits: Perfumes born 
 Of fading Rose-leaves, visions of The Thorn 
 
 Behind each Flower of Joy in Life's Bouquet, 
 And one long Sigh we make too oft to scorn. 
 
 St. Augustine. 
 
 He walked with God, to our behoof and good. 
 
 The reedy staff of reason, lo! it grows 
 In his hand till the soul is strongly wooed, 
 
 When love and faith still higher ways disclose. 
 
 27 
 
A FO1CE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Dante. 
 
 Deep bites life's acid on the heart and lo! 
 His world and ours is graved thereon. Would he 
 Have all forsworn that solemn Comedy, 
 
 The price being love, peace, tranquil death? Ah, no! 
 
 Alfred Austin. 
 
 We loved you once, dear Shakespere, Wordsworth, all 
 Who really heard The Sisters' mystic call, 
 But now we bow to genius! Ere you frown, 
 Pray take your opera glasses and look up. 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 With deep love-opened eyes he paced the bound 
 Of God's fair garden flower, field and sky; 
 
 Yet joyed the most to feel his God surround 
 Mankind, the fruit, with immortality. 
 
 Montaigne. 
 
 Wide learning, interest calm in all man's deeds, 
 Deep insight into king's and peasant's heart,- 
 
 All these have others also; he succeeds 
 Because himself is limned with artful art. 
 
 Bobby Burns. 
 
 The douce and unco* guid Old Clootie tak* 'em, 
 While couthie Bobby lilts a healsome sang! 
 
 "The dearthfu' Lord be thankit that he spak' 'em,' 
 Says ilka heart that isna wholly wrang. 
 
 28 
 
A FOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Theocritus. 
 
 Come bathe in Grecian sunshine warm and sweet. 
 
 Here shepherds pipe their lays to maidens true, 
 And false; fast beats the pulse; the Graces meet; 
 
 Come breathe the summer's sweet bouquet anew. 
 
 Marcus Aurelius. 
 
 A heathen? God have mercy on the saints! 
 Adulterous David, Solomon, who broke 
 
 God's sternest laws, weak Peter, with three taints, 
 Abram, liar! Marcus, loan these men thy cloak. 
 
 Epictetus. 
 
 A stoic? Ay and more, a child of heaven, 
 (Or may I never reach it!) who, as sure 
 
 Of God and right as self, in holy Steven 
 Outpoured his life to make men strong and pure. 
 
 Joaquin Miller. 
 
 A salty breeze of springtime, fresh and strong, 
 The Western World blows through its Golden Gate. 
 
 God's earth is young and fair and nothing wrong, 
 Save when man turns to worship gold, and hate. 
 
 Walt Whitman. 
 
 Enter, who love brpad sympathy, the fresh 
 
 Sweet air of woods, the heart of faith and joy 
 
 Read Whitman. If we glimpse forbidden flesh, 
 Receive the good and pass the slight alloy! 
 
 29 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Thoreau. 
 
 Why do the trees confide in him? and why 
 The squirrels, ay, the timid fish, that brave 
 Freely their lives? He loved them! and love's wave 
 
 Bore wealthy ships, that now at anchor lie. 
 
 Browning. 
 
 A rugged road he hewed up Wisdom's mountain, 
 Where steady brain and feet alone may follow; 
 
 But star-grown fruits and many a crystal fountain 
 Reward the wondering souls that leave the hollow. 
 
 Mrs. Browning. 
 
 The tense cord only yields to music's thrill. 
 
 Pain compassed soul and body for a time, 
 Baptizing after-love with light, until 
 
 She rang life's carillon in deathless rhyme. 
 
 Milton. 
 
 He stands a massive marble monument, 
 
 Pre-eminently sculptured in relief 
 With vast adventurous dreams magnificent, 
 
 And stately pictures of man's joy and grief. 
 
 Sir Thomas Browne. 
 
 O bishop in disguise, come, dispossess 
 Our souls of paltry aims and narrowness, 
 And teach the writers of the present time 
 That "beauty" may with Christian "duty" rhyme. 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Hawthorne. 
 
 The mosses will not grow upon his tales 
 Until life's sweet and minor tones we hate; 
 
 Oblivion will not still the woful wails 
 Of one sad wrong while any wrong's innate. 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 O kingly brain and knightly hand! We bow 
 Anew to virtue when with beauty crowned, 
 
 And love fair beauty most on virtue's brow. 
 Full well we love when these, with faith, abound. 
 
 Ruskin. 
 
 The art of life demands a lifetime's art, 
 With art and beauty, work and duty filled; 
 
 While earth's rude mart needs most the unselfish heart 
 Skilled in love's art, and by high virtues thrilled. 
 
 Carlyle. 
 
 Be bold for battle, brothers! Sin and bale 
 Abound here hand in hand, and damned be he 
 Who blinds his eyes. God watches! Hope, and be 
 
 Bright heroes, clad in God and Good for mail. 
 
 Walton. 
 
 Ah, ha! the friend, the field, the gentle stroll, 
 But most the happy contemplative goal 
 Of fishing! Ah, that bait of pleasure fine 
 No honest gentleman will e'er decline. 
 
 31 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Swinburne. 
 
 The evening, not the morning, stars heard he; 
 
 The music of his morbid jubilee 
 
 Enraptures and rebuffs in equal parts, 
 
 Yet all love him who loves love's joys and smarts. 
 
 Villon. 
 
 The heart of song is song about the heart; 
 
 The salt of song is sure the shade of death. 
 Come, sing, and love the body till we part, 
 
 For where are they who swayed worlds with a breath? 
 
 Paul Verlaine. 
 
 Love, and bewildering reign of the senses, 
 
 Pain, and the mystical reason for all, 
 Music, like charity, veiling offences, 
 
 And Satan a-grin at his beautiful thrall! 
 
 Heine. 
 
 A stormy petrel, resting, sleeping never, 
 That circles homeless o'er the restless waves 
 
 Of bitter time, yet swift to catch and sever 
 From gloomy clouds the one sweet drop that saves. 
 
 Jean Ingelow. 
 
 The holiest shrine vouchsafed for us to know 
 Is some pure woman's heart. Our hearts bend low 
 Before the snow-white thought, the star-keen light 
 Which is herself, revealed with graceful might. 
 
 32 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Thomas a'Kempis. 
 
 I am but night; Lord Christ, be Thou my Light! 
 
 I am but weakness; guard me or I fall! 
 I and the world are hopeless; purge our sight! 
 
 Light, Strength and Hope, Thou, Christ, art All in All! 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 No dashing eloquence, no strange wild strain 
 That fires the blood as warriors storm a town; 
 
 He comes as comes the gentle steady rain, 
 Refreshing each dry field where it sinks down. 
 
 Bryant. 
 
 He is a forest-walk on some fair hill, 
 Where utter peace may nurse the weary breast; 
 
 Sweet flowers kiss the mold beside a rill, 
 And shyly steal the sunbeams in to rest. 
 
 Goldsmith. 
 
 How great is great simplicity, how dear 
 To minds aweary of the tangled maze 
 That dreamers, wise but narrow, on us blaze! 
 
 The deep may still be fair and calm and clear. 
 
 William Blake. 
 
 He was a breeze from the eternal field 
 Where perfect souls, young evermore, attend 
 
 The flowers of God's thoughts, and sometimes yield 
 A fragrant breath to souls they would befriend. 
 
 33 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Lamb. 
 
 To genial wit and wisdom drain the wine, 
 
 (The brave heart gains the lion's honey sweet) 
 
 And murmur "Thank the gods for every line!" 
 (But oh, the ridged way and stinging sleet!) 
 
 Christina G. Rosetti. 
 
 Most fair is childhood, passing fair the bright 
 Sweet show each passing day yields and destroys. 
 
 But all ah, all is vanity and blight 
 Beside the Better Country's perfect joys. 
 
 Poe. 
 
 Lo, 'tis a gala night, with cypress-breath, 
 And these be wooded isles of life and death, 
 Where muffled spirits chant a dirge of time, 
 Melodious, wild, and morbidly sublime. 
 
 Robert L. Stevenson. 
 
 With boyish shouts he cries out for the sea, 
 
 With manhood's force he makes a clear-cut way, 
 With womanly winning grace he lights the day, 
 
 And round his feet we cluster breathlessly. 
 
 Moore. 
 
 O harp of Erin, isle of wit and woe! 
 
 O harp and heart of music, love and tears, 
 The winds of life have rarely to and fro 
 
 Swept o'er a quicker heart through all the years! 
 
 34 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Confucius. 
 
 How paltry sound the nations' parting names, 
 When one great language falls from each great mind! 
 
 Beside all prophets pure Confucius flames, 
 Who laws of love and duty well divined. 
 
 Homer. 
 
 Lo, god-like men and men-like gods, who bend 
 Before the throne of beauty's dazzling queen! 
 
 Yet greater is their great creator, friend 
 To all who glory in all passions keen. 
 
 Shakspere. 
 
 Astronomers reel back from endless space, 
 And muse in awe upon the countless stars; 
 So, here, man's infinite life no limit mars, 
 
 And each himself may study face to face. 
 
 Goethe. 
 
 Where dwelleth knowledge? I will seek it out, 
 
 And flash white lightning through its years-dried rind 
 That one may zone with light nature and mind 
 
 'Tis fit that women weep, I have no doubt! 
 
 The Author of Job. 
 
 Set he the world's high-water mark of true 
 And living poetry. Simple, profound, 
 Sublime, the inner as the outer bound 
 
 Of man's great soul is greatly held in view. 
 
 35 
 
A FOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Byron. 
 
 For him God freely poured the wine of song 
 And sorrow. Rich, poor, sensitive, unwise, 
 He reckless sang his heart and scorned disguise. 
 
 His wealth is ours, his faults to God belong. 
 
 Keats. 
 
 "In His own image God created man;" 
 
 And there be some, like this immortal youth, 
 Who bear the Spirit's stamp and hear, in truth, 
 
 Unheard sweet melodies Saturnian. 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 A man? A star, a lark near heaven's shut gate, 
 Singing with broken wing. I think that when 
 His glorious songs and dreams all left his pen, 
 
 That gate he doubted so they opened straight. 
 
 Sappho. 
 
 Alas! Time's tangled tree-tops caught but few 
 Short flashes of thy silver moon of song 
 
 For us, and yet those broken beams strike through 
 Our thrilling thoughts until they seem a throng. 
 
 De Quincey. 
 
 "Of making many books there is no end," 
 Nor lack of loving readers when the fire 
 Of utter genius makes them to suspire. 
 
 We honor self in calling thee our friend. 
 
 36 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 THE SEASHORE AT NIGHT. 
 
 I hear the pulse of Father Time, I see 
 The stormy surge of life akin to mine, 
 
 The spirit of the sea locks arms with me 
 And whispers of his peace beneath the brine. 
 
 Above, where softly walks the moon, is peace; 
 
 Below, where sleep the dead, is sweet release; 
 
 Between, a worthless soul that well may cease. 
 
 The roar, the roar, the booming ceaseless roar! 
 
 And yet, the silence underneath the frush! * 
 I reach my arms, I reach my soul. Yet more 
 
 And more, O brother mine, of cry and hush 
 Speed in on me from the infinities deep; 
 For I, too, seem a sea and I have keep 
 Of panting thoughts and hopes that will not sleep. 
 
 I too reach up a shore not yet for me; 
 
 I too sob out by night and day my breath, 
 And pauselessly my beating heart, unfree 
 
 From time and tears, awaits the calmer, Death. 
 Moan on, O brother, moan, yet sing of peace 
 Beneath thy throbs; there comes there comes release, 
 When restless surge of sea and life shall cease. 
 
 HER PORTRAIT. 
 
 As on some distant star you gaze at night, 
 And wondering, low in silence bend your soul 
 
 Before that radiant miracle of light, 
 
 Too rare and far for you to read its scroll, 
 
 So gaze upon this portrait and be dumb 
 To you it speaks as spoke the distant star, 
 
 Careless and cold; to me to me there come 
 Sweet messages of love from realms afar. 
 
 37 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 CALIFORNIA. 
 
 Five thousand years the cry of "Westward ! " rose 
 Within the ardent restless Aryan race, 
 Five thousand stormy years they sought the grace 
 
 Of some Hesperian land of pure repose. 
 
 At last God greatly smiled: here ever glows 
 The sun of peace on man's and nature's face. 
 The crowning crown is gained beyond is space 
 
 And all that man may ask this land bestows. 
 
 Rest now, O weary race, forevermore. 
 
 'Tis afternoon, and wanderings are done. 
 The Lord of Life still beckons on before 
 
 To his own land of peace beyond the sun, 
 But California ends the earthly quest: 
 
 'Tis afternoon; joy, and lie down and rest. 
 
 DAWN IN THE SAN JOAQUIN VALLEY. 
 
 The stars' song died away; Sierras' snows 
 Faint-heralded the day's departing sleep, 
 And earth was infinitely still. Deep, deep 
 
 The stillness pressed, until I felt it close 
 
 Night's sombre page and the soul's more sombre woes. 
 Now clearer, clearer o'er the snow-crowned steep 
 The lambent spirit drew, and swift its sweep 
 
 Without awoke within hope's joyous glows. 
 
 So calm, so pure! and still the brightness grew. 
 
 So holy earth, I, too, grew holy then, 
 And breathed God's air without, within, anew. 
 
 So dazzling bright! I gazed intent, as when 
 A heaven-born soul bows first before The Flame, 
 And I, too, bowed to where His angel came. 
 
 38 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 THE PLAY IN THE VESTIBULE. 
 
 I saw a play within a vestibule, 
 
 Or ere the lights revealed the room beyond. 
 
 A motley crowd strode up and down the stage. 
 
 Fair wide-eyed children lisped their parts, old men 
 
 And women wandered through the shifting maze, 
 
 Half-carelessly, and both were elbowed by 
 
 Strong men and maidens, who declaimed so loud 
 
 Their varied lines I listened, smiling. Some, 
 
 Too conscious of rich robes and prominent parts, 
 
 Played ill, for with a selfishness extreme 
 
 And pride that sneered at heaven itself, they stalked 
 
 With arrogance upon the rights of men, 
 
 Who through sweet gentleness or timid hearts 
 
 Gave place to force, content to yield their rights 
 
 That discord fiercer still might not destroy 
 
 The great effect desired. Some marred the play 
 
 By spending all their breath in scorning, yea, 
 
 In cursing others; some were ignorant 
 
 And stumbled in each gesture, word and act, 
 
 And some, far too intent on watching close 
 
 Their fellow-actors, or engrossed in dreams 
 
 Of happy leisure on the morrow, failed 
 
 To heed their time, and would not win, I thought, 
 
 Full payment for their hours. 
 
 Here fainted one, 
 
 O'ercome with secret pain; but rarely stooped 
 A soul to aid, though feebleness in one 
 Made all the others weaker. Selfishness 
 And pride ruled every step of many there, 
 And, oh, it was most pitiful when base 
 And hateful parts won most the loud applause 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Of men and women! Moans and groans arose 
 
 From souls crushed ruthlessly aside and robbed 
 
 Of rightful place upon the stage, until 
 
 It seemed a tragedy as far below 
 
 The lowest hell as hell is far from heaven. 
 
 And still the drama surged. 
 
 From these I turned 
 
 And gladly watched the worthy players, those 
 Who sought the meaning of the author, then 
 Put all their heart and soul and body in 
 Love's labor of interpretation. Love, 
 Indeed, the key-note seemed of all that strange 
 And mystic plot, for watching these wise souls 
 Give love for dross, seek love beneath each mask, 
 And urge its growth, declaring it the one 
 True binding law which quickened all the play 
 And crowned the end with peace, I dared believe 
 That they had caught the motive of the piece, 
 That they alone revealed that play to be 
 No dream of passing worth, but full of ends 
 Most weighty. These redeemed it! 
 
 Various some, 
 
 Clad in the common guise of laborers 
 And playing most in pantomime, upheld 
 The honor of the stage so gloriously 
 I clapped my hands and wished them higher place, 
 While here some fragile form drew from me tears, 
 So nobly did she bear her through the stress 
 And storm of acting. There, again, a man, 
 Half clad, shamed scores of weak or coward souls 
 To braver ways, and these reached out and passed 
 The blessing on to others. Children knew 
 
 40 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Instinctively the spirit of the piece, 
 And prompted often men and women who 
 Grew faint and near forgot their lines because 
 The air was stifled. 
 
 Each part, high or low, 
 Or pure or base, all interwoven was 
 With marvelous scale of parts; yet oftentimes 
 I saw an actor flinch and sigh, and then 
 Retire beyond my gaze. Pause there was none; 
 Recruited from what ranks I could not see, 
 The place was filled. 
 
 Oh, furious and wild 
 
 Swept on that mystic play, that awful play, 
 That tragedy! And yet it seemed a thing 
 Whose purpose it would joy the heart to know, 
 Since wondrous God-like love in many hearts 
 Abounded. Let me not forget to speak 
 Of certain there for whom I trembled, lest 
 The drama fail in purpose through them; souls 
 Who gave their time and strength that others might 
 Achieve their ends, the while their own dear parts 
 Seemed all forgot. Shall I win credence when 
 I swear that sombre drama glowed with light 
 Because of silent souls like these? 
 
 I gazed 
 
 With ardent smiles and tears until, perplexed 
 With many a doubt, I turned away mine eyes 
 To know the reason of this play. One flash 
 The Author He the Lord of Life a hope 
 A cry for greater light then darkness. Then 
 I had the reason, all my soul could grasp! 
 He is, He, Lord of Life and Love, and guides 
 The World, eternity's dark vestibule. 
 
 41 
 
A FOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 OPPOSITION. 
 
 "Can this be well, that day by day the swell 
 And surge of troubles, griefs and doubts return 
 To curse the heart which hoped some day to earn 
 
 The joy and peace that with true conquerors dwell? 
 
 I face each hour the thoughts no thoughts can quell, 
 The wearying tasks whose good I never learn, 
 Nor dare to hope, howe'er the heart may yearn, 
 
 For rest this side the grave: can this be well? " 
 
 Poor, weary soul, let nature speak to thee: 
 Forespent with many flights through hindering air, 
 
 A lark once prayed that air might cease to be. 
 Her folly granted, all too late aware 
 
 How the opposing ether made her rise, 
 
 She fell to earth, no more to reach the skies. 
 
 THE OLD STORY. 
 
 I, IX, 
 
 He. Flee. 
 
 II, X, 
 She. Decree. 
 
 III, XI, 
 Free. Jubilee. 
 
 IV, XII, 
 See? Three. 
 
 V, XIII, 
 Tea. Disagree. 
 
 VI, XIV, 
 Knee. Decree. 
 
 VII, XV, 
 Plea. Glee. 
 VIII, 
 
 Agree. 
 
 42 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 THE PILOT. 
 
 The Captain's voice was clear and loud. 
 "What course is this, O Pilot rude, 
 
 That thou art taking, when my word 
 Should guide thee? What! shall joy elude 
 
 My grasp because thine eyes are blurred?" 
 The Pilot guides the ship with dim 
 Hid face, and words are nought to him. 
 
 The Captain raised a heavy hand. 
 "Beware! my might shall fiercely glow 
 
 If thou guide not as I shall say. 
 I rule my voyage and I know, 
 
 Alone, the path by night and day." 
 The sun sails calmly with sweet grace, 
 Still guides the Pilot with hid face. 
 
 Despair makes low the Captain's voice. 
 "Nor joy, nor hope of joy, is mine, 
 
 Who sail alone and ever must. 
 The ship shall sink; I will decline 
 
 To serve 'neath one I cannot trust." 
 The Pilot hears. A thousand suns 
 
 Would shed but darkness to the light 
 
 From him that flames. The Captain shuns 
 
 That awful gaze and kneels, contrite. 
 
 His voice prays weepingly and low, 
 "My Pilot, shrive me from the past! 
 
 I erred, not knowing anything. 
 Lead on, to love or chilling blast, 
 Eternal Pilot, Lord and King." 
 The ship sped on. The Pilot smiled, 
 For man and he were reconciled. 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 TOO LATE. 
 
 "It was a crime, that bitter word from me, 
 A crime, O Christ, that breaks my heart," she said. 
 
 (Shall love be given tomorrow or today?) 
 "Forgive me, dear Lord Christ, and grant this plea: 
 Restore my breast his loving heart and head." 
 (Give love today and always while you may.) 
 
 "I pained him! I, unworthy now indeed 
 Of his dear love or touch upon the brow." 
 
 (Shall nettle-seed be sown and roses bloom?) 
 "I pained him! yet such love as his would heed 
 My bitter cry if he but heard it now!" 
 
 (Lo! seeds shall bear their kind, for joy or gloom.) 
 
 "O sailor-lover, husband, come to me! 
 The Christ shall die before I curse again." 
 
 (May many tears bring back a spirit-soul?) 
 "He will return! He can but heed my plea! 
 He will return but I grieve on till then." 
 (Will tears avail when Death has claimed his toll?) 
 
 TO WILLIAM WATSON. 
 
 (Author of "The Purple East.") 
 
 The nation lives! We thought her dead indeed, 
 Old England, dead, or palsied with old age, 
 When month succeeded month and still the gage 
 
 Of righteous war was not thrown down, to weed 
 
 The world of Turkey. But in time of need 
 A true man speaks, and through the hermitage 
 Of one brave man, who spurns her patronage 
 
 And laughs at hate, rebukes from God proceed. 
 
 44 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Stand forth, high William Watson! Thou art crowned 
 By thine own words beyond the words of king. 
 
 And we would crowd to laud thee, thee, renowned 
 For loyalty to truth! Take heart and sing 
 
 Again and once again God's curse on wrong, 
 
 Until the nation strike where points thy song. 
 
 THE BOOKWORM vs. NATURE. 
 
 I. Marvel Howe so many can 
 
 Seek Fields outdoors wherein to roam! 
 My Greenwood Landor Fielding Gay, 
 
 Give me a Holiday at home. 
 
 I fear the dogs and cows and bulls 
 
 Might give me Payne I could not Dodge; 
 
 My Barker's mild, and Cowper's Child 
 Might lead my Bulwer past the Lodge. 
 
 I miss no flowers by the Brooke, 
 
 My flowers of rhetoric suffice. 
 When Boothes are Browne and rills come down 
 
 Swift from the Hill, I Read Fordyce. 
 
 I'm Savage, O, the Dickens! when 
 To me some Young Green Suckling cries, 
 
 "Longfellow, guide to the mountain-side." 
 My Montaigne on my bosom lies. 
 
 The stile I sit on near the Burns 
 Is any style that makes me Cross. 
 
 My Hare is Wilde, though I'm beguiled 
 From Sterne-ness then by dear old Moss. 
 
 45 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 I Will Shakespears and Martial jeers 
 Against the Ranke who make me Smart, 
 
 And, not to Trench too "Lang" on space, 
 A Words'worth Moore '11 express my Harte ; 
 
 I save my Bacon and my Lamb 
 For Vi(r)gils in the tranquil Knight, 
 
 When a Plato* type and a meerschaum pipe 
 Knock nature higher than a kite. 
 
 WHAT SEEKEST THOU? 
 
 What seekest thou, my friend? 
 
 Wealth? to be left when life is beginning. 
 
 Power? but none with the angel of death. 
 
 Fame? it but lasts with the butterfly's breath. 
 
 Happiness? selfish and fickle forever. 
 
 Peace? 'tis the crown of some other endeavor. 
 
 Love? seek love and bestow it, bestow it, 
 Give love to the uttermost end, 
 Seek it out and give freely and show it, 
 For in love and love only, my friend, 
 Blend the glories and beauties worth winning. 
 
 Born of eternity's breath, 
 
 King of the angel of death, 
 Wealth that endureth forever, 
 Power that weakeneth never, 
 Fame without shame or endeavor, 
 Happiness true and supernal, 
 Peace perfect, immortal, eternal, 
 
 Fountain of the very God, 
 
 Spirit of His smile and rod, 
 
 Star of hope at the broken sod, 
 Verily, mighty, marvelous, whole, 
 Love is the goal of the soul. 
 
 46 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 THE GREATER SCALE. 
 
 I think this music-scale of sounds we know, 
 This wondrous range from highest starlight roll 
 To lowest thunder-bass, is to God's whole 
 
 Vast music-realm as one short note, one low 
 
 Half-heard sweet note of all, whose wider flow 
 Shall some day seem God's voice to each pure soul. 
 Then shall no jarring chord the rest control, 
 
 For discord dies with all of earthly woe. 
 
 If but one note, fragmented thus for man, 
 Hold in its heart a power occult as life, 
 
 Bewitching as the loved one, strong as hope, 
 What lordship infinite and sweeter than 
 
 The rarest mortals dream through all their strife, 
 Awaits the souls that now in discord grope! 
 
 BEFORE THE FIRE. 
 
 He. 
 
 How strange ! Sweet love, I have been traveling back 
 To the twilight fields of first impressions, where 
 
 Thy spirit first revealed to me my lack, 
 
 Spreading a feast the while, but though I stare 
 
 With eager eyes to find that happy morn, 
 
 I cannot say what day my love was born. 
 
 She. 
 Hark to the wind! It blows so wild tonight 
 
 I think perhaps 'tis loveless, and so old! 
 Find me its home, or trace its wayward flight 
 
 For but one hour, ere thou seek to unfold 
 The mystic ways of love. Why reason, dear, 
 And seek again her gates when love is near? 
 
 47 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 He. 
 The gates of love! The reasons of the heart 
 
 Pass reason, truly. Sweet, if I could tell 
 Just why, when we two met no more to part, 
 
 Just why or one the smallest word could spell 
 Why love was born in me, I think that you 
 Should doubt my love! but this I cannot do. 
 
 She. 
 When Love Divine breathed out our souls, that die 
 
 With him, he willed that we should meet and love. 
 Because you, dear, are you and I am I, 
 
 Behold, we love! And more may no man prove. 
 We love, and love The Love that gave us bliss. 
 We love! no word can satisfy like this. 
 
 EASTER. 
 
 Awake! Behold! the sun of all the days 
 
 Of all the year arises now on earth, 
 
 The one great day whence all days take their worth. 
 The Saviour lives! Rejoice, and love and praise 
 The loving God who suffered in the clay's 
 
 Strait fold, and died man's death to give man birth. 
 
 Uplift the head, for this despairing dearth 
 Called life shall rise to life no speech conveys 
 
 He lives, and death is dead beneath his feet; 
 
 He lives, and death is silent guide to life 
 For all who seek the higher ways and meet. 
 
 Uplift the head and sing, for no man's strife 
 For Truth and God shall fail: today is born 
 Life's greatest hope, the hope of life at morn. 
 
 48 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 CONTENTMENT. 
 (From Gladwin's prose version of Saadi.) 
 
 "How strangely hard are fortune's ways to me! 
 
 May not I murmur now, when fate 
 Deprives my feet of shoes, nor lets me see 
 
 The way to change my woful state?" 
 
 With heavy heart I spoke, and went within 
 The mosque to pray, when, glancing 'round, 
 
 A sight far worse convicted me of sin: 
 A man who lacked both feet I found. 
 
 O Allah, I will give to Thee all praise! 
 
 Forgive my murmuring, life's last, 
 As first, and when Thy will my soul dismays 
 
 I will recall Thy blessings vast. 
 
 MODERATION. 
 (From Gladwin's prose version of Saadi.) 
 
 Ardsheer, the King, intent on doing well, 
 Once questioned his physician on the weight 
 
 Of food a man might daily eat, yet dwell 
 Long on the earth before he reached death's gate. 
 
 A small amount the wise physician named. 
 
 Surprised and all displeased, "What strength can be 
 In one who stints him thus? " the King exclaimed, 
 
 Too fond of eating quickly to agree. 
 
 Bravely the answer came: "Enough is this, 
 (And more would be a burden indiscreet:) 
 
 Should not we eat to live, and find our bliss 
 In praising Allah? but you live to eat! " 
 
 49 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 ^ 
 
 INSCRIPTION FOR A STATUE OF ANACREON. 
 (Theocritus, Fragment XVI.) 
 
 Pause and mark well this statue, you who roam, 
 And say, when thou returnest to thy home, 
 
 "In Teos the statue of Anacreon 
 Beheld I, he who surely far excelled 
 
 All singing souls of all the ages gone." 
 Add that with love for youth his bosom swelled, 
 And nothing of Anacreon is withheld. 
 
 CHARITY. 
 
 "O lack of charity. 'Tis such a grave offence," 
 Said I to self one day, "A book I will commence " 
 But here my soul replied, "First change your residence." 
 
 MY AGE. 
 
 My age? Five thousand years. A somewhat lengthy span? 
 But men who lived and wrote soon after time began 
 Are truly part of me: a very aged man. 
 
 MATERNITY. 
 
 O miracle occult of womanhood! 
 Methinks the angels still bow low in awe 
 Before the silent workings of a law 
 
 Whose secret ways no soul has understood, 
 However men their wise conclusions draw. 
 
 50 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Lo, hear them prate restating laws, in sooth, 
 But touching never explanation's hem! 
 Meanwhile, each day the sacred diadem 
 
 Of mortal life, beginning, crowns in truth 
 Woman and man as holy parent-stem. 
 
 In reverence high hold woman ! chief est, when 
 A new immortal life is drawing near. 
 In reverence hold her, yea, although she sear 
 
 Her frail or ignorant soul with sin; at men, 
 I think, God hurls his curses most severe! 
 
 LOVE'S PROOFLESSNESS. 
 
 Pain may display and prove itself at need: 
 She hath a tongue wherewith to tell her woe 
 What time the heart no longer dares to go 
 
 Along the way alone; and she may feed 
 
 Upon the gestures of despair and plead 
 In silence deep; and, last of ways that show 
 And ease the aching heart, the blessed flow 
 
 Of tears may prove and succor her indeed. 
 
 But what hath love of outward sign or grace? 
 
 How canst thou know my joy in loving thee? 
 No words avail, nor play of eyes or face, 
 
 And tears are meet but when thy tears I see. 
 Love thou, sweetheart, and love shall prove apace 
 
 How proofless yet how perfect love may be. 
 
 51 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 A VALENTINE. 
 
 There is a weighty question 
 That men would fain decide, 
 
 And down through all the ages 
 They've wrangled till they died; 
 
 A question big and puzzling 
 On which we quarrel still, 
 
 And doubt our own decisions 
 The freedom of the Will. 
 
 Are we the helpless children 
 
 Of fates we must obey, 
 Or may we plan and conquer, 
 
 And have our own sweet way? 
 
 Now I will let the schoolmen 
 Go on from bad to worse, 
 
 And simply tell my sweetheart, 
 In graceful, stately verse, (?) 
 
 That when my Heart is leading, 
 
 And all my Will is free, 
 Why, Fate must follow after 
 
 And be a slave to me! 
 
 My heart leads on to you, dear, 
 
 My blessed Valentine! 
 I pray you take and keep it 
 
 And give me yours for mine! 
 
 But if my heart and will, dear, 
 Are yours "for keeps," O where 
 
 Is all my boasted freedom 
 That used to look so fair? 
 52 
 
A FOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 You stole it! I am still, then, 
 
 Led on by Fate, not Will! 
 And yet, if Will be happy 
 
 My state is Freedom still! 
 
 O happy, blessed tangle! 
 
 My dearest Valentine, 
 The love that binds together, 
 
 As one, your heart and mine, 
 
 May laugh and crook its finger 
 
 At all that is obscure; 
 The love that makes us one, dear, 
 
 Is plain and sweet and sure. 
 
 MY CELESTIAL VISITOR. 
 
 Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and 
 
 weary, 
 
 O'er a bill of twenty dollars I could never, never pay, 
 O'er a bill for washing collars from the Chinaman o'er the 
 
 way, 
 While I wondered how the (dash) I could ever find the 
 
 cash, 
 Straight there came a mighty pounding, pounding on my 
 
 chamber door, 
 
 And I burrowed in the bed-clothes deeper than I was before, 
 Deeper far than e'er before. 
 
 Now the room was nigh to freezing and, although it set me 
 
 sneezing, 
 And although it set me wheezing like a man who "does not 
 
 snore," 
 Straight I flung the bed-clothes off me and I bounded to the 
 
 door. 
 
 53 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 I had heard that kick before and I bounded for that door, 
 Meaning now to take my vengeance, meaning now to pay 
 
 that score, 
 With my fists; he still was kicking at that frail and wormy 
 
 door, 
 
 Meaning now to wade in gore. 
 
 "John," I shouted, "get you thither, or I'll send you to the 
 whither 
 
 Of the Chinese bourne eternal, with your legs and bills in- 
 fernal!" 
 
 Drop the curtain for a season! When I had again my reason 
 
 On the bed I still was lying, with a doctor beautifying 
 
 My black eyes, and I felt sore. Heaven and earth, but I was 
 
 sore ! 
 And my bones I'm still caressing, for that heathen's awful 
 
 blessing 
 In the shape of wounds distressing, in the shape of marks 
 
 galore, 
 
 Will stay with me evermore! 
 
 THE POET. 
 
 And where shall be my home, O You who bade me live? 
 "My home, the country, where I dwell affirmative." 
 
 What friend will follow me, who would be loved, and love? 
 "One who made you and friendship Friend all friends 
 above." 
 
 54 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 How shall I teach mankind, whose ways I may not know? 
 "Interpret thine own heart, O child of joy and woe." 
 
 How shall earth nourish me, whose only skill is song? 
 "What treasure has the lark, for whom my love is strong?" 
 
 Of what shall my heart sing, whose joy on earth is dead? 
 "The immortal joys of truth shall sing through thee instead." 
 
 Will men reward my soul with all the love I crave? 
 
 "They will reward thy soul till sweeter were the grave." 
 
 What gain shall be for life so bitter, wan and frore? 
 "My peace, my love, Myself, both now and evermore." 
 
 (A silence.) 
 
 Make quick my soul with Thee. The beauty of the truth 
 
 Shall be my goal and song. 
 "We twain as one shall be, for my immortal youth 
 
 Shall live in soul and song." 
 
 THE HERMIT. 
 "It is not good for man to live alone." 
 
 The idle talk upon the street, 
 Forgotten when the hurrying feet 
 
 Have left it pure again; 
 The sight of those whose vileness shows 
 And all their little good o'erflows, 
 
 Till they are hid from men; 
 
 55 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 The senseless din and clamor loud 
 Of those who seek to lead the crowd 
 
 While they themselves are blind; 
 The scornful glance of ignorance, 
 The inward look of arrogance, 
 
 Most pleased when most unkind, 
 
 All these are but mere words to me; 
 All these I know of as the sea 
 
 Knows of the moiling land. 
 For unappeased where mortals fed 
 Their hungry souls with stones for bread, 
 
 Long since, I marked a rand 
 
 O'er which nor they nor I shall pass, 
 Till chemic death the wretched mass 
 
 Strike through and clarify. 
 I live beyond the world's control! 
 I seek and find the tranquil goal 
 
 Of peace and purity. 
 
 All day I breathe the mountain air, 
 All day I face the firm, the fair, 
 
 And nothing else beside. 
 I pause, 'tis infinitely still; 
 I sing, I thrill, and many a rill 
 
 Answers my surging tide. 
 
 I read one book and ask no more; 
 I envy no man, and the lore 
 
 Of human love I've thrown 
 Ah, God, forgive! Ah, God, I faint 
 Faint with the long, long years' restraint! 
 
 Alone, alone, alone! 
 
 56 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 THE UNPAID RANSOM. 
 
 One perfect day, while still within God's heaven, 
 His chiefest angel sinned a sin so black 
 
 He knew he never quite could be forgiven, 
 And packed his trunk to seek earth's zodiac. 
 
 His last good-bye was said and, ready quite 
 To leave the place he once had loved so well, 
 
 He turned to go, when from the Wondrous Light 
 There came a Voice, all sorrow to dispel: 
 
 "Thy sin shall be forgiven, forgotten quite, 
 And thou shalt dwell with us as at thy birth, 
 
 If thou wilt perfectly, in words polite, 
 Define the soul called Woman, on the earth." 
 
 The first sweet words held Satan as in thrall, 
 So great the joy of hope within his breast, 
 
 But at the close he groaned. Then, with a drawl 
 Sarcastic, bitter, said this erstwhile guest, 
 
 "I've made a thousand worlds and made them well, 
 And done a million mightier acts for thee, 
 
 But now Good-bye. In heaven I cannot dwell : 
 That deed's impossible for even me." 
 
 JULY FOURTH. 
 
 Born with the heritage of liberty, 
 Untrammelled liberty, we shout the name 
 And glorify the word into that flame 
 
 By night and cloud by day which solemnly 
 
 Led on the Israelite. Beware! Too free 
 Will be the body if the spirit's aim 
 Is sunk within the letter, and the shame 
 
 Of nakedness strike down our jubilee! 
 57 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 One only path leads up to freedom's height 
 Whence purest love sends purest wisdom down, 
 
 And in the name of freedom's holy light, 
 
 And for the sake of the nation's holiest crown 
 
 I say that Bondage to the Truth will lead 
 
 And only this to Liberty indeed. 
 
 QUATRAINS. 
 
 The Change. 
 
 Unconsciously we wail with life's first breath, 
 So dark and dure the past throws down its shade; 
 But ripening years to strength and peace persuade 
 
 Our souls, and, consciously, we smile at death. 
 
 Wisdom. 
 
 He spelled the ground, knew flower and bird so well 
 All students called him lord; loved beasts and man 
 As beast, then sighed, "I find no God." Thus can 
 
 The foolish prate, when self proves God and hell. 
 
 Inconsistency. 
 
 Regrettest thou that pearls on ocean's floor 
 Lie useless, ne'er to reach a human mart? 
 
 O foolish one, such losses to deplore, 
 When many unused pearls are in thy heart. 
 
 Unselfishness. 
 
 To give, though we never receive, 
 To bless, hungry, tearful, yet strong, 
 
 Ah, thus may a mortal achieve 
 Immortality's right out of wrong. 
 
 58 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 On the Voyage. 
 
 The best of books are valueless and vain 
 
 Unless the readers know themselves the most, 
 As rudders serve the boats on sea and coast 
 
 With wisdom only when controlled by brain. 
 
 Doubleness. 
 "Thy will be done!" Breathe out no sigh, 
 
 O fearful soul, when saying this, 
 Or some sweet joy His will makes nigh 
 
 May pass thee as unworthy bliss. 
 
 The Poet. 
 Along the rays of light towards God 
 
 He hastens, dreaming of their beauty, 
 And sending back that vast white light 
 
 In rainbow songs of love and duty. 
 
 Poetry. 
 
 The spirit in and forming all 
 The beauty vaguely felt by souls 
 That seek the substance more than goals 
 
 Of earth the life our lives forestall. 
 
 The Sacred Reserve. 
 Not wholly may the barriers be broken 
 
 Betwixt two earthly souls, however dear. 
 Yet sorrow not, for this reserve is token 
 
 Of a divinity we should revere. 
 
 Silence. 
 Imperfect man could use no language now 
 
 More pure and vast than this that frets the soul; 
 But ah! beyond, the silence will teach how 
 
 Perfection speaks to souls made pure and whole. 
 
 59 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 When Time Has Ceased. 
 
 When Time has ceased and back from whence we sprung 
 We go, all men shall be forever young, 
 And even here must God's immortal youth 
 Begin in all who love immortal truth. 
 
 Doubt. 
 
 The Wisdom mixed life's good and ill for man, 
 But placed within his hand the sword of Doubt. 
 
 Unused, that weapon answers not God's plan, 
 And used too much His good is driven out. 
 
 The Travel of the Soul. 
 
 We say of Birth, "A new life is begun;" 
 When Love's day dawns, "Life now begins in me;" 
 When Death draws nigh, "True life begins to be;" 
 
 Lo! is there ever new life to be won? 
 
 "Little Things." 
 
 A flower, a narrow strip of sky, and time 
 For her to pray, no more, but these sufficed 
 
 To keep her soul near God, though luring crime 
 Stretched up, and deadly gold of man enticed. 
 
 Beyond the Face. 
 
 The house was poor and mean, without a trace 
 Of beauty. Sin or pain had made him base, 
 I thought, but when I knew beyond the gate, 
 Awestruck I said, "Would God I were as great!" 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 A VISION. 
 
 (Dedicated, without permission, to Stephen Crane.) 
 
 I saw a crimson mooly cow 
 
 A-sitting down in a dormant golden meadow. 
 
 "Look here," I shrieked, 
 
 "What rattling madness possesses your infinite soul, 
 
 To squat 
 
 (Ungracefully) in this watery house? 
 
 Dazzling night descends in four minutes, 
 
 Night, mother of colds and hay-fever, 
 
 And tomorrow the eternal gates of paradise " 
 
 "Mo-o-o ! " remarked the crimson mooly cow, 
 
 And I blushed, 
 
 And rippled away in a hurry. 
 
 MOTHER GOOSE, REVISED. 
 
 By, O Baby Bunting, 
 Mama's gone a hunting; 
 Gone to find a richer man, 
 On the modern moral plan. 
 
 COUPLETS. 
 
 Justice and Mercy. 
 
 Unto thyself give justice, and just the thing shall be; 
 Unto the world give mercy, true justice still from thee. 
 
 Freedom. 
 
 "No bonds at all! Give me sweet freedom," cries the youth; 
 But freedom dwells in naught save bondage to the truth. 
 
 61 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Praise. 
 
 The praise of some is manna from on high, 
 But when all praise, 'tis time for one to die. 
 
 On Books. 
 
 The wisest lore that books have ever taught a soul 
 Thirsting for truth is this: Self is the greater scroll. 
 
 Wealth. 
 
 The world may or may not my little wealth increase, 
 But self may always win the eternal wealth of peace. 
 
 Love to God and Man. 
 
 The one who loveth men to God may still be blind, 
 But he who loveth God loves also all mankind. 
 
 Sufficiency. 
 
 With self and God, a cave may still be paradise; 
 
 With God and self unknown, the world cannot suffice. 
 
 Unselfishness. 
 
 Work thou for self alone, and life shall die at death; 
 For others live, and lo! death shall be God's own breath. 
 
 Double Gain. 
 
 Within the Eternal Heart I strove to lose my soul, 
 
 And found myself the more the more I found The Whole. 
 
 Narrowness. 
 
 To love mankind and not The Man without a peer, 
 Is like the love of stars when the sun is shining clear. 
 
A FOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Eternity. 
 
 Eternity's soft winds my sultry soul sweep o'er, 
 
 As travelers feel sea-breezes ere they reach the shore. 
 
 The Beloved. 
 
 She smiles, and the smiles of the others seem tears; 
 She weeps, and their sorrow like laughter appears. 
 
 The Love of Many and One. 
 
 Though love were given me from all beneath the sun, 
 'Twould still be somewhat less than just the love of one. 
 
 Two Women. 
 
 The one had youthful beauty: with years all graces fled; 
 The other plain but loving, the years to beauty led. 
 
 Friendships. 
 
 'Twixt man and woman, friendship must be discreet and wise, 
 But friendship with the authors no man may criticise. 
 
 Books and Friends. 
 
 A book is like a flower pressed with tender care; 
 A friend is like a garden of living flowers rare. 
 
 A Puzzle. 
 
 A trifle will persuade men to folly or to sin, 
 
 But mighty reasons only will plant the good within. 
 
 The Intervals. 
 
 Commune with nature often but still with man remain: 
 Seek nature as a silence, mankind as language plain. 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Beauty. 
 
 No dream of beauty shall remain unsatisfied; 
 The shadow proves the sun, and think you God has lied? 
 
 The Difference. 
 
 We judge ourselves by that which we profess, 
 But others by their actions and their dress. 
 
 The Crowded Isle. 
 
 When peace midst men departs, since all their ways seem ill, 
 Sigh for no desert isle, for one would be there still. 
 
 A Test. 
 
 Said one, "I trust no man, for all men are untrue." 
 "Or false or true," said I, "that settles trust in you! " 
 
 THE TWO GOSPELS. 
 
 Entranced with Beauty, love made once so wise 
 Her votaries they writ a gospel called 
 The Gospel of the Body, and enthralled 
 
 Thereby all eager ears, all wandering eyes. 
 
 O wondrous Greeks, who knew the treasuries 
 Of Beauty, and our simple lore forestalled, 
 Not since your day our workers half-appalled, 
 
 Work idly has art seen such victories. 
 
 Praise for the Greeks! And yet, a victory 
 Still incomplete and dumb, ten thousand times 
 Divine, and white as earth's most perfect goal; 
 
 The Gospel of the Body, that must die! 
 
 But deathless Beauty's full and finer chimes 
 Call us to write the Gospel of the Soul. 
 
 64 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 THE SIGHT OF A SOUL. 
 
 Exalted heavenward by a night of prayer, 
 A saintly monk forgot the bonds of clay 
 And dared to ask of God one glimpse, one ray 
 
 Of light from Him the Infinite! A glare 
 
 Of sudden awful glory filled the bare 
 And narrow cell, until the light of day 
 Tenfold increased had been but twilight gray, 
 
 And on his face the monk fell in despair. 
 
 "O God, forgive me! I am mortal still, 
 
 And not of heaven: have mercy and depart." 
 The glory faded and a Voice did thrill 
 
 Each fibre of that pure but human heart: 
 "How couldst thou bear to read a higher scroll 
 When thou hast feared a naked human soul? " 
 
 FOR ONE SWEET DAY. 
 
 Now just for this sweet day, dear Nature, let 
 
 Thy soul draw mine away from human fret 
 
 And careless grief, to perfect bliss with thee. 
 
 This day let singing brook and murmuring tree 
 
 Teach me thy secret strength and peace until 
 
 I reach thy heart of youth, from out the chill 
 
 Of wanton human love, too deep and cold 
 
 For simple ones who love thee. Dear, withhold 
 
 No longer balm and blessing; purify 
 
 The one who waits on this sweet day come nigh 
 
 And silently restore my youth, till frost 
 
 Of life and dark of death are swiftly lost 
 
 At touch of thine. Show me thy face, I pray, 
 
 For this sweet day, for one entrancing day. 
 
 65 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 HIS SONG. 
 
 In Youth. 
 
 "Sweet dream of beauty, live, and be 
 My hope, my joy, till words shall come. 
 
 Thank God, the world shall worship thee 
 And marvel why all men were dumb 
 
 Till my lips humbly set thee free." 
 
 In Manhood. 
 
 "My song must wait: earth's many cares 
 Crowd day and night, and nearer things 
 
 Than singing songs thwart songs and prayers. 
 When these are past, sweet hidden springs 
 
 Of peace and strength shall drown despairs." 
 
 At Death. 
 
 "Alas! the end, and nothing won. 
 
 My dream of beauty, fare thee well! 
 I hoped mankind to cheer, but none 
 
 Of all my thoughts were born. The knell 
 Must sound for song and soul undone." 
 
 The World. 
 
 "Pass to thy rest, O noble soul, 
 
 As we bow down before thy song. 
 The song of songs was thine, whose whole 
 
 Pure life unselfish fought the wrong: 
 THY LIFE, that Song is on God's scroll." 
 
 66 
 
THOUGHTS AND PASTELS. 
 
3n f0e foreBfe of barflneBB cmb BdbneBB 
 te gfabeB from f0e gforieB 
 0uibeB fo f^eir tn-pnife 
 of an infnite fot?e. 
 
A FOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 THOUGHTS AND PASTELS. 
 
 Deep subjects and high ideals can hardly be dwelt on 
 too much, nor can a thoughtful presentation of them ever be 
 out of place. 
 
 Whoso thinks at all, speaks perforce, and because it 
 is as impossible for him to keep silence, if he be honest, as 
 it is for the lighted candle to extinguish itself. 
 
 Some books are flowers from the plant of life, and no 
 thoroughly honest man will allow any bloom of his life to be 
 seen by others unless he is sure it possesses more truth or 
 beauty than their opposites. 
 
 In our own work we take as much pleasure in the 
 process as in the result, but in the work of others conclusions 
 alone yield us the most pleasure and profit. 
 
 We can read in a few seconds that which it took one 
 hours, perhaps, to think out and write to his satisfaction; 
 ergo, we should rarely pass unfavorable or even favorable 
 judgment on any matter before having considered it care- 
 fully. Thought demands thought. 
 
 A true man cares not whether his book die or live 
 save as he cares for the death of falsehood and the life of 
 truth. 
 
 Correcting a bad habit: Making over a riding gown. 
 
 If winter comes, can spring be far behind? Certainly: 
 about six months. 
 
 The painter's hardest task is to draw money. 
 
 The censure that we deserve is what hurts. 
 
 Though the two feelings are often confounded, recogni- 
 tion of truth is not sympathy with it. 
 
 We do not fully understand ourselves, yet lay down 
 rules for others. 
 
 Bondage to truth is the only freedom known. 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Evil is limited, good is unlimited. We see no end to good, 
 and straightway are discouraged because so far from per- 
 fection. Slowly, slowly, my friend. 
 
 A religious man adapts himself to God, while a fanatic 
 adapts God to himself. 
 
 The more we love ourselves the more we please God. 
 The less we love ourselves the more we please Him. Both 
 statements are true. 
 
 By analyzing others we become harsh and uncharitable. 
 By analyzing ourselves we become sympathetic, gentle, chari- 
 table. 
 
 Truly to learn from experience the rules that we draw 
 from our experience must be applied to many other things. 
 
 Hate tends to separate and to kill; love glories in bring- 
 ing together and uniting and harmonizing all things. 
 
 Open to all men is the greatest achievement of man 
 the grand, steady growth of soul; limitless, infinite in possi- 
 bilities, endless in results, glorious beyond the world's worth 
 and the reason for our existence here. 
 
 Thoughts are more often the centers of horizons than the 
 ultimate expression of facts. 
 
 Sad indeed is it that the debts put on us by the friend- 
 ship of one are not always payable to that one. 
 
 Noble ideas are man's compass, pointing to the north 
 pole of perfection, while friendship is a magnet. When the 
 magnet interferes with the accurate working of the compass, 
 that magnet must be removed though the heart break. 
 
 Men value positiveness so highly that they wil 1 sooner 
 forgive wrong judgment than doubt. 
 
 Seek not perfection. Let not one fault in a man estrange 
 you from him, or you will be unworthy of friendship and 
 alone all through life. 
 
 70 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Love can know no greater bitterness than the knowledge 
 that its object is in some grave way unworthy of love. Yet 
 true love, under some circumstances, will but cling the closer 
 to its object. 
 
 Even as no one man is perfectly representative of a 
 nation, so no one friend answers to all we feel when think- 
 ing of friendship. Yet friends are good! 
 
 Instinct, inclination, conscience and will combined can- 
 not keep one in the right path; knowledge must be sought 
 and applied, and that continually. 
 
 The majority of people hate the sense of responsibility; 
 it is well for readers that the majority of writers do not 
 belong to that class. 
 
 He who never exaggerates is incapable of speaking the 
 truth. But equally unwise and dangerous is he who always 
 exaggerates. The world is neither a level plain nor a level 
 mountain. 
 
 If you would be a ruler of men, be ruled yourself abso- 
 lutely by some great idea. Because: The world wouldn't 
 bid more than two cents for your naked ego, but for a man 
 plus an idea it would very likely give as much as five. 
 
 We give explanations to those only who do not ask them. 
 
 Absolute evil and absolute virtue alike acknowledge no 
 law. 
 
 Human nature is the highest and lowest, saddest and 
 happiest, foolishest and wisest, crudest and kindest, simplest 
 and most composite, purest and most corrupt, most despond- 
 ent and hopeful, most selfish and unselfish, most loving and 
 hateful; yes, the most devilish as well as the divinest, thing 
 on the face of the earth. For wondrous and awful variety, 
 and this in even one individual, no mixture of the chemist 
 can equal human nature. 
 
 Words leak. Yet, somehow, their spirit enters the cup 
 open to receive it. 
 
 71 
 
A FOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 A bad conscience may be the cause of insomnia, but often 
 it is the bad conscience of the men and women who wrong 
 us that keeps us awake. 
 
 More likely is it that small love will bring great love 
 down to its own level than that the large love will make the 
 small increase. 
 
 Every person is a fool in some particular. Therefore, 
 strike gently at the others, my friend. 
 
 The kind-hearted man feels bitterly the difficulty of 
 excusing himself without accusing others. 
 
 Thoughts unexpressed are only half possessed. 
 
 The best judge of human nature at sight may be all at 
 sea when he attempts to estimate people of another nation- 
 ality. 
 
 A friend, a good man, told me that he had lost all the 
 records of his business copies of letters, notes worth thou- 
 sands of dollars, etc. in a fire. I told him that the Record- 
 ing Angel will never suffer in like manner. But to some men 
 this would be small consolation. 
 
 Don't jest with strangers. Nine times out of ten they 
 will misunderstand you. 
 
 Emphasis in the wrong place creates the weakness it 
 would avoid. 
 
 The reason that some men cannot keep their heads above 
 water is that they are helping others to do so. 
 
 Faith: Riches we cannot hide, exhibit nor give away. 
 
 Contempt: In an inferior, jealousy; in a superior, weak- 
 ness. 
 
 Words: The shadows of our thoughts. 
 
 Vices: The faults of our ancestors. 
 
 Socialism: Dividing with the other fellow. 
 
 Anarchy: Compelling the other fellow to divide with us. 
 
 Thought is practical only when it keeps practical things 
 in subjection. 
 
 72 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 If flowers are the language of angels, music is the 
 language of God. 
 
 Our comforts render us complacent, lazy; our sorrows 
 keep us painfully awake and also force comforts to min- 
 ister strength. 
 
 Hard it is to feel that what we know would be our 
 best thoughts we cannot express to even ourselves. 
 
 Strife for truth is a kind of praise to God. 
 
 He who teaches men to think does them a nobler ser- 
 vice than he who teaches them all other things combined. 
 
 Man is the soul of nature, and each man is to him- 
 self the soul of nature. That is, if he be noble and love 
 nature he will see in her just so much of beauty and worth 
 as he is, and if he be mean himself he will care little for her 
 and see hardly a shadow of her beauty. 
 
 The law of compensation is spiritually what the law 
 of conservation of energy is materially. No act in either 
 world ends with the act itself. 
 
 The devil hates solitude. 
 
 When we look back on ourselves as we were one year 
 ago we see wherein we were foolish and how often we 
 committed evil. Let us be humble at the present time, for in 
 a year from now we shall again reach the same conclusion. 
 
 Paradoxical but true: the greater the heart the less 
 room in it for evil. 
 
 Wouldst thou have thy burdens lightened? Help thy 
 brother in his need and tenfold shall it be returned thee. 
 
 Is it the ambition of thy life to greatly bless thy 
 fellow-men? This may be more easily accomplished, per- 
 haps, than thou thinkest. Begin with thyself, live purely, 
 nobly, unselfishly, and so far as this is done thy purpose 
 is fruitioned. Do more if thou canst, but to govern one king- 
 dom is more than most men do. 
 
 73 
 
A FOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Most of the evil wrought in the world is the result 
 of thoughtlessness, not premeditation, but it is none the less 
 an evil, and, seeing it could have been prevented, a crime. 
 
 All knowledge is good in itself, but unless a man has 
 omnipotent strength he had better let some of it alone till he 
 has. 
 
 When we cannot at the same time be true to our- 
 selves and true to others we must be true to ourselves. Right 
 may fall back one step in our direction but it gains two in 
 another. 
 
 To tire of a thing is no sign of inconstancy; rather 
 is it the reverse, as it may show we are true to a higher 
 principle. 
 
 What does originality consist in except in appro- 
 priating and using to an unusual and striking advantage facts 
 and observations which are public property? When comes a 
 mind great enough to properly appreciate and present com- 
 mon occurrences and all occurrences are common then 
 we say: Behold a genius! 
 
 Gain first God's approval, then thine own, setting 
 thy small watch by the great Regulator, and let the opinion of 
 the world count for naught. Do right; if the world approve, 
 well; if not, thou losest but a trifle. 
 
 Recognition of truth is not sympathy with truth, 
 although often confounded with it. 
 
 Men of great attainments receive too much praise, 
 while men of small calibre, who achieve, in consequence, 
 little, do not receive enough praise, though they may have 
 exerted more strength proportionately. 
 
 To the wise man no thing is strange, because every 
 thing is strange. 
 
 We speak of "great men"; is this to our credit? 
 Yes, and No. Yes, because we ought to recognize a man's 
 natural and acquired qualities, and No, because we ought to 
 be his equal in striving for Truth, in which alone true great- 
 ness consists. 
 
 74 
 
A FOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Steadily and more clearly do I see that there is 
 nothing in the world but little things. These little things, 
 however, acquire a startling significance when viewed in 
 this light. 
 
 When a man works -so much that he has no time or 
 room for pride he receives more honor from others than he 
 could ever give himself. 
 
 Most of us are not strong enough to be gentle; we 
 are weak, and attempt to conceal it by indifference and rude- 
 ness. 
 
 Man is a spirit consisting of two principles, and the 
 stage beyond the period of earthly existence is the continuing 
 and perfecting of the principle which predominated here. 
 Which rules thee the more, Good or Evil? 
 
 The best noblest diplomacy is to have none. 
 
 In wanting to be loved, better give love to an hun- 
 dred persons who do not love thee than wait for some one 
 to love thee first. 
 
 True sorrow for sin indicates such advance that the 
 soul will not again fall as readily into it. 
 
 The soul should not, and in thinking persons does 
 not, find any thing purely negative. Each thing assists or 
 retards progress. 
 
 As the fact of the earth's moving can be proved 
 only by ar appeal to reason, so the fact of future life can be 
 proved only by an appeal to intuition, and not, in either case, 
 by the sen a es. 
 
 Almost every man is honestly anxious for himself 
 to develop, yet seems naturally to think of every one else 
 as .stationary. 
 
 We do not fully understand ourselves, yet lay down 
 rules for the conduct of others! 
 
 If each man had half as much charity for the world 
 in general as he has for himself, strife of all kinds would 
 cease. 
 
 75 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 If we are strong and wish it, no thing can injure 
 us and each thing will do us good. 
 
 Many people pray too much in words; the best 
 prayer, the only true prayer is work. 
 
 The very fact that we cannot always decide a point 
 proves our indefinite and immense capabilities, and should 
 be the source of an awful joy. Did we feel a limit in think- 
 ing we should have to decide our powers mortal. 
 
 Set that man down as one who looks on death as 
 the end of all, who always finds language adequate to express 
 his feelings. 
 
 Better be wholly unsuccessful in a right course than 
 successful in a wrong one. 
 
 While genius has little regard for common-sense, 
 a lack of common-sense does not necessarily indicate genius. 
 
 Of ourself we tell only the good; of our neighbors 
 perhaps the good, but certainly the bad. 
 
 To expect love to be perfectly satisfied with any- 
 thing less than love in return, is as futile as expecting a 
 woman's fan to create a vacuum in the open air. 
 
 Our capacity for learning from others is propor- 
 tioned to our capacity for putting ourself in their place. 
 
 People who always want a reason for everything 
 resemble the man who would demand proof of the statement 
 that the shortest line between two points is a straight line. 
 
 Strange, that in things temporal we desire to pos- 
 sess others' goods, or at least goods like others', but in things 
 spiritual think our own attainments the best! It shows how 
 much more strongly we are affected through the senses than 
 through the soul. 
 
 If we are dissatisfied with our attainments there is 
 hope for us. Then so long as dissatisfacton exists we should 
 be satisfied. 
 
 After all, viewed aright, nothing can be too much 
 trouble in itself. 
 
 76 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 One reason why so many persons feel a great reserve 
 towards others is that the disagreeables are on the surface, 
 and what we wish to say does not harmonize with the 
 externals. 
 
 The law of contrast is stronger than the law of 
 harmony. This is one of the reasons why discords are some- 
 times written in music, "that harmony should be prized." 
 
 The originality which takes a form unwise in itself 
 is better than a slavish conformity to society, which would 
 mold all into a dead life. The only trouble lies in the fact 
 that the originality takes a wrong form. 
 
 The habit of questioning everything, which by so 
 many is considered dangerous to purity, is absolutely neces- 
 sary; the only danger is from false judgment. 
 
 However much we may think our ideal man is the 
 combination of the qualities most nearly perfect of all our 
 acquaintances, he is most nearly like ourself. 
 
 God's curse on man was not that he must labor, but that 
 the labor necessary to existence should antagonize the soul 
 and hinder its development. We must eat before we think. 
 Yet with watchfulness this very curse may be transmuted 
 into a blessing. 
 
 The philosopher sees Truth, and sees it in its barest 
 form; the poet sees also the beauty of Truth. 
 
 Troubles and griefs are the rain-storms of the soul. 
 
 The wicked man values his reputation, not his charac- 
 ter, while the righteous man cares for his character and but 
 very little for his reputation. 
 
 Bondage to Truth is the only freedom known. 
 
 Perfect knowledge of one natural object, one blade 
 of grass for instance, would explain all earthly things. 
 
 We demand sympathy, but give only pity. 
 
 It is better to decide, be the decision right or wrong, 
 than to be continually wavering. 
 
 77 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 And still, better waver than decide and then never 
 be willing to change. 
 
 He who cannot change his opinions is a fool; he who 
 will not change them is a knave. 
 
 Age petrifies most people as silica hardens wood, but 
 a few resemble the evergreen, which is larger and more 
 symmetrical in old age than in youth. 
 
 Love is the greatest developer of the soul; hence 
 love is the end, the object, of our present existence. 
 
 For thinking people condensed information is best, 
 but most people do not think for themselves, hence the im- 
 mense amount of mental p'bulum. The daily paper is as 
 much a curse as a blessing. 
 
 "Out of sight, out of mind;" if this were quite true, 
 how happy we might be! 
 
 Look on the worst side of the past, and the best side 
 of the future. 
 
 We can best impress ourselves on others by our 
 love. Wisdom repels at first, but love attracts, and opens the 
 way for wisdom. Hence, if you would do the most good, 
 love. 
 
 If we be God's children, it is impossible, in the full 
 sense of that word, for Him to forsake us: can He forsake 
 Himself? 
 
 I hold that idea to be a true one, that was held in 
 former times more extensively than now, that each man is 
 an actual part of God. Like all best things it can be per- 
 verted into a most serious evil, but if I believe it to be true, 
 I may say so. It is an awful thought. It throws a light on 
 the problem of our existence, and makes our lives more sub- 
 lime than ever. 
 
 Evil is limited; good is unlimited. We see no end to 
 good, and straightway are discouraged because we are so far 
 from perfection. 
 
 Silence is Perfection; language and all other material 
 
 78 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 things are imperfect and very annoying at times, but we 
 think of Silence and rejoice. I sometimes think God, Heaven, 
 Eternity, all dwell in Silence. 
 
 There is really no "reward" and "punishment" for 
 good and evil. Remorse for sin, which we call "punishment," 
 is a part of sin, its culmination, and good finds Heaven to be 
 simply the perfection of itself. 
 
 Self-denial is the purest form of selfishness. 
 
 Few people can have what they want in the material 
 world, but in the realm of the mind men can be pretty nearly 
 what they WILL to be. 
 
 We are aware, by its effects, of a power not con- 
 nected with the senses. It appeals to the soul from all 
 material objects, from some more strongly than from others, 
 but it eludes our comprehension and even grasp; we cannot 
 define it. We are perhaps reading a book and feel strongly 
 drawn to take up some other book unread before, when, lo! 
 this last passage is a companion to or climax of the first. 
 We feel a presence in the room, and may perhaps know whom 
 it is, yet we learned it not through the five senses. Who shall 
 instruct us in this language, this intuition of the spirit? 
 
 The souls of mankind combined would not make a God. 
 
 Thoughtlessness is the most extreme selfishness in 
 its relation to others, and the worst possible evil in its rela- 
 tion to ourself. 
 
 Our highest moments are our truest. We must judge our- 
 selves by such moments, and measure our acts and attain- 
 ments by their height and not by the low standard of com- 
 mon hours. 
 
 If every man were so good as in his heart he believes 
 himself to be, five men would fully supply the world. 
 
 Woe betide a man if in his care for his house he 
 starve the master of the house! We must eat and take care 
 of the body in many ways, but most men end with that, for- 
 getting the soul. 
 
 79 
 
A FOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 One's habitual thoughts react on the will which formed 
 them, each strengthening the other. Do we like to think? 
 Good. Are our thoughts pure and beautiful? Better. And if 
 they fruition into life, best of all, and the reason why we have 
 the thinking faculty. 
 
 Concentration of thought on one idea at a time, 
 long continued, it may be, is the secret of most success, most 
 knowledge, and while we are about it why not dwell on 
 worthy objects? Most men drift without aim; grasp the oars 
 and get somewhere! 
 
 Marriage, while giving one person to the other, makes 
 each more capable of blessing others. Thus while in a form 
 selfish, marriage is still more unselfish. 
 
 The greatest thinker is he who can tell us most about 
 ourself. 
 
 The older the body the younger purer the soul 
 should be. 
 
 Strike your colors to no man. You, too, are a man, 
 and must live originally, for yourself and out of yourself. 
 
 A religious man adapts himself to God, while a fanatic 
 adapts God to himself. 
 
 All known things may be classed under four names: 
 materially, dust and soul; spiritually, good and evil. 
 
 Geniuses are they who understand the art of expres- 
 sion, first to themselves, then outwardly. They utter what 
 others only feel. 
 
 The highest practicality is the materialization of ideality. 
 
 The pessimist says, There is a valley for every hill; 
 the optimist says, There is a hill for every valley. 
 
 When souls shall be able to communicate with each 
 other by other means than the body, they will give and 
 receive perfection, they will know and will be at peace simply 
 through existing. 
 
 Soul is supreme and should be indifferent to every 
 conceivable thing but itself. This is why great men so often 
 
 80 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 shock us by their disregard of bodily and social laws; but 
 our fault it is, not theirs. 
 
 A man, like a tree, should grow heavenward in defiance 
 of all material laws: let him but say, I am superior, and he 
 is superior. 
 
 The only result of staring into the mystery of human 
 life is to bring tears to the eyes, tears of pain to some and 
 of joy to others. 
 
 A soul, perfection, can never express itself perfectly 
 through the medium it has at present, an imperfect body. 
 
 While we live in the past and the future, we possess 
 only the past. 
 
 As in music one continued discord ruins the entire piece, 
 so one continued sin may ruin a man's whole life. 
 
 Praise tends to lower some men's standard, censure 
 always strengthens. 
 
 Music is the expression of silence. Music, of all 
 things which appeal to the senses, is a link and the only 
 link between heaven and earth. It appeals to the senses, it 
 is true, but is the purest, least earthly, the one perfect thing, 
 of all things which do so appeal. 
 
 There are three uses of love. First, the prostitu- 
 tion of love into sexual passion, which is what we call 
 beastly. Second, the degradation of love, into rinding in 
 man the end of love. The third use of love, which alone is 
 right, is the thought of love as Perfection another word 
 for God each man and, if you wish, each living object, 
 being but a fragment. Hence, love is reverential. Also, the 
 truest love always has an element of dissatisfaction in it, 
 cannot contain itself with less than the whole. 
 
 If life be hard, it is so that we may learn how to make 
 it easy. 
 
 Because things in this world are wholly relative, it 
 is sometimes true that an act which is wrong to one man is 
 right to another. 
 
 81 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Love must be active or it will die. 
 
 Perfection is the marriage of matter and mind. 
 Or, it is when the attainments of matter equal the attainments 
 of mind, or when ability equals thought. 
 
 If we were able to see with the bodily eye a true 
 man, that is, the spirit, as, say, Emerson, the sight would 
 dazzle us. We could not see even so small a part of God 
 without trembling. 
 
 The isolation of a great mind must be one of the 
 worst concomitants of genius. 
 
 The more we love a person, the less, as a rule, we 
 feel like talking when in his presence. The very conscious- 
 ness of being near him is all-sufficient. 
 
 What more may man ask than to be literally a child of 
 God? 
 
 If he who criticises does not benefit others or him- 
 self, he is doing no good, but is "creation's blot, creation's 
 blank." 
 
 Slang is dethroned poetry. 
 
 All excel in one or two good traits; he who excels in 
 most is the great man. 
 
 Every man owes the world all the nobility of charac- 
 ter it is possible for him to become possessed of. One 
 of the few things wherein man underestimates himself is his 
 influence on others. The world is more strongly affected by 
 him than he thinks. 
 
 Speak nothing but good of the dead; we know enough 
 evil of the living. 
 
 To be never discouraged is not always a sign of wisdom. 
 
 God is the author of the two grandest poems ever 
 written, Woman, and Nature. 
 
 It is our bounden duty to ennoble ourselves and others. 
 This demands work, but neglect is a crime. 
 
 God never allows an unnecessary person; every 
 living human being is essential to creation. He has a com- 
 
A FOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 mission to fulfil, and just damnation awaits the man who runs 
 away or wilfully neglects his work. 
 
 Hope is frequently inverted experience. 
 
 Each thing in the material world is symbolic. The 
 primary reason for its existence is that it may bless the soul 
 of man. 
 
 To have our good acts evil spoken of is better than 
 to have our bad acts well spoken of. 
 
 Let fancy fly, but judgment should walk. 
 
 Almost all men believe that right shall ultimately 
 triumph, but why do they not act up to this conviction? Be- 
 cause they are either thoughtless or selfish. 
 
 The world may owe you a living, but the nobility 
 that you owe the world is a greater debt and will forbid you 
 taking your due. 
 
 More great poems are lived than written. 
 
 The man who works not with either body or brain 
 is a curse. He is a very devil, robbing himself, mankind, and 
 God. 
 
 The human heart must overflow when great grief 
 or joy comes, or else, perhaps unconsciously, suffer physically. 
 
 The mysterious is always the most fascinating. 
 
 Most people can bear blame from enemies, but few 
 can withstand flattery from friends. 
 
 Love is a paradox: beginning with regard for one, it 
 is not diminished but greatly increased by being allowed to 
 overflow on others. 
 
 With the exception of love, its mother, nothing ter- 
 restrial satisfies a man so completely as to have a woman 
 whom he likes jealous of him! 
 
 A verbal promise is as binding morally as a written 
 promise is legally. 
 
 Make a distinction between inherited and acquired 
 nobility. The one we deserve no credit for, the other we 
 deserve all credit for. 
 
 83 
 
A FOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Unapplied wisdom is like pearls in the sea. 
 
 No act is negative; it is either good or bad. 
 
 The rule, Silence is golden, is generally true, but 
 there are many times when silence is dishonoring. 
 
 Throughout Nature, as we know her, nothing is 
 lost: apparently destroyed, the object has simply assumed 
 another form. So it is in the moral world: good deeds, bad 
 words, all leave ineffaceable impressions. 
 
 All persons displease me in some way; shall I, 
 therefore, refuse to love them? Nay; I should rather exert 
 myself to love them so much for the good that is in them 
 that my thoughts of their good qualities shall outweigh my 
 thoughts of their bad ones. 
 
 The highest joys are inseparable from the greatest 
 griefs, and whether or no both shall affect us for good de- 
 pends on ourself. 
 
 He who never believes the simple statements of 
 others cannot expect to be ever believed himself. 
 
 The heart that beats strongest for suffering man 
 is the heart best capable of loving God. 
 
 Wisdom is one of the few good things which some- 
 times comes to man unsought. 
 
 True greatness is tolerant of others' scrutiny; the 
 mean soul cannot bear investigation. 
 
 A man proud without reason is a most detestable 
 creature; proud with reason he is allowable, but negative. 
 
 The man who is humble enough to acknowledge 
 that others' opinions are sometimes better than his own is 
 wise enough to be seldom wrong. 
 
 Good blesses the doer of it more than the receiver. 
 
 When nobody has anything to say against me, let 
 me die! 
 
 The soul's instinct must be the decider of what is 
 right and what is wrong, but as every soul is more or less 
 imperfect, it follows that men will always differ in their 
 
 84 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 judgment. We have no absolute standard of perfection, or, 
 rather, we are not able to either see perfection or agree on a 
 definition of it. 
 
 The same qualities precisely are in all men, but not in 
 equal proportions. 
 
 Men break promises made to a multitude when they 
 keep those made to one person, but in other matters 
 they honor the mass even when they despise every individual 
 man in it. 
 
 Probably thought is as substantial to a spirit as 
 material things are to the body. 
 
 Our joys may cease and we are^ sad for a time; but 
 when hope ceases neither the past nor the present can 
 please us. 
 
 It should be our aim not to keep the Sabbath holier 
 than the other days, but to make all the days as holy as the 
 Sabbath. 
 
 Paralysis of the soul is the worst disease on earth, 
 and the most common. 
 
 Love curves on itself and rewards the lover more 
 than the beloved. 
 
 Society and solitude are of equal necessity. In 
 society we receive: in solitude we digest. But ah, blessed 
 are we if in solitude we can both receive and digest. 
 
 Despair is the illegitimate child of Misfortune and 
 Weakness. 
 
 Our life is a cloud, hiding the sky of eternity. 
 
 When truths seem not to harmonize be sure a link, 
 a third truth, connecting the two others, is missing. Truths 
 must necessarily harmonize, but our imperfect knowledge 
 raises confusion. 
 
 Which is harder, to see the evil in the persons we 
 like, or to see the good in those we do not like? 
 
 Life forms the body, and then is subject to it! 
 
 85 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 If we were as afraid of being wrong as we are of 
 being serious, we would be so serious that we would not be 
 so often wrong. 
 
 Eternity is not prolonged time, but a state. 
 
 The wise man knows the fool for a fool, but the 
 fool can never know the wise man for a wise man, or he 
 would be wise himself. The greater may include the less and 
 still be great, but the part is never more than a part. 
 
 Each man is necessarily the standard, in one sense, 
 by which he measures all else, both man and matter. 
 
 If we did as well as we know, we would soon be perfect. 
 
 Progress self-evidently involves life, and life is, we 
 may say, the growing principle. Now bodily life of all 
 kinds feeds on material lower than itself, but soul-life feeds 
 on principles, or life, higher than itself. 
 
 Many persons' externals are more beautiful than 
 they themselves, as, face and manners, but persons inwardly 
 beautiful are usually beautiful in externals also. 
 
 The peace of life is a totally different thing from 
 the peace of death. 
 
 ' Thinig which we absolutely know but which, from 
 the nature of the case, are not provable to others and which 
 we will not explain, most people will neither believe nor for- 
 give us for affirming. 
 
 The highest compliment that can be paid to a woman 
 is to treat her as a man should be treated; that is, frankly 
 and honestly, with the utmost courtesy and purity. 
 
 We judge ourselves by what we do, that is, the 
 good; we judge others by their omission of the good, that is, 
 their sins. 
 
 The hypocrite is never so near exposure as when 
 his righteousness is called into question; no one shall ques- 
 tion his righteousness. 
 
 The worst form of conceit is that springing from humility. 
 
 86 
 
A FOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 The pain in ecstasy of feeling is caused by the in- 
 ability of the body to keep pace with the unusual demands 
 of the soul. 
 
 Senses, or the sense, may be right, spirit is right. 
 Sense involves a mixture of evil with good; spirit is wholly 
 pure. 
 
 The worst hunger is that of the heart, for love: thd 
 worst satiety is that of the heart, being obliged, through not 
 finding any one to love, to expend all its love-wealth on itself. 
 
 I wish to fear nothing that I know of but fear. 
 
 Instinct is the sun, reason the moon. 
 
 The fear of intruding is often a great discourtesy: 
 friends must not act like acquaintances. 
 
 Reason is confined to the earth, spirit, or intuition, 
 is unconfined. 
 
 We should prepare for death? Not so: we should 
 prepare for something more solemn Life. 
 
 Irreverence for the name of God is by no means the 
 only form of profanity. Any good thing, person, object, or 
 idea, may be profaned. 
 
 There are two classes of people to whom we reveal 
 ourselves; our friends, because they understand us, and a 
 certain other class because they are stupid. 
 
 The more we love ourselves the more we please 
 God: The less we love ourselves the more we please God. 
 Both these statements are true. 
 
 Perfect freedom of soul can never be obtained with- 
 out first conforming perfectly to the natural needs of the 
 body. 
 
 The best friend distrusts himself more than he does 
 his friend. 
 
 If we with all the heart desired perfection, we 
 should be perfect. The perfect desire and the attainment are 
 identical. 
 
 "Pain is a sign of life," but life need not be a sign of pain. 
 
 87 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Working as a fragment of the whole, a man may 
 honorably accept any aid offered. Working selfishly, to ac- 
 cept any aid is dishonorable. 
 
 Labor may be dignified, but some men are com- 
 pelled to be decidedly undignified in doing it. 
 
 For a person who has never loved to try to under- 
 stand it is like a blind person endeavoring to judge of the 
 merits of a picture. He may handle it, and possibly gain 
 some little impression of it through the finger tips, but! 
 
 Excess of hope is despair. 
 
 Intuition compels, reason advises. 
 
 Men reverence the dead more than the living, and 
 thus prove themselves fools. 
 
 The real basis of all love, all friendship, all good-will, is 
 reverence. 
 
 The strength as well as the difficulty of renouncing 
 is exactly proportioned to the intensity of the feeling present, 
 if we but knew it. 
 
 Affectation is the desire to appear different from 
 what we are, but it is sometimes confused with the desire to 
 develop and improve ourselves. 
 
 Abstract truth has little influence over us; to draw 
 us strongly it must be connected with something earthly. 
 
 The more we lean on others the more capable we 
 are of strengthening others. 
 
 "The world is a chaos; life is a puzzle and a farce;" 
 granted for the sake of the argument: perhaps it is thy sole 
 business to bring some order into the world, and to solve 
 life and make it serious by the dignity of thy actions. 
 
 Is the darkness of the beyond worse than the folly 
 of the past? Take heart, then, be brave and wise, using well 
 thy materials, however poor they may be. 
 
 Which prefer you to see, a symmetrical and hand- 
 somely carved statue of wood, or an ugly one of ivory? If 
 compelled to choose, which would you be? 
 
 88 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 What if all the range of notes in sound that we can 
 hear, from lowest bass to highest treble, should be but one 
 note in the whole of music, the middle C, say, fragmented 
 for man! 
 
 Knowledge is often more lamentable than ignor- 
 ance, because used wrongly. Still, learn at any cost. 
 
 We sometimes utter truths and yet are not able 
 to explain how we come to say them, nor even to argue out 
 our reasons for believing them. There is no disputing with 
 the reasons of the soul, no proof outside of themselves. 
 
 The home of the body is stationary; the home of 
 the soul is everywhere, in all things, in the realm of the mind 
 and the realm of the spirit. But some souls seem to have no 
 home! 
 
 This delight in the mysterious is the vague endeavor 
 to find the purpose and soul which we instinctively feel to be 
 in all, to which we are related. 
 
 Love for one cannot be confined to that particular 
 soul; it will overflow on our friends. This overflow is a test 
 of love. 
 
 By analyzing others we become harsh and unchari- 
 table: by analyzing ourselves we become gentle and sym- 
 pathetic. 
 
 Hope must be for something definite, else it is not 
 hope but uneasy longing. 
 
 To give up one's rights is perhaps as often a sign 
 of weakness as of strength. 
 
 Both old age and youth make mistakes, old age 
 from being too conservative, youth from being too radical, 
 but if the world is to advance it is more necessary to be radi- 
 cal than conservative. 
 
 There are .three kinds of reserve, natural reserve or 
 bashfulness, the reserve of purity, which shrinks from the 
 touch of some persons, and the reserve of unworthiness or 
 weakness, which wishes to appear better than it is. 
 
A FOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Actions are plain, but the motives being mixed or hidden 
 entirely, we are more apt to judge wrongly than rightly. 
 
 And we cannot rightly divide between the motives 
 for our own actions, yet pass judgment on others' actions! 
 
 The deepest love makes the greatest mistakes. 
 
 Just as we may apprehend Divinity but not com- 
 prehend it, so must we apprehend that others may be right, 
 whether we can justify their deeds or not. What is wrong to 
 one person may be perfectly right to another. 
 
 If any one thing more than another proves the 
 nobility of man it is that 'tis easier to love than to hate. 
 
 We might live in perpetual silence without losing 
 very much, but no one can live in a perpetual round of words 
 without losing very, very much. 
 
 Insults are unconscious tributes to superiority. 
 
 Hope is the fountain of life, renewing us daily from 
 the immortalities of perfection. 
 
 Evil apprehends good but cannot comprehend it: 
 good both apprehends and comprehends evil. 
 
 Earthly evil may be wholly evil, but no earthly good 
 is unalloyed. 
 
 Both the fanatic and the true man say, "Pursue 
 Truth, at any cost," but the fanatic looks only at the end, 
 the true man considers the means also. 
 
 "To thine own self be true;" truly, the most difficult 
 thing in the world. 
 
 If the head comprehends, we may still converse, 
 whether the heart comprehend or not, but when neither heart 
 nor head understand, conversation ceases. 
 
 What we receive is almost exactly proportioned to 
 what we first give or are willing to give. 
 
 To truly learn from experience, the rules we can 
 draw from one experience must be applied to other things. 
 Few people do this, and thus many never learn from 
 experience. 
 
 90 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 To always decide slowly is folly: to always decide 
 quickly is much worse folly. 
 
 Foolishly saved means foolishly spent. 
 
 Silence and tears are the only things that can ex- 
 press extreme joy as well as extreme grief. 
 
 Fate deals the cards, and fate may decree that we 
 lose; but we may make many mistakes in playing them, and 
 our mistakes are worse than anything done by fate. 
 
 Pain should be to us not as a hornet but as a bee: 
 both sting, but from the bee we receive honey also. 
 
 Man may develop himself into the greatest thing 
 or the smallest thing on earth. 
 
 Does the builder question the bricks as to whether 
 they would rather be near the bottom of the wall or the top, 
 on the inside or the outside? They all have their places, 
 and each place is important. Who knows how greatly he is 
 needed in the world, or what a crime it would be to remove 
 himself? 
 
 If man trembled as much over his sins as he does 
 over the future, he would have less reason to dread anything 
 the future might bring. 
 
 Do nothing of which you would be ashamed to have 
 the world know. 
 
 Men honor men when they do not honor God, but 
 they cannot honor God without honoring men. 
 
 Body wavers, soul is steadfast; body needs change, 
 soul needs no change: body asks proof: soul needs no proof: 
 body doubts, soul believes. 
 
 Soul can teach reason, but reason cannot teach soul. 
 Soul is at once plaintiff and defendant, lawyer and witness, 
 judge and sheriff. 
 
 The bad usually improve on acquaintance; the good 
 sometimes lose. 
 
 We should instruct ourselves, not others, or, at 
 least, ourselves first, then others through us. 
 
 91 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Beauty must contain truth, or 'tis not beauty. As 
 well try to find the rose's perfume independent of the rose as 
 to expect beauty to be independent of the truth. 
 
 We win our friends more through their nobleness 
 than our own. 
 
 Simplicity is one of the most necessary and profound 
 studies of life. 
 
 Sincerity always demands and receives respect, but 
 not sincerity nor frankness nor strength combined are 
 able to root a fact in another man. Truth must first be pres- 
 ent to some extent, then these aids-de-camp may assist. 
 
 Words are but the body of thought, and like our 
 earthly body cannot be fully controlled; nor do they exactly 
 express us. 
 
 Thou art dissatisfied because thy good acts are 
 not admitted as such, not even seen? The greatest buildings 
 have the deepest foundations ; many stones have to be hidden, 
 and who can say but your acts are as necessary, nay, more so, 
 than many others, to some building too large for our eyes to 
 measure? 
 
 Great men seek simplicity in thoughts, in words, 
 in illustrations, and are greatly fundamental. Small men seek 
 greatness as if it were a fact in itself, and not a great com- 
 bination of small things. 
 
 Head-analysis and heart-feeling do not make a hap- 
 pily-married couple. 
 
 Looking for flowers without thorns is the most likely 
 way of finding thorns without flowers. 
 
 It is the duty of conscience not only to make action 
 accord with present belief, but to guide the mind when it 
 contemplates changing its beliefs. Beliefs change because 
 the mind honestly seeks truth, but conscience, properly speak- 
 ing, never changes. 
 
 Grief finds no rest in rest, but only in action. 
 
 92 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Many a person's most subtle thoughts and exquisite 
 impressions are lost to himself and others because no one 
 responds exactly to them, when if they did so respond other 
 and wiser shades, from still more remote and delicate recesses 
 of the mind, would come firmly forth, to the surprise and joy 
 of both. 
 
 The most valuable silence is that which is judiciously 
 used to punctuate and accentuate speech with. 
 
 Love is the force that unites, that harmonizes. Perfect 
 love means perfect union. 
 
 The individual is most himself when he becomes 
 most universal. 
 
 Only he who is perfect need never apologize. 
 
 Half our ambition is caused by the faith of others in us. 
 
 Those who object to any one's quoting frequently 
 never say anything themselves worthy of being heard, much 
 less quoted. 
 
 Paradoxes are the most simple and yet profound 
 expressions obtainable of truth. This is because they con- 
 tain both sides of truth, or, I might say, they bring the poles 
 of truth together. 
 
 We may argue about duty, but not against it. 
 
 It requires as much wisdom to be wisely stupid as to be 
 simply wise. 
 
 Some people are so very over-conscientious and so 
 very obstinate that if they once get the idea into their head 
 that something is wrong, if God himself should tell them that 
 it is right I verily believe they would contradict Him. 
 
 Be as wise and strong and as nearly perfect in every 
 way as possible, or the time will inevitably come when you 
 will falter or perhaps fail for lack of what you might have 
 had, or should have been. 
 
 God himself never puts on us more than we can 
 bear, but he sometimes allows our fellow human-beings to put 
 on us things which would be unbearable if He did not uphold 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 us. But, O suffering heart, because He allows such things 
 He will always uphold us. 
 
 He who is sufficient for himself is the foolishest 
 of the foolish or the wisest of the wise. 
 
 Imagination oftener causes misery than happiness. 
 
 Let us get what comfort we can from the thought 
 that perhaps heaven will be inversely proportioned to all those 
 sufferings of hell which have strayed to earth. 
 
 He is the strongest of all strong men who can 
 honestly smile at the grave of buried hope. 
 
 The greatest sins committed, both intentionally and 
 unintentionally, are done in the name of righteousness. 
 
 The end of our acts is the end of eternity. 
 
 In objective affairs the pleasure is in the pursuit 
 and not in the attainment: in subjective affairs the pleasure 
 is in the attainment, or the success. 
 
 To say that we know nothing is much more untrue 
 than to affirm that we know all things: the first statement is a 
 complete falsity, the other contains a little truth, as no sane 
 man is wholly devoid of knowledge. 
 
 There is more hope of the man who has great vices 
 than of him who has no great virtues. 
 
 The only time when failure means more failure than 
 gain is when we do not rise above it. 
 
 Books bring priceless knowledge, but unless they 
 develop us by throwing us more heavily back upon ourselves, 
 we miss the greatest knowledge they can teach us. 
 
 Almost anything, even fanaticism, is much more forgiv- 
 able than flippancy. 
 
 It should be a pleasure to admit, when we see it, 
 that we have made a mistake or been at fault. Not a pleasure 
 in itself, of course, but because proof to ourself and evidence 
 to others that our strife for purity is so sincere we will as 
 freely condemn ourself, when occasion demands, as others. 
 
 Revenge is the bastard child of Justice and Hate. 
 
 94 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Men are loved for nothing in particular, without 
 reason; they are disliked for one or two particular things, 
 and with reason. 
 
 Reticence means lack of thoughts and stupidity oftener 
 than depth or self-control. 
 
 The wise are oftener foolish than the foolish are wise. 
 
 The fisherman who cares not to lose or risk his flies, 
 catches nothing. 
 
 More have repented speech than silence. 
 
 Knowledge is to some a burden on the back, to others 
 a carriage. 
 
 The great see resemblances; the little see differences. 
 
 In one of the churches in Rome there is an elab- 
 orately painted ceiling which seems without beauty or har- 
 mony of design unless viewed from one particular point; so 
 the perplexing mosaic of life cannot be interpreted aright 
 save from the standpoint of faith, faith in God and the 
 hereafter. 
 
 Seeking pleasure for its own sake is like drinking 
 brine to quench thirst. 
 
 From one thing a genius unfolds the world. Most 
 men cannot discover one thing from an entire world. 
 
 Talent is voluntary concentration; genius is involun- 
 tary concentration. 
 
 Only small .things deserve argument; great things 
 are above it. 
 
 Stagnation is the result of not having known life: 
 peace is the result of having lived, of having conquered. 
 
 Harmony with God is the aim of this world, the one 
 end of all religions. Our discords arise from the finiteness 
 of our means. 
 
 The genius reads others from a knowledge of him- 
 self; the ordinary man reads himself by comparison with 
 others. 
 
 The chief business of life is to make distinctions. 
 
 95 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 "I forgive;** in what way dost thou forgive when 
 thou art still influenced by the past? 
 
 That friendship is very frail which thinks it neces- 
 sary to always give presents in exchange for presents re- 
 ceived. 
 
 PASTELS. 
 
 DUTY. 
 
 All the men of the city, with one exception, are hasten- 
 ing out to win or die on the plain below the city. The one 
 solitary man remaining bids them be brave, and says, "Ye 
 must do your duty." 
 
 A woman who overhears him says, with a flash of her 
 wavering, uncertain eyes, "You coward, why do you tell them 
 to go but stay here yourself?** 
 
 He turns to her slowly and replies, very gently and as 
 though he saw her not, "It is their place to kill and be killed, 
 it is my place to live and create." 
 
 And the heavy tread of the departing men is confused 
 and lost in the joyous song of a little bird in a cage just over 
 their heads. 
 
 A SAINT. 
 
 She had involuntarily revealed to him her love, one hour 
 when he was in great danger, and now he has had to write the 
 decisive word. The letter lies before him, and with the face 
 an angel of God might wear when on an errand of mercy 
 he seals and directs it. He loves her, but duty calls, he 
 fancies, and marriage is not for him. 
 
 Is he an angel of God? 
 
 She reads the letter, but she does not weep or moan. 
 She is very calm, too calm, I think, for a human being in such 
 agony. 
 
 96 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 Then she says: "He is one of God's saints: may He for- 
 give him." 
 
 I pity her. Some of God's saints can be forgiven by only 
 He Himself. 
 
 IN THE SHADOW. 
 
 In the dark shadow of a church an old man is leaning 
 against the ivy-covered wall and watching the worshipers as 
 they leave. The light would dazzle him if he were in it, 
 but he is in the shadow, in a very dark shadow, where these 
 worshipers cannot see him and so where they cannot help him, 
 of course. 
 
 These worshipers are still gazing heavenward, so that 
 they even stumble sometimes as they walk from church. 
 
 (God's love, God's strengthening grace. The wind blows, 
 and it is very cold tonight.) 
 
 Many miles has this man walked today, how many per- 
 haps no one will ever know. He walks back and forth a little, 
 in the shadow, of course, where no one looks. He walks 
 slowly, and his arms are folded, but he does not stand as 
 erect as a man should when he folds his arms. 
 
 He watches the worshipers, and they are beautiful in his 
 sight. He watches them, but not with envy nor anger, nor 
 any other feeling that they would dislike to know; he simply 
 watches them. 
 
 (The love of woman, the love of babes, the love of lov- 
 ing. The snow falls thickly tonight; it will be deep by 
 morning.) 
 
 The last of the worshipers has passed from the light of 
 the church to the light of the street, and the sexton also has 
 left. 
 
 The man stops walking and sits down. There is no 
 place for him to sit but in the snow, and he sits in the snow. 
 
 97 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 He drops his face in his hands and tries to recall some 
 words his mother taught him, but it is cold, and he is very 
 hungry. 
 
 He sits there a long time and is very quiet. He cannot 
 think, but he can still move, and after several trials he kneels 
 down in the snow. He feels strong now, and speaks out loud, 
 with a firm voice. 
 
 I hear his words but I cannot write them. They are 
 the words of a curse, a curse against God, and I shudder. 
 
 God Himself may hear a prayer. 
 
 After this the man is very still. I cannot see that he 
 moves. 
 
 (Music and flowers, peace and strength, man's love and 
 God's love. In heaven dwell God and strength and light; 
 on earth man and weakness and darkness.) 
 
 THE TURNING OF THE LEAF. 
 
 The poet is saying to himself, "This is perfect." 
 
 He is seated on a log just at the edge of a forest that 
 slopes up the hill back of him. He is gazing over the fair 
 valley below. A faint wind, warm, and fragrant with the 
 smell of burning leaves, floats slowly past and brings mem- 
 ories of his early youth. 
 
 No man is near him, no sign of the imperfections of man 
 mars the affirmative and perfect joy of living that causes 
 him to involuntarily clasp his hands and murmur, "This is 
 perfect." 
 
 He is quite content; he feels no satiety, and no lack. 
 
 He is at peace with all the earth, and with the unknown 
 things beyond the earth. He thinks that not even the sum- 
 mons of the angel of death could mar the tranquility of his 
 feelings. Heaven? Heaven is not so very far away, surely, 
 just the turn of the next leaf of this vast and symmetrical 
 
 98 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 cosmos. Almost he feels that it has been turned, so happy, 
 so contented, is he. 
 
 While he has been thinking, with half-shut eyes, a woman 
 has come up from the valley. She stands some ways from 
 him, and looks at him. Suddenly he sees her, and starts at 
 once to his feet. 
 
 The wind has turned the leaf over. 
 
 THE MEASURE OF THE DRAUGHT OF LIFE. 
 
 In one of the strange visions I had while on that short 
 but marvelous journey among the many realms of space, I 
 saw, in one vast space separate and dreary, an Angel who 
 seemed very busy. I drew near him, and as I did so the tears 
 slowly gathered in my eyes, but why I could not say. I 
 paused in front of him and watched in silence as he kept 
 steadily at work. I wished to know what he was doing, but 
 did not care to speak lest my voice should break, so strongly 
 did he or his work affect me. 
 
 From a large mass of gray material on his right, and a 
 much smaller mass, of the most dazzling colors, on his left, 
 he was taking small portions and handing them, mixed, to 
 attendants, who at once flew towards a small planet far, far 
 off in the blue ether. 
 
 From time to time he seemed ready to sink beneath some 
 vast burden, but at such times a Voice was heard, a Voice 
 that made rne tremble and caused the Angel to shudder and 
 resume his work. 
 
 At last, very weary and very much troubled, I left him 
 and followed one of those Angels who were flying towards the 
 planet with the burdens of the dark and the light. Side by 
 side we flew, and soon I was able to speak, but at that instant 
 the Angel said to me, "I will tell you what you wish to ask. 
 The Angel you saw measuring is undergoing his punishment 
 
A FOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 for his life on that planet we are going to, a life spent in utter 
 selfishness. His punishment is to mete out the joyous and the 
 painful to the men of the earth, and, as you saw, the bitter 
 things of that life far outweigh the sweet things. Nay, ask 
 me not why the men of that earth must be so unhappy; there 
 is but One in all the universe who can answer you that. 
 
 "Frequently the most worthy of that people receive the 
 largest burdens of the gray, and but little of the beautiful. 
 Their days are passed in hope and misery mixed, and no man 
 can sit down with joy and know that he shall rise with 
 peace. When we carry to some mortal more of the beautiful 
 than the dark, we know that he may be the chiefest sinner 
 among them, and are sadder than when carrying burdens to 
 the pure and the meek. 
 
 "My own punishment, also, is this of continually being the 
 messenger of trouble and death always, and sometimes pleas- 
 ure, though there is a worse fate than mine: there are some 
 but these are very strong and very wicked who carry 
 the gift of life." 
 
 And as the Angel swept onward alone, I said to my tears 
 as they fell, "Life, and sorrow, and death: yea, fall fast, 
 O tears, fall fast, if ye would keep pace with the way of the 
 world." 
 
 IN THE NIGHT. 
 Buddhistic. 
 
 Richly carved is the bedstead, heavy and finely wrought 
 the hangings surrounding it, while the other things seem well 
 adapted to make any one happy who is so favored of the 
 gods as to be laid thereon. Yet this woman, who can be dimly 
 seen through the canopy, must be a strange creature. She is 
 asleep, and one should be at peace, we think, when asleep, 
 if at no other time. But see the muscles of her face, do 
 they not twitch with pain, or at least unrest? And does not 
 
 100 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 her entire body seem to slowly move from side to side on 
 that luxurious bed? Truly she is in pain, because now the 
 tears are coming, slowly forced out from under the eyelids. 
 Steadily they flow, at first dropping one by one from the 
 cheek, at last running down the cheek to the pure, white 
 neck. 
 
 Can she not weep enough in the daytime, without marring 
 the holy calm of the night? But hush! maybe it is never day- 
 time with her; there have been such, from the time when 
 God and Satan both said, "It is very good." 
 
 Silently, steadily, still they flow. But ah, relief is surely 
 near; an Angel has been sent on an errand of mercy, and 
 leans tenderly over the poor human. He will whisper to her 
 words of comfort and strength, words, I think, of mysterious 
 origin, since that wretched earth could never supply them, 
 probably they are from Heaven. 
 
 God have mercy, what a shriek that was! From her, 
 HER, did it come, that long horrible wail? May the great 
 Love surround her! Was she deaf, then, or did the Angel's 
 words but wring her heart the more? 
 
 The Angel has gone; perhaps he can be of service in 
 Heaven, since there is no place for him on earth. 
 
 Let us go. She could neither see the Angel, nor hear him, 
 and we cannot help her. She must sleep on as best she can, 
 alone, and blind, and deaf, cursed with the life of that planet. 
 
 Let us return to our own sphere, and be glad that what 
 those beings call joy and pain can never invade our Nirvana. 
 
 THE OUTCAST. 
 
 Poor, pitiable creature! In rags, with bowed head and 
 shame-faced walk, she stops me on the street and says, 
 "Come with me." 
 
 Passersby, for though it is nearly midnight the city is still 
 alive, eye us curiously and smile. I cannot yield to her 
 
 101 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 request, but I want to help her, to think of some plan by 
 which she can earn an honest living. Ignorant, doubtless, 
 and unskilled, what can she do? I look closely for signs of 
 potential power and beauty of soul, but she is far from her 
 childhood's grace, and her will has been weakened. I must 
 pass on. 
 
 As I move away, she stands still, and looks at me. Her 
 eyes do not blaze, she is not angry, but there is something 
 in them that detains me. 
 
 She is my sister, if I am a man, she is a child born in 
 His likeness, and can I leave her alone in her sin, ignorant 
 and blind? If I have wisdom and light will they remain if 
 unused? Am I better than she if I pass by on the other side? 
 I, born in purity and bred like a human being, have still 
 cursed God in the insanity of grief; I, strong, and having had 
 converse with God, have still known the time when daily for 
 years I heve prayed for death, and all but laid down the bur- 
 den of life. She, a woman, weak and alone, what know I of 
 her birth and life? Dare I condemn her? Am I God? 
 
 She lays a hand on my arm and whispers, "Help me: 
 I am starving." 
 
 I take her hand in mine and say, "My unknown sister, 
 come with me. My need would be as great as yours if I did 
 not help you. Come." 
 
 She looks doubtful at first, but finally gives me her arm 
 and walks by my side. 
 
 There is a woman I know who can give her bread, and 
 bread. To her we will go, and perhaps in the years to come 
 this poor animal will learn a human being's capacity for 
 communion with God, her Father and Mother. 
 
 LOST. 
 
 The room is darkened, and the hush of a Mighty Spirit, 
 the Spirit of the Future, envelopes the room, seeming to rise 
 from the silent form on the bed, the form of a woman. 
 
 102 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 In one corner and facing the bed sits a man, motionless, 
 save for a barely perceptible swaying movement of the body, 
 a man with dreamy eyes and a voluptuous chin. He seems in 
 thought, and stares with large, steady eyes at the Spirit of the 
 Future, which takes the shape, in his mind, of a black moon 
 floating in space. 
 
 The door opens, and some one, a man, enters. He enters 
 slowly, as though in doubt, but as he sees the man in the 
 chair looking steadily at Something and making no motion, 
 he advances rapidly and touches him on the shoulder. His act 
 does not seem to be noticed. 
 
 The guardian of the law waits and speaks one word; 
 he says, "Come." There is no reply, and again he touches 
 the man, placing himself, as he does so, between him and the 
 bed on which lies the form of the woman. The man in the 
 chair slowly looks up, and acts as if he had lost something. 
 He feels himself grasped roughly by the hand, and led toward 
 the door. At the door his hands are placed against each other, 
 in front of him, and bound together. He does not resist, he 
 does not speak; perhaps he does not think. He is led away. 
 
 And why is he led away? 
 
 Out of love for a woman two men met under the oaks 
 at the rising of the sun, and the door of the soul of one of 
 them had in a flash been opened, and the other had smiled for 
 joy. But his joy changed when he told the woman, for she 
 looked at him, and then fell to the ground. 
 
 Now they are together, and he is alone. 
 
 "IF YOU LOVE ME, LEAN HARD." 
 
 They two had been walking in a valley all the day, one 
 sometimes in front of the other, again side by side; they 
 had laughed much, and had paid little attention to the uses 
 of the various articles they noticed, but spoke of their great 
 
 103 
 
A FOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 variety and curious appearance. The path had been level, 
 winding in and out among fields and woods and along gently- 
 flowing streams, and their most serious occupation had been 
 twining strings of flowers to swing between them. When they 
 pulled too hard and broke the string they wept and tried to 
 blame each other, but they always made another string and 
 said, "This one will last longer." 
 
 As night closed in the path slowly wound upward among 
 the hills. The streams of water grew shallower, and the oaks, 
 with their lines of beauty, were exchanged for an occasional 
 stiff and thin-branching pine. The flowers also were not 
 so easily made into chains and soon they reluctantly cast 
 aside their last connecting flower-link, which they had held 
 till it almost dropped to pieces in their hands. 
 
 Rapidly the path ascended. Below, the valley could easily 
 be seen in all its wealth of woods and brooks and even 
 flowers, and it seemed at each step that the remembrance of 
 their first careless hours grew more sweet. Above, a cold, 
 tenebrous fog obscured all, and they alternately laughed and 
 shivered in the darkness. 
 
 They pressed onward. Indeed, they could not stop, 
 much less turn backward and live again in the sunny valley. 
 They drew near each other and the hand of each sought the 
 hand of the other. The path grew steeper, and very rough, 
 and very dangerous. Not so many words were spoken now, 
 for strength was much needed, but the words they spoke were 
 thoughtful and sincere. Each had to look well where he 
 stepped, but they would sometimes stumble and cry out in 
 pain, and the pain, once felt, stayed ever. 
 
 Then each grasped the other's hand closer and said, 
 "Will you not lean on me a little?" But although each said 
 it earnestly neither one would burden the other with his 
 thoughts, and for a time they endured silently. 
 
 When the moon came up they were almost sorry, for 
 although they could see each other more clearly the emicant 
 
 104 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 rays served mainly to reveal the pain they could but show in 
 their faces. At last, by degrees, they talked over their trials, 
 and as love saw that in dismissing sympathy from self and 
 trying to save the beloved sorrow, they lost sympathy and 
 gained but little, and because love will not be satisfied to bur- 
 den others yet share no burdens, each cried as with one 
 mind, "Lean more heavily on me." 
 
 And they were surprised to find that as each one shared 
 the other's troubles his own troubles grew less weighty. 
 As this dawned on them they tried to reason it out but could 
 not do so. When they fully realized this most wonderful 
 paradox of love, the cry of each came from the heart, "If 
 you love me, lean hard." 
 
 And then and not till then they regained all the beauty 
 of the happy valley-hours, with added sweetness and depth. 
 
 SERAPHAEL AND SERAPHITA. 
 
 Drawn together by the principle of mutual affinity, 
 Seraphael and Seraphita thought but of each other and with- 
 drew themselves from among the other angels in Heaven. 
 
 With greater lavishness than this world can conceive 
 had God endowed them with spiritual graces, and in silent 
 and perfect adoration each had acknowledged his debt and 
 his happiness until they met each other. Even then, by their 
 almost infinite strength and wisdom they had refrained from 
 all selfishness, and without consciousness of refraining, for 
 what would be, if measured by the measure bound in the 
 mind of man, thousands upon thousands of cycles, and for 
 many more cycles, innumerable cycles, they had fought 
 selfishness. 
 
 There came a time when they conquered the shadow of 
 evil which hung over them, and then rang intensely through 
 all Heaven's souls the reverberations of renewed love for the 
 great Source of Love. 
 
 105 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 At this time Seraphael and Seraphita might have been 
 relieved from all danger of again committing the same error, 
 but they did not choose to accept such freedom. They were 
 stronger now, they were wiser now, they were purer than they 
 had been. 
 
 But once more the self in each sought the other too 
 strongly, once more the joy they derived from each other 
 blinded them to the presence of the Supreme Source of 
 Joy. They forgot that the light they so adored in each other 
 was bestowed on them by the Essence of Light, when He 
 called them forth from the Infinite and gave them names, 
 and lo! they were! 
 
 Surrounded by the Light Himself, they were yet in 
 darkness unless near each other. 
 
 Then God spake. 
 
 When they heard His voice they were afraid. They 
 turned themselves to listen. 
 
 God spake, and they heard His words. 
 
 "Because you have forgotten God while in Heaven, you 
 shall struggle to remember Him while in a new place, strug- 
 gle endlessly, and well-nigh in vain. 
 
 "Because the Light of the Absolute was no light to you, 
 you shall seek the Light with many tears, troubled and 
 doubting, and never agreeing between yourselves as to what 
 is light and what is darkness. 
 
 "Because you refused the perfection I gave you, you shall 
 be tormented by the imperfections I now give you. 
 
 "For wrapped in swaddling-bands you shall be, the dark 
 bands of bodies of earth, narrow, and vile, and in every way 
 unfit. Through these you shall re-learn the laws of Heaven, 
 through these you shall procreate your kind, and the suffer- 
 ings borne by your children shall be borne again by you be- 
 fore you can regain Heaven. 
 
 "You have desired each other more than you have desired 
 me: take each other as fully as you can, and bless or curse 
 yourselves as you will. 
 
 106 
 
or THE 
 UNIVERS/T 
 
 A VOICE FROM T H E~l L E N C E 
 
 "Go! I create a sphere for you, the Earth. If you seek 
 me early, you shall find me. I will not leave you wholly, be- 
 cause I cannot be unjust, but if you seek me, seek me through 
 each other. Only thus, by unselfishness, shall your crime of 
 loving the part and not the Whole, be blotted out." 
 
 In this manner sinned the two Angels, Seraphael and 
 Seraphita, whom we call Adam and Eve. 
 
 THE DANCE. 
 
 The musician is playing on his violin, and all who are 
 within reach of the music are dancing. 
 
 Out of their extreme joy they stumble against the musi- 
 cian, and knock him down, and the music stops. While he 
 is regaining his feet they jeer at him, and some curse him for 
 his weakness. He does not reply. Again he plays and again 
 they dance. 
 
 He plays more ravishingly than before, because he is 
 wounded, and because he cannot help doing his best. 
 
 He does not dance himself, and when some one calls 
 attention to it they all demand of him the reason. He gives 
 them no reply, and they whisper among themselves. 
 
 Although his eyes are shut he knows that they and he are 
 drifting apart. But he holds his violin closer to him and plays 
 with a wondrously calm strength: the tears fall, it is true, 
 but only the strong can weep. 
 
 His tears are not wiped away: he is too busy, and the 
 others are dancing. 
 
 Suddenly, in the very height of a passionate outburst of 
 melody, such as makes even the dancers themselves almost 
 too happy to move, there falls silence. One of the dancers 
 shouts roughly to the musician, and, as a most excellent jest, 
 pinches the eyelids of the prostrate man and raises them. 
 Horror-stricken he turns to his fellows and tries to speak, 
 but no words issue from his lips. 
 
 107 
 
A FOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 The crowd gather around, and are silent. Some of them 
 are soon ashamed to be so quiet, and turn away to dance as 
 well as they can. The others, as with one consent, gently 
 raise the body and bear it to a quiet place. 
 
 They move slowly and reverently, because he is dead, 
 and they are for a few moments even a little less rough than 
 usual with one another. 
 
 Then they buy a stone, not a very costly one, but at least 
 of more value than aught owned by the musician before, and 
 they carve on it holy words, words of life, such as never 
 came to his ears while alive. 
 
 Then they sit down and weep, because they would dance 
 and there is no music. 
 
 THE HOUSE OF ANNIHILATION. 
 
 White shapes hover pityingly around this man and moan 
 with ruth for him. He lies face downward on a vermeil cloud 
 kindly stretched between him and the waters by the minister- 
 ing shapes, a cloud woven of peace and strength. 
 
 The black rays of light from above are let from descend- 
 ing on him, and the yawning, turgid whirlpool of death be- 
 neath, which cries horribly for him also is thwarted: angels 
 gather in their bosoms the rays and mantle him in a vacuum 
 against the cries. Yet maugre all their care the soul shivers 
 and shrinks. A vision, too large and too black for them to 
 relieve, a tangible vision within himself, is the cause. Alone 
 he thinks himself, but if he were if he were that vision 
 would draw around him with the irresistible sweep of death. 
 The vision affects the heavenly angels, though they do not 
 see it. They are fresh from God, but the seer is mortal. 
 
 It is a vision of life without love. 
 
 Motionless, the soul is swallowed up by the darkness 
 of life, enveloped, powerless, bound by a veil wrought on the 
 
 108 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 loom of outer blackness. No words destroy his sight of the 
 vision, no thoughts sail between him and that open grave: 
 silence speaks despair. 
 
 The angels grow weak from long vigils and call to God, 
 near eternity's term, for strength or wisdom. Their leader 
 listens, then breathes, "It is enough." He directs their flight 
 and they slowly bear the heavy burden of that soul to a house 
 builded by God between heaven and hell, a house founded on 
 love and composed of infinite mercy. They bear him thither 
 gently, and then sing duans of joy to God for having provided 
 the House of Annihilation. 
 
 THROUGH MEN. 
 
 A woman is in much pain of spirit. Affliction the hardest 
 has visited her, and her heart is cold and hard. She is too 
 indifferent to man to hate him, but against God her hate 
 revels in curses; He has laughed at her. He has tempted 
 her, He has robbed her of joy, even the joy of hope. 
 
 After a time she slowly and steadily takes a bottle in her 
 hand. Nothing in the Beyond can be worse, and her death 
 will be an excellent revenge, an excellent joke, against Him 
 who wants her to live. 
 
 A man who does not know her does not even know her 
 name, but who saw her face yesterday, is praying for her. 
 His sympathy is so deep it reaches the fountain of tears 
 and they fall not to the ground but into my brother's 
 hand, my angel-brother, who changes them by our Heavenly 
 alchemy into thoughts of wisdom and love and peace, in which 
 form the angel carries them to the woman. She listens, and is 
 recalled. She puts down the bottle, and with a great sob 
 falls to her knees. 
 
 This is no place for me or any other angel; I withdraw. 
 The work God gave me to do has been done and done by a 
 human in a better way. 
 
 109 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 THE PASSING OF A MAN'S SOUL. 
 
 A man sat by a darkened window, intent on his work, 
 which must be done or the body would perish. 
 
 "Father," came a child's voice from an inner room, 
 "father will you not take me out to see the procession now?" 
 
 The man, who sat by the window but never looked out, 
 kept his eyes down on his work and replied, "Time enough, 
 child, time enough." 
 
 Outside, moment after moment and hour after hour the 
 eternal procession of glorious but idle angels sped on. The 
 man could not see them. He heard a confused murmur of 
 voices, and felt irritated at them and at his work, but did not 
 feel the need of an interpreter. 
 
 "Father," came the delicate voice again, "father, it is 
 very dark here, and I hear voices calling me, calling me; will 
 you not open the door? " 
 
 "Time enough, child, time enough," and the man's work 
 went on. 
 
 There was silence for a long time. After a while a 
 faint sigh was heard. The man bent his head to listen and 
 opened his lips to say, "Time enough, child," but this time 
 no words came to his ears. He went on with his work. 
 
 He thought he was relieved, (his work went steadily on,) 
 and after awhile forgot that he had ever heard a sound from 
 the inner room. 
 
 The eternal procession of glorious but idle angels sped 
 on and in Heaven the watchers whispered one to another, 
 "It was but six months old, when it should have been nine; 
 will it live?" 
 
 110 
 
A FOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 THE UNBUILT TEMPLE. 
 
 An angel appears to a young man in his sleep: 
 
 "If thou treadest watchfully the path of thy life, young 
 man, in the days to come it shall be thy privilege to build a 
 mighty temple, and this temple shall be called great and 
 wonderful by all thy fellows, so exceeding mighty shall it be. 
 See thou value rightly the great things and the small things 
 of earth, and build thy temple so grandly that even thine 
 enemies shall have to say, 'He is great!'" 
 
 The angel vanishes and the man awakes and muses. 
 
 "This thing is from above! I will dwell carefully upon it, 
 and read well the words of the wise one. Let me be very 
 strong and very patient. Shall I, born to do some great deed 
 or utter some divine law, presume to run the risk of missing 
 my duty because occupied with trifles? I will not waste 
 myself on trifles and dissipate my strength before this great 
 thing faces me, but I will sit down and wait for it, and when 
 it comes it shall find me fully prepared. This is surely the 
 wisest way, to be always ready for the performance of my 
 great duty." 
 
 The years pass slowly, and the young man sits and 
 watches very keenly for a sign. But the years pass and the 
 sign comes not. The years pass and bring the hour of 
 death, when the angel appears again. 
 
 "Accursed art thou, in that thou hast not performed that 
 wonderful deed I foretold thee it should be thy privilege to 
 do." 
 
 With sorrow and with anger the old man raises his 
 head. 
 
 "Is it my sin that I could not do what was not to be 
 done? I watched and waited and prayed, and crushed life's 
 pleasures, and sat very still, but there was no great deed for 
 me to do, no wise word for me to speak. Is it my sin?" 
 
 Ill 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 The face of the angel grows dark, and his voice becomes 
 like unto the undertone of the sea. 
 
 "Yea, it is thy sin. 
 
 "The great deed thou didst miss would have been made 
 up of the little things that thou didst choose to pass by. 
 
 "What more shall I say? 
 
 "Thou hast sinned, yea, thou hast sinned, because thou 
 didst not see the greatness of trifles, nor remember that 
 what thou didst call 'little things' might be built by thee into 
 a noble temple." 
 
 The old man bows his head and is silent, because the 
 years come and the years pass and not for small things nor 
 for great things may the years turn backward. 
 
 THE WORSHIPERS. 
 
 Now it came to pass in the still night watches, when my 
 body was asleep, that my soul dreamed a dream. 
 
 And in my dream I heard a voice say, "Unstop his ears 
 that he may hear." 
 
 And I became aware of the presence of an Angel, and he 
 touched mine ears, saying, "When thou hearest a sound, a 
 great sound, as of many mighty waters rushing headlong, 
 listen and fear nothing." 
 
 Then verily did burst on my hearing a mighty noise, a 
 most discordant frush, and I stretched out my hand to the 
 Angel, who said, "Fear not! Now tell me what thou hearest." 
 
 After pondering a long time I turned me to the Angel and 
 said, "This discordant sound is that of many and diverse peti- 
 tions, of which some are directed to the Eternal but more 
 to the Spirit of Evil. I further perceive that well nigh each 
 and every voice thinks its own tone the right and the only right 
 tone, and some few voices there be which desire all the others 
 destroyed. Yet I hear faintly a few that are as pure and 
 
 112 
 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 
 
 sweet as the voices of the morning stars when they sing 
 together." 
 
 And the Angel said, "These are all the voices of the 
 religions, the sects, the churches, and the individual hearts, 
 upon your planet. They are many in number. They are 
 wondrously many in number. Yet, the understanding of your 
 little heart is darkened : none of these petitions are directed to 
 the Spirit of Evil, though only God and we know the heart 
 of man, and the love of only God is great enough to forgive 
 your many strange desires. Those few and sweet voices 
 ah! those few sweet voices redeem redeem the world!" 
 
 As I listened again to the strange murmur I wept, and 
 cried saying, "Would that these voices were as one!" 
 
 And the Angel answered and said, "They will be when 
 in that state you call 'Heaven.' " 
 
 Then did my soul face eagerly the face of the Angel and 
 say to him, "They will verily attain Heaven, then all these 
 many jangling voices?" 
 
 Bending on me a wondering look he answered, "They 
 will. All who strive for Right and Light shall be happy. 
 Worship they not all as truly and deeply as they know? 
 Strive they not all to love to be unselfish, though some 
 half-heartedly? From the north and the south, from the 
 east and the west shall they be gathered, and there shall 
 carilloux harmonies ascend to the Eternal, as from one sweet 
 and glorified tongue." 
 
 And as I listened again I sighed and said, "God is very 
 patient." 
 
 "God is very patient. He is Love, and His ways are past 
 finding out," murmured the Angel. 
 
 Again he touched mine ears saying, "Have you learned? 
 Go, return to earth, and live in the spirit of Love. Love, and 
 judge not. Love, and be very charitable, for you yourself 
 jar on Heaven's peace." 
 
 And I awoke, and beheld the impartial sun. 
 
 113 
 
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