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uenceAlice Coventry

AND

Other Metrical Romances

BY

LINCOLN HULLEYLIBRARY OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIAWMlice Coventry

AND

Other Metrical Romances

 

BY

LINCOLN HULLEYCOPYRIGHTED
1925
BY

LINCOLN. HULLEY

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DELAND, FLA

 

PRESS OF THE
E. O. PAINTER PRINTING CO

DELAND FLAInscribed to my wife,

Eloise Mayham HulleyPOETIC PRODUCTIONS

BY

LINCOLN: AULLET

Lullabies and Slumber Songs
Annie-Laurie: Love-Lyrics
Hiram Abiff, the Builder
Sonnets on the Immortal! Bards

‘air Women

Shakespere’s Dream of
Moonlight Nights at Palm beach

King David: Israel’s Lyric Bard

Christina, or Christian Van Dusen’s Law-Suit
Chivalry in Dixie: Metrical Romances

Mike Murphy’s Dream

Campus Memories

Alice Coventry and Other Metrical Romances
he Eloise Chimes

Chapel Ly rics of Faith, Hope and Love
College Lyrics ot Idealism

Fables and Myths from the Sibyl’s Book

The Jubilate of Rabbi Ben Adam

Christian Hymns

The Children’s Hour and other Poems

St. Michael and the Dragon: An Epic of the War
Savonarola’s Visions of Judgment

A Confessional for Broken Lives

Vesper Songs of Joy, Trust and Praise

Brave Idylls of the Gallant South

Dwellers Beyond the Styx, or Tragedies of Love

Dixie Sketches in Chalk and Charcoal

Ghiberti’s Doors to Paradise and other Art Poems

A Maker of DreamsALICE COVENTRY

AND

OTHER METRICAL ROMANCES

CONTENTS
Alice Coventry, Preceptress
or

A Descendant of the Mayflower Pilgrims

2. William J. Delaney Pioneer
or

he Glory of the Commonplace

Lost in the Woods of Maine
or

he Mystery Man at Angler’s Inna

> SaiALICE COVENTRY, Preceptress

OR

  
  

A DESCENDANT of the MAYFLOWER PILGrims

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\mong the noble women who endured
The rigors of the Mayflower’s stormy voyage
Was Mary Allerton, a little girl,
She was the first of all to set her foot
On Plymouth Rock. She also was the last
Survivor of the famous pilgrim band.
Her playmate on the ship, much better known,
Was fair Priscilla Mullins, in due time
The bride of young John Alden. Both were fair,
Beloved by all, and fated soon to lose,
On landing, both their parents. <A later ship,
The Fortune, had on board, next year, a man
Named Thomas Cushman, who was wed in time
To Mary Allerton. Priscilla was
The bosom friend of Mary from the first,
Their deprivations, sorrows, sufferings, mixed
With deep religious hungers, binding them
Together in the common bonds of love.

Before arriving, winter had set in.
And e’er they landed, months were spent on ship.
The Indian was fearful, and might swoop
At any minute on them. Overhead
There was no shelter but the firmament.
What food they started with was gone, except

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A meagre mouthful; even that was spoiled.
The strongest only lived to tell the tale
Beyond that first hard winter. When the count
Was taken in the spring, half had succumbed.

   
  
 
 
 
 
   
   
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
   

The second winter saw the group increase,

Additions being made by new recruits.

They had a stockade built, some huts of logs

Erected for their homes, a clearing made

For planting, and with superhuman faith,

It seemed, looked forward with their hearts all “stayed

On God.”’ A sterner task in all the world

Was never given to the sons of men

To do. But it was done, as Englishmen

Have always met and mastered adverse things.
Imagination cannot grasp the facts

Connected with the struggles those two girls

Were called upon to bear amid the gloom

Of barren wastes, incessant toils, extremes

Of cold, disease, discomfort, famine, fear,

That harried them from childhood to old age.

Such life put 1ron in their blood; it gave

Them courage, self-control, the will to win,

And, tempered as it was with holy views,

It lifted them to such religious heights

30th girls were more than conquerors in the end.

The bitter lot their parents chose was theirs

As well. They grew into the self-same faith.
What was it kept them all through these hard trials ?

In England they had heard the voice of God.

It sounded in their ears with awful force,

Resistance was not possible. The call

Was urgent, and they left to Him the rest.

The martyr spirit that has fed the flames

Through centuries was kindled in their souls.

They counted it all joy that they were called

  

8To suffer so for Christ, and held the peace
Of conscience a sure proof of God’s accord.
That was the secret of their power too.

Above the claims of church or state they put
A Holy Bible and the inner light.
The edict to ‘conform or go”’ had left
No choice. They had to go. The King’s decree,
His book of common prayer were of the pit.
They were the people of a holy book.
And when they rose to go, they took away
In that great time of exile freedom’s prize
Of independent churches, schools and press.
These lonely souls through many weary months
Had time to ponder on the rights of man,
Without restraint or interference. Hence
On sterile soil, amid the winter’s blast,
Was born a world for men, not defunct kings.
While standing on the hill among their dead,
And looking eastward on the sea to watch
That little ship start on the homeward voyage,
Nought but the love of God and noble faith
Could gird their wills to carry on till death,
On Sundays they assembled at the church
By drum beats calling them to pray. With guns,
Prepared for Indian foes, they sought the door
Of Captain Standish, marching three abreast,
Who led them up the hill to worship God.
In such a school were Mary Allerton
And sweet Priscilla Mullens taught. A stern
Regard for duty, quiet dignity,
And brave performance of the daily task,
Conceived in liberty and Christian faith,
Became their portion from the very first.
They passed the lessons on three hundred years,
Ingrained in them and in their children too.

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Succeeding generations felt the warmth
Of milder sentiments steal through the frost

And chill of many winters, but the old

Defiance of dull sloth, and solemn grip

On truth and righteousness could never yield,

And show today beneath the outer dress

Of circumstance and happier sunnier days.

Just seven generations down the line
From Mary Allerton was born a son
Named William Cushman. In the same degree
From Alden and Priscilla there was born
A daughter who was christened Mary Moss,
These two were wed, and when their daughter came
They called her Mary Allerton. Again,

To Alden and Priscilla, through a line

Collateral to that of Mary Moss,

The one through which the poet Bryant came,
And Longfellow beloved and honored much,
Another child was born, a girl, whose name

Was Alice Coventry. These two young maids
Were just alike in many thing's, in age,
Appearance, size, and tastes, and crowning all,
Their birthdays happened early in July.

As Mayflower cousins they had many ties

That bound them to each other. They were proud
Of all those noble ancestors, but held

Their heads no higher than the girls with whom
They daily mingled in their work and play.

The father of sweet Alice was at church
When she was born. His duty was to preach
To dying men, and should the judgment day
Dawn suddenly, it well behooved the man
Of God to be found faithful at his post.

His unrelenting nature would not yield
In matters of religion. God was just,

10xacting in his claims and kind decrees.
And sharper than a razor’s edge that blade
With which he cut deep into human hearts
That erred from truth or strayed from duty’s ways.
Intolerant of shams and vain pretense,
He fed all hypocrites to scorching flames
Of hell. He knew no compromise with sin,
Or evil practices. Since God is good
He cannot look on vice with kindly eye.
Were heresy suspected in his flock,
No will was half so strong to run it down.
His calling and election were so sure,
Ife had no doubt he knew Jehovah’s mind.
Some thought him narrow. His defense was this,
He was as broad as Moses and St. Paul.
His family life was ordered by the law,
But not unmixed with love. As in the past,
The presence of the women on the ship,
Still later their acceptance of the tests
To which the hardships of the pilgrims’ lot
Subjected them, made mute appeal to men
To do their utmost for them, even now
The family life and home were central props
Supporting all they deemed desirable.

The mother too was equal as his wife,
A woman of unselfish heart, who gripped
Her circle with a loyalty and love
Surpassing all belief. She was the kind
Who bear their burdens without murmuring.
Her gentle ways had tamed the savage strain
John Calvin’s doctrine put into her man.
Her quiet word would often stop his growl
And bend him to her will. So, out of sight,
However loud the lion roared, a wand
Of magic was in readiness to wave

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Above his head, and with the waving bring
A peaceful calm. But tamers know their brutes,
And, when the lions, spurred by anger, flame,
Keep out of sight till milder moods prevail,
Just as the sentinels kept watch at night,
When Plymouth colony began, so now
The master and the mistress both were keen
To frighten off sin’s Indians in disguise.

Their daughter Alice had a happy time
All through her girlhood days. The atmosphere
About the stern old home was not so strange
In towns where many others were the same.
It was expected of her she should walk
Exactly in the ways her elders had.
Her garments were the simple costumes worn
By women of sobriety and taste,
Who clothed themselves more in the quiet mind
Than costly raiment sponsored by the crowd.
Apparelled in celestial modesty,
The maidens blest with Puritan abodes,
Were like the dainty lily buds that bloom
In earthly gardens of delight. In this,
Fair Alice, like her cousin Mary, proved
Herself above the average. She showed
\ reverence for the stock whose worthy blood
Flowed in her veins from sturdy ancestors.
Down in the roots of consciousness we hold
The strivings, fears, and hopes of ages past.
The same pulse-beats that urged our fathers on
We feel within ourselves. The noble souls
That braved the wintry storms on land and sea,
So long ago, lived on again in these
Two lovely girls, in Mary Allerton
And Alice Coventry. The same sweet faith,
The same strong love of truth and right, the same

12Devotion to ideals of the vood,
And just as much determination, backed
By force of will, to do their duty as
Unto their Master’s will, ruled in them both,
And set them off distinctive in their groups.
The girls grew up together. Their two homes
Were not four squares apart, nor many miles
‘rom Boston. They attended one of those
fine grammar schools for which New Kngland’s fame
ls spoken in their neighbor states. The course
Pursued by both was just the same, their books
And teachers, classes, all alike. 7 hey thus
Prepared for college, and together went
To spend four years as room-mates in the halls
Of Wellesley, where Alice Freeman taught.
At Harvard, in their day, the splendid men
They knew at home matriculated. This
stablished for them both a circle, made
Of choice young gentlemen, who looked ahead
To fine careers and fortunes in due time.
Their characters were hammered daily now
On solid anvils, in the college drills.
Asceticism had no place with them,
But into all the college mirth and fun
They plunged with ardor good to see. No grim
Austerities of life had foot or room
In any plan or movement in their world.
Their great grandmother once had archly said
LO shy [ohn Alden, proxy for his chief,
“Why don’t you speak for self, John?” Humor rose,
And bubbled in their hearts, and on their lips,
But chastened by a serious view of life.
It must be said, unlike the age-long view
Tradition gives one of the sombre hue
Life had for all New Eneland, these two drank

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A brimming cup of joy, but kept the faith.

They ran not recklessly across the paths

Of moral rectitude their fathers trod,

they like a thousand butterflies,
by racing flames of youth.

   
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 

Nor were
Whose wings are singed
They held to all the noble virtues bred
In homes where true religion keeps the hearth.

A college function at commencement time
Had drawn a host of cultured gentlemen
And college students to the Wellesley Hulls.
Among the Harvard juniors at the time
1 Edward Mansfield, who hobnobbed

Was one name¢
“Flint.”

With those who ruled the “gold coast’ long in
He was a prince in manners, rank, and name,
Who held all hearts in fee. His scholarship,
Unlike the mass of those who roomed in “Rint, ?
Commanded high respect, and he was clean.

His home was in the Back Bay district, where

The marks of wealth and culture were the best.
The dark brown stone, of which his house was built,
Was set off by rare cornices. Plate glass,
Mahogany doors, with bronze and carved reliefs,
Revealed a wealth that could indulge the tastes

Of those who dwelt within. The glittering shops,
Where home adornments may be found, had been
Ransacked to add rare luxuries of art.

The famous Haviland China, Dutch and French
Designs in plate, old English portraitures

In oil, and marble brought from Rome, a lot

Of ancient porcelains, kermanshe rugs,

Some figures done in bronze, great tapestries,
With figured mediaeval scenes inwrought,

Huge Chinese vases of a costly sort.

The great reception room was in the style

Of Louis the Fifteenth of France. Beyond,

14A drawing room took on the finished form
The great Napoleon had decreed for his.
His parents had indulged themselves in all
That leisure, travel, education bring

To men of wealth, who have discerning souls.
They wintered on the Riviera once,

And had a summer home on Buzzard’s Bay.

In heavy cases round the handsome room

He called the library there were etchings, brought
From Europe, unique prints and photographs,

A choice collection of expensive books,

And round the walls a gallery of art,

Including Titians, Rembrandts, Murillos,
Originals and copies, with rich frames

Enclosing them, the whole in perfect taste.

Such was the home young Mansfield revelled in,

Indulged in all his whims, caprices, aims
And yet through all he had preserved a head
As level as a sage. One thing alone

Was deemed adverse! A sort of worldly air
Pervaded all the people in the house.

His father was successful in his line,

A banker in his early days, and now

A king of high finance. He knew the game
From start to finish in its varied forms.

The trade winds blowing round the busy world

>

Swept through his banking rooms. The market place

In every city heard from him the law.

His wife had views of life to match his own,
And everywhere she went, she felt the warmth
Bestowed by peoples’ hearty words and smiles.
Their heads had not been turned, but such a blaze
Of admiration warmed them to the world,

And soon they lost their old time views of God.

Prosperity enabled them to give

15

 

 

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A constant stream of princely gifts to schools,
To charities, and worthy civic ends,

But slowly drifting from their moorings, fast,

At length, they found themselves hurled by the tide
Of atheism toward the rushing falls,

Where thousands had made shipwreck of their faith.
Already they had left the mother church,

A Congregational establishment,

And joined, to be respectable, a branch

Composed of people like themselves, attached

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 

To Unitarian principles and aims,

Young Mansfield shared his parents’ views. Their

lives,

Exemplary in all the virtues, made
Him feel their noble quality. His choice
From early years had been to make a name
In banking circles for himself. Careers
Like that his father had pursued were rich
In promise of a large return in wealth
And usefulness. When graduation came
He meant to settle down, and learn the game
As humbly as his father started in.
Indeed he was the envy of his friends,
Who knew the opportunity that knocked
So loudly at his door. And as he shared
His father’s aims in business, so too
He held the same religious views. A life
That trued itself with ethics on a plane
So high that bankers took the spoken word
Of David Mansfield as they would a bond
Appealed to Edward as a thing worth while.
And so his soul rang true to high ideals.
With energy he sought the good, the true,
But grounded his convictions not in God.

The noble woman starring in the role

  

16Of President of Wellesley gave her all

To make the most of character in each

Young student taken to her heart. Not one

Escaped the moulding touch of fingers grown

So deft she ran the grooves of deathless hope

And laughing loves upon their plastic souls,

Receptive and responsive to her will,

So beautiful she was in inward grace,

That when she gave herself to those she taught,

They caught the charm themselves, and strove to match

Her virtues with their own. Fair Alice vied

With Mary Allerton to climb the heights,

Whereon they saw the glorified ideal

Of perfect womanhood. Their lovely homes

Had paved the way for teaching of the kind

Their college gave. Their habits told for much

In choosing their companions. [Every course,

Before they came, had been considered well.

With earnest souls, and eyes made clear by truth,

Imbued in them around the altar’s fires,

Whereon their parents sacrificed to God,

They lifted up clean hands and guileless hearts,

In all the happy years of colleve life.

Then came the time to leave and each fared forth.
The day young Edward Mansfield joined the lark

That took his friends to visit Wellesley Hills

He lost his heart to Alice. She was fair

Beyond his power of speech to tell. Huis mind

Could not let go the vision he had caught.

It haunted him by day and night. It filled

His day-dreams. Everywhere he turned he saw

The beautiful lithe figure of a maid,

As fair as any dainty damosel

Rosetti ever drew. He dared to write,

And wondered if the angel of his dreams

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Would condescend to answer him. She did,
And then he walked on air. The college course
Was ending, and he meant to hit a pace
In business, as early as he could,
To make it possible to win the prize
That dangled as he thought before his eyes.
He did not dare to speak his inmost heart,
But as the next three years sped by the note
Grew ever bolder, and more intimate, in tone.
Besides he called to see her at her home.

While this was going on fair Alice thrilled
With all the wild excitement of a chase.
To have a lover, real and not in books,
Was not to be so much as dreamed of yet.
Still why not? She had asked herself. How old
Should girls be anyhow before they pledge
Their troth? And when he gently touched her hand
She trembled so from head to foot she lost
Her power of speech, and knew not aught to say.
On every point of honor he was true,
And, while she read his heart, he did not choose,
At this time, to disclose his full intent.
It was a happy friendship, and unless
Some perverse fate should overtake the two,
Would culminate in marriage vows and bonds.
Leave that to time. Although the days went by
On leaden wings their spirits did not lag.

The two girls were in all each other's schemes
And confidence. So Alice bared her soul
To Mary. Here she struck a chord of love
And sympathy. For Mary too was wooed
By one in every way her like, when things
Are estimated at their proper worth.
In joyful spirits both divulged the plans
They dreamed of future happiness. The world

18Was all before them, and their sky so blue

[nchantments of a summer time, in some

Great fairy land, were holding them in thrall.
The Christmas tide with all its hoy

And Edward Mansfield planned a merry call

At Alice Coventry’s. The drawing room,

A centre for all family gatherings,

Was full of warmth and cheer. A Christmas tree,

Hung full of pretty things, such as their taste,

Refinement, purse, and wish dictated. stood

At one end of the hall. A blazing hearth

Of yule logs sent its clow around the room,

And bathed them all in hallowed light. Such scenes

All over dear New England hold the hearts

Of thousands to sweet memories of home,

And keep alive the sacred truths embalmed

In that blest holiday. All through that day

Had Mary Allerton and Alice played

Together. By a custom old they spent

That evening at home. It was a rule

In both their houses that the great event.

The incarnation of the Christ, should be

Kemembered in a solemn serious way,

And not alone by gewgaws on a tree.

To this bright circle round the feet of Christ

Young Edward Mansfield came to pay his call,
The greeting Mrs. Coventry bestowed

On Mansfield was so cordial and so warm,

He knew he had a pleader on his side.

The father too was kind, though in the main

Quite formal. But from Alice went a thrill

That almost made his heart stop dead with joy.

Exchanges of good greetings went the rounds.

A volley of quick questions as to friends

Passed back and forth. The bits of gossip told

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At church or in the bank were shared. ‘The tree
On which the family presents hung was scanned
With words of admiration, and by then
The father interposed to say the day
That once was full of holy thought was now
Degenerating into pagan rites.
To him it seemed that Christ should be revived,
And made to live again, as once of old,
When in the manger of the cattle shed,
At Bethlehem, God took the form of man,
And in the flesh grew up from infancy
Through all the stages of our earthly life.

With courtesy and ease, and yet with all
The vast assurance of a college man
But lately come from school, young Mansfield asked,
“Now truly, Doctor Coventry, must men
Believe in God at all, or, if they do,
Must they believe He came in human form,
Accepting all the limits first imposed
By God himself on man, and then, bereft
Of attributes that made him God, expect
To don again those attributes at will?
The thing that puzzles me is this: How may
We know there is a God? To plead a book
We call the Bible says there is but begs
The question. It assumes the very thing
You start to prove. To reason so, you go
In circles round and round. It gets nowhere.
To say the argument drawn from design
Proves anything is idle, for 1f that
Is used to prove a God, it proves as well
A devil. If the clear adjustments shown
Of eyes to light, and ears to sound, and all
The many thousand others, prove a God,
Why stop with these? Why not go on? The sin

20[n man, the hurricanes, the famines, zones
Of heat and cold, of barren deserts. wastes,
Destructive storms, and noxious plants, and wild
ferocious beasts, the fact that nature kills

By pestilence, and spreads disease in man,

That nature's work, defective through and through,
Puts blind spots in the eye, and in the brain,
Would prove a devil, not a God that’s good.

lt is a travesty on human sense

To think of God at all, or, when we do.

To think of Him in terms the Bible does.

He is portrayed with eyes, and hands, and feet,
With power to love and hate, to know and think.
As having all the body, powers, and wants

We humans have, in infinite degree.

Man makes his God in his own image quite,

The part creating what man calls the whole.

To me it all seems foolish. Why not hold

That force or law, impersonal and blind,

ls actively at work to bring to pass,

By certain strong necessities within

Itself, the ordered world of nature? Then

We do not stultify intelligence.”

His words fell like a bomb. He did not know
How deeply he had wounded those who heard,
Good-byes were said, and Alice pressed his hand.
The father sat as in a daze. He could
Not find expression for his thoughts at first.

The milk of kindness in him turned to curds.

Had then the centuries of Christian thought

Been brought to this? Were creeds to be piled up,
And burnt as Paul had burnt the sorcerer’s books?
Had Christ then died in vain? And was the God
He had been preaching all his life a myth?

The Christmas festival, was it a hoax,

2]A thing designed to tickle children with,

A fairy imposition of a sort?

What should he think the Bible was, for which

He gave his youth? Was it a tissue full

Of lies to scare men into being good?

Had wealth gone into churches, on a scale

That beggared calculation, to deceive

A world undone, and weary, wanting help?

Almost distracted by the painful shock,

He dropped upon his knees, and audibly

Poured out his soul to God, the self-same God

His fathers loved and worshipped, now reviled.
On rising from his knees he firmly said:

“My Alice, I shall never give consent

For you to marry any man who speaks

Such blasphemy as we have heard tonight.

Our father’s God was good enough for them,

And led them through the perils of the deep.

He gave us home, and liberty, and law

In this dear land, and we are ingrates base,

[f we forget Him now. I here forbid

This man the privilege of calling here.

You know your duty as a daughter reared

To give obedience in the things of right.”
Retiring to their rooms, with heavy hearts,

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 

A sleepless night ensued to all. A blow

More crushing could not be conceived for one

Like Alice entering through the gates of joy

To that sweet paradise all lovers know.

She wept the whole night through. What bitter cup
Was this she had to drink! Her heart belonged
To Edward Mansfield. Now with all her soul

She knew she loved him. But her father’s will

Had always been the polestar of her life.

And in her heart she felt, as he, the sting

99Contained in the attack on Christian faith.
Her lover was a noble gentleman.
In spite of all he said, she knew his creed
Had not destroyed the bases of his life,
Nor marred the visions of his ardent youth
To serve humanity in all its needs.
The students who had closely known him praised
His honor, principles, integrity,
Fine manners, social grace, magnetic charm,
And personality beyond all speech.
lf he were mired in some foul slough of doubt,
Could not her own sure faith so anchor his
That he should never slip his moorings, but
Abide, as she, within her father’s love?
The fountains of the mighty deeps within
Her soul were broken up, and bitter tears
In agony she shed. She called to mind
The tender words of love he spoke to her,
[In whispers, at the door on passing out.
On New Year's day he meant to pledge her troth,
And give his own to her. Some ghostly imp
Of darkness from the pit had intervened
To blast their peace and love. The night dragged on,
And with the dawn of day her spirit writhed
In agony to such extent they called
The doctor in. Sweet Mary came in haste,
But holding back the joy that nearly burst
Her heart with happiness, betrothal’s gift,
She smoothed the aching head and weary heart
Of Alice with a loyal tenderness.
Three days passed by, a package came by post
Addressed to Alice, inside, Edward’s card,
And such a sparkling diamond the girls
Exclaimed they never saw its like. Besides
A letter came in which the sender said,

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With protestations of his love, that he
Would come on New Year’s day to put it on.
Again the agony began. What should

She do? Her soul was torn with grief and love.
Her heart belonged to Edward. All her dreams
Of future blessedness were joined to him.

The birth of love in her had brought such joy,
With mingled pain, as, trembling like a leat,

She felt the new emotions sweep her soul,

That she had walked on air, and far above

The clouds had built her castles in the moon,

3ut there her father stood. She owed him all
The reverence a noble man deserved.

Through years of self denial, sacrifice,

And care he brooded over her young life,
Imparting all the gifts love’s thoughtfulness
Could purchase or devise. His words were strong,
“TI cannot give consent.” He was the priest

Of God, beside, who interposed his word

To safeguard that dear Christ she had been taught
To love from infancy. Her Puritan

Inheritance of generations past

Had schooled her to obedience to the laws

Of church and home. The stern, rock-ribbed beliefs,
So often thundered from the pulpit desk,

Had held her ancestors with vise-like grip,

And now a sense of duty seized her mind

That drove her like a martyr to the stake.

She sent the diamond back, wrote out the word
Her father spoke, and said she must obey.

That New Year’s day her spirit died, and she
Took up the burdens of a shattered life.

That New Year’s day sweet Mary gave her heart
To Philip Thayer, and the chimes began

That filled her soul with music till the day,

24In June, they pealed the wedding march that led

Through worlds of wonderful experience.
Eight years elapsed. When Christmas came around.

Fair Alice joined sweet Mary for the day.

The home abounded with the cheer of those

Who keep the old traditions full of life.

Three happy children, at the tree, appealed

To all with such outbursts of joy the thing

Beéame infectious, and the mirth grew gay,

The older ones becoming, as of yore,

 

But little children with their toys and games.
The husband, Philip, was a man of parts,

A devotee of mathematics, where

He shone with lustre that amazed the world.

 

Supreme within his field he treasured more
His lovely Mary Allerton. The three
Dear children of their love had knit their hearts
Inseparably as one. And both esteemed
Aunt Alice as the nearest to their throne.
She had become a teacher, and her skill
Had led her to the headship of a school.
“Miss Alice Coventry, Preceptress,’’ ran
The wording in the catalog. Blake Hall
Was one of that select and solid kind
Of private grammar schools New England grew
That stood for excellence. Among her girls
She was adored. They looked on her with awe.
Her study was a sacred room to all,
And when they sought the presence-chamber, where,
In grace and dignity, Miss Coventry
Performed her duties as the head, they had
The feeling thousands had before the mount
As Moses came to them, when he had left
The presence of Almighty God. They knew
A woman of rare power was here, who trod

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The paths of sacrifice that lead to Him,
And felt a benediction when they sat
Before her and received her faithful words.
It was her rule to have the girls all sit
Together at the church. Among them there
She was serene, benign, and beautiful.
One New Year’s day, with those who went not home.
She heard a sermon full of faith and hope,
That pointed all another year along
The upward way. A heavy sorrow plunged
Her soul in bitterness and gloom that day.
The service ended. As they rose to go,
She turned, and faced young Edward Mansfield, come
To tell her of the change time wrought in him.
The shock of seeing him unnerved her so,
A deathly pallor showed upon her face.
She swooned, and fell, and falling, struck her head,
Nor did she even regain consciousness,
The utmost skill physicians knew proved vain
And while her Edward Mansfield knelt and prayed
Beside her couch, her spirit passed on through
The gates of death. She had gone home to God.WILLIAM J. DELANEY, Pioneer

OR

THE GLORY OF THE COMMON-PLACE

*@-0->-0-0-

Below the town of Stamford, near Grand Gorge,
In New York State, there lived a man who bore

A likeness to the Christ. He was unique

In gentleness, simplicity, and truth;

The world would say for faith and works that mark
A Christian man his equal was not found.
He did not join the church, because in youth
His time was spent far from his fellowman.
Humility was native to his soul.

No affectation, or pretense, or show

Had access to his mind, but like the Christ
He went about and healed the souls of men,
Not as a business, but in daily touch

With neighbors, friends, wherever he might be.
As men have looked on Anton Lang and seen
A painter's portrait of a gentle man

Who walked the shore of Galilee, and taught
Us how to pray to God the Father, so

Did William J. Delaney, not in looks,

But in the paths of duty, show the Christ.
Jelow him in a little town was born

A financier who rocked the banker’s world;
And in the same small town another man
Was born who loved the birds, and all the dear,

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Wild creatures of the happy fields and woods.
Their greatness may not be compared with his,
For he had power to incarnate the truths
That make for moral values among men.
| met him first in eighteen ninety-three,
At that time sixty-eight or nine years old.
His youngest grandchild, scarcely four, and named
For him, had toddled with him to the mills,
Where saws were ripping mountain pines apart,
And drivers, sledging others from the woods,
Were stacking them in piles. ‘Do not go near
Those logs, my boy, the top ones may roll down;
The place is dangerous.” Perhaps the word
Suggested the idea to the child,
And since our brains are furnished with acute
Hair triggers, and explode the minute touched,
So now the very notion pushed the child,
And hardly had grandfather turned his head,
When rolling logs and shouting men were heard,
And as he looked, he saw the little boy,
His mangled body buried underneath
A weight of mountain giants, crushed and dead.
The men removed the logs, and then in tears
Delaney lifted tenderly the child,
And pressed him to his heart. “Sweet Bunny boy,
This is a bitter cup, the blow will kill
His mother. Ah what evil luck! A curse
Could be no worse. What shall we do without
Our darling boy?” He carried him with love,
The while he rained warm kisses on his lips,
And laid him in his mother’s arms. “Marie,
It was a frightful accident, the child
Was not to blame, nor were the men to blame.
God’s ways are past our finding out. He gave
You this sweet baby for awhile to keep

ORFor Him, and now He takes it back. Can you

With other weeping sufferers say: The Lord

It was who gave, and takes away: I bless

His holy name?” Marie was like one dazed.

A scream of terror was the first response

She made, and then she swooned. On coming to,

Emotion had been paralyzed. A blank

Dumb stare was all her loved ones got, until

The little coffin in the parlor stirred

Her to a sudden consciousness of loss

That burst the doors, and fountains long pent-up

Poured forth a flood of tears. At moments, when

A realizing sense of Bunny’s death

Would seize her, she would fairly shriek and scream.
| was the preacher called to bury him,

Myself a newly settled pastor there,

And I was deeply touched to hear the words

Delaney in his quiet manner spoke

To all concerned: ‘God comforts those who mourn.

He gives them garlands for dead ashes, sends

The oil of joy for mourning, and the pure

White garments of the angels when our hearts

Are bowed with tears.’’ But to Marie he went,

os

And stroked her head and said: “Be brave and true,

My daughter, give your heart and will to God.

For He is like a father, and He knows

Our frame, remembering we are frail. He sends

Us sorrows, trials, pain, and loss, and woe,

For some good end. Against your grief set off

The many happy days God gave you with your child.”
To me the funeral was the saddest |]

Had ever seen, and yet the sweetest too.

The mother’s deep unutterable woe,

So poignant that it touched us all with grief,

Contrasted with Delaney’s peace and faith,

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That strove to conquer pain inside himself,
And give Marie the grace to kneel and pray
“Thy will be done,” can never be forgot.
The husband of Marie was there, and, too,
Delaney’s wife, both stricken to the heart,
Both weeping for the little one now gone,
But they were negative compared to poor
Marie, and that old man, especially him,
For he had warmth and sunshine in his soul,
In spite of all the bitterness, the gall,
And wormwood in the cup they had to drink.
“There’s not a sparrow falls without Him. There
Are gains for all our losses, and the heart
Of God eternally is kind and good;
A wideness in His mercy, like the sea,
Embraces all His creatures; look to Him,
Marie, and trust His never failing grace.”
The little boy was laid at last to rest,
But, going home, it seemed | must return
Some day and get a nearer view of one
Who struck my fancy by his kindliness.

In just a fortnight I went round to make
A call, inviting them to come to church
Next Sunday, when a special preacher planned
To speak to us on providential care.
Delaney said they'd come but added this:
“There’d be no need to preach on Providence,
If men would rub their eyes, and view the world.
The earth is full of God. The sunlight bathes
Us all in smiles, the trees are full of praise,
And wave their foliage in happy moods.
The music of the birds is not their own,
But God is singing through them to the world.
His providential care! Why certainly,
No preacher is as eloquent as life

30Re et

  

In setting forth His care. There's not a thing
In all His universe remaining mute.
The year is crammed with evidence that God
Is good. The broken wing of every bird,
The bruised and twisted body of the deer
Stir up the loving kindness of the Lord.
‘Tis He who clothes the lily of the field
With beauty, and provides the raven’s meat,
And men who learn to take things as they come
Are pretty sure to learn the ways of God.”
Then, turning to his grandson twelve years old,
He said, ““Vhe teacher told him yesterday
He might be President at Washington
Some day, if he applies himself at school.
I tell him on the same condition too,
That some day, if he works industriously,
He may be master of the biggest farm
Here in the Catskills, and as far as |
Can see there is no difference in the two.
A man should do his best, and failing that,
No matter what the sphere, or high or low,
He brings dishonor on himself. But when
He does the best his circumstance allows,
’Tis well. The angels could no more. A man
Who gives his all, and then himself besides,
To further any honest work is on the side
Of God. He makes the action fine, because
He backs it with fidelity and grace.”
“My father, sir, was born at Kilhebegs,
The county Donegal, in Ireland,”
Delaney told me once. ‘The very year
George Washington became our President
My father saw the light. The nurse at first
Had trouble in persuading him to breathe.
But later on, his lungs made up for that

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By most unearthly wails. He came across
The water to America at nine.
A sailing vessel brought them, and the trip
Consumed the best of seven weeks. The ship
Was twice on fire, and once they thought the end
Had come. The women and the children locked
Below, in cabins, men attacked the flames,
Subduing them at last. My father used
To say he never heard such oaths as those
That fell from women’s lips that awful day,
Nor, sandwiched in, such agonizing prayers.
My father settled west of Albany,
Where I was born in eighteen twenty-five.
When six months old I was a pioneer,
And moved from Blenheim township toward this gorge,
With all my worldly goods, and brought along
My father and my mother with me here.
They did the work, and | laid out the job.
To health and much good humor they ascribed
The victory over hillside farms and rocks.
These were their life preservers, throwing wide
The gates of paradise. They entered in
With music in their hearts and on their lips.
This tract of land was part of an estate
Belonging to the Rensselaers. Huge trees,
Great forests of them, covered all the heights
Throughout these Catskill Mountains, from the ridge
At Stamford to the Hudson river bank.
When nine years old I learned to swing an axe;
From which age on I was a lumberman,
And with the hardy pioneers that hewed
Their paths across the mountains I hewed mine,
And helped my father build this house; the one
We first lived in was burned; and so this spot
I’ve lived on since the first six months. Today

32A stranger asked me if I’d lived here all
My life. I told him no, not yet, and begged
Him if he ever came within a mile
Of here to stop. He’s thinking on it yet.
The Hudson valley in the early days
Was settled by the Dutch, and carved in great
Estates, set out to big Walloon proprietors,
This very spot, a few miles north by west
Of Grand Gorge, fell to one, who, like a lord
Or baron of the feudal times, laid claim
To titles, rents, annuities undreamed
By Blackstone in his commentaries’ days,
I recollect an incident full well,
Connected with the gathering of the tithe:
A big, fat agent of the Rensselaers,
Rotund as any cherub, though the cause
Was bibulous, not due to singing psalms,
Descended on the valley one fine day,
Demanding tithes. A neighbor, Mike O’Shea,
Induced him to regale himself with drink,
And in his stupor took his full receipt
For tithes accumulating for ten years.
My father took these acres with a string
Tied to his operations called a lease.
Beyond their rights, the big patroons began
Asserting feudal titles to the soil,
To service from the tenants, to a tithe,
And more, of all the usufruct, and took
Advantage of the least flaw in the deed
To work a forfeiture, or change the style.
A man might toil a lifetime to create
Farm values by improvements on a place,
By clearing, tilling, building, and the like,
And at the last discover some slight flaw
Deprived him of his title in the place.

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The landlord pleaded technicalities,
And ousted thrifty farmers by the score.
This went against the grain, and civil war
Was in the hearts of honest men throughout
The mountain counties where the thing was worst.
In eighteen thirty-nine I was a lad
Of fourteen years, and well remember how
The heirs of one patroon, Van Rensselaer,
Who claimed the title to these very lands
My father cleared under a lease, began
To quarrel with their tenants as to tithes,
Insisting on a fourth of all the sales.
Associations all at once took form
Among the farmers to resist the claims,
While landlords hurried into courts to press
Their suits. One night a band of Indians passed
Our house, and hailed my father, begging him
To join them. They were white men in disguise,
Intent on mischief. But my father did
Not join, preferring civil action, first,
At least. Such grievances broke up the peace
Of many sections, running into years,
But in the end the great estates were doomed,
Fee simple titles coming under law.
This was a culmination greatly wished,
Sut through the strife my father held the view,
That, on the subject of a legal claim
To titles, courts should hold for Rensselaer
My father was a perfect specimen
Of manhood. He was solidly put up.
Across his shoulders he would measure much
Above the biggest man for miles around.
His strength was like an ox’s strength. His hands
Were large, and had a powerful grip, and once
[ saw him handle two good men with ease,

o4As, grabbing each an arm, he thrust them both
Outside his mills, and bade them stay away.
| felt my father right but pitied them,
And later patched the matter up. Before
My father came here he had cleared two farms,
Beyond the ridge in old Schoharie Clove.
But father owned a magic lamp, called wit,
And kept it lighted daily, so the sweat
Of body, mind, and heart was all transformed
To diamonds in his humble cottage home.
lt was a toilsome business day by day.
He did not like the slowness of the Dutch,
But granted they were honest to the core.
He used to tell of one who fired up,
And poured his wrath upon his victim’s head.
‘If you don't got some beezaness,’ he said,
‘You better don’t had loaf around, aint it?’
The fellow thought so too, and got away.
I never think of father but the tears
Of gratitude begin to rise. He strove
With all his streneth of will to win success,
As pioneers before him always have.
He had the metal in him heroes show
Who join in battle for a better world,
The stuff that all the martys of the past,
Who gave their bodies to be burned, displayed.
To wring a living from these stony hills
Would challenge only daring volunteers,
\nd he succeeded. All I have I owe
To him who blazed the trail for us to take.
Old age he used to say begins at five
‘So cheer up children, drive dull care away,’
And here within the wilderness he urged
Us all to keep up happy hearts and sing.”
“But are you not a pioneer yourself?”

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To which Delaney answered, “] am that.
The mountains here were covered with the pine,
Wherein the wild-cat made his hidden lair.
The nights were hideous with their yowls at times.
No houses had been built for miles around
When we began to stake one in the woods.
It was good fun for all in building it.
The mountains either side the gorge had not
Been named, nor had the gorge itself, until
A score of years passed by. There on the leit,
As we look south, we see a point that jogs
The sky, and call it ‘Irish Mountain.’ There,
Across the pass, upon the right, we call
That knob, ‘Bald Mountain’ with Grand Gorge between.
We stand right now upon the water shed
Dividing, as the rain falls, all the flow
Along Schoharie Creek, or either branch
The Delaware thrusts out to tap the hills.
And here for sixty years we've laughed and joked,
For mirth is like good medicine, you know,
And every straw that tickled us eased off
The grinding gloom of utter loneliness.
[ go outside sometimes and seem to hear
Old Rip Van Winkle and his merry men
At bowls. The thunder is so eloquent
It makes one feel as David did of old.
It is the voice of God. The lightning flash
Is but the flashing of the great Almighty’s eye.
He clothes Himself with light, and veils His face,
He makes the winds His messengers. I hear
His foot upon the mountain side, and see
His breath upon the frosty window pane.
It makes me feel beside, that I] can know
A certain voice inside me is of God,
That He Himself abides within my soul.

36| find within myself the mystery
Of power, the miracle of life, the force

That drives the world. Of that I am a part,

To me is given a higher grace than that.

The sense to see the issues clearly drawn
Between the things of right and those of wrong.
In me is love, and John says love is God.

The thought that strikes me often as I talk
With men is that they seem to think the things
Worth while are far away or difficult.

The things that count for most are really those
That lie at hand, the nearest, simplest things.
An emphasis on common things would bring
Us all a good deal nearer to the Lord:

And that is what we need, the inner gift
That will transform to purest gold the dirt
Of common, daily toils, and frets, and cares:
A soul with skill to use the heavenly power
Of spiritualizing common things has won
The highest secret life can give or hold.

for absolute sincerity I plead,

Not only in church articles and creeds,

But also in the simplest modes of speech,

In seeing with our eyes, in doing deeds
Kach day along the routine of our tasks,

In setting up relations each to each,

In meeting face to face our fellowmen.”’

Observing how the neighbors at the church
Conducted argument he said: “They fight
As if they had been married. Each one brings
A brick-bat in his pocket, or a knife
Of verbal sharpness up his sleeve, and waits
His chance to get a well directed blow.”’

But this was said with twinkles in his eyes.
On hearing me one time address the church,

37eat eee ne el ee ee

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The subject being making all one can
Of self, he kindly said, now turn it round,
And make the most of all our ministers,
His humor was contagious, ready, bland.
At wakes and christenings he poked no fun,
But being forms he stayed away from both,
Inquiring always of the dead, with praise
For any virtue he might have. The child
He lifted in his arms, and spoke the name
As one who loved it, full of cheer and trust,
That it would measure up to all the hopes
The parents had indulged in for their child.
“Tf men had polish they might shine,” he said,
“Tn social circles.”’ When a man came home
And said he ran a splinter ‘neath his nail,
“You must have scratched your head,’ Delaney said.
He didn’t need a “‘coat of arms,’ because
He worked at all times “in his sleeves.” “How well
You look today!” “Yes certainly, | look
To find the man that owes me ten.” Replies
Like that were always on his lips, but none
Were dipped in vinegar. ‘The acid test
Which some men use in daggered repartees
Was not for him, but friendly humor flowed
Between his lips at all times without stint.
Four years before | met him, New York state
Was struck by storm, a blizzard with a gale
Of wind that blew a hundred miles an hour.
A mantle of fine snow, already deep,
Had covered us throughout the middle states,
It was the time that Conkling lost his life.
The March winds in the mountains were so fierce
None but the strongest dared to buffet them.
Remembering how the children of a friend
Were all alone in a secluded nook,

38Their parents fifty miles away, this man
Drove through the snow-drifts, seven miles, to reach
Those children, taking food and friendly words.
[f one should be disposed to say that such
An act was not uncommon, nor the man,
The answer simply is, no other man
Went near the little cottage in the glen.
The children might have starved. Their misery
Had grown acute when he came on the scene.
He glorified the common-place, | say,
In doing deeds of kindness every day:
That was his doctrine; if the great things call,
Why, do them. Till they do, don’t whine and mope,
Disdaining to be bothered with the small,
‘or in the end there is as much of God
In any little thing as in the great.

He often came to service where I[ preached,
Supporting with his money all our work,
Inclining men to godliness and grace.

He told me once the room in which we sat,
The living room at home, was full of folks
for him. He saw the dear old father whom
He loved beyond all other men, and who
Had been the inspiration of his life;
The mother who had borne and reared him sat
Beside the fire in her rocking chair,
He heard her voice, a gentle one pitched low,
Inquiring for her husband's comfort. This
Was always chief of her concerns. The help,
Employed about the place, was there, and like
The snow-bound cottage of the Whittier poem,
Shut in, they learned to think each other’s thoughts.
Reciting bits of conversation gleaned
From memory’s rich stores, he conjured up
Old times along the loved Schoharie Creek,

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As on the Delaware. As age came on
He lived much in the dear, dead days of yore,
And ’twas a benediction just to hear
Him tell the struggles of the poor, who eked
A livelihood from hills so scant and steep.
The man who loved the birds in Roxbury town
Could not excel. Delaney on this score,
And when it came to live stock on the farm
He knew the names of all his sheep and cows.
They seemed like members of his family,
And all their names were coined with special care,
To mark their characters in looks, or else
Some inner quality their master knew.
His stables were the cleanest ones around,
For cattle are like people, he would say.
They prosper better when their stalls are fresh,
And they themselves have proper food and care,
Throughout the winter he was up eer day
Had lit the torches in the darkened East,
And in the summer he got out before
The birds were stirring in their nests. To him
The cattle were the creatures of His love
Who numbers all the stars, and knows their names,
Who paints the beauty on the violet’s bud,
And plants it in the early days of spring.
The silly sheep that needed some one’s care,
The feathered tribes, whose instincts all were dumb,
Depended on Delaney, and he spared
No labor on his farm to bring to these
Provisions for their daily pressing needs.
“They make me laugh, the beggars, when they tease
For food, or crowd around for sympathy,
[ feel as if the devil’s dead, when Jack,
Our house-dog, starts his frolic in the snow,
He leads the barnyard circus with his noise,

40)And sometimes I] have wondered if he prays.
For are we not God’s offspring, he and [?”

“I take the world just as [| find it
Without a fault or The earth is good
And needs no one’s apology.

, SiY,
flaw.
lf men

Have notions to the contrary, they have fooled
Themselves. Perhaps their doctrine must be proved
As that the world is under some vile curse,

Or else some creature dares to show the way

Our great Creator must have blundered, when

He made things as they are. But God be praised
For all His works! If we had eyes to see,
What wonders far beyond our present ken
Would grow! [ like to think the laws that grip
The stars, and swing the planets in their curves,
That send the winds forth singing on their ways,
il

That give the mother instinct to all life,

Distilling dew and rain, that feed the earth,

The lowest and the highest in the scale,

That turn the darkness into light, and set

The moon and stars on high when day is done,

Are daily, always, everywhere from God.

How 2ood a thing it 1s to be alive!

One's highest aim should be to so fulfill

The ends within one’s nature as a man,

That when he lays his gift of life aside

The world may say, there lived a noble man!”
One day we sat together on his porch,

And he was telling of the early days,

When trees were crowded close beside his home:

“No one has ever dreamed of half the charm

The woods contain. They fairly teem with life.

All sorts of timid creatures seek their shade,

As if they shrank from too close gaze,

Or feared they had in man an enemy.

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Birds, never to be seen elsewhere, will seek
The sheltered darkness of the trees. The fox,
The hare, the wild-cat venture forth at times,
But other frightened things beware the sun.
That’s how some get their reputations soiled,
For instance, take the lizards. People creep
At mention merely of their names, and yet
What pretty bodies they possess, how marked
With beauty they have been, what useful thing's
They do! And so with all the denizens
That hide within the darkness of the woods.
The shadows may be needed to bring out
The finest qualities, as, in the lives
Of men, sometimes the darkness and the gloom
Are needed to perfect their souls in love.
And all the trembling creatures in this place
Are firmly linked to us with golden chains,
[ like the good Saint Francis who addressed
The birds as little brothers of the air.
The gift of life, that miracle of earth,
Has bound us to the lowest in the scale.
The blue-bell edging on the rocky cliff,
The tiniest insect lasting but a day,
Are, like ourselves, instinct with power divine,
And there are thoughts too deep for words wrapped up
Within the fragile petal of a rose.
When spring comes forth, and thaws release the
snow,
What sweeter music ever yet was heard,
Than that produced by nature’s orchestra!
The brook that purls and murmurs on its way,
In rippling laughter tumbling o’er the stones,
From out the mountain springs and down the slopes,
Is like the singing of the birds. The play
Of zephyrs, voicing pleasure ’mid the leaves

42That wave and dance their joy on every tree,
Invites the world to lay aside its gloom.”
He was as happy as a lark, and smiled
With many sallies of sweet wit, and said.
He thought the soul of things must have a sense
Of humor. “There is laughter everywhere.
from puppies, kittens, colts and lambs to geese
That cackle with hysterics, there are bumps
Of playful fancy, funny bones, and droll
Expressions of essential merriment.”

Unlike the common run of men, this man
Was highly gifted in the use of speech.
He had the brains to master what he would.
And in the early days when schools were scarce,
And teachers scarcer, he had taught the boys
And girls their letters. He himself had learned
To use a deal of time in mastering
The rudiments of common schools, and when
His son and daughter, all he had, grew up
He sent them both to college, and secured
The books they studied there, and in the lines
Of science, and philosophy, and such
He kept an even pace with them. A strain
Of Celtic with his Scotch had loosed his tongue,
And gave him fluency. He liked it too,
Especially when things worth while were on:
Then, opening up the stops, the organ played
And men were edified and pleased as well.
He kept his soul in touch with lofy themes,
Read Homer, Vergil, Dante, Goethe, Pope,
But most of all loved Scott and Bobby Burns,
Because their stories, poems could be placed
Among the deep ravines and glens throughout
His lovely Catskill Mountains. Hence, a wealth
Of pictured language sat upon his lips,

43eee ee

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SE ne Ee ee

Delighting all who came to visit him.

 

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 

He loved the mountains more than words can tell.
Pye known him talk to them as if they heard.

He knew their moods, and used to note their signs,

Predicting what the weather was to be.
“Old Utsayantha has its cap on now,
He said. when mist or fog or cloud or rain
Shut off the highest peak from view. Or, “Watch
Old Baldy scowl!”’ as, in a haze, the mount,
That guarded well the gorge, would hide its face.
Old Rip Van Winkle never knew the town
Of Falling-Water better than this man,
Delaney, knew his mountains, each and all.
Among the first to clear the pines away,
He knew them in their early grandeur well,
Had opened paths and roads along the streams,
And when the need was on would join the crews
In maple sugar making in the spring.

His house stood near the highway, hence, he knew
The people of the country-side for miles
Around. They stopped before his gate to hear
And give the latest news about the folks.
None ever left his door in need. Few left
Without an invitation to break bread.
When any movement was on foot to help
A neighbor in distress, Delaney first
Was sought and gave the movement his support.
The things he had were not his own, he said,
He was the steward only. Those in need
Were owners of the things they needed. ‘This
Philosophy had nearly beggared him,
His farms and mills producing annually
Supplies of lumber, flour, and things stood good
To make him rich, or well to do at least.
But such a soul of generosity

44Throbbed in him he gave freely without stint,
And when he died the only thing he had
Was what he started with, his simple farm.
And yet he used to say he owned the world,
And all things in it. All the houses, towns.
The mountains, rivers, earth and sky, were his.
He cared not who held title. It was good

That titles made care-takers of the world.

But all potentialities in things

Belonged to him, if he but use the same.

Beyond this wealth in stars, he prized yet more
The spiritual heritage of the past, the brain

Of Shakespere whom he read, the heart of John
Whose gospel had most deeply touched his soul,
The mighty hand of Moses who had rocked

os,

The world. Let children play with dolls and do
Heaven.

But grown up men should think the thoughts of
A neighbor's son was soon to be ordained

To preach. The service was an open one,
And so Delaney came to see the lad

Receive examination. At the first

The thing was stiffly formal. All the lights

Had asked about the doctrines of the creeds,
And whether Moses wrote the Pentateuch,
Had quizzed him as to Jonah and the whale,
And if Isaiah were a dozen men or one,

If seven days creation were a myth,

And how the Bible was inspired, and 1f
He knew the name of Moses’ second wife.
Delaney’s sense of humor saved the day,
For while he had no standing in the church,
They loved him for his solid worth, and hence
Were not averse when he requested leave
To ask the lad some questions of his own.
He asked him, if he truly loved his Lord,

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And much about the Saviour’s walk and life,
And when he finished his sweet questioning,

The great examination stopped. The boy

Was consecrated to the ministry.

An erring daughter of a neighbor once
Had brought upon herself disgrace and shame.
The leading members of my church began
To speak of discipline. She must be brought
Before the church and publicly rebuked.

To me the thing was difficult indeed.

I had no liking for a course like that,

Nor could I meet the argument that creeds
Demanded such should be put out. Besides,
The officers who had much authority

Were openly against the frightened oir),

In doubt I sought Delaney. When | told

Him what the trouble was, he asked, if he
Might meet the deacons with me, which he did.
I never shall forget the way he read

The story of the woman men would stone.

The bitter tragedy was set before our eyes,

A woman whom a man had wronged was judged
By men, not women, who commit the wrong,
The logic of the Saviour’s statement burned
In every verse containing it, as |

Had never known its force, and what was more
The Saviour’s tender sentence which dismissed
The case was spoken with such melting power,
And backed by such an attitude of love,

The charge was stricken from the books, and she
Was lovingly restored to friendly hands.

The gospel stories made a warm appeal
To him, and frequently their words would leap
Up to his lips, as when the parables
Suggested sowing seed, or harvesting.

46The incidents of every story told
By Jesus in His talks to men he knew.
And felt their force, and used them too himself.
The Master’s character and life were both
So true and simple he was much impressed
By all details. But what theology
Had said of both he did not care to know,
Preterring for himself the simple words,
That holy men of old were pleased to write,
And holding he was much too dull to learn
The meanings since imposed by learned men,
“In terms they used to hide their ignorance,”
To quote his very words. The simple speech
Of any gospel preacher, to his mind,
Was more to be desired than all the shreds
And patches of their old theology.

A man can use religion, he would say,
In every single thing he does. The way
One eats illustrates well the vital point.
The tying of a shoestring gives a chance
To show the temper we have got. The dress
A man or woman wears reveals his mind.
The tones of voice one cultivates will show
What sort of mood is back of them. The face
Discloses how the artist of the soul
ls writing inner history on a page
That every one may read. The commonplace
Is more than nine-tenths anyway of all
That goes to make the life of man, and he
Is wise who learns to glorify the same.
Thus, on and on, he scattered far and wide
The seeds of sweet philosophy that Christ
Had planted in his life. At eighty-five,
Still hale and hearty, he was stressing strong
The worth of trifles in the art of life,

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Insisting little things are just as great
As big things in the searching eyes of God.

His life had not been written large in deeds

Attracting nation-wide applause. But when

He died, the room was full of perfume where

He lay. The odor of the ointment was

Like that inside the alabaster box

That Mary’s love poured out upon the head

Of one the world has worshipped ever since.

An incense of sweet smell, the aroma

Of kindly thoughts, was wafted to the skies,

For on the altar of a human life was laid

A sacrifice of love, a symbol of true prayer.

The fragrance was far richer than the flowers

That blushed in simple beauty on his bier.

As blossoms fill the air in early spring,

With odors blending delicately sweet,

So now distilled from many deeds of love

The savor of an earthly life well spent,

As when a wild rose garden scents the air,

Diffused itself about the room. And men

Who seldom prayed knelt down and sought the grace
That had transformed the farmer sleeping there.LOST IN THE WOODS OF MAINE
OR
THE MysTeERY MAN AT ANGLER’S INN
-0-0-}-0-0-

A man walked down a street in Hillsdale, onze,
In Oxford County, Maine, and everyone
Who passed him turned to look again. In size
He was a man of average height, about
ive feet, eight inches, and his size and form
Were not unusual, but the things that caught
Attention were his clothes which looked unkempt,
A trace of injury about his face,
Some movement of his leg that like a limp
Disturbed his balance. He was not a tramp.
There were no marks of dissipation on
His face or in his eye. He did not seem
To be a laboring man at all. The things
We all associate with labor are
he calloused hands, and so we call the men
Who work the horny-handed sons of toil.
But this man did not have the evidence
That proved he delved or digged. He had the thin
Pale fingers of an artist, or a man
Who preaches, doctors, teaches or the like.
seneath his outward mask was something fine,
sut what it was nobody seemed to know,
Nor could they puzzle out the air of strange
Though certain mystery about the man.

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The town itself was small, not much above
The villages one sees in Maine far up
Among the mountains, near the lumber camps.
A single street ran through it lengthwise, end
To end, but this was crossed by four or five
Short streets right-angled to the main. On one
Of these side streets, if one may call them that,
There stood a large size | boarding house, but called
The Angler's Coat of Arms. Perhaps a sprig
Of gentry, now decayed, had thought to graft
A memory of by-gone days in such
Pretentious naming of the mountain house.
“Dew Drop Inn,” and names like that, perhaps,
Had been exhausted. Anyway none knew
Just how the hostlery had got its name.
The stranger crossed the street, pushed back the

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   

gate,

And started up the yard to enter, when
He seemed to pause, as if he held debate
Within himself what next to do. He seemed
Composed. His hesitation was prolonged,
And seemed to settle nothing, for the marks
Of indecision showed in every move
He made. Continuing, he reached the steps.
Ascended them, looked round, and paused again;
Then, slowly passing though the door, he asked
Where he might find the dining-room. To this
He went at once, removed his hat, and called
For something, anything they had, to eat.

In ordinary circumstances men
Must first affix their signatures within
The register. But this man seemed so odd,
Amazement and the thought that some new thing
Would happen next took hold of everyone.
The waiter said “Good morning,” and to this,

50In lifeless tones, the stranger said, “Good day.”

Some food was brought. A mumbled “thank you’ text

And then the man, like one long starved, began
To eat his meal. Throughout it all he spoke
No word to anyone, nor asked for more.
He finished every crumb upon his plate,
Then rose, went out into the lobby, and
Sat down. Within about two minutes he
Was sleeping in his chair like one fatigued.
The clerk had been off duty at the time
Our stranger entered. When he came. he called
The landlord to inspect his new found guest,
And say what should be done. Mine host was one
Who took life easy, worried not at all,
Inclined to hospitality, and now
Took such a lively interest in the case
He called his wife who did the chamber work.
And then the cook and stable man, and such
As loitered round the porches and the yards,
To see the sleeper, and to hear their views.
Which proved as different as the clash of tongues
At Babel’s tower. One might have thought a ghost
‘rom some vast haunted shore of time had dropped
Upon them. Whispers went around the crowd
As though the place was haunted. Nameless dread
Crept into those inclined to omens, signs,
And fearful visitations, as if God
No longer ruled His universe, but gave
It up to devils, ghouls, and other sprites
Of darkness. Just a few said, “When he wakes
We'll find out all about him. Wait awhile:”
And wait they did, but still the sleeper slept.
When evening came it brought the stragglers in
From everywhere. A country inn is like
A rendezvous. It takes the place of caves

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In ancient times, where clansmen used to meet.
It is the club-house on Broadway, or den,
Or drinking cellar of the city dives,
Where men, gregareous in their natures, come
To while away the time, and swap eood yarns.
The Angler’s Coat of Arms had now a new
Peculiar kind of entertainment. All
Engaged in speculation on the man,
But none disturbed his rest. The landlord’s word
Was positive. ‘““The man is now my guest,
He will not sleep forever; when he wakes
It’s time enough to find out who he is,
And what he wants; till then respect his need
Of sleep; he must be very tired. Note,
How deep his breathing is. At ten o'clock,
Unless he wakes before that, I shall rouse
Him up and find out all about him, then,
If all is well, he stays here for the night.”

sut ten o'clock had come, and not a stir
Was made. The landlord came, and gently shook
His shoulder, but the man made no response.
He used more force, and spoke to him, but still
The man slept on in silence as before.
“Come lend a hand,” the landlord said, “‘and lift
Him to a side room on this floor, and put
Him into bed until he sleeps it off.
He must be drunk.” And yet there was no smell
Of liquor on his breath or person. But
The men stepped up, and lifted him, and off
They carried him to bed, with all the more
Deep interest in the case. “Tomorrow we
Shall see what is the matter with him sure.”

All night the man slept, giving no least sign
That he had for a minute waked. No noise,
No sound, except his heavy breathing, showed

52he man alive. A rumor spread throughout
That something terrible had happened up

    
 

At Hillsdale. Twelve miles out the gossips said

A drunken man was now exhibited
In “prohibition Maine” at Angler’s Inn.
Some said they saw him stagger into town,
While one avowed he saw him take a nip
From out a bottle, carried on his hip,
That officers were derelict, or drink
Could not be bought or sold in Maine. The state.
A few averred, was wetter than it was
Before the silly people voted dry.
And by the time the story made the rounds,
Returning in a day or two, the thing
Took on proportions very large. The truth
About the matter was, the landlord loved
His drink, and he was drunk, the people fooled,
Assured that he was playing off on some
Poor fellow to defend his own good name.
But rumor did not stop until it ran
The gamut up and down. A crazy man,
The next wild story went, had been picked up.
Another said a robber had been caught,
The goods upon him. One soft whisper was
An inmate of the county jail had slipped
Away, another said a lunatic
From some asylum was at large. And by
The time the thing was tossed about enough
Almost the whole community was caught
In one or other of the specious tales
Professing to explain the stranger come
To be the guest of Landlord Singleton,
The hearty host at Angler’s Coat of Arms.
The morning of the second day brought no
Solution of the problem. Sheriff Jones

53a ee

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Was sent for but explained he knew no cause
Why he should molest this or any man

For sleeping overtime. The law might be
On him for trespass or oppression, 1f

The man should be a lawyer of good parts.
That was the very crux in every mind—
This man was not a common man, ’twas plain,
In any sense. He bore the marks of wealth,
Good breeding, culture, so it seemed to all.
The sheriff made the sensible remark,

What harm could come to any man from sleep.
If Landlord Singleton was not concerned

To turn him out, whose business could it be ?
That seemed to settle that. The law had said
Its say; decision had been duly made;

   
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
   

Now leave to Mister Singleton the rest.
By afternoon the women turned out too
To solve the thing. They gathered in small groups,
Discussing the strange news, with strong desire
To see the roomer who was at ‘““The Arms.”
The gift of curiosity is strong
In women. They can almost match the men.
The drift was toward the inn. Before the clock
Struck three there was a good sized crowd on hand,
And Mrs. Singleton invited them
To come and see their boarder. Full of awe,
They gazed upon him sleeping there, but none
Were any wiser when they went away,
Or had the clew that reached the riddle’s heart.
The second day a doctor was called in.
He called it coma. That would settle it beyond
A doubt. But Aesculapius had yet
No reason to be proud of this young leech.
So later on an old herb doctor, known
And loved all over Oxford county, came

o4To see the strangest patient he had known
In all his life. This doctor, with the skill
That comes with years, began to feel his pulse,
To note his respiration, then to try
And rouse him. Next he stripped him to the waist
To see if there were any sort of wound
Upon his body. Then it was he found
The man was bruised and cut. His heavy hair
Had quite concealed a gash upon his head.
He had a fractured rib, and ugly scars
from blue to black upon his hips. Some sort
Of mental shock, paralysis perhaps,
Was ailing him. The man should have good care.
‘He stays right here and I will care for him,’
Said Landlord Singleton. Such generous word
[’xpressed mine host on all occasions. He
Was liked immensely for his noble heart.

A general interest in the man had spread
Among the lumbermen, and many said
They knew the man. So word was sent that such
Should drop in at the Angler’s Coat of Arms
And there identify the man. A score
Or so came in, but gave no aid. One said
He saw a man like that far up the glen,
In mid-stream fishing for the mountain trout.
3ut none got closer to the thing than that.
The door down at the grocery had been turned
Into a bill-board long ago on which
The sheriff pasted pictures of the toughs
Who violate the law and run away.
But no description ever read applied
To Hillsdale’s guest. No one had ever seen
The man before, or knew his name, or place
Of residence. Search how they would no man
Was found who saw him enter town, or knew

 

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A thing about him, sarlier than the time,
Four squares away, they saw him limping past
Until he landed at the gate that keeps
The entrance to the Angler’s Coat of Arms.

It proved a good investment in the end
To Landlord Singleton, though he was free
From every selfish motive in the part
He played. A man in need had sought his door,
Was welcome, had the choicest room, beyond
That he had no ulterior aim. But flocks
Of people came to patronize him now
And incidentally to get a peep
At one who baited curiosity.

The doctor who examined him took charge
Of this strange guest and had him nursed and fed.
A half a dozen times the man returned
To consciousness, but dozed away again.
Then on the thirteenth day he opened wide
His eyes. He slowly turned them round, and rubbed
Them well with both his hands. He then sat up,
And moved his neck from left to right, and next
He pressed both hands against his head, fell back,

And went to sleep again. The doctor said,
“The man is getting well. That sign is good.

Tomorrow we shall see him much improved,
And pretty soon his speech will be restored.’
Yes, sure enough, the next day once again
He woke, and asked ‘‘where am I?” “Don't you see,
You're here in bed?’ The doctor smiled. ‘The man
Repeated, “where am I?” The landlord said,
“In Hillsdale, at the Angler’s Coat of Arms.”
The man seemed much confused. It was too hard
For him to puzzle out, so once again
He laid his head down softly, shut his eyes,
And went to sleep. That kept the doctor keen

  

56‘To see the end. ‘Tomorrow when he wakes

 

We may expect much more. The medicine
And food are used in building up his strength,
Till nature has restored his nervous force,
And then we may expect a normal tone
To be resumed in all his functionings.”’

Each day the man made progress. Pretty soon
He showed an interest in the things about
His room. Again he asked, ‘‘Where am I now 2”
They told him, “Hillsdale.” ‘Never heard of it,
Some time before they had made search through all

9)

His pockets for some clew with which to fix
Identity, but all in vain. He brought
No luggage with him, just the clothes he wore
Were all he had, and in his pockets what
He had was valueless to show his name.
A scrap of paper had on it a scrawl,
A memorandum merely, “June the tenth
| caught a dozen trout,” but that was all.
The paper did not say with whom, nor where,
Nor if the man himself had caught the trout.
They were not certain he had written it.

Professor James of Harvard was called in.
He said the man had lost control of all
His processes by nervous shock, but thought
The wise old country.doctor understood
Just what to do, and said he was no doubt
An honor to his calling. ‘Think of that!”
The neighbors, hearing, said. Then Doctor James
Explained what disassociation means
In mental history. ‘The areas
Within the brain whose special function was
The holding and relating images
Had been suspended. Likely in due time
A re-establishment of function would

57Ce eee

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Ensue. If not, the man was hopelessly

Insane. The case has many parallels.

Asylums hold their doors ajar for minds

That creak upon their hinges, like old gates,

But nature works a thousand cures to one

That perishes beneath her kindly care.

Thus did the great man analyze the case,

And leave the issue to old “Father Time.”
One morning Mr. Singleton had joined

The doctor in his visit. Once again

Their patient asked the same old formula,

Where am 1?” “Ol! yes,” he said, “T caugmt

A dozen mountain trout on June the tenth,

3ut that was only yesterday. Today

I hope to get a score. The streams are full,

And such a hungry lot of beggars |

Believe I never saw in all my life.

They snapped at bait as fast as | could cast.

It only took me half the afternoon

To land the dozen big ones. Where are they?

I found it hard to keep my feet, the stones

Were slippery, and the current swept its bed

As if the hounds of heaven were in its wake,

So fast and noisy that I heard their screams,

And saw the dogs come yelping in their rear.”
The man seemed tired by this, and Dr. Flood

Made up his mind to give him further time

To get his bearings. Now he ought to sleep.

Excitement was fatiguing. Now that life

Had set the particles to work within

Those areas in his brain once paralyzed,

The wisest course would be to wait their time,

Not hurry them. With that they both withdrew.

The doctor said, ‘““My friend, you have a guest

Worth while. That man is educated. How

58He reeled off figures from the rhetoric

And no profanity! Tomorrow we

Shall whip that trout stream end to end, and know

A good deal more than either know right now.”
Next day the same old question had been asked,

“Where am I[?’ with the answer as before.

Soon this was followed up with number two,

“How did I get here?” It was very plain

A new path now was opening in his brain.

They found the last eight weeks, however, blank.

It was but yesterday that he had fished

For trout. They asked him where the stream might be,

But that he did not know, nor how he reached

The Angler’s Inn, nor what the town was now

In which he lay, nor that he walked the street

To find a place in which to get some food.

All questions fell on ears that could not grasp

A single thread that led him through the maze.

The waxen tablet of the older schools

Of thinking, with nought writ thereon, found here

A perfect illustration of the claim.
The trout stream though was once again invoked,

And then the patient opened up the stops,

As if he were an organist, and played

A prelude for an opera on spring:

“Oh, what a glorious day it was! The sun

Had hardly kissed the hills, when | awoke;

The light was imperceptibly at work

To banish darkness from the earth. The leaves

Were all atremble in the trees, and dew

Was on the weeds and grass and mossy stones.

What birds were up at dawn were warbling notes

The like of which one never can forget,

While in the coolness of the morning air

One felt the breath of Pan, and looked to see

59Cn a a

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The great goat-god asleep within a cleft.
And then I took a reel, and cast my ily
While wading in the stream in early morn.”
The doctor interrupted here to ask,
If it were “‘ morning or in afternoon.”
“Why, did I say the afternoon? Oh! no,
It was in early morning. ‘Then the fish
Are biting best, and, too, the air invites
To exercise, and angling is the dream
The gods have sent their worshippers to change
Their prosy earth to one blest paradise.”

“The man must be a fisherman all right,
He nibbled at it strong, took hook and line,
The dipsy sinker, cork and everything,
In one big gulp,” the doctor said. “What words.”
Said Singleton, ‘he uses! Why, the man
Must be some school professor, or the like.”
The gossip turned, and, speculation rife
Again, the air was filled with flying imps
Of current rumor this time dressed in wings
The fairies use. He was a lawyer, or
A judge, perhaps, who had a falling fit
Or accident. He may have come from some
New England college, some lost president,
Professor, maybe, wandering in his sleep.

No one had come to claim him, and as yet
No word had come from any source to shed
A ray of light upon a puzzling skein
Of tangled threads of doubt and guess and hope.
Once more the doctor started in to quiz
His patient. By this time the man was strong,
Had gotten out of bed, and sat for hours,
At first within his room, then in the hall,
There was no need then to hold back the probe
For he was able to endure no small amount

60Of strain. He had beside so won their hearts
By gracious manners, unobtrusive ways,
And gratitude, that sympathy behind
The probe was all alert against a pain.
“What is your name?” the doctor asked. ‘““My name?
I do not know.”” “You don’t know who you are?”
The onlookers were knocked completely out,
To all unlettered minds the line is blurred
Between the sane and insane. How the two
May fuse and separate, and how to tell
Their marks is far too subtle for the crowd.
To one or two the man seemed stubborn. Why,
To everyone a name is pasted on,
And cannot be forgotten. In their hearts
These few believed the man a fraud, now bent
On fooling everyone. The very thought
That anyone should quite forget his name
Was proof enough the man was feigning it,
Deserved no pity, and was wholly bad.
“Where do you live?” The doctor pressed again.
“I do not know,” the man said, “‘Is it not
That I live here?” “Why no,’ they said, “You came
To us from somewhere. Tell us where you live.
You have a wife and children, do you not?
And they are waiting for you to return.
We want to take you home. Where do you live?”
“Oh! yes,” he said, “I do remember now,
[ live here in the Angler’s Coat of Arms.”
“No, not at all times,’ pressed his questioner,
“But sometimes you are home. The garden gate
Before your house is open, standing there
I see your wife. She waits for you. How long
Will you remain away? Your wife in tears
Is calling for you now.”’ He gazed distressed.
The doctor: “Do you live in town, or 1s

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Your house out in the country?’ “Do you live

In Maine? In Boston? New York State?’ In vain,

The stranger’s mind was vacant. He just stared.
But he could talk of birds and flowers and trees,

And liked to do it too. Professor James

Returned and said, “The man is coming round.

To Doctor Flood the credit all is due.

Be patient yet. The spool will soon unwind.

The strands of consciousness are tangled up

Just like a bunch of yarn. But nature’s hands

And fingers are as nimble as our own

At least. She will not cut the Gordion knot,

In this case, but will loose and pull the twine

That all the twists and kinks and snarls will ease

Away, and in the end the man will find

Himself.” The host was of the same mind too.
Then Doctor James went on to say, “In sleep

We have a parallel to what we see

Is happening here. Disintegration starts

The moment we begin to doze. Then next

The deeper in we go we lose control

Of all our nervous force. Directing power

Is gone, and on the sea of dreams we float.

Caprice is at the helm, our ship becomes

A sport of every wave or gust of wind,

Across the field where consciousness once ruled,

By means of will, the ghosts and fiends of chance

Flit swiftly by, as playthings of the gods,

As in insanity, or else the night

Of Egypt settles down, and-all is dark.

In this man there is partial darkness now,

A small eclipse, but mostly this man shows

Derangement of an acute kind. It 1s

Not chronic, but is due to wounds. His mind

Will clear as ordered processes begin

  

62To reassert themselves. The spinal cord

In all of us is full of nodes, and each

Takes to itself the functions of a brain.

The reflex actions in this gentleman

Already have begun to show themselves.

You only have to stop and think how dreams

Unharness all the horses of the brain,

How alcohol will do the same, or drugs,

Like opium. These poisons deaden cells

In cases where narcotics are in use,

Or overstimulate them as in drink,

Or switch them into combinations crossed

By counter currents. Hypnotists produce

Dissociation of ideas by

Detaching cerebral functions in the brain

Effectively from all the lower groups

Of nerves or nervous centres, some at least,

And stroke the face or forehead to that end.”’
‘‘ Suppose we try our patient out by means

Of hypnotism. Let us see if sleep,

Not total but in part, will help him back.

We have to start with something that will help

The subject to completely concentrate.

Indeed the only ones immune from this

Hypnotic power are children, idiots,

And insane people. This man may be such,

gut we can try. Suppose we fix his mind

On catching mountain trout the tenth of June.”

With this Professor James addressed the man,

Adroitly pinning him to trout and June.

The man became a little more like one

In trance, and it was evident the scheme

Had so far met success. Then came the quiz.

“You went out early on the tenth of June,

I understand, and came back to your house’’—

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He got no further e’er the man broke in:
“Tt was no house. It seemed to me a shack

Or cabin made of logs and mud. I went

Back to it when the day was done to sleep,

And, Oh! yes, now I quite remember what

A fight I had with tramps that night who came,

Set fire to everything, and beat me up.”

The man showed such excitement at that point
Professor James concluded not to press

His inquiry that day, but said the light

Had come, would increase fast, and soon would shine
As clear as summer sunlight at high noon.

The next day Doctor Flood was civen the tale,
Without hypnotic influence, with details,
Increasing as the story ran. He said
The tramps were two in number, partly drunk,

Who asked to share the cabin for the night.
They drank and fought together, spilled the lamp,
And set on him to rob him. “Where's my purse?
Look in my coat and see. It is not there.

My satchel, where is it? I had but one.

That must have gone up in the flames. I seem
To see the cabin burning, yes, it 1s

And those two villains pounding me with clubs.
3ut that is all I know. That happened just

A day ago. The tramps! Have they been caught ?”’
Here once again the man showed feeling, hence
The questioning was ended, and he slept.

The doctor thought they might make better speed,
If no one bothered him, but left him much
Alone. So he and Landlord Singleton
Agreed the convalescence should go on,

As nature led the way. The prod no more
Was to be used. If he were so inclined,
They would discuss his situation. But

64Until such time they thought it wise to wait.
A few more days passed by, and then the man
Began to thaw out beautifully. He talked
Of all the glory spread out on the hills.
September had arrived, and early fall
Was in the air. The nights were growing cool
To chilliness, and leaves had caught the frost.
And many changed in color, while the flowers
Of autumn were on hand. The man began
To walk out in the air, and climb the hills,
And bring home flowers, and once he said, “I do
This every year. You ought to see my huge
Herbarium of the flowers. ‘These astors note,
The earliest | have seen, except last year.”
When Doctor Flood reviewed the case he said,
‘The man is coming home. He'll soon be here.”’
September tenth he took a genial view
Of things, remarking it was strange that he
Should be off here in Hillsdale. Then he turned
To questioning on his own behalf, and asked
for all particulars of his being there.
They told him in detail about his wounds,
Relating how he limped along the street,
How hungry he had seemed, and how he slept,
And how he had been sleeping ever since,
“Twas clear the man was intellectual.
He said, “I thank you all for what you've done,
But now I’m going to find myself. Just leave
The thing to me; if rediscovery
Of self is possible, I'll know who |
May be, and why I’m here, and how | came.”
A few more days passed by and he was gay
In spirit, talking to himself, as if
He were a duel personality.
One day he asked for writing paper. ‘This

65CP ek ok es ee

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  

He covered with descriptions of the hills.
His observations were minute and sane,
Poetic in conception, on the whole
Informed with beauty, color, fragrance, form.
He seemed to have a business-self as well,
And, as he further convalesced, he took
A social turn, with manners of the world,
A Chesterfield in courtesy and grace.
2ut still he could not tell his name, or find
The reason why he came to Hillsdale’s Inn.

The ice broke one day though, and he fell in:

 

“T reached that cabin in the woods on foot,
From Paris, with a satchel in my hand.

The road was lonely; no one passed; I pushed
On into the thick wooded parts to find

The trout streams, and so came upon the hut.
[ came to Paris Station on the train.

Oh! yes, got on at Portland. so it was.

My mind is blank beyond that though, but wait.
Where was 1? Why, in Maine. What could I do
In Maine? Ah! yes, I had been reading how
Thoreau described the lovely woods of Maine.
[ now remember well he had been bred

A mystic who had brooded on the streams.

He saw the mountains washed in air, and heard
The voice of centuries in the robins’ call;

He knew the time when violets came to play
Beside the roads, and blue-bells chime in tune,
And shepherd’s purses burst and scatter wealth;
He saw the eagle with the sky tied on

[ts back, and meadows full of melody.
Enigmas of the woods were quickly solved
By him who knew the stealthy tread of beasts,
And Indian lore, and arts and crafts, and skill
Of woodsmen. When, beneath his floor, the mouse

66Set up her home she ate from out his hand:

The common birds would perch upon his head

And shoulders. He could coax a wood-chuck from

Its hole or lift the fish from out its place.

I’ve read his books from end to end, and love

His “Maine Woods,” hence I find myself in Maine.”
The thread was leading through the labyrinth.

It all grew plain the man was full of thought

About the wild things of the woods and fields.

From Portland he worked back along a line

That led to Boston, where he had no friends,

But stayed a day or two to see the sights.

From there the backward trail was taken up

Which led him to a journey on a boat,

“Fall River Line’ across the sound. He took

It in New York, so back he went, now fast,

Through Hell-gate, under Brooklyn Bridge, to where

He caught a glimpse of Liberty, the maid

Enlightening all who come up New York Bay.

From there his thought worked back across the state

Of Jersey into Pennsylvania.

From Philadelphia he made his way

To Pittsburg, thence to Indianapolis

And on back to Chicago. Then it all

Flashed on him in a minute, ‘““why, my name

Is Henry M. MacFarland, and by choice

And calling I’m a naturalist. I write

The nature sketches for two separate firms,

Who syndicate the matter, with a quill

That is a nom-de-plume. Few know me by

My name MacFarland, barring family friends.

The big world out of doors is where I live,

And up and down the country I have been

In search of new material for my books,

And that is how I came to be in Maine.”

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“A few things more require to be explained.
own through the mount in glens,

-

Angler’s Coat of Arms:

How did I get d
And make my way to
sMy mind retains no memory of that.
Somnambulism never was my forte,

And yet I must have slept along the way,

While walking too, and must have been asleep

On entering Hillsdale, walking up these steps,
And asking for the dining room. It seems

To me I must have eaten while I slept,

And thanked the waiter for the food, as you
Have told me. I remember not a thing.

My home is Minneapolis, not far

From where the University adorns

The heights along the Mississippi's banks.”

The friends back home had never missed the man,

Because his rambles were an every-year

Affair. He had no family, and

There was no wife or children to assail

The public ear with hue and cry, “A man

Is lost.’ He did not teach. Hf articles

Were all spasmodic, as one might expect.

He lived like Audubon, John Muir, and that

Fine bachelor Thoreau, a life apart.

Such men on tramps leave many things behind.
A knapsack will suffice. No change of clothes
Is needed. By the streams they wash their duds,
And sleep at times beneath the open sky.

This man was not so wild as that, but kept
Within the pale of social life, and knew

The ways of men who live in cultured homes.

But after all is said about details,

Connected with his strange mishap, this point
Stands out to me above all other truths,

That God has put within us all the means

68Ot self-determination, self-control,
The power to concentrate, and organize

Our inner life, to gather up the facts

Of sense perception, binding them as wholes,
That as our bodies are like clocks wound up

To run for seventy years, so in us all

A mechanism of a spiritual sort

Has gripped and used our nervous force for ends
Beyond our reason to explain. It saved

This man. Now God be praised for what we call
The continuity of consciousness,

That golden thread that reaches back and forth,
And binds the future with the past in one
Eternal now that gives to me myself

The gift of rediscovery, my ego
A unity and solidarity,

That is the pledge of immortality.0
3

Nee EtAnaels Chat Beckon Me

or

Che Costly Glories of the Hinher Life

Bp
Lincoln BHullepLIBRARY OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA

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Che Costly Glories of the Higher Life

 

By
Lincoln HulleyCOPYRIGHTED
1926
BY
LINCOLN HULLEY

DELAND, FLA.

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PRESS OF THE
E. O. PAINTER PRINTING CO
DELAND, FLA.Inscribed to my wife,

Elotse Mayham Hulleyss Vtyosemetesese tess eS Se Sess Se SS eet eS ede see ye

 

 

 

PORTIC PRODUCTIONS

LINCOLN MULLEY

   
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
 

Lullabies and Slumber Songs
Annie-Laurie: Love-Lyrics

Hiram Abiff, the Builder

Sonnets on the Immortal Bards
Shakespere’s Dream of Fair Women
Moonlight Nights at Palm Beach
King David: Israel's Lyric Bard
Christina, or Christian Van Dusen’s Law-Suit
Chivalry in Dixie: Metrical Romances

Mike Murphy’s Dream

Campus Memories

Alice Coventry and other Metrical Romances

The Eloise Chimes

Chapel Lyrics of Faith, Hope and Love

Fables and Myths from the Sibyl’s Book

The Jubilate of Rabbi Ben Adam

Christian Hymns

St. Anne and the Children’s Hour

St. Michael and the Dragon: An Epic of the War
Savonarola’s Visions of Judgment

Broken Hearts and Lives

Vesper Songs of Joy, Trust and Praise

Brave Idylls of the Gallant South

Dwellers Beyond the Styx, or Tragedies of Love
Dixie Sketches in Chalk and Charcoal

Ghiberti’s Doors to Paradise and Other Art Poems
A Maker of Dreams and Poetic Fantasies
Gold-Fields, Gold-Skies and Gold-Seekers

A Farmer-Prince

Galloping Westward: A Ballad

A Disciple of Plato

Florida the Beautiful

Ariel and Cinderella

Eden, a Paradise of Love

College Lyrics of Idealism and Optimism
Chauncey and Kitty; also Bob’s Dilemma

Earth to Earth, or the Joy of Life

For Better For Worse

Aunt Jane and Her Niece; also the Boca Grande Sapphire
Hymns of the Dead Gods

Circe in Search of a Soul

The Crystal Christ

Gloria: A Summer Rendezvous
Angels That Beckon Me

Ave atque Vale, or Life and ImmortalityAngels
Achievement
Aggressiveness
Aims
Altruism
Aspiration
Beauty
sJenevolence
Books
Charity
Chastity
Cheerfulness
Chivalry
Church
Conscience
Courage
Decision
Devotion
Diligence
Duty
Endurance
Excellence
Fact

Faith
Fidelity
Forgiveness
Fortitude
Freedom
Friendship
Frugality
Good Humor

 

Goodness
Gratitude
Growth
Helpfulness
Home
Honesty
Honor
Hope
Humility
Ideals
Industry
Joy

Justice
Knowledge
Kindness
Law
Leisure
Life

Light
Limitations
Love

Loy alty
Magnanimity
Modesty
Nature
Pain
Patience
Patriotism
Peace
Perseverance

Philanthropy

CONTENTS

 

   
 
 
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
   
 
   
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
   
    
  
 
   
 
 
  

Piety
Politeness
Prudence
Purity

Reality
Religion
Responsiveness
Reverence
Right

Sacrifice
Self-Control
Self-Discipline
Self- Expression
Self-Sacrifice
Sincerity
Sorrow
Strength
Striving
Submission
Suffering
Sympathy
Tenderness
Toil

Tolerance
Trustworthiness
Truth

Veracity
Visions

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Angels
The principles that grip my life, a troop
Of shining angels, are: great truths, high aims,
Ideals of great worth, (whose substance shames
All vulgar things) choice books, fine friends, a group

Of virtues, qualities that will not stoop
To serve base ends or men, the glorious claims
Of duty life presents, which burn like flames
To lure our spirits onward, else they droop.

These are the angels looking from my sky,
White-robed and radiant, luring me with smiles,

Sometimes far off, and sometimes very nigh,

At home, abroad, within the dim church aisles,

Their eyes aglow, their parted lips, their hands,
All gestures pointing to the holy lands.
>
Achievement

Set up thy goal, and, e’er the day is spent,

Achieve with ardor all thy soul has sought

Of worthy deeds, first clothed in worthy thought!
Strive toward the end, with all that life has lent

Of courage, strength and hardness Heaven hath sent!
Seek not the prizes that are sold and bought,
But things eternal, as a good man ought,

And then lie down to rest within thy tent.

All other crowns will crumble into dust,
But when thy body turns to clay again,
The things unseen, in which was put thy trust,
Shall shine as yonder stars in mortal ken.

Achieve, or do thy utmost to attempt,
That from all blame thy soul may be exempt!
7

  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    

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3
Aggressiveness

 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
    

Into earth’s strife one goes, and bares his breast
To sword or gun, and counts the danger meet
For those who sit with favor at God’s feet,
That, in this world of men, to fight is best,

Since each must save his soul in life’s high test,
By braving hardship, yielding no retreat,
Attacking daily every lie and cheat,

Nor thinking once of ease or peace or rest.

Take up the cudgels for the things worth while!
Upon thy heart let dreams and plans be sketched,
Then, on to battle for them with a smile;
Success in all life’s struggles must be fetched.

The Devil's one great virtue, energy,
Has brought full many a conquest to his knee.

A
Aims
What part have we in all the old, dead kings,
Forgotten heroes, martyrs, sages, saints?
Some blessed the world, but others gave it taints,
That curse it yet with sin and other things;

Some loaded down their ladies with gold rings,
Fine jewels, castles, woes and vast complaints ;
Some taught the world the value of restraints;

To some in gratitude the heart still clings.

Their aims alone give value to their lives;
Now, while their ghosts go stalking down all roads,
I ask them, “‘Is the man worth while who strives,
And are you happy now in your abodes?”

Few in their ghostly haunts appear as chums;
I see one stoop, as if to pick up crumbs.
8~

2
Altruism
It moves my soul to see the struggling mass
Of men grope blindly in the dark for light
Upon their way, hedged in by fearful night ;
High heaven to them seems hard as beaten brass:

They hate the souls of all above their class:
At every turn they are prepared to smite
A foe for whom they have no word but fight,
Their sullen souls deep mired in a morass.

My brothers, thousands love you who are dumb
Before the vexing problems of the world:

They love you, fight for you, and often some
Strive on till reason from its throne is hurled.

Blood-fever in the mass has made it blind
To altruism, in a world that’s kind.

6
Aspiration
If I had David’s harp, or Jubal’s lyre,
And knew my way among the tuneful strings,
I would not use the songs my neighbor sings,
But, first, I'd ask the Lord for holy fire,

Then to seraphic music would aspire;
I’d soar above the hills on angels’ wings,
And touch the glory of the King of Kings,
And fill the earth with joy, and never tire.

These holy things above me, unattained,
Glimpsed in my visions of the good and true,

Have power to draw me, and, if ever gained,
Will likely bring still holier heights to view.

The strength with which we long for what is best

Is measured by endeavor as the test.

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Beauty
The curves of beauty in the earth and sky
Entrance the artist’s and the poet’s soul;
They are to him but parts in God’s great whole,
That haunt him night and day he knows not why;

But beauty first must lie within the eye
Of those who dream of beauty as their goal;
To serve her as an end becomes the role
To which they give themselves until they die.
All beauty is subjective, in the hearts
Of those affected by the world of sense;
It may be moral or esthetic arts
That make the chief appeal. Our recompense

Is this, to search objectively for schemes,
That fit in aptly with our inner dreams.
8
Benevolence

Good will to men, no matter what their state,

To high, to low, to those ot every creed,

Perceiving only what may be their need,
Regardless if their names be mean or great;

This is the essence of God’s love, not hate.
Oh, let me on such love and goodness feed,
That I shall hammer into every deed
Good will to men with love compassionate!

It was an angel’s song, that peace on earth
Should some day come to men, good in their wills;
Good wishes issue in kind deeds, whose worth
Is in their power for happiness, that spills
To other souls with healing in its power,
Till they aspire to serve God every hour.
189
Books
My book is fine companionship. JI tire
Sometimes of social life. and all it lends
To ennui, sham, and boredom, where one spends
Flis strength and time and change, when, by the fire,

Someone he really likes would stir desire,
More surely than the empty head that bends,
And bows, to serve the senseless, silly ends

Of drawing rooms, that only rouse one’s ire.

Shall I see those I read, and hear them talk

On those high themes within their cherished page?
Shall I be asked to join them in a walk,

While they discourse on all befits a sage?

Christ, Plato, Browning, Shakespeare, Paul,
Let me crowd in some corner near you all!

10
Charity

To all my neighbor’s faults may I be blind,

Or, cover them with charity, at least;

For in the light that shines from yonder East,
I find my own soul full of spots, my mind

Made hard by strictures, often too unkind;

Within the circle of my love I'll spread a feast

Of friendly words. None are as some low beast,
Unfit to live; I sought and now I find,

That Charity springs from God’s heart above,

His gift to earth, when winds are all adverse;
That needy hearts are yearning for my love,

Not alms, which sometimes proves a hurtful curse.
The mantle of sweet charity may well be thrown
Round other shoulders as around my own.
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11
Chastity
In purity and honor hold thy life
Where all the secret springs of virtue are;
Deep in the soul, reflected from afar,
Proceeds the happiness of man and wite;

 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

If these hid sources are befouled, then, strife
Ensues among the motives, that will mar
The purest life, as clouds obscure a star,

And man has thrust into his heart a knife.

Chaste thoughts are first, and, next to these choice words ;
If these be pure, foul deeds cannot be done;

Our hearts are nests, one says, of unclean birds
Whose necks should all be wrung, excepting none.

In moral purity go make thy vow,

Chaste as a maid in holiness is now!
1 2
Cheerfulness
Up! Up! The day begins; ‘tis early dawn;
Good cheer shall greet us from the lord of day.
Cheer up! Cheer on! Good spirits make their way
Across the hills. *Tis not a time to yawn,

Or curse one’s fate, or wish the light withdrawn};
It is the time to wake, and rise, and pray!
[t is a time to work, and laugh, and play;
Cheer up! Get up! Go, gambol like a fawn!

3right summer smiles along the woods and fields;

She sends good cheer far out across the lakes;
Her harvests fairly burst with heavy yields;

She claps her hands with joy each breath she takes.

‘Tis only right that we with cheerful mirth
Should join the happy carols of the earth.

1213
Chivalry
When knighthood was in flower, in olden time,
The reign of chivalry made life seem good;
Fair ladies formed a noble sisterhood,

Inspiring men to sing their charms in rhyme,

And, chiefly, to avenge them against crime:
As fearless cavaliers, the men all stood
A unit, in a splendid attitude

Of service, that has made the age sublime.

Nor has the age been wholly lost in mist,
For in our confused brains the valors rise,
That then were pledged to ladies at the tryst,
And once again we read within their eyes

The happy trust they had when chivalry
Was sworn to honor and to chastity.

14
Church
The church, with all its holy gifts, gave light
And life and love and truth and joy and hope
When, in the darkness, I was left to grope,
It lit a candle that grew softly bright;

It led me out of darkness and the night;
It girded me with strength, that I might cope
With evil thoughts upon the downward slope
And win the victory in a deadly fight.

It guided, trained, and helped me in more ways
Than I can ever tell. It filled me full

Of aspirations, that no other force conveys,
And noble dreams, superb, and beautiful.

The church at large, from pulpit down to pew,

Is God’s great saving gift from every view.

13

  
 
 
  
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
   

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15

Conscience

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    

Man’s conscience is the candle of the Lord
That shines in all to give us light divine;
Beside the great high altar, flickering fine.
I’ve seen the candles, and have heard the word

The minister has wielded like a sword,
That flashes, slashes, cuts right to the line,
Dividing good and evil by a sign,
Which makes us feel all evil is abhorred.
A simple intuition it may be,
Disclosing clearly what is right, what not,
But driving home conviction, as a bee
Thrusts in its sting, which burns us good and hot.

Analysis may call it this or that,
But every sinner knows it waxes fat.
16
Courage

Men face sure death who never wink an eye,

Leap freely into danger, as a pool,

Not like the frenzied foeman, or the fool,
Who have no brains to sense the danger nigh.

God matches such with Gabriel in the sky,
Who blows the trumpet for the charge by rule,
With eyes and heart made clear in honor’s school,
Who hold it often life’s best prize to die.

Let me move forward, when the clarion clear
Sounds out the charge against the hosts of sin;
Let none among us know the word of fear,
But feel the pulse beat quick amid the din

Of battle joined between the sons of light
And those whose evil spirits choose the night.
1417
Decision
The seat of character is in the will,
And will may issue in uncounted acts,

  
 
  

In words and thoughts each day, these mental facts

Becoming habits, hardened down until

They fix our destinies for good or ill;
Each spirit ever after that reacts
According as his character attracts

Ideals that his passions would fulfil.

Decision, firm and practical, on points
Arising in one’s life, puts in the will,
As iron in the blood, as oil in joints,
The strong and smooth perfection of our skill

In meeting questions under every test,
And solving them with promptness for the best.
18
Devotion

Lord Christ, I give Thee all: my house, my land,
My money, goods of every kind, my vow!
Such earthly things, as once had value, now

I lay upon Thine altar. Take my hand,

And lead me by the word of Thy command!
Here, in Thy presence, I would humbly bow,
Give time, love, talents, all, and ask that Thou
Shalt use them, as Thy kingdom’s needs expand.

Then after these things I would throw my life,
My self, my body, soul, and challenge death
To use me in Thy service, if the strife
Should call on me to yield my dying breath,
Done in entire forgetfulness of self,
And solely seeking to exalt Thyself.
15Cee en ee ee ee ee

 

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
    

 

iy
Diligence
Be diligent to do thy daily task!
Let no soft dalliance change thy settled plan!
Be swift in action, prove thyself a man,
Who will not in the summer sunshine bask,

When duties all about his dwelling ask
That he conclude well what his hopes began!
On lazy bones and methods clap a ban,

1f with sweet wine or oil you fill the cask!

Since diligence is mother of good luck,
Apply thyself to duty with great care!
Thus one shall never need the aid of Puck;
He stands with God in answering his own prayer.

At once, today, now, drive the thing in hand,
And in thy grasp is held the magic wand!

20
Duty
Duty in law and morals, both, begins
In those relations we sustain as men
Within a universe of law. A pen
Of swine has no such word. They do no sins.

But men are not as beasts in fleshly skins:

To them the word holds fast. A robber’s den

May try to cast it off. No citizen
With conscience shirks clear duty, though he spins

Strange yarns, sometimes, to justify his ends;

Our duties rise from contacts with the world,
With God, with all relations among friends,

And in the things we owe ourselves. If hurled

Into the midst of devils down in Hell,
The word of duty in our ears would swell.

1621
Endurance
The light fell soft upon the patient dead,
Who had endured, until he broke at last;
His toil at end, his working days now past,
How soundly he could pillow now his head;

Endurance had availed to earn him bread;
A stoic hardness furrowed in him vast
Crow’s feet about his eyes and lips, aghast

Through life with pain, the while his spirit bled.

To suffer pain we deem a soldier’s lot,

Still, all around us, there are breaking hearts,
Who, in the course of duty, are forgot,

Yet carry on in pain till life departs.

These wear white garments, cleanly washed in blood,
Their steadfast patience little understood.
22
Excellence

The best is none too good! Let excellence

Be stamped upon the crest of every school!

Though mediocrity may suit the empty fool,
Aristocrats in brains should build a fence

Against imperfect goods, and, then, commence
To agitate for nothing but the best,
That only excellence, in man and tool,
Shall have a true man’s love and confidence.
The things that are more excellent are these:
Faith, hope, and love, high honor, justice, right;
A program like to that the world agrees
Should challenge men who battle for the light.

The coward souls do shoddy work, and yield,
Without a blow. to better men, the field.
17rtswaege eg CS estes eee swe sere ey steer yey

Coos are eta

 

   
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
     

a9
Fact
Go, get things straight, and pare them down as facts,
Until they stand, shaved to their naked bones!
Yes, make them smooth, as smoothas polished stones ;
Not soft and yielding, as the fuller’s wax!

 

Then will they stand the blows a battle-axe
Might make against the Lord Almighty’s thrones;
The lying spirit looks at them, and groans;

They will his skill at every angle tax.

Like blue-edged swords they pierce opponents through,
Their bladed sharpness cutting clean and clear:

No coat of mail resists their steely, blue,
High-tempered quality. Straight through the gear

Of mailed knights their points are duly thrust,
Who, with their specious lies, must bite the dust.
24
Faith
A fool will mock at faith because a priest
Has set it forth, and bound it with a vow:

The fool turns round, and binds across his brow
Hypotheses and theories with the least

Pretense to reason, and will daily feast
His soul on guesses priests do not allow;
Religion, science should not raise a row;
Both live by faith, yet call each other beast.

Except upon the ladder of a creed
They neither can so much as raise a foot:
Each uses faith to serve his constant need,
And hugs a superstition close to boot.
Conviction 1s no guarantee of truth;
False teaching grips us all from early youth.

18Zo
Fidelity
May we be found among the faithful, Lord,
To whom the gifts of life have been a trust;
Who have not bartered them away in lust,
But treated them as Thine, in sweet accord.

May we be able to increase our hoard,
As all Thy servants with the talents, must,
[f they would meet with favor, not be thrust
Into the outer darkness, for the sword.

May we invest our time and talents both
In ways that shall attest entire good faith,
And prove to Thee we have not been in sloth,
Afraid to meet Thee, as one fears a wraith.

May our adherence to the Master’s law,
Prove our integrity without a flaw.
26
Forgiveness
Now who are we, that we should be so hard
Against the man who may have done us wrong?
Are we so perfect, we may dare prolong

A spirit of revenge, and disregard

The royal law of love, and still mount guard
Against our neighbors whom we live among?
To God all vengeance should by right belong;

Our hate may all His work of grace retard.

Remit your right of justice, your fair due!
Dismiss resentment from your inmost heart!

Restore your foe to favor, and renew

 

Your good-will toward him! — that, indeed, 1s art.

God’s mercy was not toward His friends, but foes;
Thus would the soul’s physician heal our woes.

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27
Fortitude

Rare strength and firmness in the human mind
To bear adversity, endure pain,
And other ills, that life is heir to, gain
The heights that rise above the vales unkind,

The groves of sorrow, and the cares that grind
Our bodies into dust, and on the plain
Leave skeletons to bleach in sun and rain,

Till scattered far and wide by every wind.

Hold steady, soul, with patient fortitude!
Like solid rock resist the wind and tide,

That would remove you from your place! Though rude
Your fate may seem, life’s ocean rough and wide,

To stand and hold your own with God 1s best;
The victors are the ones who bear the test.
28
Freedom

Our freedom rests upon a righteous base,

Not brutal force, the tiger’s strength or claw,

The serpent’s fang, or bulldog’s ircn jaw,
But on a soul that looks into God’s face,

And daily seeks the thews that come from grace,
Obedient to the claims of sacred law;
All these rare virtues, John, the saint, foresaw
On Patmos, standing in the holy place.

oF es iA a 14 es . . 4

Paul's chiliarch bought a thing he could not own,
A Roman freedom not within his soul;

He thought it sprang from Czsar’s mighty throne,
Instead, it was within. Some men cajole

Themselves to thinking they can play a part,
For which in truth they have no soul or art.

2029
Friendship
Have you a friend who would give all he owns,
His goods or life, to save you in your need?
There are but few who answer to that creed:
Yet there are some who gladly yield their thrones,

That those they love may sit there. Their sweet tones
Sound in our ears in all our valorous deeds:
For one such friend my heart would gladly bleed;
To kiss his feet I’d kneel on cobble-stones.
One counts acquaintances by hundreds up;
Not one of whom, perhaps, would prove a friend.
They will in friendship’s name oft quaff a cup,

But when it comes to business, that’s the end.

The trusted, true, and tried. as an ally,
Will mount the scaffold for his friend. to die.

>

30
Frugality
Frugality is kin to toil and thrift,
A trinity of graces for the poor,
Good angels, every one, you may be sure;
Put money in your purse, and it will lift

You out of trouble in a pinch. No gift
ls worth much, in the struggle round your door,
When gaunt necessity calls out for more,

And you begin to feel yourself adrift.

Toil brings its own reward. On frugal lines
Live well within the limits of your means;
And then, if ever fate with chance combines

To smite your house, they will not find it leans,

But founded on a solid triple base,
You need not ask for any other brace.

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31
Good Humor
Good humor, not the cackling of a goose,
Nor empty cachinnation of a fool,
Nor merry jibes of circus clowns, at school
To vulgar thoughts and phrases floating loose

From lip to lip, that serve no worthy use,
Defiling hearts, as poison from a pool,
Alien in spirit to each wholesome rule,

That all right-minded people would produce.

But humor that is human, sound and sane,

Down to the very core, that springs from love,
The foe of morbid moods, a friend in pain,

That lifts its eyes from earth to heaven above,

The optimistic confidence that good
Prevails above, and joins earth’s brotherhood.

32
Goodness
The good die young? They do not die at all.
For crowns they wear the evergreens of God.
They lie not crushed beneath the grass-green sod;
Their figures grow to statures fine and tall,

Beside whom all the selfish souls seem small,
And fit to crumble into common clod;
The good indeed have only but to nod,

And all the paltry worlds before them crawl.

‘The good, the true, the beautiful,’ we say;
Note, goodness is the angel in the lead,

But what is goodness? Books and apples? Nay!
These things, and more, are good in books we read,

Yet are not good, although we prize them still,
For goodness is an attribute of will.

22a3
Gratitude
Shame on us that we fail in gratitude,
First, unto God, next, to the souls who help!
One gets no thanks who feeds a lion’s whelp,
Nor do we count its greedy actions rude;

Yet, how few men will leave the multitude
To thank the giver of good gifts! Scores yelp
‘or more, insistent, in their greed, for help,
And, thankless, eat their gains in solitude.
A lively sense of favors yet to come
May be mistaken for a heart of thanks;
Hold not your peace, O neighbors, be not dumb!
But let the Tiber overflow its banks,

And inundate the hot and parched plain
With gratitude to Him who sends the rain.

34
Growth
Each day shall add its little to the store
We treasure, as the miser builds his pile;
And from our hearts within shall come the smile,
That came to Midas from his golden lore.

By slow degrees, by adding more and more,
The builders of the pyramids, erstwhile,
Heaped up the stones, drawn many a weary mile,
And raised the wonder known from shore to shore.

Now shall our spirits grow less there than here?
Shall all our earthly striving reach an end

Or be engulfed, absorbed? Oh! have no fear!
The power that placed us here is our dear friend,

Who made us for Himself, as sons of God,
Who lifts us to Himself above the clod.

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35
Helpfulness
“Tf we can help, use us,” the women cried,
When war burst on the land like leaden hail.
O white-souled women! You, who never fail
To lift the fallen; you, whom no false pride

Has kept from kneeling at the sinner’s side,
To give him needed help, who took the veil,
And pressed a brimming cup, the holy grail,
To lips that but for you must sure have died;

‘Tis you shall save us yet, our mothers, wives,

Our sweethearts, daughters, by the grace of God;
In trouble you would gladly give your lives

For us, and sink beneath the lowly sod.

In helpfulness the holy women stood
With Mary watching Jesus on the rood.
36
Home
Within the sacred circle of the home,
Amid the joys and sorrows centering there,
A sane man makes, or finds, a world so fair,
There is none finer neath the sky’s blue dome,

From that rich soil, as from a fertile loam,
Spring flowers the rarest. These the millionaire
Cannot buy up with gold, but he may share
Them with the world, unless his footsteps roam.

No wonder “Home Sweet Home” wins from us all
That homage due to things we love the best;

It is the shrine of love, if hut or hall,
The place to which we go in need of rest.

No symbol carries more inside its heart

Than home wherein all social duties start.

24J/
Honesty
“An honest man’s the noblest work of God,”
Sang one who tried the human heart to search;
He was not speaking then for holy church,
But stood on even ground with all who plod;

Above our heads we see the sheriff’s rod,
And that may steady some who tend to lurch,
Who in their daily dealings plan to smirch
The angel, honesty, whose ways seem odd.

We owe to men straight words and honest hearts

In all our dealings with them on the earth,
Not double dealing, and dishonest arts,

But always thoughts and deeds of strictest worth.

Where fraud, deceit, and cheating hold full sway,
Black darkness settles down to quench the day.
38
Honor

“Choose death before dishonor, my dear child;

Honor’s a precious jewel of the soul;

If that is lost, there’s nothing can console
You in the latter years but God. Defiled,

A blot on your escutcheon made by wild
Adventures, treasons in your heart, your goal
Of honest living drops; naught but a role

Unworthy actors take is left.’’ He smiled,

But in the old man’s face high valor showed;
A gleam of holy light was in his eye;

It seemed that honor’s self within him glowed,
A power of God descending from on high.

And as that daughter chose the paths of life,
High honor ruled her actions in the strife.

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39
Hope
“Life is insanity; a fevered brain
Creates illusion,” one false teacher said;
He added. “When we die, we’re done, we're dead ;*
When young, his words had power to give me pain,

For were they true, life was bereft of gain,
And for the future there was naught but dread;
If life were an illusion of the head,

Reality was gone and all was vain.

Then Hope rose up, with beauty in her eye,
And of the mocking spirit sweetly asked,
“Will you permit me now to give the lie
To that illusion which your soul has tasked?”

We are not dust, blown up by chance of late,
But souls. like God, who mock at chance and fate.

40
Humility
The noisy lord of lands in vast estates
May lift his head, and hide it in the cloud;
His word and manner rudely style him proud;
He curses humble men as serfs, and rates

Himself so high above the beggar at his gates,
That when he passes him his voice 1s loud;
Each claims alike six feet, when in his shroud,

And death has leveled them and made them mates.

Then shall the equal sentence, “Dust to dust,”
Be meted out to them beside the grave;
The lord and lady to the grave-yard must
Be led to sleep beside the humble slave.

God’s courtiers lay their pride upon the shelf,
Each thinking of the other, not himself.

  

284]
Ideals

Things are not real, except to human tcuch?
OQ, say not so! The dreamers of all time
Have made of life a thing superb, sublime,

Because they loved the true, and hated much

The things of sense that fade away. All such,
Who to the heights of glory duly climb,
Will count a life lived in the senses crime,

Unless the senses serve but as a crutch

To help us toward ideals as our goals.
These fire our hearts, and challenge us to deeds,

That keep the light lit in our darkened souls,
And help enshrine the beauty in our creeds.

The flags and symbols of our world’s advance
Are high ideals for which men break a lance.

42
Industry
I dig and dig for gold, not in the hills
For that which tarnishes. My hungry mind
Bores into crypts of thought. I strive to find,
In Plato’s realm, the shining gold that fills

The crevices. And, ah! the miser thrills
[ have in counting nuggets of a kind
That many men pass by because they’re blind!
With eager soul I loose them with my drills.
Count time as gold, since life at best is brief:
Fill full the minutes as a crevice packed
With ore. ‘The toil will bring thee joy, not grief,

 

When thou shalt see the golden mountains stacked.

A thing worth doing should be done with zest,
As friend of God, in toil at His behest.

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43
Joy

Free from all tasks and cares that might annoy,
I plunged into the woods one summer day,
Intent on pleasure, stopping on the way

To revel in the things I loved, quite like a boy;

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  

I saw a thousand creatures there employ
Such tender feet and hands and arms in play,
That from the heart | had to kneel and pray,
In thanks to God for giving them such joy.

It was the keynote of the afternoon;

Joy fairly clapped its hands in everything;
Sweet life to all was such a blessed boon,

The cup of joy was brimming at life’s spring.

It set my heart to singing truly then,
And in my mind | hear it oft again.

+4
Justice
Let justice be although the Heavens crack!
Steal no man’s right, and give the Devil his due!
As you have earned, so be it paid to you!
Press not your load upon another's back!

In judgments owed the rest be not thou slack!
Go, meet thy bond to Gentile or to Jew,
That thy just dealing, in the great review,

May show thy page to be clean, white, not black!

Strict fairness is the jewel of a judge
Who looks not to the right hand or the left,
But seeing where the right lies will not budge,
Until in twain the false view has been cleft.

The absolute, eternal God, at last,
In righteousness shall judge the world aghast.

2845
Kindness
Kor years he kept a tiny flaxen curl
Within the covers of his chapel book,
On which, at worship, he would cast a look,
And think of her, once owner, just a girl,

Since dead, an eddy in the current’s whirl,
While time flowed swiftly by, as in the brook.
To him that lock of hair peeped from its nook,
As precious to his heart as some choice pearl.
The reason was a kindness done to him,
By this sweet maid that touched his heart,
Because now, in his age, grown strangely grim,
All others looked on him as one apart.

The milk of human kindness tasted sweet,
And fed his life as daily bread and meat.
46
Knowledge

In superstition, ignorance, and sin

We have the triple foes of human growth,—

Against these foes let freemen take an oath
To wage a ceaseless war, and let light in;

These enemies may make a frightful din,

And do not stand convicted, yet, of sloth,

3ut can’t resist fair truth and knowledge both,
Which in the end are destined sure to win.

All knowledge gained will tend to make one wise,
Though many men who know a lot are fools;

Still, knowledge has the power to open eyes,
And wisdom justly issues from the schools.

Through all the world day now succeeds to night,
And truth is gaining ground like spreading light.
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Law

 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

Law is a rule of action. It is more;

It carries obligation at its heart.

But where did law first get its forceful start?
God is its primal source and spring; therefore,

It well behooves us to give pause before
We scoff at it, and feel our spirits smart,
As they most surely shall in no small part,
Which is the way men learned in days of yore.

And this is for our good, as all may learn;
The universe is held in place by law,

The state would fly apart, and men would yearn
For order, which they always hold in awe,

If we should lose those principles that bind
Ourselves in just relations with our kind.

48
Leisure
Leisure to loaf, and to invite my wife
To stroll along out through the garden gate,
Nothing to hurry one, and time to wait
Until the dear grandchildren quit their strife,

Nothing to do, or say, my mind now rife

With memories I now and then collate,

And pass along to share them with my mate,—
Well, this comes fitly toward the end of life.

We made our home beside a running brook,

Drank water from a common earthen bowl,
Have eaten bread with tears, and had a book

With which to nourish well the hungry soul.

And now comes leisure, e’er I lay my head
To sleep beside my loved and aged dead.
3049
Life

O, Life, ‘twas you, then, knocking at the door,

Last night, when I called out to pause and wait!

[ would not keep you standing at my gate,
But gladly bid you welcome evermore;

] stood there, idly tapping on the floor,

While you were bearing on a silver plate

Rich gifts; I would not be a vile ingrate,
Though seeming so, since you knocked oft before.
The pulse that throbs within my heart and blood

Is but a symbol of the things I need,
Relations of my spirit with the good,

That shall fulfil God’s holy law and creed.
For that is life, to know God, and to be
Related to Him right, eternally.

50
Light

High o’er the hills I see a blaze of light

  
 
  
   
 
 
 
  
  
   
  

 

That shines from some far-distant central sun:

[ know for sure a new day has begun,
Eternal foe of darkness and the night;

Each moment now the glory grows more bright;
Dawn of a better day has surely won:
Much faster now the morning colors run,

That put the shades of terror all to flight.

Give me more light! and, with the light, more grace
To bear responsibility light brings,

That not with blinded eyes, and shame in face,
I shall look up to see the King of Kings!

Light in my soul, and light upon my way,

Grant me in larger measure, Lord, each day!

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Limitations

 

You never have seen me, nor yet I you;

This body is the house in which I live;

You look my way, your mind made sensitive,
But all you see, although you look me through,

Is just an image, which can give no clue

To you of me, it is so fugitive,

Made on the curtains of your eyes. Forgive
Me, if I still insist this thing is true.

Like one chained in a cave, I only see
The shadows cast upon my prison wall;
From these I may infer what you may be,
And just the same may find out God, that’s all.

It well behooves me, then, with humble mind
To judge the limits of all human kind.
52
Love
I think I heard love’s strains long, long ago,
While leaning softly on my mother’s breast;
A song of love she sang, and brought me rest,
With peace and satisfaction babies know.

In boyhood and in youth, when life’s aglow
With hope and passion, I next heard love best;
nobler test,

‘

And taught me love beyond all power to show.

Then manhood brought the fuller

Bound by the ties of kinship, life expands,
Increasing joy, and making earth more sweet;
Attachments of good-will make new demands,
3ut love lays all things at the loved one’s feet.

Its essence is unselfishness, that asks
No big returns, but only fresh, new tasks.

323
Loyalty
In all relations where men look for nice
Discriminations, made to serve love, truth,
And right, may I be faithful, and, in sooth,
Count loyalty to them above all price;

Disloyalty is such a loathsome vice,
That it should be impressed upon all youth;
A man in manners may be deemed uncouth,
3ut if he ring true, that fact should suffice

To lift him high above the vulgar crowd,
And stamp him as true coin in any realm;

He lives high up above the shining cloud
Where loyalties our little world o’erwhelm.

For him the shining ones reserve a crown,
And he shall glory in God’s smile, not frown.

54
Magnanimity
His magnanimity was just a spark
That hit the town, and burst into a flame;
It gave to him a safe, undying fame,
Dispersing light where all around was dark;

A host whose little souls were drear and stark
Would brighten up at mention of his name;
His spirit rested on them all, the same,

And brought from dumb lips always this remark:

“He shames me with my littleness; if he
Can be so big, pray tell, why may not I?”

And so from mean revenge he set men free,
Until their souls, redeemed, had touched the sky.

God, send us chevaliers of grace, big men,
Who strive for great-souled things with tongue and pen!

 

 

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Modesty
A modest grace in dress and gait and air,
Combined with that same quality within,
Which unto Beauty is the next of kin,
Will make its blest possessor wondrous fair ;

tn

Propriety in speech is all too rare;
How oft immodesty begins to spin
The web of folly she will flounder in
When once her feet are caught within the snare!

A sweet reserve of delicacy in thought
Will find expression in a decorous speech ;
These are the garments that cannot be bought,
But which beyond the queen’s white ermine reach.

“As modest as a nun!” Love coined that phrase
For use to stamp approval with high praise.

56
Nature
I know a spot, within an aged wood,
Where I may hold communion with the birds,
(Whose worship moves to silence, not to words,)
With leaves, and light in patches, and the mood

Midsummer heat in all that sisterhood

Induces. Here my soul oft girds

Itself with strength, as do those lowing herds,
That graze in sweet, rich meadows for their food.

Uplifts and inspirations from the flowers,
From sunsets, moon-rise, stars, and charming skies,
From all that summer broods, from summer showers,
Move me to worship with anointed eyes.

I saw a fairy climb a tiny leaf;
It talked to me confirming my belief.
347
Pain
Eternities were all those hideous hours
In agonies that seemed to have no end:
The tortures of black hell can never lend
Such pangs of pain, as in that den of ours,

We call a hospital, and bank with flowers,
Where chairs and cabinets and knives all send
A thrill of horror through you, as your friend,
The Doctor, saws you up with fiendish powers.

I lay there sweating blood while zons passed,
An infinite procession of long years;

I thought each breath I drew would be my last,
Stretched out upon a rack of woes and fears.

But, when it ended, I thanked God for pain,
And for Him would have suffered all again.
58
Patience
Serene and calm and still I see you, star,
The pole-star, just above the hill. I trust
Implicitly, in daytime, that you must
Be there next night, so patient and so far

You burn. Round you gay Phcebus wheels his car,
And shall until his axles turn to rust:
When Time has hurled earth's monaments to dust

God still shall see you shining where you are.
Soul, be, in your sphere, constant, loyal, true,
As patient as my star, the one [ love,

Out yonder, standing over in the blue,
My guardian angel in the sky above.

Run! Run your race with patience to the goal,
And win your crown of triumph, O my soul!

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9
Patriotism

I owe allegiance to a holy flag.

May all my loyalty be given the test

Of faithful service to that streaming crest,
On which a happy nation well may brag!

In dust and mire its folds shall never drag,
While loyalty beats in the patriot’s breast,
And faithfulness be not an idle jest

On foolish tongues that will not cease to wag.

My God, my native land, my flag, my home,—
These are the precious treasures of my life!

These symbols shrine the best beneath God's dome;
To these I pledge my all in holy strife.

The liberty I prize is dear because
It is defended by my country’s laws.
60
Peace
Peace comes at last with rest and sleep and dreams,
The neighbors hushed in silence rourtd the door,
A few choice friends tiptoeing oer the floor,
Across the carpet, playing, soft sunbeams,

Sweet flowers, heaped high from one who deems
The white face there, so often kissed before,
Still dearer in death’s arms than when of yore

They talked and laughed together of their schemes.

| ask no peace until the battles end;

Lite is the sweetest for its loads, of care;

Say not to me that death is man’s good friend;
| like the struggle and do not despair.

Don’t talk to me just now of peace and rest,
But I shall welcome both at last as best.

|e
oO61
Perseverance
He could not be defeated: men knew that,
Who saw the battler brace his foot on ground,
To strike at fate and chance, and quick rebound
Before the wrestlers had him on the mat:

Each time they hit he gave them tit for tat:

No weak spot in his armor could be found:

He clinched, and round their bloody bodies wound,
Until they let him go, a victor flat.

Caprice and fickleness will gain no ends,

But steadfast purpose, held with bulldog grit,
An iron will that neither breaks nor bends,

Will master all the foes that fly at it.

Dull scholars often win the longed-for prize,
Because they keep it well before their eyes.

62
Philanthropy
Brothers in blood we are the whole world o’er,
Allied by all the bonds cf pure friendship,
Shorn of exclusive merit by one clip,
Knit close together by blood ties that more

Than all things else here bound earth’s tribes of yore.
Therefore, ‘tis not too much, aboard one ship,
When life shall make us feel the painful whip,

To show affection at each other’s door.

Philanthropy, the love of human kind,
Is growing now by yearly leaps and bounds;
Its lovely flower commends the common mind,
And scents the air wherever it abounds.
The happiness of man throughout the scale
Of social life shall finally prevail.
37Se ee ee ne ee ee eee ee eee oe

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63
Piety
O Thou, for Whom the light is as a robe,
Who dwellest in the utmost parts of space,
Unveil Thy form, that I may see Thy face,
And into all my secret wishes probe!

My fathers in the past upon this globe
Have left within my tongue the forms of grace,
And in my memory faint gleams | trace

Of things that press my brain in every lobe:

Words, phrases, filled with joys and hopes and fears,
That I can not decipher, nor relate ;

They burst upon me amid smiles or tears,
And on my knees I praise my God, not fate,

Nor chance, two empty words that mock the facts,
That He attests His being by His acts.
64
Politeness

Not Chesterfieldian manners would I praise,

That often had their root in vile desire,

The studied art that aimed to light the fire
Of base, unlawful lusts, but those fine ways

That kindness prompts, which to the end ot days
Shall be the soul of manners in the squire,
As in the humblest. All whose hearts aspire
To do the kindly act, and form the phrase

That carries courtesy in deed, and look,
Shall be accounted worthy of the name
Of that great chevalier who wrote no book,
But lived a life of kindness without shame.

Politeness springs from deep and hidden pools
Within our hearts, and not from pedants’ rules.

Q
3865
Prudence
A prudent man will wisely choose his way,
And set his footsteps slowly, surely down;
He knows that undue haste may lose the crown,
That comes to wise men on the crowning day;

He follows not the call when asses bray,
Nor does he yield to antics of a clown;
He does not budge from truth when bullies frown,

Nor into wild forbidden pastures stray.

The wise man’s eyes are in his head, I’ve heard,
Not those two optics smiling in his face,
But mental eyes whose vision may be blurred,
Yet seldom fail to function in their place.
Discreet men get wise counsel from God’s throne:

He flashes wisdom to them from His own.
66
Purity
Lift up clean thoughts, clean lips, clean hands in prayer
To God, Who is the Holy One and pure!

Ask Him to touch each leprous spot, and cure
Thy soul, and make its purity His care!

In His white presence breathe the cleansing air,
That brings one moral health, and makes secure
The strength to combat evil, and endure

All vileness round, to which the flesh is heir.

No man can e’er see God through dirty eyes;
The pure in heart alone can view the light :
Impurity cuts off the blessed sky,
And shuts a man in darkness and in night.
A rigid cleanliness of inner life
May need the scissors, or the pruning knife.

39i Se te Nae ce

 

     
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    

67
Reality
Life’s values are no whit less real because
They are invisible. The deepest bliss
High Heaven bestows upon our earth is this:
In virtue, love and faith there are no flaws;

Right, truth and justice are eternal laws,
And not material things. Analysis
Of all that’s best in life: a dead child’s kiss,

A prayer to God, Christ's love that overawes,

Are all as real as tangibles, no less.
Great Plato found ideas were most real;
We think to measure things, | must confess,
He found reality in things men feel,

And know not through the gates of fleshly sense,
But view within the mind, where things commence.
68
Religion

Religion fed my fancy with sweet dreamis ;

Awake, asleep, in reverie and trance,

Its holy symbols would before me dance,
Until they shot me through with blessed gleams

Of light and cheer, akin to soft sunbeams ;
A thousand silken threads of choice romance,
My swift imagination spun, enhance

My happiness, and enter all my schemes.

Faith deals with God and souls and destiny,

And when religion took in charge my life,
It stirred me to the depths with certainty,

That I should take a hand in all the strife

About the altars, and the keys, and golden gates,
Regarding God, and man, and future states.
4069
Responsiveness
Make me responsive to the world’s deep need:
Its tears and prayers, its joy and love and hate.
As all the winds that touched the harp, but late,
Of Aeolus, and found its strings gave heed,

May | the hearts of others daily read,

That I may ease the sorrows of their fate,

Fill them with love, and all their griefs abate,
And to the Father, in their service, plead.

To all the noble claims my friends may make

To all the world feels in its deepest need,
To all ideals Heaven may in me wake,

Make me responsive, both in word and deed.

And so J shall be, if I make Thee mine,
3y blending my will fully into Thine.
70
Reverence

By reverence true souls mean not only awe

For God. It is an attitude of mind

In science, art, philosophy, the kind
That keeps us humble when we search for law,

3efore bewildering facts, amid the raw
Experience of the senses, when we grind
With all the strength of Samson, and as blind,

Within the prison house. Hence, when we draw

Ourselves together for a day’s good fight,

‘Twere well to kneel in reverence, first, and pray
For proper attitudes toward life, that night

May find us still respectful toward the day,

Not like the souls who curse, and murder time,
And foul their hearts by every kind of crime.

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Right
Right is no empty word or idle dream,
Nor is it a provincialism here
On earth. It strongly holds, from year to year,
Orion and the Southern Cross. Its gleam

Is seen in every place, a holy scheme,
By which the souls of men are drawn more near
To God, who placed us on this rolling sphere,
And by a sense of right makes us supreme.

Wrought in the constitution of the world,
Are laws divinely sanctioned by our God;
Not till His reason from its throne be hurled
Shall men escape the strictures of His rod.

For right is right, since He is what He 1s;
In harmony with Him alone is bliss.
72
Sacrifice

I saw the blood that stained the battlefield

Of men who counted costs and paid the price,

Who gave their all, a living sacrifice,
And asked myself what more could honor yield?

I see in death how great the power they wield,
For, dying, they won victory in a trice.
’Twas not a game of pitch and toss or dice;

They died, and by their death the world is healed.

Yet in the sacrificial love of One
Who died upon a cross, I see the face

Of God. He made a claim to be His son,
Attested by a life of love and grace.

Here was the fairest flower and fruit of love,
Transplanted from God’s gardens up above.
42“7 «>

73
Self-Control
Who is the master in this house? Am I?
[ own the lease, and pay the rent, and hold
The key; the house, too, now is growing old;
The expiration of the lease draws nigh.
I have seen strange things crawling round to spy,
bold,
Cry out against my mastery, and scold,
But if they say they own the house, they lie.

And sometimes alien voices, growing

I am the captain, under God, who sails
This craft, and mean to steer it, till [ bring
My boat and cargo through life’s stormy gales,
Drop anchor at the wharf, and greet the King.

What other course shall I, a freeman still,
Attempt to do with freedom of the will?
74
Self-Discipline
Make of thy heart a threshing floor where flails
Shall hammer out the wheat from all the chaff!
At noon, when rest calls from thy labors, quaff
An honest brew of Adam’s purest ales!

Subdue the flesh, and teach thy soul the scales
That lead to higher things! Thine epitaph
Shall then read ‘‘Here lies one who learned to laugh

At pain and all misfortune, who trimmed sails

Before no harsh and stubborn winds, but held
Himself in fine command, master of fate,
A man who made environment, upheld

sy force of will that made him truly great.”

Taught to obey all higher laws within,
A chastened man to goodness is akin.
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Self-Expression
I heard a man, regarding fine arts, say:
“These arts, like those of speech and music, give
A field and means of self-expression.” Live,
Shut up within one’s self from day to day,

Not having learned the tools of work or play,
One’s inner powers repressed, with no active
Expression for one’s thoughts which might outlive
Our brief existence, is to lose ones way.

Enslaved to passion, that were surely death.

The senses are the gates through which come raw
Materials for the mind. With every breath

We ought to work according to the law,

“We learn by doing.” Thus, expressiveness
Is one of many virtues we should stress.
76
Self-Sacrifice

Not for themselves the noble warriors die,

But for some cause of great surpassing worth;

They love, as we, the beauty of the earth,
Yet gladly give themselves to crush a he;

Men brutish in their lusts would make a sty
Of earth to wallow in, and in their mirth
Forget that God brings nobler souls to birth,
Who trail the glory with them from on high.

These choose to mount the awful funeral pyre,
And give their bodies to the red-hot flame;
Their goods and honor never are for hire;
In self-denial they win a deathless fame.

Upon the threshold of immortal youth
They stand as willing martyrs to the Truth.
4477
Sincerity
True, sincere men are always candid, clear,
Not like the hypocrites who all wear mé asks,
Who dodge their duties, and the normal tasks,
That come to men throughout the circling year ;

A sincere man is not the slave of tear,
Nor wolf, who in sheep’s clothing always basks
In all the walks of life he merely asks
That he be taken as his looks appear.
The genuine is what knaves counterfeit,
Because they know its value in men’s eyes;
Sincerity is gold all deem as fit
To be the current coin of Paradise;

Deceit is alien to a sincere soul,
Who stands four-square, and plays no feigned role.

78
Sorrow

I have not had much sorrow in my life;
I’ve sat with death, and seen my loved ones pale,
And known the ache when little children ail,
Have lost dear friends, and met defeat in strife,

My house burned down, my work was sometimes rife

With woes, but one time, visiting the jail,
The lips of Christ that pressed the Holy Grail
I saw a-tremble in a country wife.

The son she nursed in childhood at her breast,
And cradled in her arms, the gift of leve,

Must hang for bloody deeds, adjudged a pest;
The mother called in prayer on God above;

Convulsive shrieks and sobs and tearful groans
Assailed my ears, she kneeling on the stones.
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Striving
For bread and meat men daily work and pray,
In all the shops, the marts of trade, the mills;
They sail the seas, and dig beneath the hills
Accept the dangers of the night and day,

Scarce taking time enough to love and play,
Attacking nature with the force of wills
Directed by deep needs. with various skills,

For which in rich rewards the others pay.

Match this, the physical with toil as great
For those supreme possessions of the soul,
That pass with us, through that fair, narrow gate,
To God’s eternal city as our goal;

Oh, agonize for these whose priceless worth
Surpasses all the glories of our earth!

SO
Strength
I saw a farmer, guiding straight his plow,
Strong-limbed, clear-skinned, and opal in his eyes;
He did not stop to gaze long at the skies,
But as he toiled, the sweat oozed from his brow;

His wet hair seemed like matted bits of tow,
His face at grips with fate, his sturdy thighs
Like beams resisting strains, their strong allies
Two arms that with the labor seemed aglow.

Unconscious of his power, he traced the field
In deep straight rows of splendid fallow soil;
He may have thought somewhat of Autumn’s yield,
But chiefly he was doubling at his toil.

Give me the moral thews that match such strength;
And I shall triumph over sin at length!

£681
Submission
A deadening routine often chills the blood ;
Yet life is full of routine for the crowd ;
The masses go to toil with spirits bowed,
And stream along the streets, a human flood,

Parts of a great machine not understood,
The purpose hid, as stars are hid by cloud,
Lips mute or dumb, a few declaiming loud
Against the lie of human brotherhood.
Give me the patience to accept the yoke,
That chafes the souls of other men so much!
Help me to use it, as the wooden one of oak,
To draw my load, nor feel its chafing touch!

I would endure misfortune, pain, and toil,
And to the flower of patience be the soil.
82
Suffering

Inside my mind there is a crucifix,

On which the wounded Christ is stretched out slain:

I see Him writhing there in awful pain;
With every squirm each nail with anguish pricks ;

I count the wounds: there must be five or six:

Like swords the nerves must cut within His brain.

Can human strength for long endure the strain?
His dying pains my love and life transfix.

Yes, that I carry in an inner shrine,
My crucifix, where Christ oft sees me kneel,
To bless His name, and make His spirit mine,
And enter into things He now must feel.
For joy, in direct ratio to one’s pain,
Mounts up the scale, in vast increasing gain.
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83
Sympathy
Two souls that beat as one show sympathy,
As perfect as the sweetest summer flower ;
Communion like to that is Heaven’s dower
For such as join the angel’s symphony ;

No happier hearts in all earth’s minstrelsy
Have half the joy, or know the secret power,
That these possess to gladden every hour,
Enriching life with love and melody.

If sorrow comes, they share each other’s grief ;

If joy knocks at the door, each gets a share
In it, the woes of life are counted brief,

Because in sympathy they meet them square.

In mutual harmony they face the world,
And mountains from their bases thus are hurled.

84
Temperance
In moderation and restraint we hold
The gifts of life, and not in vain excess;
If one a cup of wine to thy lips press,
Beware the tempter, lest he grow too bold!

The twisted roots of strong desires, old
In ancestors long dead, may yet express
Themselves in hateful passions under stress,

And strike thee down when thou hast thought them cold.

If thou couldst read within thy cells the chart
That gluttony or drink has written there
It might o’erwhelm thee with a sudden start,
To find a record crying out, “Beware!”

,

"Twere better far a knife were at thy throat
Than demons in the darkness o’er thee oloat.

>

485
Tenderness
Your tenderness was perfect in my grief!
It drew the sting of that old serpent, death;
You held me close, until I felt your breath
Upon my aching head, and found reliet;

Your gracious words gave comfort past belief,
Restoring to me all my old-time faith;
That had been purloined by some devil's wraith,
E’er I could catch, and brand him as a thief.

You did not scold me for my bitter tears,

But told me [I should let them freely flow;
You did not chide me for the wasted years,

But told me only God and I should know.

Humane and merciful, you gave me power
To rise to better things from that sweet hour

86
Toil
Watch not the clock or dial! All the sweat :
Of labor, O ye toilers, prices bread;
Be glad, and bless the loving lips that said,
“By sweat ye all shall earn your ransom yet!”

The great Task-master’s lash ye shall forget,
For it was laid in love upon your head:
It quickens you to life, not slays you dead,
And happiness shall soon succeed to fret.
Toil is a gift of love, put in our hands
To save us from the ennui germ that kills ;

It holds us, with the force of golden bands,
To God, who equals labor to our wills.

Who eats his bread without the daily task,
Will find the Heavens deaf, if he should ask,

49Pe

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87
Tolerance

 

The bigot holds his own creed orthodox,
As each man must, or else exchange his view.

The bigot goes beyond what he holds true,
And, setting up himself as standard, knocks

All others than his own, until he blocks
The paths of progress, running down the new,

At war with everything outside his pew,
An alien in his heart to other flocks.

The roles of cynic, censor, critic, next,
He or Lys W th il the venom in his heart;
For every aicked theme he finds a text,
And crowds his enemy with deadly art.
But tolerance yields to every man the right
To follow in his heart God’s granted light.

88
Trustworthiness
Make me trustworthy to my fellowmen!
A man who will not swerve, when face to face
With ugly facts, but show the grit and grace
To stand his sround, not seek a coward’s den;

Who will accept a trust, keep faith, and then
Be found a faithful guardian in his place,
Preferring death with honor, to disgrace,

And prove himself a noble citizen.

Within my hands God’s servants have put power,
Relying, in high confidence and trust,

On me to prove trustworthy every hour,
To keep the talent safe, nor let it rust

A charge like that, imposed with such good will,
Help me in faith to keep in honor still!
5089
Truth
Sweet truth is like a star, and dwells apart,
Though round her burns a glorious sisterhood
She has two sisters beautiful and good

  

All three in essence have the self-same heart:
These triple graces fill the world with art,
[xpressed in forms but little understood:
All science searches for the truth, and should
By every token be her counterpart.

sut what is truth? The question will not down.
[s moral truth, or truth of fact, here meant?
[s truth of being. sign or logic known?
In all these fields, and others, there is lent

A hallowed halo to the truth men hold,
That far exceeds the worth of goods or gold.

90
Veracity
To brand a man a liar provokes a fight;
It is a challenge to a combat straight :
The issue then is not of fact, but fate
Has hurled defiance strongly over night;

The man may be a liar, known on sight,
But that is waved. You now have stirred his hate.

Please tell me why his wrath should grow so great
Go to the proofs, and that should square it quite.

Veracity in thought, in word, in deed,

All one, in fact, considered at the core,
Is seldom found in men, except in creed;

Loose thinking, speaking, acting, evermore
Make truth and fact the lovelier to our eyes,
And lift veracity above the skies.

51]G1
Visions
The angels which have beckoned me began
In early childhood by my mother’s knee;
They used my mother’s voice, and made a plea
That caught me e’er my life had gone a span;

They make me feel that one, to be a man,
Must vision things which most men do not see,
Engaging them by steady, sure degree,
Compounding life upon a noble plan.

These angels wore white garments, and a ray
Of light, a halo, circled each one’s head;
They came to me oft in the light of day,
But many times I saw them by my bed!

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Their faces, lighted with the sweetest smiles,
Have cheered, and haunted me through weary miles.
92

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The angels I have heard and hold most dear,

Who beckon me to climb the rocky heights,

I’ve sometimes seen through dim and misty lights;
Yet often in sweet tones made softly clear

I’ve heard them speak. Long since, for many a year,
They have been near my side, amid the sights
My Plato gave me, and the choice delights

The Man of Galilee imparts to those who hear.

Their music is more sweet to me than strains

Played in the great cathedral for the dead;
Their voices have the power to ease my pains;

Their words I prize as hungry men prize bread.
I'd walk through life with angel forms like these,
And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

52

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2 =is Stirs gedeesssSe caseAnnie Laurie

An Of10 Sweetheart of Mine

Lourc-Lurics.

By
LINCOLN HULLEY
Author of

LULLABIES AND SLUMBER SONGS

Published by the Author
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62TO MY WIFE
ELOISE MAYHAM HULLEY

‘They sang of love and not of fame,

Forgot was Britain’s glory,

Each heart recalled a different name.
But all sang Annie Laurie.”’

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the golden wedding anniversary of the

 

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‘¢ John Anderson, my jo John,

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T We’ve had wi’ ane anither.

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T Yet hand in hand we'll go,

And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson, my jo.”’
— Burns.

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And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

52CONTENTS

Whenever I Think of You -
O Gracious, Gentle, Lovely Nell
Her Promise True - - -
Spring’s Sweet Minstrelsies -
We Pledged Our Faith for Aye
Rosalie, My Rosalie . -
The Soul’s Awakening

A Harvest Love-Song

Xaipete Nikomen :

The Time for Love -

The Lover’s Tyrst

Lyric Love - -

The Gladness of Love

The Blind God - -

Sweet My Love With Eyes of Blue
E’er the Silver Cord Be Loosed_ -
A Boating Song - - -
Polly - - -

The Fairest Maid of All

The Moon and the Sea

The Span of Life .

The Land of Dreams

Dan Cupid - -

Sleighing -

Life and Love -

Love in the Cloisters

The Quest of Love

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I'd walk through life with angel forms like these,

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Sing to Me, Sweetheart,
A Prayer for Thee
Sallie Lee
Winsome Nell
Love and Song
Alone in the World
The Power of Love
A Transformation

Love at the Gates of Dea
Love Universal
A Dream Face
Summum Bonum

The Eestasy of Love

Bitter-sweet

Golden Fancies
The Paralysis of Love
Her Bewitched Violin
She Was A Lovely Dream
The Sky is Enriched With Stars
Bonnie Annie Laurie -

A Mood -

My Golden Winsome Fleudelis
Love Never Dies
Apollo Belvidere

 

nd stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.AN OLD SWEERHEART OF MINE

WHENEVER I THINK OF YOU
A MATUTINAL

HE day begins with a rosy dawn
And colors of brightest hue;

But brighter far those colorings are
Whenever I think of you.
And every valley and every hill
That slowly comes to view
Is blessed with light that’s doubly bright
Whenever I think of you.

The birds are caroling in the trees—
Their notes ring sweet and true:

But sweeter far their carolings are
Whenever I think of you.

This one singeth an old old song,
And that one trilleth a new —

Both singer and song my joy prolong
Whenever I think of you.

The breath of the early morn is sweet.
It lifts like incense too;

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ANNIE LAURIE

But sweeter the breath on the smiling
heath

Whenever I think of you.

The fields are decked with many a flower

Impearled with shining dew;

But finer the flower and gayer the hour

Whenever I think of you.

The big round face of the jolly sun
Looks out of his palace blue;

But lovelier yet the sweet sunset
Whenever I think of you;

While fairy forms flit round my head
And thrill me through and through;
And rainbow gleams dance in my dreams
Whenever I think of you.

 

 

I’d walk through lite with angel Torms like these, =

nd stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

o2AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

QO GRACIOUS, GENTLE, LOVELY NELL

O GRACIOUS, gentle, lovely Nell !
My heart is lost to thee;

The love that lies within thine eyes

Awakens love in me;

My being fills, with rapture thrills,

The wildest joy I know;

And every hour I bless the power

Who could such love bestow.

O queenly, smiling, low-voiced Nell !
I hold thee in my heart;

In form and face, in soulful grace,

A fairy queen thou art;

And every day I steal away

To see thee passing by;

My love for thee is strong and free,
And shall be till I die.

Ten thousand thousand joys be thine,
And then ten thousand more;

May gladsome youth and peace and truth
Be thine forevermore;SSstepeesrestoeweyYetetese Se RS Se pS IS47 Fees este

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ANNIE LAURIE

The moon on high in yonder sky,
The stars in glory shine,

But brighter far than moon or star
Are eyes that dance like thine.

O gracious, gentle, lovely Nell,

My heart is lost to thee;

Thy love and life, my gentle wife,
Are all the world to me;

Thou art all fair, full rich and rare.
The gift of heaven to me;

Full sweet thou art within my heart,
And evermore shalt be.

10

 

I'd walk through life with angel forms like these,

And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

52AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

HER PROMISE TRUE

‘Twas there that Annie Laurie
Gied me her promise true.”’

HE beautiful stars of midsummer above her,
The earth hushed to rest neath the new
silver moon,

I walked with my sweetheart, a glad-hearted
lover,
And whispered my story one clear night in June.

The roadside was sweet with the breath of the
clover,

But sweeter by far was the bloom by my side;

All my heart’s joy, hope, and love brimming
over,

Poured from my lips in a passionate tide.

There in the moonlight, the starlight, and
silence,

Modestly smiling she whispered consent,

Pledged me her life with her love, and the
silence

Treasured our vows that to Heaven were sent.

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ANNIE LAURIE
Sweet as the light of a bright summer morning,
Violets blooming and song birds afloat,
All through: the years her sweet promise
T adorning,
She has been trilling that same clear rich note.
a Yet there on the roadside beside the sweet
TI clover
Memory lives in the thrill of that kiss;
Stars, moon, and sky are the same the world
C over,
. But brightest the scene of that moment of bliss.
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I’d walk through lite with angel Torms like these,
And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

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vsAN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

SPRING’S SWEET MINSTRELSIES

HE spring time’s pulse beat thrills
The leaf buds on the trees:
Her rich warm life blood fills
The blooms that lure the bees;
From winter’s deadly freeze
Burst forth the murmuring rills,
And every passing breeze
Brings glory to the hills.

And every living thing
Beneath the heaven’s blue

Makes earth with praises ring
Enraptured through and through.
The splendors burst anew

While untold myriads sing;

Our hearts with gladness view
The miracle of spring.

The spring’s sweet ministrelsies
My dearest maid be thine;
And may her melodies

Ring in thy heart benign;Pe ee ee te ed

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ANNIE LAURIE

May love and joy divine,

And all sweet things that please,
Enrich thee, Heart of mine,
With heavenly harmonies.

And as the flower slips past

Its sheath and shroud of death,
Where winter bound it fast

Till roused by spring’s sweet breath,
So, fair Elizabeth,

Do thou, when earth is past,

Slip through the gates of death

To life and love that last.

14

 

I’d walk through life with angel Torms Tike these,

And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

52AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

WE PLEDGED OUR FAITH FOR AYE

HE harvest moon rose early,
Low in the evening sky,
When among the ricks of barley
We pledged our faith for aye.
We pledged our faith for aye,
While the tuneful nightingale
With music filled the woodlands
As he told the tender tale.

Our love with rapture thrilled us,
The silent stars on high

With gentle humors filled us,

And love beamed in each eye.

True love beamed in each eye,

And our hearts beat warm and true,
While the olden, golden gladness
Of lovers thrilled us through.

The silver moon was witness;-
It whispered sweet consent

To that eternal fitness
Expressed in our intent.

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I’d walk through life with angel forms like these,

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ANNIE LAURIE

It whispered sweet consent,

And we pledged our faith for aye;
All the glory of the summer
Shone in her lovely eye.

To the same bewitching sweetheart,
Beneath the same sweet star,

To that genial winsome sweetheart,
My vows and pledges are.

She is dearer fairer far

Than the vision in my eye

When among the ricks of barley
We pledged our faith for aye.

 

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nd stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

52AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

ROSALIE, MY ROSALIE

‘T Hou art the rose of early dawn,
Rosalie, my Rosalie.

The sweetest rose the sun shines on,
Rosalie, my Rosalie.

The dews of May are on thy brow,

The early spring smiles on thee now,

Accept, dear heart, a lover’s vow,
Rosalie, my Rosalie.

Thou art the rich sweet brier rose,
Rosalie, my Rosalie,

The rarest, sweetest bloom that grows,
Rosalie, my Rosalie.

Thy face is modest, sweet, demure,

Thy heart is like the rose’s—pure,

Thy love is steadfast, firm and sure,
Rosalie, my Rosalie.

To thee, the rich sweet brier rose,
Rosalie, my Rosalie —

To thee my heart full tender goes,

Rosalie, my Rosalie.

17

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ANNIE LAURIE
The fragrance of thy speech is mine,
The music of thy voice is wine,
T And every gracious charm is thine,
Rosalie, my Rosalie.
O gentle sweetheart, gentler wife
5 ) ?
- Rosalie, my Rosalie.
T To thee I pledge my heart for life,
Rosalie, my Rosalie.
By all the stars that shine above,
c No rose was e’er so fair, my love,
Thou dear sweet wife, I’m thinking of,
A Rosalie, my Rosalie.
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I’d walk through life with angel forms Tike these,
And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

52AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

THE SOUL’S AWAKENING

HE knew the secrets of the wood,

Where liver leaf or sweet arbutus rises.
And all the tender blooms and glad surprises
Concealed like timid nuns beneath their hood:
She knew the squirrel’s haunts, the nuts he

prizes,

From what hid source the wood life gets it
food,

She knew the birds, their songs, and odd
disguises;

Yet knew not love, the richest, highest good.

But when sweet spring sends forth the leaves,
And buds give promise of June roses,

And fragrance steals through all the closes,
And birds sing under sheltered eaves,

She feels the joys that love,sweet love, discloses.
And busily her lively fancy weaves

A maze of dream wherein her heart reposes,
And finds the peace of quiet summer eves.

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ANNIE LAURIE

And now in joyous major moods,

Her heart pours forth its wild, sweet pleasure;
T In many a tender, tuneful measure

She carols love’s beatitudes;

And as sweet songs beguile one’s leisure,

Or dulcet, charming interludes,
Ae

Her lyric heart is my best treasure;
ee Life’s deepest joys her love includes.
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I’d walk through life with angel forms like these, a

And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

52AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

A HARVEST LOVE-SONG

HE harvest moon shines in the sky,
And lures us to the dance, O !

The light shines bright in Jeanie’s eye,
Then on with the harvest dance, O!
Love lends life enchanting grace;
Merrily beat the ground, O!
Life and love beam in each face:
Merrily, cheerily dance, O!

Every star that shines above

Is blinking on the dance, O!
And adds a glamour to the love
That lurks within the dance, 0 !
Rich the yield of every field,

Full rich the autumn tide, O!
But richer far than wealth of field

Is the gleam of the waltzer’s eye, O !

The frosty night is bright and clear,
Happily, cheerily dance, O !
Before the ending of the year

Ill have a bonnie wife, O!

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ANNIE LAURIE

The dance is done, her heart is won,
And Jeanie is my star, O!

To wile me home where’er I roam,
And to guide me when I’m far, O!

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I’d walk through life with angel forms like these,

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nd stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

oLAN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

XAIPETE NIKOMEN

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And mock at chance and fate.
We'll trust in God, till neath the sod,
Our spirits shall conquer the irksome clod
That fetters our souls elate.

E’ LL buffet the storms of life. my love,

For you’ll be mine, my own. my love,
) ° ~

And I'll be yours for aye;
Then merrily, cheerily on, my love,
Through earth and sea and sky.

The day may bring us rain, my love,
Or the day may bring us shine;
Through flood and fire, we’ll never tire,
The call of God to our hearts is ‘‘ Higher,”’
The spirit is not for time.
For you’ll be mine, my own, my love,
And I'll be yours for aye,
Then merrily, cheerily on, my love,
Through earth and sea and sky.ee A ae eae eee eee eee ee eee

etd

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I’d walk through life with angel forms like these,
nd stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

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ANNIE LAURIE

We have the vigor of youth, my love,
In body and soul and mind;
We'll pledge our truth, and trust our youth,
And never a care will reck in sooth
We'll battle until we’re blind.
For you’ll be mine, my own, my love,
And J’ll be yours for aye;
Then merrily, cheerily on, my love,
Through earth and sea and sky.

Then pluck up heart and sing, my love,
g with heart and soul;
We'll kiss the rod, with joy we’ll plod,
And love shall beckon us on to God,
And heaven shall be our goal
For you'll be mine, my own, my love,
And I’ll be yours for aye;
Then merrily, cheerily on, my love,
Through earth and sea and sky.

Sin

 

o2AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

THE TIME FOR LOVE

WH EN the golden lads and the golden lasses
Dance together upon the green,

When the heart beats high and the sly glance

passes,

And the eye lights up with a merry sheen,

When the May pole song is in the air,

O, then is the time for love, my Fair,

Tween the golden lads and the golden lasses

Who dance together upon the green !

When the golden lads and the lasses merry

Plight their troth in summer lanes,

When the sun’s kiss flames on the red rasp-
berry,

And the daisy longs for the soft warm rains.

When the silent shadows dance alone,

O, then is the time for love, my own,

When the golden lads and the lasses merry

Linger along the quiet lanes !

When the golden lads and the golden lasses.
Among the ripened shocks of corn,Cet ee ee re Nek ee a

 

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I’d walk through life with angel forms Tike these,

    
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 

ANNIE LAURIE

Pull off the ears from the tall dead grasses,
And lilt their love from early morn,

When the harvest moon shines clear above,
O, then is the time for love, my love,

And the golden lads and the golden lasses

Pledge their love while shocking corn !

When the golden lads and lasses jolly

Merrily dance with Yule tide joy,

When the mistle-toe bough and the Christmas
holly

Abash the maiden sweet and coy,

Amid winter’s mirth and winter’s cheer,

O, then is the time for love, my Dear,

Nor count it weak, nor count it folly,

To tell the tale with Yule tide joy.

 

And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

52AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

THE LOVER’S TRYST

WE met beneath the Lindens, —
They called it Lover’s Lane—

And our greeting was full tender

As ever lovers’ twain.

Behind the hills the sunset

With glory filled the sky,

But there shone a sweeter radiance
Within her tender eye.

The arch of night was bending
Above us lingering there,

The gracious stars were lending
A lustre soft and rare,

Swift winged the hours vanished,
The roadside flashed with dew.
Still we loitered neath the lindens

And spoke our pledges true.

 

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I’d walk through lite with angel torms like these,

ANNIE LAURIE

Her warm true heart was sending
Into her eyes a mist

When I asked her with emotion
Next night to keep the tryst.

The linden leaves were dancing

To hear our whispers low,
Her face was grace entrancing
Her words came sweet and slow.

And while our hearts beat tender,
The while her lips I kissed,

We promised to remember

Each night to keep the tryst.

The days passed into summer

True love beamed in her eye

When we pledged our heart’s devotion

To keep the tryst for aye.

Our irised dreams are ended,

But the years have brought us bliss
Since we met beneath the lindens
And shared the lover’s kiss.

OR

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ae

And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

52AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

We shall meet no more at sunset
To wander down the lane,
Her footfall sounds no longer,

Her smile comes not again.

On the hills in yonder church yard
We shall keep the tryst, my love,
Side by side in yonder church yard
With the silent stars above.

We shall keep the tryst, dear sweetheart
Where the soul with rapture thrills,

Far beyond the evening sunset
Far beyond the golden hills.

’

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I’d walk through life with angel forms like these,

ANNIE LAURIE

LYRIC LOVE

Hark to the lark,

To the lark in the meadow,
Calling his mate from the valley below,
Caroling, caroling
Wildest of melodies,
Thrilled till his mad little body o’er flow!
Nesting and singing, or busily winging
His way across meadows and woodlands above
Oh the wild joy of his heart that goes ringing, |
Noisily, cheerily telling his love !

Oh the glad love,

The glad love that is welling,

Swelling my heart with its beauty and glow,
Whispering, murmuring

Sweetest of harmonies,

Filling my soul till its depths overflow!

Like to the lark, to the lark that goes winging |
Telling his joy to the woodlands above,
Dances my heart till its raptures go ringing
Merrily, joyously singing its love.

 

ae

And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

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vaAN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

THE GLADNESS OF LOVE

HE big round world is full of joy,
And nature’s heart is sweet and coy:
The daisies dance in the fields of heather.
The birds sing sweetly in tune together,
So come, my love, let joy and grace
Dance in thy heart, shine in thy face.

The storm and the rain drops hurry by,
The rainbow gleams in the sunny sky,

the wind sighs soft in the tall tree tops,
The leaves toss lightly the bright rain drops:
So come, my love, let life and light

Attune thy heart to visions bright.

The clouds chase through the fields on high,
The sunshine gladdens the blue blue sky,
The lily, the rose, the clover cup,

The grace and joy of life drink up;
So come, my love, and learn with me
The lilt of nature glad and free,reer ee ee Se

Pies Sis eeyedspewefodeeds sss CSS ese ces eee eee ss _— - -

ee ee ee a ea eee oe eee

pe ee a

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ANNIE LAURIE

May all thy years with joy be rife,
May glad sweet thrills of love and life,
And summer dews, and summer skies
i Enrich thy soul, glow in thine eyes;
So come, my love, let joy and grace
Dance in thy heart, shine in thy face.

ad
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I’d walk through life with angel forms like these,
And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

52AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

THE BLIND GOD

HE crafty, winged, wary boy
Who speeds his fiery darts,
With twang of bow and deadly aim
To pierce young lover’s hearts,
Is blind to all a maiden’s faults,
And wears across his eyes

A bandage tied, and ever thus
His subtle trade he plies.

His lovely ways and gracious wiles,
His sweet and winsome urts,

With deadly poison tip the barbs
He aims at lovers’ hearts.

He starts a fire within the breast,
And daily feeds the flame;

With yearning, burning, wild desire

He fills and thrills the same.

The bitter-sweet, the pleasure-pain
That in the bosom smarts,

The crafty boy with sightless eyes
And ceaseless cunning starts.

 

 

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And with such aching arrows he
Unerring fills the mind,

One wonders that a lad so wise
Should be so awful blind.

34

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I’d walk through life with angel forms like these,
And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

o2AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

x

SWEET MY LOVE WITH EYES OF BLUE

O SWEET my love with eyes of blue,
And the winning, winsome smile !

[’ll journey along the way with you

With never a weary mile;

Together we’ll travel the golden way

That lovers have gone this many a day,

The blithesome, gladsome, wholesome way

That leadeth along to God.

O sweet my love with eyes of blue,
And the gentle, genial soul !

I'll gladly journey along with you
Till we reach the shining goal.

Then sweet my love with dancing eyes
Above our heads the smiling skies
Shall lure us to the golden prize

Of love and life and God.

O sweet my love with eyes of blue,
And the winning, winsome smile !
I'll loiter along the road with you,
And every care beguile.

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I’d walk through life with angel forms Tike these,

  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 

  

ANNIE LAURIE

 

(’}] cull you flowers with rare delight,
And weave them into a garland bright, —
The reds and yellows, the blue, the white,
The aster and golden rod.

O sweet my love with eyes of blue,

And the tender, smiling face !

I’ll journey along life’s way with you,—
Teach me your gentle grace.

And though the road wind up the hill,
We’ll climb the summit with right good will}
And joy shall gladden our hearts until

We sleep beneath the sod.

O sweet my love with eyes of blue,

And the winning winsome smile !

I’ll travel the winding way with you
With never a weary mile.

Along the road we’ll run and race,
Though sun and wind be in our face
We’ll run the course at a blinding pace,
And then go home to God.

 

And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

52AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

PER THE SILVER CORD BE LOOSED

E the moon and the stars be darkened,
And the gathering cloud expands;

B’er the grinders cease from grinding,

And the mill wheel idly stands;

EF’ er the walls of our house shall crumble,

lis foundation laid in the sands;

Let us build a house eternal,

A house not made with hands.

E’er the daughters of music shall perish,
That gladden our hearts with mirth;
And the almond tree shall flourish

In its white little mound of earth;

E’ er the doors be shut and the windows
In the house and land of our birth;

Let us strive for a life that is perfect,

A life of surpassing worth.

E’ er the pitcher break at the fountain,
And our shattered hopes prove vain;
E’ er the wheel be down at the cistern,
And the night begin in rain;

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I’d walk through fife with angel forms like these,

  
    
   
  
 
  
 
 
 
   
  

ANNIE LAURIE

y)

’er the harp of life be stringless,
Or we halt on a single line;

Let us sing a song that is faultless,
A rhapsody all divine.

EK’ er the silver cord be loosened

By the gnawing effects of time;

Or the golden bowl be broken

That holds thy love and mine;

EK’ er the vigor of youth be ended,
And we bow beneath the strain;

Let us prove a love that is deathless,
With a passion akin to pain.

 

And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

49)

VSAN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

A BOATING SONG

OW, row, boatman, row,
Strongly pull the oar, ho! ho!
Merrily cut the water, oh!
Row, boatman, row.

Merrily through the waters glide,

Speeding away with wind and tide,

The moon for a guide we ride, we ride,
Row, boatman, row.

Love is sweet and eyes are bright
Under the vaulted arch of night,
Moon, moon, hide your light,
Row, boatman, row.

Plighted troth was ne’er so sweet,

Never a joy so near complete,

The world is conquered beneath our feet,
Row, boatman, row.

Row, row, boatman, row,

Happy of heart we homeward go,
Pull with a will, yo, ho! heave ho!
Row, boatman, row.

)
35Yed

et ee eee

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I’d walk through life with angel forms Tike these,

    
  
  
 
 
  
 
   
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 

ANNIE LAURIE

POLLY

VWWHEN light and lithesome Polly
Went tripping down the lane,

The little birds all sang to her,

The pretty flowers all bowed to her,

And every leaf did beckon her

To dance and dance again.

Her eye’s blue full of summer,
Her lip’s red full of grace !—

The berries nodded low to her,
The violets were good to her,

The wayside roses blushed to her,
So fresh and fair her face !

Now lithe and lightsome Polly
Sleeps yonder in the lane.

And still the birds all sing for her,
The roses bloom and wait for her,
The daisies mourn and fade for her
Who never comes again.

 

And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

VLAN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

THE FAIREST MAID OF ALL

O the one who is the nearest
In all the world to me
I would pledge a love, the dearest,
Through all eternity.

She hath snared me with her glances,

She hath slain me with her eyes,

And my heart with rapture dances
In a whirl of glad surprise.

In the month of June I wooed her,
In another June we wed:

For her head and heart I sued her,
Won her hand, and heart, and head.

In her face I see a glory

That makes her heart its shrine:
In her eyes I read a story

That kindles joy in mine.Vel cinta fobs SO se Peas Pehes eto ¥= b=

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I’d walk through lite with angel forms like these,

    
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 

ANNIE LAURIE

There’s a tender, winsome sadness
That lingers in her voice;

In her smile there is a gladness
That makes my heart rejoice.

And her soul informs a beauty
With grace and sweetness rife;
Love’s her law, and love’s a duty;
Law and love shall rule my life.

She is like the star of morning,
She shines so wondrous fair;
Like the rose her cheek adorning,
As rich and sweet and rare.

How the winter’s snows become her;
Though the years have dimmed her eye,
Still the warmth and glow of summer
Dwell within her heart for aye.

 

ae

And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

52AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

THE MOON AND THE SEA

. ‘HE moon at the sea in a rapture was gazing
Ages, long ages, ago;

And the sea to the moon its own image upraising

Murmured a love song low.

The moon was ensnared in the sea’s surging
bosom,

The sea went in guest of the moon.

While the moon wandered over the deep blue
of heaven,

The sea wandered after the moon.

When the clouds veiled the face of the moon
high in heaven,

Loud was the moan of the sea:

But it smiled with delight on the midsummer
even

When the moon wandered cloudless and free.

As the love of the sea for the moon is enduring.
Mine, love, for thee shall be so;

As the love of the moon for the sea is alluring.
Thine, love, to me has been go.

 

_ - “ Sana ineepeenemeeselat eee ee ee
— oe —— =aIVise sr eesee pete? pehese lease ss

Seseceemeuwestasn sey

a te eat Lt FN de

Se Te

Se et ee ee es ee see a‘

 

ANNIE LAURIE
THE SPAN OF LIFE

A

BRIEF is the span of life allotted to us,—

A fleeting shadow, or a fading flower,

a A moth that weakly flutters in the sunlight,
T Or spreads its wings for one swift passing hour.

Yet in that span what joys and sorrows thrill us,
C What lofty hope, what spirit-heavy care !

We smile as children do o’er some new toy or
ol treasure,

Or weep with some deep, sudden, strong despair.
”

We lay our plans with merry shouts of laughter,

We build with joy, while love, sweet love,
‘TL inspires,
A We weep at last o’er heaped and tumbled ruins,

©’ er withered hopes,and baffled wild desires.

O Thou, whose heart is touched by our vain
fi striving,

When life is done, in that eternal day

Beyond the sunset; may we see Thee smiling,
an And follow there the One True Builder’s way !
1}

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I’d walk through life with angel Torms like these,
And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

oO

vfAN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

THE LAND OF DREAMS

N the land of dreams, the land of dreams,
Where fancy flits and fancy gleams,

Where rainbow tints and perfumes rare
©’ er-arch the sky and scent the air, —

Ah ! life is not just what it seems

In the land of dreams, the land of dreams.

In the land of dreams, of our waking dreams,
Where peace abides and love’s light streams,
Where castles grand against the sky
Enthuse the soul, enrich the eye,

Our life is not just what it seems

In the land of dreams, the land of dreams.

In the land of dreams, of our sleeping dreams,
Where strange lights shed uncanny beams,
Where shapeless forms and groundless fears
Deceive the heart, and start the tears ,—-

Oh ! life is not just what it seems

In the land of dreams, the land of dreams.ee ee ee ee

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pe Testes iseer

 

 

    
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 

 

ANNIE LAURIE
In the land of dreams, the land of dreams,
Where hopes rise high and fancy teems,
T Where visions sought and victories planned
Allure the soul, make strong the hand, —
Dear, what were we without our dreams,
T Without our life in the land of dreams.
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I'd walk through life with angel Torms Tike these, —

And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

ofAN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

DAN CUPID

W HAT mighty spirit is this
Riving my soul, and elate,
Jubilant, promising bliss,

Urging my being like Fate
Driving her fettered ones straight
Forward to Duty? The spell
Bindeth me fast like a great
Angel, or demon from Hell.

Longing and yearning the while.
Fancies are rife in my brain

Of her rich voice and her smile.
Thrilling my heart once again
Joy comes, a joy full of pain,
Born of an excess of bliss,
Heating the blood in my vein.
What mighty Spirit is this?

Then to my soul comes a peace
Bringing me rest, while my heart
Whispers to let go the keys

Of the blest palace of art,SoS ase pecees tess yerye testis the Seg Pas ees eer ss ksssts rs

ee ee eee eae ee ee eee ee ee

Soe

 

 

 

ANNIE LAURIE

Music, and mirth, and depart,
Heeding the call from above;

T Let go my day dreams and start
Swift on a journey of love.

T O the wild joy of the soul
Waking to love! How the fleet

£ Witcheries quivering roll
Over us like a flood. Sweet
Ecstacy, sudden, complete,

C Filleth the heart, till, in thrall,

1 Full at the worshipped one’s feet,
Mastered, submissive we fall.

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I’d walk through life with angel forms like these, —

And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

KO

vaAN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

SLEIGHING

TIS a clear still night,

And the stars shine bright,
And the storm king is in hiding;
©’er the calm white earth,
’Mid the jolliest mirth,
Our sleigh goes smoothly riding.
To the crack ! crack ! crack !
Of the snow white track,
And the pitty, pitty, pat of the horses
We glide along
With shout and song,
Or leap o’er the bounding courses.

Our hearts beat free,
And thrill with glee,

With joy and jest abounding;
We lift on high
To the wintry sky

Our voices loud resounding;ee ee ee eh ee ee eeeoee Figg Peeeest= es has

eed ee OL ee ee oe

SPSS Sis oyes esto kass SSF sF FESTUS Ces reese ers se Sree ete

 

 

   

ANNIE LAURIE
To the clink! clink! clink !
Of the sleigh bell’s song,
Mid the roar of mingled laughter,
1. Away we go
O’er the sparkling snow,
And echo follows after.
a :
We race for the prize
a Of the two brown eyes
Of the fair one gaily glancing;
To the gleam and glow
o Of the lips aflow
T Our hearts begin a dancing;
While the tinkling bells
T To the dear moon tells
What hopes fond hearts are praying,
’Tis all made right
a ’Neath the bright star-light
yy When lovers go a-sleighing.
a
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I’d walk through life with angel forms like these, —

And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

52

UvaAN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

 

LIFE AND LOVE

1 Morning.

ONDER the sun in his glory is rising,

Dawn and her brightness are purplin

the gray,
Morning begins with her beauty surprising;

Innocent childhood is God’s bright new day.

Love is the angel, the good angel leading
Life like the dawn on the beautiful hills,

Gently the gracious one leadeth us, pleading,

Into the paths that the All-Father wills.
2 Noon.

High in the heavens the great sun is riding,
Blazing his pathway across the blue aky,

Full day is come and the stars are in hiding.

Manhood with vigor is mounting on high.

Love stronger, sweeter, is still the good angel

Leading life on in our manhood’s full tide.
Changing our harshness to sweetness, the an

Lip

Gives grace for hardness and beauty for pride,

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ANNIE LAURIE
38 Night.
i Into the West sinks the sun all a-golden;
Night winds are stealing up over the sea;
Day dies at last, and lost is the olden
q Glory that brightened for you and for me.
T What of the daylight? What has life given?
Have we the toil of the course fitly done?
Love strongest, sweetest, replies, ‘‘Thou hast
C striven
The crown and the crowning thou hast truly
Ay won.”’
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a2AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

LOVE IN THE CLOISTERS

MAttuew, Mark, Luke and John,
Bless the ground that I walk on.

Bless the priest and bless the people,
Bless the church and bless the steeple.
Matthew, Mark, Luke and John,
Bless the ground that I walk on,
Bless the ————

Oh what lovely eyes
Like the dusk in evening skies !
And her form, what airy grace !
What a soul shines in her face !
From the red lines of her lips
To her blessed finger tips, —
Ah Maria! how divine !
She were counterpart of thine.
How these greedy eyes beheld her !
How these arms did long to hold her!
Treading these hard paving stones,
Zounds ! a fire burns in my bones
Kindled by the lightning flashes

Of her eyes neath soft eyelashes.

Curse the bishop’s rigid rules !

 

 

 

 

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ANNIE LAURIE

   

Curse the knaves and arrant fools
Who prescribe us bread and water !
Zounds ! but what a charming daughter !
How the lovely vision haunts me,
Steals my rest, disturbs, torments me,
Fronts me on the sacred pages

Of the holy saints and sayes;

Rises up before me kneeling

Where the Virgin’s look appealing
Shames me with her heavenly beauty,
Bids me shun the world for duty,
Wakes me in the still night season,
Robs me of my rest and reason,

Till a voice speaks low within me
Words that heal and woo and win me,
Till my Lord, the meek and lowly,
Visits me in visions holy,

Stills the tumult in my bosom

With the peace and calm of heaven—
Matthew, Mark, Luke and John

Bless the ground that I walk on,
Bless the church and bless the steeple,
Bless the priest and all the people.

1
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I’d walk through life with angel forms like these, —

And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

~

vsAN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

THE QUEST OF LOVE

Ore men may seek the bay and laurel,
Win the myrtle wreath and evergreen.
Theirs be all the chafing and the quarrel,
Mine the love of you, my gentle queen.
I shall struggle—aye and do a man’s part
In all the work the world may have to do:
Fame is not the motive of the true heart,
Mine to have the love and praise of you.
Men who miss the ivy, men who get it,
While admiring crowds applaud or frown,
Find its leaves have faded and regret it,

You’re my everlasting joy and crown.PES Se tye rth enw ee

   
  

ae a ee

PSE ee ee te Le A ee ie ee oe ee ee ee -

 

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I'd walk through life with angel forms like these,

   
  
   
  
   
  
  
  
  
 
   
   
 

ANNIE LAURIE

SING TO ME, SWEETHEART, SING

F you know a song that is sweet and true,
Sing it, my sweetheart, sing.
Like soft caresses a song that blesses
Becomes an uplifting thing.

If you know a song with a cheerful tune,
Sing it, my sweetheart, sing.

’Twill heal the sorrow our frail hearts borrow,
And burdens will all take wing.

If you know a song that is glad and strong,

Sing it, my sweetheart, sing.

Through God’s glad heaven, His bright blue
heaven,

Our spirits shall soar and sing.

If you know a song that is soft and low,
Sing it, my sweetheart, sing.

Life’s useless hurry and idle worry

Will lose their aching sting.

D6

And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

vsAN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

If you know a song with a gladsome ring,
Sing it, my sweetheart, sing.

The glad rich measure will sweeten pleasure,
And joy to our dull lives bring.

If you know a song that is rich and rare,
Sing it, my sweetheart, sing.

For never a singer was such a joy bringer,
Sing to me, sweetheart, sing.Serapgey—esmienGweeverereie he eeee pea Pas ee Se see SS hate esl S 3 t

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let Cee ik aE LD a eee ae fed

 

   
   
  
 
   
  
  
     

ANNIE LAURIE

   

a
|
T A PRAYER FOR THEE

| T EAR one, loved one, far off, yet ever near,

For thee my heart repeats this prayer
sincere:

{ eg May He who led the Blessed Virgin through

{ the land

ay

Uphold thee with his kindly powerful hand;

\ May He who marks the sparrow in its fall

Be swift to bring thee aid when thou shalt call;
May He who stilled the storm on Galilee

T Allay the anxious thoughts that come to thee;
G May He who blessed the lily of the field
Inspire thy life with all that love can yield.

e eo

 

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I’d walk through life with angel forms like these,
And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

52AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

SALLIE LEE

(THERE'S a gentle, brown-eyed maiden
Waits for me, waits for me:

She’s a merry-hearted maiden,
Sallie Lee, Sallie Lee:

And I own her power entrancing

When I see the love light glancing,

From her eyes with rapture dancing,
Sallie Lee, Sallie Lee.

I first met her at the ferry,
Sallie Lee, Sallie Lee;
She was modest, she was merry,

Sallie Lee, Sallie Lee:
Yes, I met her at the ferry,
She was modest, she was merry,
She was ruddy as a cherry,
Sallie Lee, Sallie Lee.

Yonder sun was sinking slowly

©

O’er the hills, Sallie Lee:Wee eee

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—

 

 

     
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 

ANNIE LAURIE
When I saw the vision holy,
Sallie Lee, Sallie Lee;
aL Yes, the sun was sinking slowly
When I saw the vision holy
Of a maiden sweet and lowly,
Al Sallie Lee, Sallie Lee.
7 As the shades of night were falling,
Sallie Lee, Sallie Lee,
. could hear the crickets calling,
C “Sallie Lee, Sallie Lee;””
aT And my bliss was past recalling
When the echoes softly falling
ay Murmured low the cricket’s calling,
‘‘ Sallie Lee, Sallie Lee.”’
A The nightingale was singing,
i ‘< Sallie Lee, Sallie Lee; ”’
And he set the woodlands ringing,
‘(Sallie Lee, Sallie Lee; ”’
Heart to heart was fondly clinging
q| As the nightingale went winging
Through the woodlands sweetly singing,
‘Sallie Lee, Sallie Lee.”’
VI
She’s a tender, brown-eyed maiden
Fair to see, fair to see;
60
1
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I’d walk through life with angel torms like these, a

And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

52,AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

She’s a gracious-hearted maiden,

Sallie Lee, Sallie Lee;
Though our heads are old and hoary,
Oh, the olden golden glory
That lights up that old love-story,

Sallie Lee. Sallie Lee!Sf ee ee te ee eo tee ee ee ea Ee Bee ee Be

SStyt ety ssnses

es

a NS i ee eed

F reer te

 

    
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
     

WINSOME NELL

- ITHIN my soul I reared a throne
Where she might reign supreme, alone,

With sweet devotion knelt to pay

C The homage she might thrust away.

An altar next I builded, she
Was radiant with all charms to me,

Ai
And there with rapt, beseeching eyes
I offered daily sacrifice.

7

H She took the gifts I offered her,
And gently raised the worshipper,
And now within her heart I dwell,
The heart of lovely winsome Nell.

al

VI

62

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I’d walk through lite with angel torms like these,
And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

vsAN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

LOVE AND SONG

HE soul of a singer that soars
Escapes both metre and measure:
Bind him who can and will.

He roams the wide world at pleasure:

The songs that well from his heart
Are born of the spirit in silence
Issuing thence into life

Forth from the Infinite presence.

The soul of a mortal that loves
Defies all rhythm and reason, —
A tangle of wild delights,

Of infinite pains without reason:
Feelings too fine for speech
Longings elusive, unbidden:

Ever beyond one’s reach

Is the mystery subtle and hidden.

 

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a eae eee ee Pry

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Vd walk through life with angel torms like these,

   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 

  

ANNIE

 

LAURIE

ALONE IN THE WORLD

SOME day a voice
Will call from the skies above

’ ‘eve.

Saying, ‘‘’tis time to sleep.’

One of us then shall turn the eyes,

And answer that voice calling from the
skies,

Our hands shall clasp, and after sweet
xood-byes,

Shall sever all the old dear tender ties.

One of us shall, which one?

Some day a hand

Will part us on the way:

One to share eternal day,

And one. bereft of all sweet love’s demand,
Lonely there in the road shall stand,

And, weeping, stretch a helpless hand

To one who watches in the spirit land.
Which shall it be, which one ?

And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

ec

04AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

THE POWER OF LOVE

EAR Heart, the love that burns within our
bosoms,
That brings such wealth of happiness and bliss,
Shall beautify the heaven we reach to-morrow,
While lending deep significance to this.

The faith that clings to lofty spirit yearnings,

And holds within its grasp the things of truth,

That triumphs over doubt, and sin, and sorrow,

Our love shall strengthen with the strength of
youth.

The hope that soars the topmost heights of

glory,

That, rising boldly, tramples every fear,
That lifts the soul to grander higher levels,
Our love shall surely brighten year by year.

 

Se ee Saleceeteaeteaeintae lieth eet eeCe a ea

Sess.

LSSH ety ty ses Monee

   

a ee eS ee

 

a

 

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I’d walk through life with angel torms like these,

   
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
   
 
  
 
 
 
   
 
  

  

LAURIE

ANNIE

 

The peace, that, like a quiet evening sunset,
Lights up a golden glory in the sky,

That brings a precious gentle benediction,
Our love shall deepen, soften, glorify.

The trust that never faults nor frets a lover,
But confident abides through every test,
That grounds itself deep in another’s honor,
Our love shall deepen into perfect rest.

The charity that hides another’s failings,
That faithful proves in spite of all defects,
That heals with sweet forgiveness every error,
Our love ennobles, justifies, perfects.

The joy that beats in gladsome, tuneful measure,

And with its rousing cadence stirs the soul,

That has its hidden springs in righteous
pleasure,

Our love shall gladden, brighten and control.

The will that moves to earnest strong endeavor,
That plants itself on right, and never swerves,
That urges on to do one’s simple duty,

Our love shall guide with strong and steady

nerves.

—

And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

KO

vaAN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

The life that serves all holy, high ideals,

That longing, yearning, striving looks to God,

That holds in trust His gracious gifts and
blessings,

Our love shall lift above the crumbling clod.

And go all grace and beauty, wisdom, power,

And whatsoever gifts His love imparts,
Our love to high and holy ends inspires,
And wakes a nobler purpose 1n our hearts.sf Raeewe wisi yieieteie hs hese se HS a3 Pek esses = Gs 5s

ee ae

tee mad tee ea ay eee

ie ys

ale ees

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ANNIE LAURIE

A TRANSFORMATION

SINCE first I saw the soul that hes

Within thy gracious earnest eyes,
My own has been made clear to see
The need of greater grace in me.

Os
1
a
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I’d walk through lite with angel torms like these, —_
And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

KO

vaAN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

LOVE AT THE GATES OF DEATH

UMB by her side I sat,speechless and weary:
Gone were the hopes of years, smiling in

far:

She whom I’d loved seemed lost, slain by t
fever,

Not once she spoke to me lone weeping there,

Once gladness filled her heart; joy like
summer

Danced in her lovely eyes tender and true;

Hushed was her gentle voice; and, in
silence,

Waiting the will of God closer we drew.

Weeks had we waited there, vainly we watch
her;

Closed was her lovely eye, her breathing s]

There on her love I mused, longing
yearning

For one sweet word of hope, I loved her so.| ANNIE LAURIE
] Then on my inner eye flashed all her beauty,
| All her soul’s radiant goodness anew,
| T All the sweet deeds she did proved how she
| loved me,
a | All the kind words she spoke then thrilled me
| T through.
: i aD Dumb with despair and gloom, lonely, for-
saken,
: | Kneeling beside her couch strongly I prayed,
i \ C When lo! she oped her eyes, vanquished the
; | fever !
. | T Faith, hope and love returned bright with
| ' \ the day.
' | T
i Out through the open door stole the death
3 rT angel,
i i Joy like a ray of light broke through the
sloom,
Back from the jaws of death closing behind her
, Came the sweet life I loved, cheating the
; a tomb.
é Now to my heart she speaks softly and gently,
: Y All the great love she has filling her voice
Lifts her sweet eyes to mine, tender, entreating,
T Bides me toil bravely on, work and rejoice.
ue 70
: T
: I’d walk through lite with angel torms like these, wr
H And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

All through my life she’ll go singing forever,
Part of my very self, deathless and free;

Her soul from my soul nothing can sever,
Best bliss of Eden by Heaven’s decree.Sesee= chien Sev Rhett ie fe eese ye PS es eseegelehe sas see

ee ee

potnCewesas — wwe

  

= Fetes is eeyesapewersdecssose case seceserartss
: i $5 ; Oot Se oe Seay 5s oe eee oe

 

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ANNIE LAURIE
- 7
LOVE UNIVERSAL
T HAT subtle mysteries
Great Nature speaks to all !
- With what wild witcheries
She holds our hearts in thrall !
She holds our hearts in thrall
t With weirdest phantasies,
With hungers that appall,
With empty vanities.
q ’Neath leafy canopies
The feathered tribes are found,
rT Their carroled colloquies
1: Through all the woods resound.
Through all the woods resound
Their tuneful melodies;
)
And echo round and round
ll Their lyric symphonies.
Beneath the arching frieze
Yi With many flossy lines
Its gauzelike filagrees
The spider swift designs.
he
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I'd walk through iite with ange! torms like these, ane

And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

vfAN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

She weaves her bright designs
Of silken traceries

O’er bush and porch and vine
And hidden galleries.

Through vast immensities
The stars bend round the pole;
In shining galaxies

They, singing, onward roll.
They onward forward roll
With matchless minstrelsies
That fill the great world-soul
With deathless harmonies.

O Life, O Love, if these

Such joyous gladness find.
What rich, sweet melodies
Should ring within the mind !
There thrill within the mind

Such joyous symphonies

That life’s great end we find
In love’s humanities.

 

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ANNIE LAURIE
a
A DREAM FACE
a 1
VY BABS, years ago,
tT With one whose love ne’er fades,
As a little child I played,
My heart aglow.
o
Years, years ago,
A In field flowers rich arrayed,
My heart he oft had made
With joy o’erflow.
TT Seen through the years,
1 Now that my head is grayed,
And life is stern and staid,
It brings the tears.
1 Years, years ago,
Our hearts then unafraid
From love’s law ne’er had strayed,
y Nor felt a blow.
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And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

52AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

Years, years ago,

In a little room I prayed,

That God who all things swayed
Would spare us woe.

The distant years,

Now that life’s debt is paid,
And he to rest is laid,

Oft bring the tears.

 

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Ler iA ini ewafodsesssSk CSSe Set eter sete seeds ee ee yn

 

      
  
 
 
   
 
  
  
 
 
   
  
  

 

ANNIE LAURIE
i
ah SUMMUM BONUM
a HE best of all that earth imparts
Is just the love of human hearts,
The steadfast trust that never cloys,
C Nor tires with simple homely joys.
Ay are
[The common love that throbs and thrills
T Within the soul that virtue fills
Is like an anchor to the soul,
When passion’s billows o’er us roll.
i
H O blest are they and nobly wise
Who find the bliss of paradise
In lowly hearts, and daily prove
A humble faith and constant love !
i
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I’d walk through lite with angel torms like these, —

And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

52AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

THE ECSTASY OF LOVE

M* lips, thy lips

Pressed close together-

Light as a feather—

Two hearts are one.

Soul, hast thou felt the bliss ‘
Hath earth a joy like this ?
Ecstacy in a kiss—

There, the deed’s done!

My hand, thy hand
Clasped thus forever—
Joy beyond measure
Filling the life.

Who tell the whole of it ?
Oh the wild joy of it !
Never to part from it—
Husband and wife |!Se Geenwe shaewrcy yet ateie he ee Se ps iSag Lee SErsaksssss

See se ee

Pe Ee ne et ee ee Ct

Cty Rte et oe ee eek te ee ee ee ee eee F ae , =

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ANNIE LAURIE

Dear heart, sweetheart,

Thy life with mine,

a My life with thine,

Deeply imbedded—

Earth holds no greater prize;
T Thus we shall win the skies;
Into our heaven rise,
Welded and wedded.

a

 

beste.
I’d walk througn ite with angel torms like these, —
And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

52AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

BITTER-SW EET

‘TOGETHER we have blended pain and
pleasure,

Drunk the cup of mingled joy and woe,

Danced the lilt of life in changing measure,

Learned its cadence running high and low.

Visions bright and lovely grief has saddened,

Stealing unaware upon us, dear,

Hearts bowed down with sorrow joy has
gladdened,

Driving from us peril, pain and fear.

Pale-eyed care with features wan and weary
Sat beside us morning, noon and night,
Threatened us with loss and, sad and dreary,
Stole away our gladness and delight.

Sweet-voiced joy then sought us in our mourn-
ing,

Sang us songs that cheered our darkened hour,

Sweeter grew her singing in the morning,

As the smiling sun lifts up the flower.Veeeeesiogyrssveiateis Geko le RTS ase Les Sere s Ss hetsi=

Sete oc ee Ok ee ee ee Lo es a ee ae ee en Pr a

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———

     
 
 
   
  
 
  
  
  

 

ANNIE LAURIE
Thorns and roses strew the pathway ever,
Weeping, laughter, sojourn side by side,
T Thorns may serve to baffle our endeavor,
But the roses only shall abide.
Joys have lightened all our petty sorrow,
Ay Tears have changed to priceless pearls and gems,
7 Both will brighten softly on the morrow
Into starry crowns and diadems.
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I’d walk through lite with angel torms like these, —

And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

52AN OLD SWEETHEART, OF MINE

GOLDEN FANCIES

HE wild rose bursting its pinken petals,
Scenting the air with its mild perfume;
The violets waking from sleep in the meadow,

Spreading a carpet from nature’s loom;

The red robin trilling his April measures,
Filling the woodlands wild with tune;

The nightingale winging away to her treasures,
Telling her joy to the listening moon;

The day dawn that chases the fleeing shadows,

Flooding with gladness the night’s deep gloom;

The sunshine that dances with joy on the
heather,

Snared by the dew on the flowers in bloom;

The tender depths of the sky’s blue in Summer,
As slowly the days lengthen out in June;—

These are the fancies in which I enshrine thee.
Queen of my life and its richest boon.

 

 

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I’d walk through tite with angel torms like these,

ANNIE LAURIE

THE PARALYSIS OF LOVE

‘TH ~ soul of man like a golden harp
Is strung with emotions fine
That respond to the touch of a player’s hand
In melodies soft, divine.
With rhythmic beat, and in major mood
Its music is all afire,
Expressing in many an interlude
Its hidden and deep desire.

In the days of youth when hope soars high,
The music is rich and strong,

And love is the chief of the wild desires
That waken the soul with song.

And love is the best of the golden strings
And love has the sweetest power

To lure the soul on to higher things

And quicken its flight each hour.

But age comes on and the heart grows chill
By the storms of winter swept,

And away goes the joy of the glad wild thrill
Of the feelings that long have slept;

82

And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

KO

veAN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

For over the heart of the human soul

As over the heart of earth

The flowers of feeling first grow, then fade,
And death follows fast on birth.

No longer to love as we used to love

EF’ er the soul had been nipped by the frost,
And to see all the strings of the harp hang limp
Or jangled and twisted and cross’t,

To see all the feelings within us die,

And our spirits grow mute and still, —

Ah! this is a drama too dark and deep

For all but the Father’s will.Se a

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HER BEWITCHED VIOLIN

GEE played upon her violin,

The soul of music was within,
It thrilled one’s heart with mem’ ries rife
Of hope, and joy, and love, and life,
And mingled dreamy mysteries
With subtle, secret witcheries.

Her thrilling, singing violin

A dryad has his home within,

That left the wood when fell the tree,
And wandered homeless, friendless, free,
Till now he makes his home within

Her weeping, laughing violin.

Oh violin! sweet violin !

What rare old tunes there are within
Thy heart, heard long ago when grew
Thy fibres, vibrant through and through

And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

52AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

With woodland notes, and mystic runes
That dryad hums, or wood sprite croons;
Such tunes of airy, lively grace

As jolly cupids dance apace;

And then such tunes of minor moods

As when sad winds steal through the woods;

Joy, and est, and mirth, and laughter,
Passion, pathos coming after!

That violin, her violin,

What witchery there was within,
Its tones were richer than the flute,
Its accents softer than the lute,

It whispered messages of love,

It sighed and sang of life and love,
The love that trembled on her lips,
And thrilled her to the finger tips,
Till in my soul the music lingers
Played by her light supple fingers
On my heart strings, vibrant, singing,
Love’s sweet joys unto me bringing!

Whene’er she plays her violin

My soul is all afire within;

While, lo! to see it press her cheek,
I envy so I scarce can speak,

So

 

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ANNIE LAURIE
The music blending with my feeling,
T While all my senses go a-reeling;
Such mysteries haunt my being, till
My heart is slave to her sweet will;
She has such binding power within
Ai a: ake
Her violin, sweet violin!
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And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

52AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

SHE WAS A LOVELY DREAM

H! she was a lovely dream
The gods let fall from the sky,
And deep in my heart did the arrows smart

That shot from her twinkling eye.

I saw her first at the ford:

She pulled her bonnet away;

Twas love at a glance, my heart did dance.
And heaven seemed drawing nigh.

The birds in the trees above

Made merry they knew not why;

From all their throats their silvery notes
Called to us as we passed by.

But I was timid and slow,

And John was quick and spry;

His vows were said and they were wed,
And I was a goose was I.

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I’d walk through lite with ange! torms like these,

    
 
  
   
 
 
   
  
  
   
 

ANNIE LAURIE

THE SKY IS ENRICHED WITH STARS

HE sky is enriched with stars,
The sea has a million pearls,
But better than all the pearls or stars,
Are our three little sunny girls.

Like the light in a million stars,

Like the purity in sea pearls,

Are the smiling lips and the tender eyes
Of our three merry-hearted girls.

For their eyes shine as bright as stars,
Or distil great drops like pearls,

Yes. better than all the pearls or stars
Are our brown-eyed, blue-eyed girls.

oO
or

And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

o2AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

BONNIE ANNIE LAURIE

HEY pitched their tents on yonder plain
Singing Annie Laurie;
They pitched their tents to the glad refrain,
Bonnie Annie Laurie.

The sentinel paced his weary round
Singing Annie Laurie;

He measured the distance on the ground
Singing Annie Laurie.

The wind was murmuring in the pines

Bonnie Annie Laurie:
List to the lilt of the lazy lines
Bonnie Annie Laurie.

She was the girl that loved him best,
Bonnie Annie Laurie:

Thinking of her his heart was blest.
Dear sweet Annie Laurie.Koss PSS Ss eS ee eete = secesire a ee ee errata .
: eS ESETE Te Se ee Pe ee ee

ete ea Le eos

 

 

ANNIE LAURIE
He dreamed of war and home by turn
And bonnie Annie Laurie;
She’d wait her soldier’s safe return,
T Faithful Annie Laurie.
And ever the heart of the soldier lad
a Singing Annie Laurie
Was stirried by the thought of the maiden glad,
T,
Dear sweet Annie Laurie.
3ut in a new grave beneath the hill
Bonnie Annie Laurie
Tv Is waiting her soldier laddie still
Who sang of Annie Laurie.
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I'd walk through 'ite with angel torms like these, —

And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

52AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

A MOOD

WE sit in the shadow thinking,

Yet our hearts are far away,
And the light in our sky is sinking,
So close, so close to-day.

We talk of the things abiding,

So close, so close to-day,

Yet each from the other is hiding
His soul which is far away.

Something has changed your manner.
Yet we sit so close to-day,

We are not beneath love's banner,
And our joy has passed away.

Your looks and tones grow colder,
Though you clasp me close to-day,
And my fears grow big and bolder,
Till they drive my peace away.eee ee ee a

OS FN fm

Se ee

ie ae eR eT

Se ee oh eS ee ee a Se Se ie ae oor a oe

 

     
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
  

ANNIE LAURIE
Yet you vow you love me truly,
And you pledge your faith, you say,
Can I take your promise fully,
i And trust you day by day?
I know not what comes o’er me,
a I know your heart to-day
T Is true. The trouble’s in me,
My heart is wrong to-day.
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And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

52AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

MY GOLDEN WINSOME FLEURDELIS

M* golden, winsome fleurdelis

I wear thee in my heart;
Within this shrine [ll keep thee mine
By every gentle art.
The heavens above are blue, my love,
And bright blue are thine eyes,
Thy smiling face wears tenderer grace
Than a summer in Paradise.

Had I the gift of minstrelsy,

Or could my feelings voice,

I'd sing a song of love to thee,

Thou dear one of my choice.

I’d sing the rose that fragrant grows
’Neath tender summer skies,

The fairy dells and bright blue bells
That bloom in Paradise.aT

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ANNIE LAURIE

A dainty, dancing chansonette
I would with rapture try,

x Whose beauty you should ne’er forget
My charming Lorelei.
The pearly dew is clear and true,

v And crystal clear art thou,

T Thou bring’st me rest within my breast
Where I do wear thee now.

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52AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

LOVE NEVER DIES

OVE never dies. It’s very essence
Is divine, and cannot die.
It springs immortal from His presence
Who is all love, and dwelleth nigh.

Our erring hearts know not its power
To vitalize each needy age;

Frail children ! we forget our dower,
And spurn our blessed heritage.

Within the soul] of every mortal
There flames a spark of love divine,
That darted out of heaven’s portal
And lodged within its human shrine.

And as beneath the leaves and mosses
Arbutus hides its blossoms sweet,

So hearts reveal beneath life’s crosses
A love as fragrant, tender, meet.eT Tee ee oe ee ROLES Te

Cree oe tee roe

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LAURIE

APOLLO BELVIDERE

O* old Apollo walked the glades

Of sylvan bosky Arcadie,
The while his voice beneath those shades
Awoke a glorious harmony;
It thrilled the heroes into life,
More godlike than they erst had known,
And made them with great purpose rife
To gain a beauty lke his own:—

A beauty not alone of form,

Nor outward grace, nor strength of hmb;
Apollo’s followers sought the norm

Of that soul-grace they found in him.
They coveted the godlike poise,

The equal mind, the fearless heart,

The active peace true love enjoys,

The charity that’s life’s best art.

A Roman sculptor dreamed of him—
Apollo of the godlike mind—

And soon a block of stone did trim
To wake the soul that lurked behind;

96

And stoop to pick their crumbs up on my knees.

52AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

The people saw the form and soul,
And cried, ‘‘The god himself is here’? !

And now we call this beauteous whole,
Our own ‘! Apollo Belvidere.’

Thy form is like his, O my own !
My lover with the human mind!
The spirit that informed that stone
Is kin to that thy form outlined

I wish for thee his godlike poise,
His equal mind, his fearless heart,
The active peace true love enjoys
The charity that’s life’s great art.

I wish thee more than Grecian god

Or Roman artist hath conceived:

The footsteps that the Christus trod,

The life the Nazarene hath lived.

May they be thine; and mayst thou teach
A clearer faith, a love more broad,

A manhood that shall dare to reach

And strive to see our Master’s God.ANNIE LAURIE
| And be thy character, dear one,
i The strongest, tend’ rest, sweetest, best, :
: | The product of thy pure deeds done; '
\ i. Thy soul be full of holiest rest; ,
3 | Be thine arm strong; thy mind be clear; 7
& | Be thy heart warm, thy spirit free; ’
: 1 a To God’s own life live ever near, :
* ‘ , *
sg | T And so envizage Christ to me. :
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LIBRARY OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA

GIFT OF

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WRS- LINCOLN HULLAunt Jane and Ber Niece

also

Che Bora Grande Sapphire

 

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Inscribed to my wife,

Eloise Mayham Hulley

 

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1926
BY
LINCOLN HULLEY

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POETIC PRODUCTIONS

LINCOLN HULLEY

Lullabies and Slumber Songs
Annie-Laurie: Love-Lyrics
Hiram Abiff, the Builder

Sonnets on the Immortal Bards
Shakespere’s Dream of Fair Women
Moonlight Nights at Palm Beach
King David: Israel’s Lyric Bard
Christina, or Christian Van Dusen’s Law-Suit
Chivalry in Dixie: Metrical Romances

Mike Murphy’s Dream

Campus Memories

Alice Coventry and other Metrical Romances

The Eloise Chimes

Chapel Lyrics of Faith, Hope and Love

Fables and Myths from the Sibyl’s Book

The Jubilate of Rabbi Ben Adam

Christian Hymns

St. Anne and the Children’s Hour

St. Michael and the Dragon: An Epic of the War
Savonarola’s Visions of Judgment

Broken Hearts and Lives

Vesper Songs of Joy, Trust and Praise

3rave Idylls of the Gallant South

Dwellers Beyond the Styx, or Tragedies of Love
Dixie Sketches in Chalk and Charcoal

Ghiberti’s Doors to Paradise and Other Art Poems
A Maker of Dreams and Poetic Fantasies
Gold-Fields, Gold-Skies and Gold-Seekers

A Farmer-Prince

Galloping Westward: A Ballad

A Disciple of Plato

Florida the Beautiful

Ariel and Cinderella

Eden, a Paradise of Love

College Lyrics of Idealism and Optimism
Chauncey and Kitty; also Bob’s Dilemma

Farth to Earth, or the Joy of Life

For Better For Worse

Aunt Jane and Her Niece; also the Boca Grande Sapphire
Hymns of the Dead Gods

Circe in Search of a Soul

The Crystal Christ

Gloria: A Summer Rendezvous
Angels That Beckon Me

Ave atque Vale, or Life and ImmortalityI
AUNT JANE AND HER NIECE

High on a ridge of wooded hills.
Half hid among the leafy trees,

An ancient college still fulfils

Its dream of culture, leisure. ease.

In front a fine bell-tower stands
And from its chimes rine out the unes,
That lure the youth to heed commands

Impressed ‘ mystic words and runes.

Below the hill a river flows

Amid sweet vales of peace and rest:
}
I

Time round about the college 20es

As slowly as the years go west.

co

Behind the building. standing guard,
A native forest of dense pine

And oak edges the cloistered yard,
Hach tree a scholar’s chosen shrine.
Straight up the walls the ivy climbs,
And densely crowds each window sill.
While trumpet creepers, full of chimes,
Attest the gardener’s care and skill.

The stones are looking soiled with age:
Gray liche url there, each a crust:
These are es ornaments that engage
Our admiration, not disgust.

Beloved by all who in the days
Gone by have trod its hallowed halls,
The college wins unstinted praise,
And blesses those inside its walls.

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Co-education was so rare,
When Kenmore opened up, men thought
The thing was senseless. What a care
To guide young lovers as one ought!

For men were monks and women nuns,
And should be taught behind high walls;
Since many long uncounted suns

[t had been so. All change appalls.

But here wise fathers said the rule
Should meet with one exception square;
They meant to found a different school,
[It’s doors wide open to the fair.

And so, beside the central pile,
On either wing, they made the plan
To form quadrangles, where in style

The dormitories later ran.

One group, those looking toward the west,
Was built for men, and soon was full
Of eager, dashing youth the best

The land could show, and wonderful.

The other group, built on the east,
\Vas prettier, for the fairer sex,

Who came in numbers to the feast,
Though some averred they came to vex.

Thus Kenmore College rose to view,

A wonder in its early days;

The more the critics scoffed it grew,

And won from thousands words of praise.

6The year the great war reached its close.

In nineteen hundred eighteen, came
To college Helen Grace Montrose,
As fair in feature as in name.

She entered with the Freshman class.
As modest as a lily bell,

A charming, dancing, smiling lass,
Whose gracious manners boded well.

She had prepared at Newgate Hall,
That knew the latest cut of frocks:
She learned cosmetics, art and all

The various ways to train her locks.

Such trifles though were but skin deep,
As beauty always is, you know:

She knew the arts with which to keep
Her charms before each special beau.
She stood five feet five inches tall,
Her age just eighteen years; you see,
By counting back, her infant bawl
Had started with the century.

For best of all her gifts by far

Was her fine voice, rich, full and clear;
She seemed a pilgrim from some star.
Kar out in space, when speaking near.

Girls envied Helen for her grace,
Lithe, supple, — what a queenly air:
A sunny soul shone in her face,
And like the full moon she was fair.

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She drove on past the entrance gate,
And gave a thrill to all the girls;
But what touched most, now who will state,
Her learned air, or dress or curls?

   
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
   

The flowers trembled on her hat;

She seemed as gay as fields in spring ;
She stepped as lightly on the mat,

As if she were a bird on wing.

She passed up through the outer door,
Gold bracelets dangling on her wrists;
She dropped her kerchief on the floor,
Recovering it with sundry twists.

A belt bejeweled, round the waist,
Gave her a jaunty air, a shawl
About her shoulders told of taste,
That caught the eager eyes of all.

She walked the hall, down to her room,
With dignity and pride and grace,

And as the ruby scatters gloom,

So did the laughter in her face.

She dressed for dinner, O’er her heart
She pinned some roses, on her hair

An ornament the goldsmith’s art

Had made resplendent, with great care.

Next, ear-rings made of filigree

She hung as pendants from her ears;
Arrayed thus, off in highest olee,

She in the dining room appears

8As open sesame, the name
Of Montrose loosened up all hearts;

It brought to Helen instant fame.
And stamped her as a girl of parts.

Her room-mate, by contrast, was slow,
But good as gold, and Helen found
Her true as steel, not made for show,
But best of all the girls around.

Their room was festooned with the things
A college girl likes well to have:

About the walls and chairs she flings
Pennants, pillows her lovers gave.

They had a cosy corner, where
Their books and school things all were kept —
And rugs from Persia made for wear.

O’er which their school-mates lightly stept.

Each had a drawer with lock and key,
In which were folded safe away

The lovely notes perfumed, that he
Had sent his sweet-hea

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At least fair Helen had a lock

To hers, and kept it safely closed:
No other eye should get the shock
Of reading how her beau proposed.

This room was next to heaven, and home.
The sweetest place to these two dears:

No matter where their feet might roam,

This room should follow through the years.

9

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Into her room, first day, pell-mell
Came scouts for three young women’s frats;
Fach wanted her to know the “‘yell
At heart each thought the others cats.

To Helen this was joy supreme,
The mystery, the secret great,

She floated off on some sweet dream,
And could not sleep till very late.

Obscure as riddles were their signs;

Their songs were full of hidden thought ;

She puzzled much to read the lines

On all their pins, so dearly bought.

“Where do they keep their goats?” she groaried,
Beneath her breath, to her dear chum

At midnight. But her friend just moaned,
And kept her lips shut meekly dumb

‘Which shall I choose?” “Oh. don’t ask me!”
Her room-mate answered, full of woe;
"4 ney all lo yk ood. You can't join three ;

Pick one. and let the others go!

A bright idea came at last,

Quite worthy of the Montrose wit;

She flipped a coin, when all was past,
And said the fates should govern it.

So once upon a time, at dark,
When ghosts were stalking through the lane,
She rode the goat, out in the park,

Which nearly addled up her brain.

1GShe idolized her social set.
Composed of sisters, to be sure,
Inside the sanctum, where she met
A lot she hardly could endure.

She had to like them for she swore
With hand uplifted on the book,
That she should love them, and adore
Their every virtue, act and look.

She fagged for one, and paid the bill
At supper for a full octette,

And just to show them her good will,
She squared a sister’s gambling debt.
She acted as the chapter’s whip

To bring each member to her place,

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On meeting night, and gave the tip,
When others showed an angry face.

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All loved her for her cenial airs,
And catered to her round the school;
She never moved, except in pairs,
And never seemed to play the fool.

Her heart inside was made of wax,
That melted with a sister’s tears; \F
None ever found her weak, or lax,
In calming academic fears.

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And as molasses catches flies,
So Helen had a dozen beaux,
Athletic heroes, in whose eyes
She read the stories of vast woes.

The trustees once had been so strict,
High walls and fences shut men out,
It took but little to convict

Intruders there without a doubt.

The genial rays of many a sun
Had melted all this snow and ice,
And Helen found the boys all fun,
But one particular chap quite nice.

[n all the college social life

None could compare with Helen's charm;
Among the boys she started strife,

And carried one on either arm.

Yet all the while her eyes were fixed
On Stanley Davis, who was head
And heels in love with her, so mixed

He wished the others all were dead.

This went on till her Junior year
When Stanley was a Senior, grave;

Were they engaged — well, never fear!
Her heart had found its hero brave.

Both lived high on the mountain top

In ecstasies of joy and pain;

Sometimes their hearts would nearly stop,
Then suddenly beat up again.

12One day in March the mail came in,—
Among the letters, one, with seal.

Mor Helen, reading which, a erin
Spread out and burst into a squeal :

“Aunt Jane is coming in a week.
To visit in the town, till June:”
She punctuated, with a shriek.

The reading like a trained buffoon.

She says she longs to see her niece.

And help her with some good advice:

>

She cackled like a flock of 2 cCcsc,

Hler dear Aunt Jane was very nice.

Who was Aunt Jane? Well, they should see!
The lady would herself be there:

Aunt Jane was full of dignity,

And she had lots of golden hair.

Aunt Jane, the youngest child of nine,
And Helen’s mother, born the first.
Brought Jane and Helen near a line

In age. In this both were well versed.

“She is my elder by two years,”

Said Helen, turning up her eyes;
~My silly ways will bring’ her tears,
And she will gaze in sad surprise.”’
“She always bossed me, when a child,’’
Said Helen, smiling to the girls;
“she thought me just a bit too wild,
And did not like my saucy curls.”

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For one whole week in Helen’s face
A radiance beamed, at work or play;
Within her smile there lurked a trace
Of smothered purpose to be gay.

She meant to teach Aunt Jane the tricks
That college girls count very wise ;

If possible, she would transhix

“Dear Auntie” with speechless surprise.

She planned just to cut loose, for once,
That Jane should see her social skill;
She might regard her as a dunce,

But learn how strong had grown her will.

AJl kinds of schemes went through her mind ;
Class duties had gone up the spout;

Wild pranks and tricks of various kind
Had put all serious thoughts to rout.

Why, she had bent the knee to Jane
All through her life! The word is true!

There comes a turn to every lane;
‘Twas time to put her own course through.

Confiding to her chum her plan,

To lead Aunt Jane through such a dance
That she should catch and hold a man,
She asked her how she viewed the chance.

Her chum was dumb, and did not know,
But Helen laughed, and showed a card,
That held ten names, each name a beau,
And said, “Aunt Jane, though, may die hard.”

14The day of all days had come round,
And Helen hurried to the train:

Her foot-steps hardly touched the ground

She scarcely noticed there was rain.

The schedule was an hour late:
It seemed her bulging heart must burst:

She knew she simply couldn’t wait:
The railroad lines were all accursed.

An hour passed, the whistle blew,
The cars drew slowly down the track:
Her eyes along the windows flew;

Her heart with joy was on the rack.

Ah, there she is, her dear, sweet aunt.
Her childhood’s monitor and friend!
Now let the fiends incarnate taunt.
And let the world come to an end!

They flew into each other’s arms,
(You know how college girls behave)
Each one a bundle of rare charms,
And each inclined to rant and rave.
~l'm glad to see you! Yes, I am!”
The workmen stopped to look and stare;
Jane urged, “Be still, my precious lamb,
Just see the men around us glare!”’

“Why, Helen, folks will inly curse,
And think us crazy in the head;
Our antics could not be much worse;

Such talking may wake up the dead

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A healthy color in her cheek,
A wealth of golden hair, waved too,—
She stood erect, not limp nor weak.

Two inches taller than her niece!
Two years her senior by the clock!
Yet clearly each was just a piece,
Chipped from the same old family block.

Though not austere, Jane showed command
Of every motion of her soul;

Power marked the gesture of her hand;
Her words came with a certain roll.

Rut when she smiled she drew all hearts;
None could resist her charm of face;
She used no tricks nor mincing arts,

But wore a grand consummate grace.

While Helen chattered, Jane stood still,
And looked into her niece's mind,
She noticed there a growth of will
And thought of a superior kind.

Yet she admonished her, ‘Speak low.”
Jane knew that itching ears would strain
To catch the conversation’s flow,
Repeating it with increased vain,

They hurried off to find her room,
Outside the campus, near the gate;
Between these souls there was no gloom,
But now they part, ‘twas getting late

16Keceptions, parties, tete-a-tetes,
lor days drew circles round Aunt Jane:
She had no lack of friends and dates.

\nd Helen steered her. that was plain.

\ “cookie-shine’ in Helen’s Hall.

\ grand reception at the Frat,

\n invitation to a ball.

Girl friends who came to loaf and chat:
These were the items on the Card.

\nd many more such rounds of fun:
\unt Jane was surely going hard

Till long hours past the set of sun

7 he boys streamed in. to show respect
lor Helen, but they all liked Jane;
She had the marks of the elect.

Was pretty, solid, sound and sane

She thought her niece, though, far too ‘“‘fresh,”’

\nd chided her from‘noon till night;
The “boys would catch her in their mesh,”’
ind really Helen got a fright
Jane was a woman worldly wise,
In every good sense of the word,
She filled poor Helen with surpriss

\t all the stories she had heard

Sometimes she scolded her, next praised
The pretty dimple in her chin:
Then, with sweet Helen’s face upraised,

She soothed her with a merry grin.SSeeeenweaseseseyeiareishehete ss fSag Pees sessbatstsici=

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Aunt Jane was critical, and keen

 

To analyze the college world;

Her words were never downright mean,
But spoken with her two thumbs twirled.

She thought that Kenmore ought to start
A school of manners, just to teach
The younger folks a long lost art,
That seemed to them quite out of reach.

“Coarse-grained and rude, the men,” she said,
“Would blow smoke in a lady's face,

\nd seize her arm, although unwed,

And never showed a courtier’s grace.

Some were too lazy quite to tip
Their hats in deference to her sex;
They were too loose in fellowship,
\ll troubled with a girl complex.”
Young Stanley Davis, Helen’s friend,
Seemed to Aunt Jane the very worst;

[f Helen married him, an end

fo all their love-—her heart would burst.

This fave poor Helen such a shock,
She stayed in bed, all day, and cried,
She heard a friend’s voice shout and mock,

\nd wished that she had early died.

But youth gets over things like these,
\nd soon again the skies were blue;
Fair shone the sun, and now wild geese
Were swimming in the river view.

18Aunt Jane had censored Helen’s clothes:
Her waist, her dress, in leneth and style,
Her gaudy scarf, her shoes, her hose.
And said her hat was simply vile.

The fact that others looked the same
Did not count much. It plainly told,
The age was courting grief and shame.

\nd hearts were growing coarse and bold.

‘Ill fares the land to hastening: ills

A prey,’ she quoted, with some stress:
“Some day the land will pay big: bills
For all its wild toolhardiness.”’

But Stanley Davis came in most
Of all for JTane’s sharp-pointed scorn;
He even had the brass to boast

That children now were better born.

He thought the age was gaining sense

With health and comforts made to match:

The school had torn the old board fence
\way. and hung outside the latch.

For Helen it was sacrilege
To differ much with Stanley's views;
7

But Jane began to lay hard siege

To all he thought, as his just dues.

The skies above were full of threat,
With arguments on right and wrong:
The heat would make poor Helen sweat,
When words blew up, both loud and stron

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What Aunt Jane saw was bad clear through,

She was too old to take the new;
With pride of mind she inly burned.

She was a doomed old-fashioned girl,
Trained in the ways their mothers loved,
Whose hearts were gaily made to whirl

By lovers calling, neatly gloved.

The college set got her unnerved;
Its vulear forms of act and speech
Would split her ears. At last she swerved,

Resolved on lessons she should teach.

She lectured Helen, night and day,
On sundry forms of etiquette;
She called the old the nobler way,

\nd said the new would learn it yet.

‘The goo-goo eyes young ladies made
Would be their ruin. What a fall!
The lady had become a Jade,

\nd money mattered most of all

‘The girls inside fair Helen's frat
Were snobs and prudes and good for naught;
They slouched and drooped, but never sat

Erect. and tall, as she was taught.

‘Their common forms of speech were slang ;
The subject of their talk was boys;
They always bawled, but never sang,

Their hearts intent on vulgar JOYS.

  

ZUThese confidences in Jane’s room.

When Helen would come down to cal!

Ay

Had sometimes filled the air with gloorn,

But goodness triumphed over all.

a ;
lhe worst of all the strictures made

Was this, ‘The rules were all too loose:

[hey were not drawn by man or maid,

But plainly by some addled goose

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[hey taught them every vulgar phrase

‘The faculty had gone to sleep.

‘li some red-blooded dean should la‘
The law down to that student mob,
He might, in conscience, earn his pay,

\nd too the sobriquet, a snob

‘The girls had far too many beaux
False freedom, laxity, and, worse,
Bad notions in their heads from shows,

Chat signified a devil's curse.”’

Old-fashioned rules of right and wrong,

Restrictions on their speech and dress,

Less freedom with the men, and strong,

[deal thought she would impress.

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March winds had given way to rains
Of April, and the buds of May;
Now Kenmore College was in pains

 

Before examination day.

The grounds around the college halls
Were redolent with roses,—J]une,
With all her many tuneful calls,
Was at the threshold coming soon.

The family home, at dear Montrose,
Was like the college, full of bloom;
Dear Helen’s heart with joy uprose,

In thinking of her cherished room.

Her standing in the class was sure
Not at the head, nor at the foot;
And in her soul she felt June’s lure

That like a sapling strikes deep root.

Three years had swiitly glided by;
Brimiul were they of joy supreme,
Above her was a summer sky;

Far off she saw a certain gleam.

She was a Junior, and had won

A place among her dear classmates
That should the world become undone,
She had the will to fight the fates.

All hailed her as the best of friends,
Tried by the tests her world held good;
No sky exceeds the one that bends
Above a college sisterhood.

29

—_——Her lover, Stanley Davis, knew
How close she held him to her heart:
He had not yet proposed, ’tis true,
But he had played a lover’s part.

He was a Senior now, at last:

His Kenmore days were near an end:

She mused on how the years, now past,
Had made him more and more her friend

His calls she counted as a nun,

Filled full of heavenly ecstasy,

Will count her beads o’er, one by one,
Those precious hours, her rosary!

Will he, the Senior, now propose?
This was the question in her mind.
And, if he did, do you suppose

Her lips the proper words would find?

These thoughts pressed on her till her rest
Was taken from her, night and day;

She could not ask him for the test,

That was not quite the maiden’s way.

Outside, at midnight, high the moon
Had cast a spell of borrowed light,
As, te ssing, sleepless, she took soon

Her window-seat, and blessed the night.

“Sweet moon! dear moon! is this the time
Young lovers plight their trust and faith?”
She saw, beneath an outspread lime,

Her lover walking like a wraith.

92
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How dear the hearts of happy youth
Within a college, where the calls

Are ever toward the claims of truth,
And courage conquers what appalls.

Commencement ended in a _ blaze
Of glory, dear to men and boys;
The world was waiting, full of pratse,

For those who tasted college joys.

Fair Helen hastened to Montrose,

“To see the rose and woodbine twine;
She viewed again the prized photo:

Of Stanley Davis, deemed divine.

She went straight to a cabinet,
Perfumed some paper, for a note

To Stanley ; while the ink was wet,

\ letter came that gripped her threat.

\unt Jane had married Stanley; think!
In less than one full week, beyond
Commencement time. She dried the ink,
\nd threw the letter in the pond.

She mused: ‘‘Aunt Jane has taught me well,
Old-fashioned girls are not so slow;

She kept her secret in a shell,

Hid close that none should ever know.

Blue eyes, a wealth of golden hair,

Clear speech, strong views, seem gvod to men:
lt might be well to change my air,

\nd not be such a dunce again.”

24L
THE BOCA GRANDE S AP Pre
At Greystone, on a certain day.
Jack Rawlinson came in from play,
And straightway took to bed:
(he microbes danced inside his throat,
Che influenza got his goat,
\nd pains shot through his he

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e floated off through sky and
tle lost his bearings, every trace;
His roof caved in and fell:

(he rudder to his ship was gone:
iis face was absent. woe-be

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His name he could not tell

The fact showed clear his cat
His last curved ball was duly
\nd he was billed to oO:

He had no option on the world

pitched,

His reason from its throne was hurled.

\nd he was full of woe.

tis legs were changed to trolley poles ;

His brains were moth-bit, full of holes.
\nd he was shot clean through:

Uhe bugs danced hornpipes up and down

His crazy back and arms: the town

Was set against him too

But fate was kind, and, in ten weeks.

The red blood flowed inside his cheeks.
And he was on the mend:

He thanked the Doctors for their skill:

The Doctors praised his strength of will.
And soon his cares would end.

 

il was ditched a

Le

 

LSJack Rawlinson was known to tame
As full-back in the foot-ball game
When Woodbridge bit the dust;
With Jack away the Greystone team
Was like a plow without a beam,
The whole thing on a bust.

The illness he had just pulled through,
That nearly spelled tor him adieu,
Had broken his first term,
His strength was as the strength of ten,
But he was mired, and all the men
Of Greystone cursed that germ.

Che woes of men can never last,

\nd he was growing well now fast,
And feeling full of vim;

He knew the signs were full of hope;

He daily quaffed the Doctor's dope,
He soon would be in trim.

To help him on the upward path,
\nd pacify his rising wrath,
The fellows wrote him notes;
Each, in his own peculiar vein,
Was rightly striving to be sane,
And on his virtues dotes.

Jack read these letters day by day,
Which like a tonic made him gay,
And promptly brought him health ;
He thumbed them till the leaves were soiled,
Till all the microbes in him boiled,
He counted them his wealth.

26Jim wrote of studies in their clas.s
Assuring him the Dean would pa

55
A man so highly prized:
The boys would coach him for the quiz :
He ought to educate his phiz;

They'd keep him well advised.

“This is your Junior year, you know:
To lose you, Jack, would be a blow
The college couldn't stand ;
Hence do not worry oer your books:
Your foot-ball record and your looks

\re known throughout the land.

“Before | close ought tO Say,
A new girl registered. first day,

A Sophomore, mind that!
The boys are crazy on her sure,

©o sweet and comely and demure,

\nd such a stunning hat!

“In confidence I'll let you know

She looks on me as the whole show
She is most wise and fine!

She has the bluest kind of eyes,

| call her ‘Opal,’ like the skies,

‘ 17:
me seems almost divine.

“That is a secret we both keep;
| call her ‘Opal’ in my sleep;
She has an alto voice.
Your studies will be cared for, mind!
You have not gotten far behind!
You'll say the girl is choice!”Re a ee ee ean er ee ee CO ee eS

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Joe wrote to him about the frat,

  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
   
 
   
   
 
 
 
  
  
   
 
 
 
 
   
 
  

 

Installed now in a special flat,
With everything quite swell:

A Negro servant at the door,

\ brand new carpet on the floor,
A butler who could spell.

They had the pick of all new men,
Had chased their rivals to their den,
\nd owned the town;

ancient foemen grit their teeth;

fairly
"(UIT
\We know it riled them underneath ;

\We sometimes see them frown.

‘Now keep it secret, Jack, old man,
| have the lead on all the clan,—
5 |

\ new girl came this fall!

joined the Sophomores’ dumb class
But is the little
\nd I have been to call.

dearest lass.

“She is a stunning looking girl;
Her teeth are white and choice as pearl ;
| call her ‘Pearl’ for short!

Che other fellows envy me,

| have the
| always liked her

inside track, you see,

sort.

“The frat sends greetings to you, Jack;
\ll will be glad to see you back;
They call you prince of men.
The chair is empty where you sit;
[t seems no other man will fit,—

Tonicht, I call again.”
oo °

28When Jerry wrote, the ink was “bad.”
But still he gave the best he had.

Foot-ball was on his brain:
“Without you, Jack, the team was ‘bum:’
We had to work the froth and scum,

Nobody else would train.
‘The quarter-back was slow and blue:
No fast ends CSvcr Came tO view

‘The CENniTe was: a post.

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Lhe guards were anchored where they stood:

The tackles would not do no

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The full-back Was a ohost

lhe season dragged on ul afraid
he students eorouch:

| he only thine | cle LI tway

The gloom was, on the opening day
\n angel came. | vouch

She toined the Sophomores. and al]

Weclare a dream dr pped on the mall,
lhe very day she came:

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one gave me a deep curtesy

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There goes the squad out to the green

Keep secrets in your head

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Tom wrote on quite a different theme;
The glee-club was his daily dream,

 

And Jack was on it too;

They needed Jack’s fine tenor voice;

No other singer was so choice;
All thought that judgment true.

The practices had not been good;

None came on time, as each one should,
And each one tried to lead.

The tenors flatted far too much;

The bass sang off key like the Dutch;
It made his tough heart bleed.

“We miss you, Jack! Words cannot state
How much you mean to us, of late,
As always in the past;
So come back quick, and join the boys;
Each one will share with you his joys;
The time is going fast.
“Oh! by the way, Jack, on the square,
She has the sunniest eyes and hair
You ever saw in town;
She is the talk of every one,
\nd came when college was begun,

\ class below our Own.

‘T call her ‘Night-in-gale ; she sings
Just like a bird, that soars on wings;
She lifts you from the earth ;

She much prefers me to the rest;
She said she thought my voice the best ;

[ cannot speak her worth.”

30Jake wrote the class had organized,
And thought that Jack should be apprized,
They made him President.
\ll sent their best, and wished him well,
And wanted him — Jake —first to tell.

How all elections went.

The details were too much for hirn
So just pass up his trifling whim.

He did not like to write:

\s Jack’s room-mate, they thought he could
Make plain, the whole class wished h

They thought old Jack just right.

“Now keep this grave-yard if you can:
l've grown to be a different man.
Since term began this year:
[’ve lost my heart, Jack, think of that!
The lady in the case — that’s flat

Has got me by the ear.
” The boys have all gone crazy-mad:
To talk of her is now a fad.

Like cross-word puzzles, Jack.
She wears a dainty turquoise ring
[ call her “Turquoise’— in the spring,

| mean — well, man. come back!

"We need you here now all the time:

She sings ! Her voice is sweet, sublime!
Don’t wait till spring! Come now!

She likes me best of all the crowd!

Be sure you don’t say this out loud:

['m framing up my vow.”

e would,

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Bill wrote in several different styles,

Told stories, jokes, and put in smiies,—

Something was wrong with Bill!

The banquet had been held, and each

Had taken some one,—his a peach,
And he possessed her still.

The boys had waked up half the town;
Each girl had worn her prettiest gown;
The flowers and all were fine;
The first day college opened, he
Had thought to forestall rivalry,

\nd asked a girl to dine.

(fe had worked fast, the rest were slow ;
They envied him with eyes aglow,

While sitting at the feast.
\ new girl, lately come, had beamed
Upon him as the sunlight gleamed

Out yonder in the east.

Ter hair is golden, blonde! For this

She lets me call her ‘Blondy’ — bliss
Was never felt till now!

Just keep this all beneath your hat;

I’ve rolled the others on the mat;

The thing may cause a row.

“But ‘Blondy’ is so fine and sweet,
Her dainty fingers are so neat,
She twines them in my heart;
| cannot bear to go to class,
Until I see dear ‘Blondy’ pass,

Of all my joys a part.”Dick wrote to Jack about the girls:
Dick always called them ocean pearls,
And was a gallant youth.

Why pearls? Because they’re hard to keep ;

Why ocean? Since their hearts are deep,
And they are rich in truth.

Dick’s manners were above reproach;
No lady’s name would he dare broach:
Except to speak her praise.

He always proved a gentleman:
His eyes would always lightly scan

His fellow-classmen’s ways.

So now to Jack he named them all —
The girls | mean —the short, the tall —
Who made the Junior class:

He praised their brains and common sense:

He poured upon them frankincense;
He let no lady pass.

Then, just before his letter closed,
He said a figure interposed,
That quite upset his plan;
He had not meant to go outside
The Junior class, but there abide.
And end as he began.

“But, Jack, just keep this secret hid:
A new girl came; I made a bid:

[ call her ‘Cardinal :’
She keeps that secret —so do J —
Our little game played on the sly,
You'll share— none others shall.”

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In due time Jack returned to school ;

 

He meant to study, not play fool,
And try to make the grade.

He found his room, and locked the door;

With book in hand he paced the floor,
And sought his room-mate’s aid.

Hard work had been his game through lite;
He entered boldly into strife,

And hit his studies hard.
Receptions, games, and outside play,
Loose, idle lounging day by day,

Were not down on his card.

He waited till he heard the bell

Announce the change of classes well,
And then he always ran;

He sat transfixed the lecture through,

Gave all the strict attention due,

A different sort of man.

Then back once more to that shut room,
Again to study in the gloom,
Until he caught his class.
When that was done he meant to quit,
Join in the sports that seemed most fit,
And be one of the mass.

His jaw was set; he had the will ;
So by great energy and skill
The work was all made up.
Then at the door, the bolt he drew;
“Come. fellows! Welcome!’ In they flew:

He frolicked like a pup.

34Jim came to help his friend pull through
His studies, but he missed his cue.
And talked of opals straight.
Their economics worked right in,
They started out to talk of tin,
But tin was out of date.

“Jack, have you seen her?” He would say ;

“She stands just five feet six today,
A figure neat and trim.
She's not too short; she’s not too tall:

She’s not too large: she’s not too small:

i
She’s neither fat nor slim.
‘But best of all, her eyes! That’s why
| call her ‘Opal,’ like the sky,

So blue and soft and fair!
They mirror back my thoughts to me:
Such eyes I'd go ten miles to see,

] ] ie i ‘ Maas
And, Jack, they are a pair !

‘““l would not talk this wavy, old man.

rn ‘ cil bi i.
Lo any but yourself: my plan

ls, own that ‘Opal’ sure!
No matter how my life may fail,

(hough fate may send me rain and hail,

att

With her I'll ne’er be poor.

‘I’ve made great progress since I wrote:
To-night I'll send this perfumed note
To tell her how I care.
To-morrow, notice how she’ll smile!
‘Twill raise the other fellows’ bile;

s79

ll wear a lofty air.

35

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Joe came to talk about the frat;
He mumbled on with this and that,
Which showed him ill at ease;
The boys had rough-housed, just last night,
And ended things in one grand fight,
None asking, if you please.

The landlord had been round to ass
How long these blackguards meant to task
The neighborhood with noise;
“We told him he should not be rude;
The boys at least had not been nude,

And they were only boys.”

One brother wore a fine, black eye;
One smeared another’s face with pie,
All done in love’s sweet name.
For were they not sworn brothers all:
Same pin, same secrets, same hid call,
Not known to general fame?
But pearls were chiefly in Joe’s mind,
To other sights his eyes were blind:
He owned for sure one “Pearl,”
A pearl of great unspoken price,
Fair to behold, and very nice;
He meant that lovely girl.
“None know I call her that, old friend,
So keep the secret to the end;
Will you be my best man?
The world is topsy-turvy now,
The snowbirds hop from bough to bough,—
Well, be there, if you can!"

36When Jerry sauntered in, Jack frowned,
lor he saw Jerry had been downed,
His tongue thrust in his cheeks:

  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
    

He said athletics were the cause
Of all the school’s new fractured laws:
They had been dead for weeks.

They had no standing in the state;
Their coach was clearly out of date;
None thought they could come back:
He doubted that it could be done,
lf led by any other one,
Outside of Captain Jack.

With that he said, ‘It’s gone for me!
I’m up a different sort of tree,

For, Jack, I’m now in love:
The game of foot-ball may be tough,
But matrimony isn’t rough;

It comes from up above.

‘That girl I wrote you all about,

Last Fall, has left me in no doubt,
She means to link her fate

With mine, and give the thing a test;

| think with her the game is best,
Unless it’s started late,

It’s all dead secret, what ] SAY 5
I call her ‘Ruby,’ mind, in play;
She likes my style, I think;
Congratulations now, old Jack,
Are quite in order; don’t be slack,
We might go out, and drink.”’

)
ofre eae ee ee ee ee

Ee a

 

 

  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
   

   

Jack heard a whistle. It was Tom;
His heart burst, shattered by a bomb;
Jack knew the glee-club crank.
Tom started in to chant his grief,
And then remembered Jack was chief,
Whereat his courage sank.

Tom soon revived, and then his tongue

Wagged on an hour, the while he Hung
Invectives round the place.

He aimed them all at lazy chaps,

Who nursed their golf sticks in their laps,
With singing in disgrace.

“T wish the girls could join the club!"

Said Tom, “But there’s the ugly rub,
They can’t, so that is that;

But, if they could, my ‘Night-in-gale

\Vould make each other bird turn pale,

Or change into a bat.

“Her ear is tuned to concert pitch;
Throw tuning forks into a ditch,
My ‘Night-in-gale’ sings true;
[ fancy I can hear, at night,
Her singing in the sweet moonlight,
On, on, the whole night through.

“Don’t tell the boys what you have heard
\bout my ‘Night-in-gale,’ the bird
That sings to me alone.
Some day, she says, I'll be a king,—
Now wasn’t that a pretty thing-——
And sit upon a throne.”

20
voJake came to Jack, and stormed in wrath,
Class matters and the primrose path
Were both alike in this:
None knew the turn that each might take,
Or when he might tread on a snake.
And so end all the bliss.

The class had not paid in their dues;
His head ached with conflicting views:
The “Annual” fell down flat:

The banquet had been such a bore
A lot declared they'd have no more:

He felt chased like a rat.

“But I have something to confide:

The ‘Turquoise’ knows the Spanish etide ;
She taught the steps to me:

She wears her turquoise, don’t foréét!

But, Jack, Ill wear that turquoise Yet,
Or drown myself at sea.

“I told her, just the other day,
How lonely I felt, now, some way,
And, Jack, I heard her sigh;
What would you think that could portend?
At least she holds herself my friend;

| saw her dry her eye.

"Il now see turquoise every where,
Not only in the sky, out there,
But also in the grass:
The woods, the lake, the roads, the flower,
Have all turned turquoise. Every hour
They tell me of my lass.”

39

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n quite another lively vein,
sill stumbled in to take the strain
Off Jack’s unsettled mind;
Bill knew the arts that spring from bluff ;
He wore his lessons on his cuff,
And never dropped behind.

That banquet he averred was fine,
Due to his little valentine,

His ‘“Blondy,”’ if you please.
“Now mind, old man, it’s just to you
[ tell the secret. If all knew

My soul would lose its ease.”

The reason some were acting sore
Was, he got his work in before
The others were awake;
They branded him, with smiles, a thief,
And said his tricks would bring him grief;
He made their heads all ache.

That “Blondy” chose him, not the rest,

Had made them envy him, the best
Proof he was right, not they.

While they were grinding at the rules,

And proving all their betters fools,
Why, he was making hay.

“Tt won’t be long, old Jack,— two vears,—
Then ‘Blondy’ will turn all their sneers
To happy jests and smiles.
[ know I’m on the inside track;
They know it, too, behind my back,
And that is just what riles.”

10With even mind, but talking fast
About their good old times:

He put his thoughts in cultured phrase,

And gave the ladies all due praise,
And even quoted rhymes.

The girls had asked him to invite

A lot of boys for next Twelfth Night,
When they should have a spread.

They told him not to fail on Jack,

Or they should swiftly send him back,
To bring him quick or dead,

So Jack agreed to take a chance;

He knew the girls would not dare dance,
And pledged his word to go;

That led Dick, furthermore, to say

He wanted Jack to note the way
His ‘Cardinal’ would glow.

“The blushes in her cheeks are such

[ call her ‘Cardinal.’ She much
Prefers me to the rest.

Our girls are ladies, cultured, true,

But watch the ‘Cardinal,’ Jack, will you?
And say, if she’s not best.”’

He laid his finger on his lip,

And whispered, “Jack, this little tip
Is just between us two.

[ know that you will not betray

My confidence, and so good-day!
In time I’ll call for you.”

4]

Then Dick, good Dick, came round, at last,

  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 

BEN

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When Twelfth Night came, at last, around,
Jack Rawlinson was duly found
Surrounded by the fair;
He was a manly sort of chap,
Whom Fortune fondled in her lap,
With chestnut in his hair.

He had a firm-set, bulldog chin,

A long, sweet summer in his grin,
And iron in his will;

He had a quick, intensive mind,

The most audacious of its kind,
And he had lots of skill.

His conversation was the best,

Of all the boys, by every test,
And he was good beside;

In trouble he would never swerve,

And he had lots of vim and nerve
He never tried to hide.

The girls all worshipped at his feet;
With great respect he thought them sweet,
But gave his heart to none.

This made the crowd all wonder, why
To catch the secret, who should try?

ry

Chere could be only one.

> -
«

But where was she? Across the room,
Inside a circle, see her bloom,
A lily among thorns!
For there the lovely lady stood,
Adored by all the brotherhood,
Whose worship she adorns.

42“Miss Hale from Boca Grande, Jack,

The sweetest girl in all the pack,”
Jim whispered to him low;

“Come over! let me introduce

You two! you say you have no use ?”’

But Jack went over slow.

That night Jack was the last to leave;
He thought he never could believe

His heart had stopped before,
The way his lively fancy worked
Was nothing to the way he shirked

His work forevermore.

That winter, well on into spring,
He couldn’t do a blessed thing
But think of that sweet girl:
A blonde, a turquoise, nightingale,
A cardinal, ruby, opal pale,
Aud, too, a deep-sea pearl.

The Senior year was on in time,

And Jack was tuning in, sublime,
On all the lady said;

The race was on for fair, I'll say,

Jack growing stronger every day,

But crazy in his head.

The dress she wore,— this was her cue —

\Vas sapphire in its shade of blue,
When spring crept oer the hill;
His ‘“‘Boca Grande Sapphire,” now,
He called her, in a secret vow
He made with mighty will.

—
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She answered to it with a voice,
That made the Captain’s heart rejoice;
The lady showed good taste;

His letters now were all addressed,
Inside, to one he daily guessed,

That he should wed in haste.

His Senior year was at its close ;

When summer ended, all his woes
Should be submerged in bliss;

He tapped himself square on the head;

He said, “The boys will drop down dead,
When they all hear of this.”’

But “mice and men gang aft agley,

[| hear a brother poet say,
And that is surely true;

The lady had a different plan,

She knew that she could choose her man,
And meant to do it too.

While dreams were floating round Jack’s room,
And he was priming up, as groom,
Another took a hand.
The Boca Grande Sapphire wed,
Before the summer days were sped,
Her heart well in command.

A quiet tutor was her choice,

Who had a firm and certain voice,
And, too, he had the brains;

A lively girl and quiet man

Get on right well. Learn this who can:
It pours not till it rains.

44we - ited
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Abe atque Wale

 
   
  
 
  
 

onnet Sequence :

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<PROET01e,

ife and Immortality

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By
Lincoln Hullepee ee

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LIBRARY OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA

MRS. LINCOLN HULLEY

 

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Sonnet Sequenee

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Lite and Fmmortality

 

 

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By
Lincoln DHullep

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COPYRIGHTED
1926

BY

LINCOLN HULLET

ee ee a he ee a eo

 

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Ce ee ce

 

 

DELAND, FLA

PRESS OF THE
E_O. PAINTER PRINTING CO

DELAND, FLAInscribed to my wife,

A/t

 

Eloise Mayham AulleySe teed te LS et ee ee ee ee

Se me ees

a Nae ered

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POETIC PRODUCTIONS

 

LINCOLN HULLEY

Lullabies and Slumber Songs

Annie-Laurie: Love-Lyrics

Hiram Abiff, the Builder

Sonnets on the Immortal Bards

Shakespere’s Dream of Fair Women
Moonlight Nights at Palm Beach

King David: Israel’s Lyric Bard

Christina, or Christian Van Dusen’s Law-Suit
Chivalry in Dixie: Metrical Romances

Mike Murphy’s Dream

Campus Memories

Alice Coventry and other Metrical Romances
The Eloise Chimes

Chapel Lyrics of Faith, Hope and Love
Fables and Myths from the Sibyl’s Book

The Jubilate of Rabbi Ben Adam

Christian Hymns

St. Anne and the Children’s Hour

St. Michael and the Dragon: An Epic of the War
Savonarola’s Visions of Judgment

Broken Hearts and Lives

Vesper Songs of Joy, Trust and Praise
Brave Idylls of the Gallant South

Dwellers Beyond the Styx, or Tragedies of Love
Dixie Sketches in Chalk and Charcoal
Ghiberti’s Doors to Paradise and Other Art Poems
A Maker of Dreams and Poetic Fantasies
Gold-Fields, Gold-Skies and Gold-Seekers

A Farmer-Prince

Galloping Westward: A Ballad

A Disciple of Plato

Florida the Beautiful

Ariel and Cinderella

Eden. a Paradise of Love

College Lyrics of Idealism and Optimism
Chauncey and Kitty; also Bob’s Dilemma
Farth to Earth, or the Joy of Life

For Better For Worse

Aunt Jane and Her Niece; also the Boca Grande Sapphire
Hymns of the Dead Gods

Circe in Search of a Soul

The Crystal Christ

Gloria: A Summer Rendezvous

Angels That Beckon Me

Ave atque Vale, or Life and ImmortalityAve atque Vale

 

 

Ave

Self

Existence
Soul
Consciousness
Assumptions
Personality
Identity

Body
Materialism
Brain

Soul and Body
The Nervous System
Functions
Sensation
Noumena
Phenomena
Intellect
Feeling

Will

Memory
Instincts
Conscience
Whence
Whither

The World-Ground
Environment
Time

Space

Chance

Fate

Free-Will

Law

Belief

Faith

Life Bodily
Life Spiritual
Death

Ego’s Persistence
Vanity

Brevity
Completion
Imperfection
Eternal Change
Immortality
Pre-Existence

CONTENTS

Vaticinations of Immortality
Validity

Illusion

Being

Reality

Infinite

Eternal

Intuition

The Unknown

Not the Unknowable
\nthropomorphisms
Force

Design

Righteousness
Love

(;od
Interpretation
Revelation
The Bible
Sacred Books
The Grave
Annihilation
Death \ Sleep

Christ

Resurrection /
The (;reat Hone

Trust

Deathless Life

Eternity

Life Eternal |

Certainty

The Stream ot Consciousnesea
Persistence of Consciousness
Growth

Character

Tolerance

Judgment

Heaven

Hell

Autumn

Sunset

Age *
The Change

The Goal

The Stars

 

ValeES

SBisewie1
Ave

All hail to you, my brothers on this earth,
Surrounding and eluding me, the while
You shed hot tears, show anger, fear, and smile
With joy and love and ecstasies of mirth!

By inference | know you feel the worth
Of this adventure we call life, and style
The riddle of the universe, a vile
And hideous nightmare, some think, from their birth

Ali hawt! 1 call it ood, though, | confess,
It baffles me to understand the scheme:
My reason falls back wearied on a guess,
Imagination calling it a dream:

Yet hail! and once again I cry, all hail!
| am life’s lover, though she wear a veil.

?
Self
Now who am I, this thinker I call self. ;
In whom the mystery of life’s dream is wrought;

Give me the clue to solve the puzzle sought,
Which balks me as a ghostly woodland elf

[ find here in a book upon my shelf |
That I am both the thinker and the thought :
It says that but for souls the world jc nought,
As valueless as all ill-gotten pelf,
Is self, then, merely a conceptual point,
An entity that has no solid core?
‘f that be true, my dreams are out of joint,
And I have lost my substance evermore

Of this one fact I think |

may be sure,
lhe universe and self

shall aye endure.

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5

3
Existence
What is existence? Do I, then, exist?
Am I an entity possessing form?
Am | a wraith, appearing in a storm,
Seen dimly, if at all, through fog and mist?

Of what does my existence, then, consist ?
To what examples does its type conform:
How can I prove I am at all? What norm
Shall I invoke, and use, that will assist?

“Cogito ergo sum,” the scholar cried;

His sentence was scarce framed e’er it was doomed;
For when he said it, note. the scholar lied;

The I that did the thinking was presumed.

His proof was like a bushman’s boomerang,
That whirled around and hit him with a bang.

4
Soul

lama soul? Ah! that will be the clue
To lead me through the ladyrinthine maze
Of thought, and finally dispel the haze
‘hat hides my mental landscape from my view.

But what is soul? Is it, with honor due,
My incorporeal nature? In a daze
[ ask for further light upon the phrase,
But it evaporates like morning dew.

Is soul an entity, a force, a thing,
An energy come to a focal point?
To logic’s floating logs I reach and cling,
[mploring them all not to disappoint.
Some say the soul is matter, some say not,
\WWhile others say that is the Gordian knot.
85
Consciousness

se

“Self-consciousness,’ “the conscious soul,’ and such
Like words, we use to hide our ignorance;
Their emptiness lies open at a glance;

We praise these words that do not help us much;

A mocking demon has us in his clutch
Since we must trust conjecture, guess and chance,
And wander round bewildered in a trance,
Lamed badly, and denied a single crutch.

We call that consciousness a silken thread,

On which we string the beads of mental facts:
We call it. then, a stream, within whose bed

Are flowing mental feelings, thoughts and acts.
These figures prove too much, then mount the shelf,
And throw no light on consciousness itself.

6
Assumptions

We reason in a circle from the start.

; t
And beg the questions raised at every turn:
The words we use assume what we would learn.
Packed full of superstitions, that impart

Their shadows on our thinking, which no art
Of logic can evade, howe’er we yearn.
Analysis, though sharp, cannot discern

Our hidden errors of the mind and heart.

And yet assumptions must be duly made:
If they were not, all reasoning would

[ft postulates and axioms were not laid,
Arithmetic and algebra would drop.

Stop ;

Py eats ;
by definition, then, we launch our ship,
And sail away upon our devious trip.

9

 

  
 
 
 
 
 
  

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Personality
| feel as one inside a room as black
As night, pitch-dark, and | stone-blind beside,
Searching for what? A creature with a hide
Jet-black. and which long since jumped through a crack,

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And is no longer there. But give me back
My soul and consciousness, and I shall ride
In quest of further gains in conscious pride,
And follow where they lead me down the track.

I know myself as conscious! What can move

Me from the certainty that backs my soul?
Who would essay the opposite to prove?

‘Twere better that he play another role.

Distinct and separate as a conscious man,
[ burrow in my soul to find its plan.
8
Identity
My conscious self persists, and 1s complex,
\ vast phantasmagoria of sweet dreams,
In which I trace the iridescent gleams
Of former states of consciousness, and vex

Myself with subtle puzzles that perplex
Philosophy. Of all the matted schemes,
This one stands out above them all, it seems,

That I. who stand within the swift vortex

Of that onmoving stream, persist through all,
The same to-day, and yesterday, and, let

Me say, forever, thread and stream grown small,
But I unique, related, even yet,

The man of sixty, still the little boy,

Who raced around the meadows full of joy.

109

Body

Now here I dwell within a prison house, _
Rebellious, sometimes, chafing in my fret,
Reflecting on the walls that hold me yet,

: ‘ “+ . . ‘ ice

Caged in, as when a trap shuts up a mouse,

My soul bled by that parasitic louse
~ We call chagrin, and all the while et
With ghosts, and phantoms huge, thatmake mesweat,
As frightened as a ruffled hunted grouse.

Why has the soul a body made of clay,
“A house in which to live awhile, I’m told,
But which is doomed at length to sure decay,
Perhaps before its tenant has grown old?

Yet, all in all, I use that house so much,
That I have grown to like its conscious touch.

10
Materialism
Perhaps I am the body. Can it be
That soul is non-existent, just a blank, 7
‘A word for which [ have no one to thank,
An empty cipher, which requires no key?

Is body first, and all, destined to flee,
A vital principle of fading rank,
A fake, that in its day both ate and drank.

And then dissolved to all eternity ?

If that be true, then matter masters mind.
And a reversal of our dreams is wrought,
A gross injustice has been done our kind.
And our best customs have been dearly bought
My own conviction is, the body serves
The soul, the only self, as it deserves.

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11
Brain

Were body first, the brain would secrete thought,
Just as the body's liver secretes bile,
Or pancreatic juices turn to chyle;

 

Let’s have it though, if that be true. We ought

,

To hold all error hateful, dearly bought,
If truth be sacrificed, or held as vile,
While lies are trumpeted in lively style,

And truth regarded as a thing of nought.

For one | hold materialism false,
A devil's error, or a devil’s lie,

That those who hold it dance a devil's waltz,
Which in the end is surely doomed to die.

“T have a soul?’ Why, that puts body first;
fam a soul! Death has my body curst.

12
Soul and Body

| hold, then, I am immaterial, true!
Now dwelling in a house of mortal fame,
\ body that is nothing but a frame,

Which shuts me in a while, as yours does you;

The two are yoked together for the due
Performance of the functions, not the same,
The body made of dust, the soul a flame,

Joint-partners here beneath earth's dome of blue.

Conditioned by a nervous system, made
Of cells built up from matter, one can see

The soul cannot escape, nor yet evade
Dependence on a body, or be free.

Their interactions are so intimate,

Its duties neither one can abdicate.

1213
The Nervous System
For many thousand years there have been writ
Remembrances within each nervous cell,
Strange languages, whose hieroglyphics tell
Of forces, impacts, rare deposits, fit

To addle up the brain, and balk the wit

Of all who would pry open that queer shell,

And then, in patience, strive to learn to spell
The language written there, deciphering 11
Like dust that sifts through crevices, there come

Across the years slow filterings of men’s brains
Packed into words, expressed at times, but some

Hid still within the nerves, as ore in veins,
And we are ruled by these. We can't escape;
Some even would begin them with the ape.

14
Functions

So complex are all human souls. one asks.

~**

“What are they like? How do they work? Whatdo? f

Since I am one, here is my answer true:
“They think; they feel: they will.’ At times one basks

In memories, perceptions, feelings, tasks,
So intricate and matted to the view,
One cannot disentangle them, no tw

Alike, or constant, shrouded all in masks

The three main functions are distinct and clear.
Yet never separate, at all times fused:
Within the conscious self one well may hear
The din they raise, till all are much confused
Analysis runs in its sharpened knife,
And holds them all up quivering full of life.

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Sensation
My soul is now bombarded through five forts,
The senses, whereat breaches have been made,
Incessant barbs and arrows on it laid,
By nature’s armies, drawn in vast cohorts;
Sensations, made of several different sorts,
Exploding with machine-gun force, invade
The citadel wherein all unafraid
My soul in judgment holds its solemn courts.
As David’s armored soldiers, with their shields,
Were marched around and lastly duly camped,
These raw materials which sensation yields
Are classified, arranged and duly stamped.
On these the soul reflects, as things of sense,
And there our higher life we see commence.
16
Noumena
The soul has never gone outside its walls
To view the world. It must stay close at home;
A prisoner still, it ne’er goes forth to roam,
But, spider-like, within its web sees all
Upon a screen. Mere shadows, all things crawl;
Though what things in themselves are, neath this
dome,
The soul itself can’t say, but like the tomb,
Is silent. seeing only shadows fall.
Within our caves, the outer world we know
As shadow-dances on the retina
Of every sense, a moving picture show,
The noumena lost in phenomena.
Just what reality is, within itself,
One hardly knows by looking in himself.
14if
Phenomena
The world as it appears, a thing of sense,
We know, but not its essence, as it 1S;
Phenomena, not noumena teach this,
Appearances are all the recompense

We get for study. Yonder is a fence,
Behind which lies reality, in bliss,
But hid deep down, inside a vast abyss
No human eye can pierce, it is so dense

Within the narrow field of every school

Of thought, attempt 1s made to bridge this gap;
Our mental probes dig under every rule,

But every entrance closes with a snap.

Plato said.
“We only have to catch them by the head.”

“The noumena are there,’ wise

18
Intellect
Perceiving each sensation as it stands, ;
A shadow there upon the screen, in cloud
lt may be, I incline to cry aloud,
“Whence came you, ghost, to poach upon my lands?

[ seize you, thus, and hold you in my
When, lo! the shadow lifts.
Disdain it said,

hands.”’
as if if proud

‘““T’m lost

amid the crowd

Your

Of shadows you see flitting. commands

Are disregarded, but I grant you this,
The power to see and know what's on the
In this you shall at times find joy and bliss,
And you shall know, in part, the t

SCICcin .

hings you've seen.”
With all its limitations, what a gift!

Lo see what’s on the screen. and guess the drift,
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19
Feeling

   
 
  
    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  

Next, sensibility, the power to feel,
A structural part of every spirit born,
Is still another gift. Not so forlorn
Am I. shut in my house, and made to kneel

Before the screen, and watch the moving reel,
When strong emotions, love, hate, joy, and scorn,
Shoot colors in, as, on a summer morn,

Bright rays of light across the shadows steal.

These feelings bubble as a kettle boils,
A pent-up heat insisting on relief ;
They bubble till their bursting heart embroils
The thinker, though their time be very briet.

Elusive as the changes of my dreams,

My feelings are to soul as sweet sunbeams.
20
Will

[ know myself as having power of will,

To render what I think and feel in acts,

Not passive, merely, when the world attracts,
More than receptive to sensation’s thrill,
Responsive, and aggressive, with the skull

To steer my ship, turn fancies into facts,

Put wishes into deeds, to dare whate’er distracts,

To do, and, doing, rule the agent still.

My will is sometimes master in my heart,
A fighting rebel to the things I hate,

A meek submissive slave, at times, in part,
At other times insistent to create.

[mperious in its nature, as a king,
Will sometimes would take odds on anything.

1621
Memory

] see there runs a slender silken thread
Through all my conscious states, We s wonderful
In this, it binds in one the beautiful

Sensations of the past, that else were dead,

With new sensations running in my head ;
It matters not how dreary, dark and dull,
My soul may be, no sorrow can annul

The past, which serves me still as daily bread.

In no magician’s art is there such charm,
As in the pleasures memory affords ;
't sweetens life, or curses it with harm,
If with the right, or wrong, its page accords.

The conscious self lives much in memory,
Which holds it like a haunting melody.

22

Instincts
I know myself possessed of instincts that
Propel me by spontaneous inner force;
They drive me as the same kinds do the horse;
Fierce hungers gnaw me as they do the rat;

I thirst as truly as the common cat;
Existence, preservation, in due course
Of nature, dictate these. without remorse,
Shall be obeyed, or I shall be thrown flat.
These deep propensities I only know
As appetites of body and of mind:
They come before experience, and they go,
Unaided by instruction, somewhat blind.
And yet unerringly, toward some good end.
From which they never swerve nor turn nor bend.
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Conscience

 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
   
   
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
   

Within my soul a candle of the Lord
Lights up the hidden places with a flame,
That guides, directs, and scorches without shame;
It cuts asunder, like a sharpened sword,
The sophistries of men that blur the word
Of rig
That strikes its ugly source and wicked aim,

hteousness, and gives the wrong a name

And shows the right with truth in full accord.

LTnique, obscure, sublime, this moral sense
May be compounded of my native powers
Of judging, feeling, acting; yet immense
The part it plays within these souls of ours.

The fruits of conscience, actions right and wrong,

fo conduct and to character belong.
24
Whence

i cry, intensely wrought, why am I here?
When does solution of the thing commence?
Whence came 1? Whither go? What is the sense

Of this soul drama, played now every year?

Is there no way by which | may see clear
Che sources of my being, the immense
Significance of all held in suspense,

\nd may that explanation now be near?

Off in the ocean of the universe

| find myself an isolated tsle;
| know not how [ got here, and, what's worse,
\

Do not know why. I cannot reconcile

My fierce contending notions of my birth
With what relations [ may have to earth.
1825
Whither

Not clearly, but as one sees, sometimes blurred,
The form of things on dimly moonlit nights,
When shadows intervene, and spectral lights

Flare out across one’s path, perhaps absurd,

I see my soul’s due ends and aims, and stirred
Within myself, I struggle up the heights,
And yearn that | may have still clearer sights,

And, soon, the revelation not deferred.

As yet, however, I know not the drift,

“Nor see set up the far-off, shining goal;
I think I know in part, and through a rift

Of cloud I fancy I can see the whole.

Within myself the end seems strangely dark,
Like pine-tree shadows waving in the park.
26
The World-Ground

My coming plainly has a source beyond

Aught in my self as cause. I bubbled up, :

As frisky as a new born spaniel pup,
Or as a duckling swimming in the pond,

At home at once, adjusted, and quite fond .
Of this sweet world, wherein I dine and sup
My life is merry in the main, my cup

O'erflows with joy, to happiness in bond.

There is a world-ground, substantive and real,
On which my life floats as a minute speck,
A world-ground to which ] may make appeal,

lhrough whose good grace | shall not go to wreck.

Based thus, I eat my daily dole of bre: id,

My soul at no time facing life with dread.

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Environment

A game of battledore and shuttlecock

Is played between that world-ground and my soul;
The stellar tides against my dwelling roll,

And tend to drive me up against the rock;

Wild demons rush upon my house and mock;
The winds of circumstance, from either pole,
Blow hard to drive me down into my hole,

And loud against my door grim spectres knock.

The world is thus a school, I may inter,

In which some master sets my soul a task;
With him to guide the process, | concur ;

The chance to do his will is all I ask.

[ shall not fear the world-ground’s kindly whip;
In earth’s environment is fellowship.

28
Time
The structural constitution of the mind
May correspond, or not, to things without;
To common folks there never comes a doubt
That things are really what they seem in kind ;

[Immanuel Kant declared the soul is blind
To what things in themselves may be. Throughout
Our conscious life he put beliefs to rout,

And hurled them forth as chaff before the wind.

Thus. Time is but a transcript of what's writ
Within the conscious soul. Objective things
Are but as we create them. All our wit
Is helpless to perceive them at their springs.
When mind that makes time exits from the door,
Then time its creature stops, and 1s no more.

2029
Space
The same is true of what we all call space,
Of which we are so certain. Wauth surprise
We gaze into the teacher's glowing eyes,
And watch to see, if we can find a trace

Of merry humor in his kindly tace. |
He means it: “There's no space in yonder skies,
We all impose it from within, and, wise,

All ought to own it with a humble grace.

Mind is a bullet-mould in which the lead

Is poured, which takes the mould’s own shape;
So, raw materials, through five senses fed,

Take on our soul's own mould, and can’t escape.

We hug a vain delusion, and a snare,
In thinking time or space are found elsewhere.

30
Chance
Perhaps my soul is here by accident,
And all the universe beside! What fool
Would ever plead for that in any school?
Chance has no standing in this argument:

Its likelihood is very quickly spent

Before a series infinite, whose cool

Dissent would land chance on the dunce’s stool,
Or drive him out to utter banishment.

The hazards of a gambler’s wheel is nought
Compared to that stupendous folly shown

By those who bet on chance, even in thought,
Against infinity, if dice be thrown.

As well expect a bucket of cold type
Frame Hamlet on the floor in one fel] swipe.

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31
Fate
Maybe I’m in the grip of some blind fate,
A destiny that will not yield nor budge,
Who rules me as a mistress rules a drudge,
Devoid of all emotion, love, or hate,

Who spins the thread, assigns to each his state,
And hurls her sentence like a gloomy judge,
Who from his exact measure would begrudge

A grain of help to those who on him wait.

and claws may well spell doom
To chance. free will, or faith, and kill off hope ;
They leave us in a world shot full of gloom,
Ourselves shut down in dungeons where we gropé,

These iron jaws

\While law, impersonal, destined, fated, blind,
Works out the earth’s existence, without mind.

32
Free-Will
1 know myself as free, without restraint,
Within the limits of my soul. My voice
Declares I’m self-determined by my choice
Of ends. ’Tis true heredity gives taint

To what I am, if devil or if saint,

And my environment bids me rejoice,

Or mourn. affecting thus my equipoise,
But self-determined still, without constraint.

No one denies external laws or force,

As setting up the floor on which we dance ;
Rut what the tune shall be, or if in course

We dance, is left to us, not fate or chance.

I start and guide my own reactions, still
The master of the manse by my own will.

9953
Law

Our world is one of ordered truth and law ;
It is not topsy-turvy, upside down,
A butt of ridicule for every clown,

Who makes grimaces with a broken jaw;

Here is an order perfect, free ot flaw,
Composing for its author such a crown
Of glory as to surpass all renown ;

It fills beholders with a sense of awe.

Sun moon, and stars, the earth, and we ourselves,
“Are bound with vise-like grip by laws which hold,
And shall, long after we are on our shelves,
When all the books of judgment are unrolled.

 

This fact gives certainty to all one’s thought
Of life and immortality long sought.

34
Belief
To certain things I hold with firm belief:
They stand out sure, no matter how men shove, :

And pull, to tear them from my heart. This glove
its not my hand as these fit me, in brief:

My processes of reasoning, and, chief, .
My felt dependence on a power above,
Who is akin to me in thought and love.
Which to my sentient nature brings relief,
Believe I must in all the things we call
Original deliverances of the soul!
Necessity is laid for that on all
Who view man’s world as one consistent whole.

These axioms or truisms scout at proof;
On these foundations reasoning builds its roof.

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Faith
“I selief and faith are peas within one pod,
Alike and different, lodging near, that each

| May take the other’s place in what they teach.
: Relief turns more to man; faith looks to God;
They grow upon the self-same soil and sod;
Both gifted well in what they have to preach,
And phrasing all they say in golden speech,
Each waves above our heads a magic rod.
Faith is the power that gives reality
To things not seen, puts substance in them too,
A sixth sense, sure of immortality,
And with assurance that its eyes see true.

Faith is serene and sane, with childlike trust
In a substantial world-ground kind and just.

36
Life Bodily

Perplexed | am to know just what is life.

Three times a day I eat my dole of food;

Digestion turns it into chyle. That's good!
| cut my finger on a jagged knife,
| And as the blood flowed heard my thoughtful wife:
“T like the scarlet color of your blood;
It is your life.” It ran a tiny flood,

But right away her statement started strife.

\re heart-throbs, pulse-beats, life? Are eating flesh,

; And drinking tea, my life? Are changing cells,
: Eliminations, body-functions, fresh,

: Renewed each day, the only tale life tells?

‘ Are these my life at all, in any sense?

i If so. what shall my spirit recompense?

24

 

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Life Spiritual
More likely spiritual processes and ends, ,
With all the implications that they bring,
Are life indeed. If that be so, I sing
No more of body’s joys, but turn to friends

Who know the pleasures of the mind, which sends
Its tentacles for food to everything
Within the scope of man. It flaps its wing
In flight beyond the stars, and thus transcends

The utmost limits of the flesh, a proof
That soul is meant to ramble into space,

And catch the secrets on the stellar roof,
Perhaps beholding angels face to face.

Ah! this is life. not bubbles in the blood,
A far exceeding, and eternal good.

38
Death
Once in a bed-chamber | watched old age
Await the open arms of one called death,
And as he struggled for his last drawn breath,
He made the record of his life's last page

No more should he perform on this world’s stage.
Friends laid upon his coffin many a wreath,
Then placed it, duly fastened, underneath

The ground, within its awful burial cage.

“He’s gone from us forever,’’ some one said.

And tears were shed above his new made grave:
Forever is a long time to be dead,

And lie there in that unattractive cave.

The heart had stopped; his functions all gave out:
They called that death, but I had inward doubt.

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39
Ego’s Persistence
~Y The body then is all? If not, where 1s
| His soul, himself? That body shall decay ;
| Its parts and organs soon shall melt away,
Where then shall he be whom his family miss?

Is he dead, too, or in eternal bliss,
Awake at dawning of another day,
His body only turned to clammy clay?
Or changed it maybe into fleur-de-lis?

| cannot think that he is dead and gone;
Earth has no meaning, mysteries increase,
[If I must think his soul’s short journey’s done,
That all his interest with himself must cease.

The “House of Usher’ may thus age and fall,
But Usher truly will survive it all.

40
Vanity
My life is like the shadow on the field,
A passing cloud or shower, the dew on grass,
The mist before the sun, that soon shall pass;
There is no lasting substance it can yield;
It goes before its user learns to wield
The tools or weapons made of straw, not brass,
A useless unit in a crowded mass,
A vanity the powers refuse to shield.

An empty bubble, worn-out shell, a husk

: Turned into nothingness, is all that’s left,

: A crinoid’s print, or mammal’s tusk,

One finds within the earth’s crust when it’s cleft.
4 What is the use of earth, the use of man,

lf vanity should end where all began?

264]
Brevity
The brevity of life were then a curse,
No satisfaction in it that can last;
Life scarcely has begun before ‘tis past,
And we are wheeled inside a sable hearse ;

The thought of that is like a pall, or worse,
In that it leaves the human race aghast,
Beneath a sky that’s black and overcast,

Without a meaning to the universe.

The brevity of life, the certainty

Of death, oppress the spirit of the earth,
A painful hour, stretched to eternity

In misery, that robs life of its worth

To millions, sporting neath the golden sun,
But saddened that their race will soon be run.

42
Completion
We must go on, or life is incomplete,
And body wins its contest with the soul;
If death ends all, when this prized, golden bow!
Is broken at the cistern, and my feet

Refuse to bear me farther down the street.
And clouds of darkness o’er my spirit roll,
Then must I claim man’s life cannot be whole.
And all his dreams of more are but a cheat.

If broken short, and ended at the tomb.
Man’s life is but a fragmentary arc,

Scrapped with the rubbish, so to make more room
For other flashes, ending in a spark.

It is a house begun, with plans all made.

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43
Imperfections
My soul, as I see now, has grave detects;
Its glaring imperfections need repair;
Its powers are weak; its moods beget despair ;
[t lacks the tools and organs architects

Of destiny could wish for all projects;
Inside its prison-house, there is no stair
To lead it out of jail, to purer air,

No future in the grave that it detects.

Within itself, a wish demands a field
On which its full activities may play,
Unhindered by the limits here, which wield
An adverse power against it every day.

full scope for all its powers it humbly asks,
A larger chance for incompleted tasks.

44
Eternal Change
for countless ages, in the zons past,
The stars have oscillated back and forth,
Great systems built, then broken up, no worth
Attaching to them, nothing that could last,

Eternal change the only factor fast,
Like winds that wander round from south to north
Or tides that stream across the seas of earth,
Behind it all a blind iconoclast.

Around and round the planets onward go,

A weary flux, and aimless in their path,
Unending motion, an eternal flow,

That gets nowhere. In weariness and wrath,
My soul sinks back, and asks, “Wherefore this change,
This meaningless existence, dumb and strange?”

2845
Immortality

When Socrates was once condemned to drink
The hemlock poison, he began to joke:
“My body dies, my soul is made of oak ;

How can you kill me? Stop awhile and think!

You first must catch me. Here upon the brink
Of life’s great chasm, hear me now invoke

. 7 ae

The great immortals, who survived the stroke,

\nd would not from the mystery dare to shrink.

We separate; I die, and you all live;

Which takes the better way is known to all;
[ hear the piping of the flutes. They give

Me Joy. eladly answer to the call.”

There was no death to him. His spirit free
Would join his friends in immortality

46
Pre-Existence
Once Plato had the hardihood to teach
The pre-existence of the soul. He found
His teaching fell like good seed on the ground,
And other men began to rise, and preach

A doctrine hitherto beyond their reach,
But soon regarded solid, safe and sound:
That souls for many ages had sailed round.

Before their ships were run at last on beach.

In former states, the Grecian sage declared,
We had experienced things we now forget;
In his own day, accounts were surely squared

By people living, to past lives in debt.

The transmigration of the human soul
Was taught in other countries as our goal.

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Vaticinations of Immortality

Inscribed upon the page of memory,
Are intimations William Wordsworth read,
And put in verse, to charming music wed,
Of human life and immortality,

Retained in deathless dreams from infancy.
From out the past, which now is seeming dead,
These gleams flare in the darkness overhead,
Enriching us with all felicity.

No will-o-the-wisp is this sweet haunting dream,
That mellows fancy with the light of truth;
I+ furnishes the sacred, hallowed gleam,
That follows over land and sea in youth.

‘Twere sacrilege to turn deaf ear to these
Sweet memories afloat that rouse and please.

48
Validity
Lo! if I build at all, it seems I must
Build on the structure of the human mind;
Validity in all its processes I find;
Hence, where they lead me I| can surely trust;

Here, then, I take my stand, and thrust
My mental finger round, since eyes are blind,
And from the things writ there judge all my kind,
Believing my conclusions true and just.

lf this can not be trusted, whither go
For light upon my path, to lead me out
From all the quagmires sullen souls must know,
Shut out from faith and hope by constant doubt?

| henceforth trust as safe and sane and whole
The sound validity of conscious soul.
3049
Illusions

And this I do, although | am aware
One dose of opium in my body’s cells
Will change my soul's complexion, till it swells
With grand illusions, and the world in there
dD

Is topsy-turvy. This is why men swear
The body’s all; the soul a myth. It spells
Disturbance only, Fever, too, compels

\ change from normal, but that need not scare.

The normal mind is guide in things like these,
Not crazy types of soul insanity ;

Strange symptoms follow, when a foul disease
Upsets us with strange inconsistency.

Illusions of the senses manifold
Are all compared to normal in the mould,

50
Being
My mind turned now within, I see there, first,
The widest category of the class;
‘Tis that of Being, in whose scope, a mass
Of entities and attributes, immersed,

Upon the gazer’s mental vision burst, .
In form and feature looking somewhat crass,
3ut, disentangled, are distinct as grass,
Their applications everywhere dispersed.
The fundamental quality of things,
In matter, mind, is, in its essence, this
The quality of being. From this springs
Each attribute that calls for emphasis.

This is no fiction of the human brain.
But is a fact, the engine to the train.

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Reality

An absolute reality 1 next

Affirm for Being in totality ;
It is no dream, no ideality,
Existent only in the soul perplexed

With changing thought. My chosen text
[s this, in fine, that all validity
Is based upon the rook, reality,

To which all solid thinking is annexed.

This does not mean that matter must be thought
As having solid substance, as things look;
Ideas have reality that ought
To square with all my notions in the book.

To Being, then, reality coheres,
Essentially an attribute that cheers.

52

—

Infinite
This Being has no limits, is not bound
By aught the mind reveals regarding space ;
The utmost borders of the universe we trace
With eye and mind and telescope. “Tis found

New regions open up, and solid ground
Is felt beneath our thought. There is no place
Where walls exist. We look into the face
Of vast infinity, a deep profound.

[In thought, the World-Ground, holding up all this,
Co-equal in extension with the whole
Creation as we see it, throned in bliss,
[s also infinite, a living soul,

Not living with a heart, like ours, of flesh,
But through and over nature’s tangled mesh.

929
ve53
Eternal
My soul requires that I believe as well
' The attribute eternal, too, belongs
To Being Infinite. With these two prongs
Of time and space all conscious souls repel

Attacks on Being Absolute, whose shell

Is back of both, apart; whatever wrongs

Are chorused in the hymns of hate, and song's
Roared out by gloomy spirits lost in Hell,

The worst is this, that things eternal are ;
That is the fact borne into every soul;

Above them is an eye that gleams atar
Upon them evermore in Hell, their coal,

And I am part of that eternal scheme,
An independent bubble it would seem.

54
Intuition
The more I search for “‘a priori’ roots
In consciousness, the more [ seem to gain
In clear perception of the tangled skein,—
The more [ hear the playing of the flutes,

And in the darkness touch a hand that shoots
Away so fast I think ‘tis God’s. My brain
Is fairly tired with the wearing strain,
Yet still the searching brings me precious fruits.
I do not see God there, but see the facts,
From which I infer God, as also you.
I see the basic principles and acts
Of consciousness that bring God into view,

As the Supreme Reality, the truth
I learned to know and love while still a youth.

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The Unknown

I would not have you think I know His name,
Or what He looks like, how He acts or thinks.
My thinking, feeling, willing are through kinks
In nerves and brain. For Him that were a shame.

[ use a figure, and I’m not to blame,
When I say He has love or hate. Through chinks
And crevices I see the wondrous links

In all His works, and fit them to my frame.

Put He has no flesh-brain, and cannot feel,
Or think, or act, as I do, hence all norms
Are feeble instruments with which to deal,
In setting forth the Infinite in forms.

But speech aye deals in figures. It is good
That He exceeds the most that’s understood.
56
Not Unknowable

Unknown He is, but not unknowable;

To know in part is but to apprehend;

[In knowing all we truly comprehend ;
No man on earth was ever capable

Of knowing all of God. The men now able
To know a part are legion, and they bend
In reverence for the truths that ever tend
To make our hearts to grace amenable.

A thinker once believed a spirit moved
Behind phenomena throughout all space,
But who, or what He is, could not be proved,
For none have yet perceived Him face to face.
So held the sage, pronounced in ignorance
Of what his teachers saw at one swift glance.
34—

3/
Anthropomorphisms
The only yardstick man knows how to use
Is found within himself, a human test
‘Tis true, yet all he has. In man’s great quest,
His anthropomorphic measurements induce

A high degree of certainty. Unloose
Man’s soul, and he will make of Him a euest:
In terms of self he will explain Him best,
Whose likeness to himself he will deduce.

7

On these same grounds [ claim to truly know
The character of Him, His very soul,
In this true faith I daily hope to grow,
Until I know Him better, and consol

Myself with thinking I have found Him such.

That He will change my little into much
58
Force
I know that World-Ground as a mighty power,
Or force, but how endowed T know not vet
Bewildered by the things its wavs hevet.
Creative energy at work, each hour.
Attested by the crystal and the flower.
And by the morning dew when erass 1S wet

It works in storm and sunshine without Sweat.

hen turns upon its offspring to devour
It swings the planets in their orhits true.
And grips the stars it sprir

ikles out in space :
It turns the earth upon its

axis, too.
And draws a curtain o’er the sun’s hot face
It calls the winds, and bids them ;

all to blow,
And covers up the mountain tops with snow.

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Design

Where’er this World-Ground works I see design,

As plain as one may see it in a watch,
So plain that even critics cannot scratch
A flaw in it, as argument or sign,
That vast intelligence is made to shine
Throughout the universe, where wonders match
Infinity, and where none ever catch
A buneler at the job in any line.

Adjustment, adaptation mark the plan,
Evincing purpose in the end or aim;
From protozoan up to thinking man,
The model sketch or pattern is the same.

Map out the world in all its vast details,
Creative Mind, designing things, prevails!
60
Righteousness

Where’er this World-Ground moves it works for right,

So that the structure of the universe,

Its laws and motions, all its vast commerce,
Are founded in a law of right, not might;

Wherever human research turns the light,
One sees a constitution, not perverse,
In harmony, consistent, whose converse
[s not with moral darkness, or in spite.
The stars in heaven array themselves to wage
Eternal welfare in the strife with wrong;
The courts of justice, built in every age,
Are set for right and justice to the throng.
The power that makes for righteousness we feel
Within us when adoringly we kneel.

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9061
Love

The universe at heart shows someone, kind
And merciful, is working out of love;
One hears Him in the cooing of a dove,

Or feels Him in the lover's state of mind;

One sees how nature cares for all the blind,
And sends the wounded healing from above:
She does not crush the sick, or roughly shove
The aged to the wall, or leave the weak behind.

Her purpose served, she scraps the empty shell,
But, like a nurse, is tender to the young,

The sick, the aged, weak, and makes them dweli
3eneath her feathered wings around them flung

Those views are narrow, harsh, unfair, untrue,
That rest upon the death-throes of the few.
62
God
How can I longer call that Power unknown?
Suppose I do construct my view of Him
In terms of personality, small, dim,
Within myself! If He be truly shown

As infinite, eternal, perfect, lone,
The Absolute True Being Whom we hymn,
Then He is God, the very synonym

That answers to Jehovah on His throne.

And such He ts, in view of all my search
Down all the lanes that lead into my mind.
Not only from the pulpit in the church,

ut from the wise man’s page of every kind.

On what appears to be sood eround | stand

And from this vantage point make more demand

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Interpretation
A mere interpreter I am, that’s all,
Who tries to find the meaning of his book.
[’ve read the pages written in each nook
And cranny of my heart these years, each scrawl,

However faint, or blurred, or marred, and call
On all my power and resource for a look
Into the face of God, and, as a brook

W5ll show one’s face, I find God mirrored tall.

\ Being like myself? Yes! more, a God!

The only God. Remember, | explain
Those implications in the soul I prod,

And hold them more than phantoms of my brain.

We are ourselves the keys that will unlock
The secrets kept from those who will not knock.
64
Revelation
So. mid the vast bombardment from without,
[ find revealings to myself, and those
About me, that come softly, as the rose
Comes out of root and stem and bud and sprout,

(Infoldments that have left me in no doubt,
That, as the light of morning clearly grows,
So my poor vision comes from God, who knows

A constant pouring makes the soul devout.

These inspirations come with such a flash,
1 Sometimes, they drop us on our knees 1n prayer;
They even seem at times to roughly clash,

But in the end agree. You have a share,

And I. in these disclosures to the mind
From God who has not left us deaf and blind.

20
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The Bible

3k Gann 1es, endowed more by His grace,

But special ones, fine

Receive the greater message 01 | lis will; ,

To these His voice sounds sometimes loud and shrill;

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They st SEE ; God in the face,
Chey almost seem to look G

As He enables them His mind to trace;
Their messages are oral, with a thrill
Or written in cold lines, that almost chill,
Demanding that His law be kept apace.

Such is the Christian Bible, and the word
Of those inspired teachers sent to men,
To make the vision clearer, that, when stirred,

’
|

We might fulfil the law within our ken.
This is the Book of God, my daily guide,
That brings the whole world nearer to His side.
66
Sacred Books
So also in the other scriptures, read
Among the seekers after God, who raught
What seemed to them the truth tl
In Asia, and in India, where a shred

iat all men sought,

Unravelled from God's garment round them spread,
Was woven into suras, chapters, fraught
With beauty, truth, and wisdom, daily cat

In cups for hungry sinners to be fed.

ight
Much error will be found there, drowned in lust.

But all God’s agents have been human tools.
Whose brightness may be tarnished by brown rust.

Yet who have done God’s work as simple fools.

These sacred relics are not wholly bad,
And some that J have read have made me glad,

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The Grave
The grave is but a charnel house of lime;
Earth unto earth, dust unto dust returns ;
My body through a hundred years there burns ;
The solid matter turns to dust in time,

[ts aqueous portions lost in every clime,
A few dry fragments kept in flowered urns,
[f quick cremation is the end; one earns
In either case a dust of chalk and grime.

That body may be food for ugly worms,

That help the process in its quick decay ;
In which event it enters other forms,

Who claim its contents in their little day.

The grave has lost its terrors to the brave,
But is a ghost-house to the coward knave.

68
Annihilation
Death ends the play, so ring the curtain down!
Send all the actors home, and lock the gate!
The crowds may idly linger round and wait,
But spread the tidings all about the town,

The show is ended, having lost the clown,
Who played the leading part. Go, dedicate
His dust, but never more expect that fate
Will give him back to wear again his crown.
Annihilation is an ugly name
To souls in whom the joy of life runs strong;
Destruction is a devil’s cheat and shame,
Not justified by anything done wrong.
But others see it as a bald, cold fact,
And treat it as a final concrete act.
40)69
Death A Sleep
2ut what does Scripture say of that great change,
The world calls death, and dreads far worse than
sin? 7
It calls it but a sleep, a trance, wherein
We may perchance have dreams, that widely range

From nightmares down to revels passing strange;
The coffin, with its pale-faced corpse within
That lies there like a bloodless mannikin,
Is just a couch we some day may exchange.
Death is a sleep, in which perchance we dream
The soft, sweet dreams of happy, timeless sleep;
Some may have night-mares that will make them scream,
Stretched out within that coffin buried deep

That last is false; we shall not be found there.
That is the body. We have gone elsewhere
70
Christ

A man who claimed to be the Son of God,

And proved His claim by wonders out of hand,

Has waved above us all the charmed wand.
That changes every aspect of earth’s sod:
He said all men must die, and turn to clod.

But all shall rise again: He gave command

This doctrine should be preached in every land.
To gladden earth on which His sweet feet trod.
He drew one mortal from the darksome tomb,

And lifted one fresh corpse from off its bier:
He bade the mourners at a house make r om,

And gave a daughter back with human tears.
Chese things, attested by a host, give pause
To those who would deny them without cause.

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Resurrection

“© grave, where is thy victory? O death,
Where is thy sting?” cried out the Christian sage;
His words have held the thought of every age;

At last, when we shall draw our final breath,

And friends have buried us on yonder heath,
When we have closed our earthly ledger’s page,
And paid the penalty of every rage,
We all shall rise above that grave beneath.
For. as the bush that blooms beside my door,
We wait the change that shall in time redeem
The rose whose beauty shall live evermore
Which is the Christian preacher’s constant theme,
The grave cannot hold man. His soul is free.
His hall-mark is this immortality.
CM.
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The Great Hope

e resurrection is the world’s great hope,

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Conceived by some in terms of mortal flesh,
Dead once, and laid away, a corpse, now fresh
In new-made garments. Others halt, and grope,

And say the resurrection-body’s scope
Calls for a wider scale, and larger mesh,
Where men may try their earthly lives afresh,
And with eternal goodness learn to cope.

| find its philosophic base is this:
The soul is indestructible, derived
From God, destined to share His joy and bliss;
His passage to the realms above has thrived.
Who calls that all assumption? I reply,
Its roots are in the soul where reasons lie.
12/
Trust
With this great trust I purify my heart,
And give it over to celestial dreams:
‘Tis sweet to build air castles, and the schemes

We have on earth. They fill us with high art,

\nd save from disappointments that would start
Our ships to leak, and open up the seams,
And dash us on the rocks in life’s swift streams,

Hence in this trust I’m glad to have a part.

Woe to the man in whom the vision fades!
Build grander castles! Found them in the truth!

Lose not the gleam that shines amid the shades,
The gleam that gives to all immortal youth.

Without this trust our minds become a prey
To gloomy thoughts that cloud the light of day
74
Deathless Life

[ come now to that life beyond the OTaVve

So called. What can life be apart from nerves, :

And brain, and spinal cord, and heart? Reserves
Of power | need to think how souls behave

Apart from bodies, yet the minds God gave
Need not suspend their functions. Each preserves
Himself intact. He functions, and conserves

His own integrity, which God must save.

This is my faith! I cannot offer proof

For something so mysterious as my life

A resurrection-body is the roof
We build above our heads in this vain

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Dee tires ‘ . ‘
Rests on the soul’s insistence on the same

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Eternity
The Bible says that time shall be no more;
Does that involve a vast eternal now?
Eternity that must begin, I vow,
Is not eternity at all. Explore

The concept time! More trouble now in store!
How can it end? One knits his puzzled brow,
But gulps time down, he little reasons how,

And wanders on as foolish as before.

To many minds time is as endless here,
As all eternity, (when it begins?)

Shall be. We fit into them both our year,
And kick our faulty logic on the shins.

For endless ages thought runs through the past;

To future endless ages some things last.

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76
Life Eternal
Implicit in the ego’s self are threads
That force conviction life shall never end;
Persistence, continuity, both blend
With all the roots of Being. All the shreds

That thinkers have torn off upon their beds,
[n supplication that some one would lend
More light to subjects kept so dark, and send
\ssurance that would satisfy their heads,

Have since been pieced together, and they show
That claims of priests and books have had to risé
From out the depths of spirits here below,
Enlightened by a Being from the skies.
God has no pulse, nor body, nor shall we
For consciousness through all eternity.
447/
Certainty

Assumptions, contradictions, questions begged,

Our reasoning in a circle, all seem vain ;

Our proofs are knotted fast, a tangled skein

That makes the cynic feel he's rotten-cgged.

There is no certainty. The truth has legged
It down the street. Logic is minus brain.
Reason has shut her door. The mind is slain;

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Its tent 1s closed, the tlaps securely pe oced,

But mathematics are as false as sin,

Our science gone, all reasoning a joke,
If we cannot rely on things within,
Or see the chicken hid within the yolk.

Religion has as firm a base as mind,
And mathematics has no other kind

7%

The Stream of Consciousness

The stream of consciousness, for sixty years,
’ve watched, and seen its contents rushing nigh:
Within it I have found the earth and sky

Reflected as the current moved. Life’s tears.

Its joys, vexations, trials, sorrows, fears,
And countless other things, have caught my eye,
As that swift moving picture hurried by,
With far more mystery than the rolling spheres.
What camera clicks its contents on a screen.
As fast as that procession moves in men?
What miracles are spread out on the green,
As these that happen here within my ken?
No magic wand, or wizard’s rod, or lamp,
Has ever wrought such wonders near my camp.
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| Persistence of Consciousness

 

| In some new world, when comes my mortal change,

Upon a different stage, beneath a dome

Still lovelier than the one my earthly home
Enjoys, I shall expect a larger range

Of vision, covering things now thought as strange
o> o re >
By those who stand this side the silent tomb,
Who gaze at it as somehow spelling doom
To all our plans, and friendly interchange.

Man uses here a body made to hand,

Supplied with all the tools he needs for work;
Another body in another land

| see out through the windows of the kirk.

To know, to love, to act with God is life,
Whether it be in peace or active strife.

SO
Growth
My choice would be for long continued growth,
When this world’s interests shall have reachedanend:
A. static Heaven, whose creatures never bend,
Would not appeal to me. | should be loth

To lose the castles | have built in both
My worlds, the one this side the grave, my friend,
\nd that bright one, where I expect to spend
ternity, pledged to me by an oath

i [In Revelation, and in consciousness :

My wish 1s this, to follow out the plan,

[In which I see the greatest power to bless,

| Of larger growth, conceived when here a man.
More light, more truth, more faith, more hope, more love,
In that celestial kingdom up above!

4681
Character
Vv character is all I have to take
~ Along with me, when | pass out beyond.
It is myself. My teatures correspond
To all my thoughts and deeds. It makes me quake

To think how every wild and vain mistake
Imbeds itself in me. I may be fond
Of thinking I can drown them in some pond,

Rut. lo! they will not drown. How like a snake

Fach crawls into my heart, and curls, and coils
With slimy folds, embracing every limb,
Until it has me fully in its tolls,
A part of me, myself its synonym!

‘Tis true my good thoughts follow me as well,
And God may in my nature truly dwell.

82
Tolerance
The vears have taught me tolerance and love;

A cynic has no welcome at my place;
The censor, with the sour, sickly face,
May join the critic for a spiteful shove

To crowd his neighbor, but | look above,
Where God dwells comprehending us and space,
And see Him taking all to His embrace,

Which teaches me wide tolerance and love

Bold cynic, censor, critic, who gave you
The key to universal truth? You all

Shall answer unto God for what vou do.

The rest of us, too, listen for our call.
ach sees as God has given him power to see,
And speaks up for himself in his degree

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83
Judgment
The Judgment Day is ever now and here;
Each deed we do contains a boomerang,
That whirls back on us with a certain bang;
Cause and effect are shown here, working clear;

Within the seed is wrapped the corn in ear;
The poison in the deadly serpent’s fang
[Is bound to issue 1n a mortal pang,

[f in our blood. This truth we all revere.

A corrupt tree cannot bring forth good fruit;
There is the Judgment Day reduced to law;

An evil deed is evil at the root,
And sentence is pronounced against that flaw.

The courts are open, and the Judgment Day
Is here and now, not yonder far away.

84
Heaven
Beyond the grave, I fear no judge's wrath,
Who holds the scales and wields a flaming sword;
In harmony with him, I know his word
Shall open up to me a clearer path

Wherein to walk. What terrors, think you, hath
\ God of love and mercy, in accord

With us, who honor Him as Master, Lord,
Him in love and faith?

And strive to follow

To be with Him will be the greatest bliss,
Which in my soul, I fancy, will be Heaven.

With this in prospect, who on earth would miss
The greatest joy to mortals ever given?

[ do not think of Heaven in terms of rest,
But work, companionship, and love — the best.
4885
Hell
If Heaven’s a state, the same is true of Hell,
Whose hosts are there, each by his own accord.
My soul is Heaven or Hell. No prophet s word
Has ever yet described them half so well
< we know them. No poet’s pen can tell
How hot the flames, how sharp the keeper s sword,
In hearts that have defied a gracious Lord,

A
ES.

Revealed in consciousness one cant expel.

If in this life I revel with the beast,

Down there I drink the wormwood and the gall;
This is no word of human saint or priest;

It is the conscious witness in us all.

The punishment that most befits a liar
Is, that his lie shall burn him in its fire.

SO

Autumn

+

The summer of my life is now well past,
And autumn brings the sere and yellow leat;
The harvest of my years is in the sheaf,

And soon will come the winter's stormy blast;

 

My earthly life cannot much longer last,
Which makes me think my days here all too brief;
Now, as I count my blessings, this is chief :

The love of life, and all its program vast.

For I have been delirious with the spring,
With all its buds, and promises, and haope.

And I have caught the summer on the wing,
With optimism for the downward slope:

I face the winter, not with fear and gloom, \
For in the spring the flowers I lost shall bloont.

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Sunset
The sunset brings me color in the skies,
A golden glory framed in floating cloud;
Are these the dying day’s new woven shroud,
Or are they islands out from Paradise?

They fill me, often, with a vast surprise
That men, thus blessed, should lift up spirits proud,
And join the thoughtless mob, a thankless crowd,
Who should, with eyes anointed, become wise.

That rosy glow lights up the heavens around;

[t reaches down, and touches cliff, and clod;
It ‘sanctifies the earth as holy ground,

And symbolizes here the love of God

[ face the sunset of my life that way,
Rejoicing that I have been given the day.
88
Age
Some day my vital forces shall be spent,
The doors closed in the street, perception fail;
My processes shall then begin to ail,
\nd I shall lose the talents God has sent,

With all the golden moments he has lent.
My voice shall sink to treble, while the hale
And hardy keepers of the house, grown frail,
Shall ache, and tremble, neath a body bent.

{ then shall know that I have reached old age,
When all the evil days, they say, draw nigh.
All right! In life I knew the poet’s rage,
And I have seen things with a prophet’s eye.

From that advantage point I call life good,
A glorious scheme of human brotherhood.

5089
The Change

When I am old, [ll humbly wait the change
That comes to all. God grant His peace and rest
To all who travel down the slope. “Tis best

That we should have a pleasant interchange

Of greeting, e’er we n.cet the passing strange
© , - . -
Experience of another life. ihe test
Of this life is the next. May it be blest,

Exceeding all we ask, or think, in range,

In depth, and richness. Brother, do not fear!
The change will bring you other things of joy

New tests, new duties, larger tasks than here,
Where all your soul’s large gifts you may employ

Hail, then, the change, and look not back, but straight

Before you, till you pass the narrow gate!
Q()
The Goal

Do things tend onward to a final goal,
Embracing this world and the next, I ask?
Through all the parts that make up this world’s task
Its growth and processes, when taken whole,

Is there a purpose showing plain, a sole,
Exclusive end, though hid behind a n
Of sense, as plain as wine within a flask,

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A purpose giving each a worthy role?
Yes! This goal: likeness unto God. My heart
Can never have the satisfaction sought.
Until it finds the high, religious art
Of knowing God completely as one ought
No other goal desired compares with this:
Absorption in God’s will and love and bliss.

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The Stars

And now the stars come out, and brightly shine,

The stars of faith, and hope, and love, the gleam
That never was on land or sea in dream,
Except as God has made them truly mine;

The night is here, but ah! my stars are fine;

To me their chastened glory 1s supreme,
Like vestal virgins set within a scheme,
\Vhere holiness and truth both intertwine.

My stars are blinking softly overhead;

Their golden starlight falls around me sweet,
As silently as snowflakes on the dead,

Or angels treading slow on whitened feet.

[ soon shall see God clearly, face to face,
And know the rapture of His kind embrace.
Q?
Vale
l‘arewell to earth, the scene of joy and pain,
To those | leave behind, to wait awhile!
[ go not on a horrid, long exile,
Rut follow down a sweet enchanted lane.

Farewell to you, my body, and that brain,
Which served me well, and made my life an isle,
Where blessed fruits and flowers, for mile on mile,
Have bound me to you with a golden chain!

arewell, with tears of happiness and joy
For all that life holds dear, both weal and woe,
For those sweet dreams that came to me, a boy,
And those fulfilments, now my joys oerflow!
Farewell, sweet life, I hate to say good-bye!
To-morrow [| shall meet you in the sky!

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BY

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COPYRIGHTED
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BY

LINCOLN HULLEY

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PRESS OF THE
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POETIC PRODUCTIONS

BY

LINCOLN HULLEY

Lullabies and Slumber Songs

Annie-Laurie: Love-Lyrics

Hiram Abiff, the Builder

Sonnets on the Immortal Bards

Shakespere’s Dream of Fair Women
Moonlight Nights at Palm Beach

King David: Israel’s Lyric Bard

Christina, or Christian Van Dusen’s Law-Suit
Chivalry in Dixie: Metrical Romances

Mike Murphy’s Dream

Campus Memories

Alice Coventry and Other Metrical Romances
The Eloise Chimes

Chapel Lyrics of Faith, Hope and Love
College Lyrics of Idealism

Fables and Myths from the Sibyl’s Book

The Jubilate of Rabbi Ben Adam

Christian Hymns

The Children’s Hour and other Poems

St. Michael and the Dragon: An Epic of the War
Savonarola’s Visions of Judgment

A Confessional for Broken Lives

Vesper Songs of Joy, Trust and Praise

Brave Idylls of the Gallant South

Dwellers Beyond the Styx, or Tragedies of Love
Dixie Sketches in Chalk and Charcoal
Ghiberti’s Doors to Paradise and other Art Poems

A Maker of Dreams$0-+-0->-e~0.

Brave Idylls of the Gallant South

  
 
 

l. A Palace on the Blue

    
  

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The civil war between the states, that raged
From eighteen sixty-one to five, had made
Such wastage of resources in the South
That only those could know who saw it all.
Virginia suffered most. She long had been
The great dominion, mother of great men,
Of presidents and states as well. But when
Her mighty spirit bowed to force of arms,
She found her state divided into two,
Her slaves, who tilled the soil and were her wealth.
Set free, her buildings burned, her homes destroyed
By rival armies marching through the land,
Her industries and schools laid low, and worse.
Those splendid men of hers shot down and dead
On countless battle-fields. The cavaliers
Of England had begun Virginia’s life
In those best days of British fighting men,
When Raleigh and the rest poured out their blood
And treasures without stint to make a state,
That like a polished gem should brightly shine

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In good Queen Bess’s royal diadem.
Once more the lordly cavalier had met
Great Cromwell’s “Roundheads,’”’ known as “‘Ironsides,”
And, like the noble Englishmen they were,
Accepted the conclusion as from God.

3ut when the war was over all began
In agony to bear the burdens cast
Upon the broken hearts and homes of men,
Whose natures were the noblest in the world.
They fairly starved at times for want of tood.
Of money there was none. The labor too
Was changed so in degree and kind by law
That new adjustments daily chafed them sore,
And deep resentment for awhile burned strong.
For years they were to eat their bread in tears,
To have their children go in rags, to hear
Themselves described as rebels, outlaws, knaves,
To have their offspring grow in ignorance,
Because their schools were gone, and all the grace
And charm of life, to old Virginians dear,
Now fading till they only took the forms
Of blessed memories. But beggars, no!
In them the blood of England’s gentry flowed.
From childhood they had all been taught to think
Man’s first allegiance bound him to his state.
Imbued with this for decades, when the shock
Of battle came between two principles,
They would have felt themselves vile traitors, worse,
Low cowards, knaves, and lost to honor, if
They had not voted for their state, and drawn
Their swords in her defense. They had to start
Life over. All they had was gone, except
Their honor, courage, lands and high ideals,
\mong the families wrecked by war was one

8That lived at Charlottesville. Their home had been
West of the great Blue Ridge. The family name
Was Lyndhurst. AIl the men had been shot down
On battlefields, except the youngest son,
Himself a soldier from the first. How he
Escaped the bullets would be hard to say.
A dozen miles southwest of Winchester
The manor house long stood within whose walls,
One day in June young Lyndhurst had been born.
His mother’s people were the Spottswoods, who
Had some connection with the Fairfax name,
At Greenway Court, on land derived by gift
From Culpepper. The surveys had been made
On these same Fairfax lands by Washington.
There in “The Valley of Virginia’’ lies
The finest piece of country in the world.
Full fifteen hundred miles it runs. It starts
In Alabama on the south, and goes
To where the broad Saint Lawrence spreads its mouth,
Virginia’s part three hundred miles or more.
Here Lyndhurst spent his boyhood, running wild
Among his kinsfolk. They were thrifty souls
Who founded towns and villages. and held
Estates from Winchester to Roanoke,
This boy was welcome in their homes, beloved
By all, because he had such winning ways
And sunny disposition. He was named
Charles Lamb for sentimental reasons. since
His mother wished it so. And always she
Would call him Lamb till others used the name.
The adverse winds that carried off the rest,
Took him, and dropped him down at Richmond. There
He had to face a world in poverty
And rags. But he was brave and not to be
Dismayed. He shared misfortune with the rest.

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.efore the war his occupation was,
Like that of many others of his class,

A life of leisure as a gentleman.

He had been schooled, as often was the case,
In military science, and had been

Through all the horrors of the civil war,

Had won distinction in the field, and knew
Plantation life in all its varied parts.

Profession he had none. Nor did he have

A robust constitution, built to war

In deadly combat with the sons of strife
Among the marts of trade. But he had health,

A. friendly manner, even mind, and more,

Great love of life and warmth of heart, and poise,
And an imagination all compact

With great creative powers and fantasies.

He was not named for Lamb because he sprang
From that fine person’s body, for Charles Lamb
Had lived and died a bachelor. But who
Shall say he has not left a mighty host
Of children who are spiritually his kin?

No priest or saint or martyr in the world

Was ever more devoted than he proved,

When round his insane sister who had shed
Their mother’s blood he threw his sheltering arms.
His texture was so fine he softened all

Who knew him with his polished velvet phrase,
Evolved with ease and elegance, and threw
Round homely themes the mellow glowing lights
That shine like halos round the heads of saints.
This Lyndhurst, when a youth, had felt the spell
That Lamb binds on his devotees, and learned
To revel in the essays and the tales,

That keep the name of Lamb alive, and charm

A wide enlarging circle of his friends.

Lv

iIn Richmond at that time, in sixty-five,
The question every day was put to men,
What can a broken gentleman of parts,
Without a previous training, do to earn
His living? While the question asked was not
So hard, the answer was. But men were kind
And all were bound, as brothers in distress,
To lend a helping hand and did. A post
Was found for Lyndhurst in the bank, as clerk,
To keep the books. He took the place, and while
He was not scientific, at the start,
His native sense stood by him, and he learned
At length to be as skillful as the rest.
In this he was like Lamb, and thought of it
With pride, as bending over, hour by hour,
He filled his ledgers with the day’s accounts.

He was but twenty-three and Emily
His sweetheart but a girl. In five years time
He meant to marry her, that is, if fate
Should favor him with luck in his career,
Fair Emily was born at Charlottesville,
And all turned out as they had planned it should:
In five years time they took the marriage vows.
To Lyndhurst Emily surpassed his dreams
Of loveliness. Her exquisite attire
Was always in the best of taste. Her hair.
Once braided, when he met her first, now hung
In dreamy softness, chestnut brown, with eyes
To match. She needed not the opals, pearls,
And diamonds to add charm to throat and arms
And fingers. God had lent her grace. Her soul
Magnetic, strong in personality.
Had set her off above the common crowd.

The house he took to live in was a plain
Frame building on the edge of town, round which

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An acre of good ground invited him
To learn the art of gardening, at which
He soon excelled, as in the banking house.
A Negro servant born near Winchester
Attached himself to Lamb when sorrow came,
Who proved himself devoted to the last.
This Negro’s name was Amos, from the fact,
His father said, “The Lord predicted him.”
The very day that Lamb was born, the nurse
Brought in the tidings that Aunt Dinah’s child
Had called in at the negro quarters, just
An hour before, The children duly thrived,
And at the age of six the master called
Both boys together, and with kindly words
Gave Amos to young Lamb to be his own.
All through their boyhood days they played at games
Together. They behaved like chums. The white
Boy in the combination ruled, and set
The pace. But that was not resented, nor
Did Amos wish it otherwise. He loved
His dear young master better far than life,
And gladly would have died for him. One day,
When Lamb was in the army, he was blue
With homesickness, and wrote his father word
To send up Amos to the camp. But, no,
The father wrote in answer, he would not,
For fear young Amos might be shot. Such care
Had bound the servant to his master, for
The chains of love are stronger far than brass
Or iron fetters bound to hands or feet.

So in the garden both took up the game
Of life to play it there as they had done
Before the great war made the servants free.
“Marse Charles’? was Amos’ life, and he would slave
His head off to bring joy to him. The force

12

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]Of circumstances, not a guilty lite,

Him low in misery and woe. Lamb planned,
And Amos did the work. The garden thrived.
It was a dream of beauty. Some fruit trees,

A few, had been set out in earlier days.

In March the leaf buds drew the birds, and these
Gave Lamb as much delight as anything.

Ouite early every year he had the plough

Turn up the sod in half an acre. Then,

With spades, the flower beds were duly dug.

The April chill was hardly off the ground

3efore the crocuses peeped forth. ‘The wild
Anemones and violets, beside

Hepaticas and celandines, strove hard

To rival the domestic flowers, and quite

Outdid themselves in modest loveliness.

When lilacs were in bloom. and scented shrubs
Transplanted from the woodlands spread their feast,
He knew the spring’s sweet coronal was here.
In apple blossom time his cup was full of joy,
And when the ripe June fruits and berries hung
In luscious clusters on their loaded boughs
His heart was tuned to rhapsodies of praise.

One day his servant Amos said: ‘“Marse Charles,

When you get rich what will you do?” To which
His answer was: ‘‘The first thing I shall do

Is build a mansion like the one we owned.

And have a great big garden there for you,
Madonna lilies, hollyhocks, sweet peas,

And roses growing everywhere shall be

Our precious substance not earth’s sordid wealth.
And giant poppies, full of sleep and dreams,

Shall spread their petals for us, and the days

Of summer shall float o’er us like the clouds.”

13

Had burned his house down o’er his head, and brought

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

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They talked for hours of that sweet garden, when
Their ship came in, and they could plan and do.
In fancy they laid out the flower beds,

Where daffodils and sweet narcissus bloomed.
Beyond they packed the borders with the phlox,
And corn-flowers had their place, and columbines.

 

And sometimes Amos found his master wrapt
In meditation, gazing at the hills,
So reverent he seemed, the old-time slave
Could almost think he worshipped. Such an air
Of interests far away lit up his face
The faithful servitor would halt, and stand
In much the self-same attitude of prayer.
One day he thought aloud, and Amos heard
Him say, as if he had an auditor:

“Beyond the hills, off yonder in the vales,
Between the Shenandoahs, I have known
What all the gods on Mount Olympus craved.
My childhood was as free as earth and sky,
And tasted all delights. There were no rules,
No hard routine or grind, to bind my soul,
But I could wander listless as the wind.
As soon as Phoebus turned his glorious car
Above the mountains’ rim I rose to ride
With him throughout the long sweet summer days.
My life was free from care, and I was kin
To all the birds and wild things of the fields.
I knew the tracks of bears and deer when snow
Lay on the ground. I knew the time when geese
Would fly up from the south, the rabbit's tread,
As dodging through the brush it showed its heels,
The haunts of squirrels, woodchucks, grouse, and cranes
In woods. and hills, and meadows, swamps and fields.
How fair the valley was to look upon,
Whose waving fields of grain rolled in the sun

14

    

~

|Before the reapers whet their scythes, or threshed
Their tasselated glory for the barns!
I hear the hunting dogs bray far along
Our mountain slopes, reporting they had treed
Their victim in the fox-hunts. No such strains
Of music ever thrill me as the hounds
Produce in chorus yelping in the chase.
I’m going back some day, and try again
To find the solace of those golden years
When life was young. I mean to find the charm
That laid a spell on hill and sky and vale,
Till all was like an Eden-Paradise.”’

June was the month that held his heart in fee.
His birthday was the third, and Emily’s
Came later by a week, the tenth, and last.
But loveliest day of all, their honeymoon
Began the twenty-first. June is the month
Of roses and of brides. Then happiness
Smiles on the furrowed face of earth, and tears
Are saved for autumn’s chilling winds. A_ burst
Of joy thrills through the bosom of old earth:
She yearns with pain, and brings to birth a new
Creation. Thus the miracle of spring,
A wonder old and ever new, sets forth
The glory of the Lord, and all things shake
With joy and gladness. Lamb was rich in true
And noble sentiment. His quality
Was delicate, and full of innate sense:
He always, when the honeymoon came round.
Contrived to bless it with rare tokens. thus
To bring to Emily remembrance oft
That life to him was heaven itself. since she
Became his special providence and crown.

It happened on a Sunday afternoon
He said to Emily: “Your heart. as mine.

 

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Is in the highlands. You were born, recall,

At Charlottesville, off yonder in the hills.
Between your home and mine the great Blue Ridge
Uplifts its purple glory toward the skies.
God’s finger ran this rib of earth and rock
To make Virginia far more beautiful
Than if she flattened level as a plain.
Up yonder on the heights we must reside,
As Fairfax, Lyndhurst, Spottswoods did before
Our fallen families came to grief in war.
The Ridge that lies between your birth and mine
Shall be our home, and we shall pick a spot,
That like a saddle reaches either side,
To catch the views of sunrise in the east,
And all the golden glories of the west.”
So on the morrow when he went to work
His comrades noticed he was more alert,
A happier man than usual, though his rule
Was always to be radiant as the sun.
“What's entered into Lyndhurst?” one inquired.
“He seems to have new lease on life today.”
Another drawled: ‘He must have had a raise.”
“Ah! no,” said he. “But Emily and |
Are mapping out a plan, fit for a prince.
We mean to build a palace on the hills,
Beneath Virginia’s skies, out on the Ridge.
A lordly pleasure-house we hope to have
Which we shall fill with glorious things of art,
Where always we may share with our good friends
The treasures we shall gather when we find
The pot of gold, hid where the rainbow ends?’
In greeting him on New Year's day his chief,
Who loved him for his quality inquired:
“Say, Lyndhurst, what’s this fairy tale the men
Are telling round on you? They say you are

16The owner of a vast estate, built high
Out on the edge of some wild beetling cliff,

Above the clouds, where lightnings fork and flash
And thunders roll and shake the earth beneath.”
They were on such good terms the clerk replied:
“Well, Mr. President, last night I gazed

At sunset on the western sky, and viewed

In fancy, for as yet | only dream,

A castle like old Kenilworth, strong built

Upon our western wall, its battlements

Capped by the evening clouds, its solid base

Lodged in the granite core that runs along

The everlasting hills. I’m working hard

And saving every cent I can to make

My dreams come true. Right now I see it nears
Completion. Would you know the plan? I have
The architect’s designs already drawn.

I’m moving toward it steadily and sure.”

One day he said almost beneath his breath.

Though Amos sensed it feelingly: “It takes
A few more years of toil, and then the dream
Shall all come true.” The thought was like a spur

That daily urged him toward the longed-for heights.
And now at thirty-nine, or thereabout.

He did just what he had been planning. For

One day in June, he went into the hills.

On top the Blue Ridge Mountains. Emily,

The sweet wife of his youth, and two rare shoots.

A boy and girl, the olive plants God gave

To grace his home with happiness and cheer

Went with him to enjoy vacation days,

That always came in June about the time

Their honeymoon came round. He would be gone

A month, and then return to find again

The treadmill of routine awaiting him.

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By railroad first they went to Charlottesville,
Continuing their picnic with a team

Of splendid horses. Leaving Rocktish Gap

Upon their left, they took the wagon road

That led through Brown’s Gap to the slender rills,
Among the upper courses of the stream

Known as the Shenandoah’s Southern Fork.

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  

And June was in her glory. All the trees
Were dressed in living green, new garments made
To wear each year. The sunshine danced and gleamed

On all the hills and played along the banks
Of every creek. The sweet days glided by,
Each one replete with happy scenes, or rimmed
With memories indelibly impressed.

Along these highways everywhere Lamb quafted
The nectar of sweet dreams, and fancies blent
With daily recollections. He had been
A soldier, in the days of civil strife,
With Stonewall Jackson’s armies, and had fought
[In half the movements, nearly, launched along
The valley of Virginia. He took rank
As aide to Ewell’s staff, a minor place,
Because of youth, but still so near the chiet
No movement of the troops occurred without
An intimate acquaintance in advance,
To him, which stirred his nature to its depths.

“Off yonder on the knoll. dear Emily,
I was with Ewell in his famous conference
With Stonewall Jackson. That old knob is called
Mount Solon, just the name for men as wise
As they were. It was on the seventeenth
Of May they met. The troops moved swiftly down
The valley, while the flush of spring flowed full
In all the country round. We stopped for rest
And worship Sunday morn, and there | heard

18A major, Doctor Dabney of the church,

Deliver to the men a sermon full

Of powertul appeal to look to God.

Our army was some twenty miles away,

With head-quarters at Conrad's store, through which

We shortly pass. While Jackson whirled like wind

Along the valley pike, we kept the pace

Just south of Massanutten hills. and joined

Him as he came to Cedarville.

This strong united force he planned to hurl

At once on Winchester. My birthplace lay

Full in the middle of the moving mass,

Forever consecrated by the daring deeds

Performed by Stonewall and his praying men.

All this is holy ground to me. I hear

The deathless tramp of horsemen hurrying’ past,

And see the midnight flares that lit the hills.”’
This Lyndhurst was not born to carry arms,

A soldier's life was farthest from his bent.

He was a poet. All his fancies ran

To music, art, and literary aims.

Yet now he was a clerk, and he had been

A soldier in the thrilling times of war.

But he was like the heroes of his class.

A brave and fearless fighter for the right,
As God had let him see it. Though a boy,
The merest stripling, he had seized a gun.

Enlisting at the nearest station found.

It was his skill in writing, and his face.

A countenance that showed superior mind,
That warmed the hearts of men. and

To his employment as subordinate

Among the humbler servants of the staff,

paved the way

It was the poet in him now that stirred
Fair Emily with stories of the war,

19

 

 

 

  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
    
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 

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The battles, marches, camps, and daring deeds,
Achieved by men immortal for all time:
“The vale of Arcady was never half

So fair as this land was that day in May,
When we went marching through the valley here.

It now comes back so clear, it seems to me

As if it all occurred but yesterday.

Not one among us felt the issue dark

Or doubtful, and in every soldier's heart

There beat the hope that Stonewall Jackson’s will
Would press defeat upon our haughty foe.

For years we wound about these passes here,

From Shenandoah’s valley through the Ridge,

Out on the Piedmont plateaus, all along

Her counties—Rappahannock, Madison,

Albemarle and Green, among the highlands

Known as the little Oranges that stretch

From Gordonsville to Culpepper and on.”

Once back in Richmond he declared: “Next year;

Dear Emily, we go and pick the spot,

Where I shall build our palace on the Ridge.

The cash is in the bank to buy the land,

\nd we shall have a thousand acres high

On top the bluff that thrusts its bull-shaped head
Above the fields of Linden, on the hills

That look across Manassas Gap, and catch

The rolling country eastward toward Bull Run,
And westward to the town of Winchester.”

Then Emily would raise her eyes, and smile
With sweet appreciation on her man,

And also with contentment so to cheer

Her well-beloved in his cherished plan.

His good friend Bagby whispered once to him,

In confidence: ‘You ought to see the plans
I have to build a cottage by the sea,

20

iAt old Virginia Beach.” “Ah! then,” said he,

“You are a builder too?” ‘‘Yes, since the day

I walked a hundred miles for work | have

Not rested day or night, but in my sleep

When dreaming, and in waking hours as well,

I have been living in my summer home,

Out yonder by the sea. Ihe vast expanse

Of ocean makes one think of God. The winds

Will either roar or whisper low of Him.

The waves are either full of peace, or joy,

Or chant their solemn dirges night and day,

Infinity, eternity, and power

From earth and sea and sky proclaim Him God.”
To sagby on the other hand he smiled,

Exclaiming: ‘You should see the spot where |

Intend to build my mountain home. Why man

It isa dream! ‘he fore part has been cleared;

While toward the rear a forest of fine oak,

And pines, and other trees extends along

The back-bone of the Ridge, and stretches on

In waving plume-like beauty on the slopes.

I choose the mountains, you the sea, all right,

Each one to his own choosing. But, for me,

A mighty power casts a magic spell

On all the hills and vales. Enchantments drawn

From memory touch the wooded knolls with light.

To me the deathless tramp of armies joined

In battle sounds along the mighty ridge.

And through the valleys either side below.

I see my old commander, smiling. STIp

The hand of Stonewall Jackson, and | pen
Dispatches sent to Lee, “God gave us streneth
To win another victory.” You see,

Dear Bagby, why I choose to build my home
Up where the eagle’s eyrie tops the crags.”

21

  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
    
  
   
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 

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“We must advance Charles Lyndhurst’s salary
Next time the bank directors meet,’ the head
Averred in noting how the smiling ways

Of Lyndhurst drew the customers. “He gives

Us more than service. He is worth as much

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   

As any asset inthe list. i téel

That personality is better far

Than other things in building up the bank.

That man ts like a magnet. Why, he draws

Men to us as molasses tempting flies!

All sorts of people speak to me in praise

Of qualities in him enough to make

A half a dozen ordinary men.

He is as true as steel, and takes your hand

As though he were a brother and a friend.”

The salary increase came, not only once,

But often. And investment chances too

Were opened up because they loved him well.
“We must work on our house plans, Emily.

They should be worthy of the Fairfax name

Among our ancestors. A scale of life

Like that on old plantations, big and grand,

Before the war, is in my mind for you.

We then shall live like king and queen. Our blood

Goes back to royal stock, and in my mind

I feel the yearnings for a lordly plan,

Where, in great spacious gardens, we shall build

A mansion of enormous size. But first

A road that climbs the hill shall twist and turn

Until it flattens out upon the top,

By easy stages, from the plain below,

Then sloping round three compass points, from east

By north to west, a series, bending round,

Of terraces. Behind us on the south

A forest shall extend, wherein a stock

QoOf deer shall graze and hide. Below the hills
Our well-tilled farms shall run along the road,
And back into the, Piedmont swells, that roll
In beauty on the vale. Those farms shall be
Not only beautiful but serve as well
To be the model for the farmers round.”

His palace was spread out on charts and maps.
Above the terrace, facing north, but drawn
With huge verandas from the east to west
Three fourths around the whole. On east and west
Were gates that opened wide on drives by which
The entrances and exits could be made
With ease. The plans showed battlements and towers,
As if a mediaeval baron meant
To hold the hill against a host of foes.
An esplanade before the palace gave
Appropriate perspective to the pile.
When one had crossed the threshold he beheld
Enchantments of a fairy sort. Some wand
Of magic had been waved across the board.
A grand reception hall built as a square,
Each side full sixty feet, first met the eye.
On either hand extended room on room.
Then others, at right angles, till the whole
Enclosed a patio of spacious size.
Where gardens bloomed, and ornate fountains plashed,
And everywhere such grace and genius showed
It was a wonder and a great delight.

“I like the Spanish architecture best,”
Said Lyndhurst, as he grew loquacious. “Art
Was of the life of men in old Castile
And Aragon. I mean to grasp the forms
They used, supported by some marble shafts
And columns from my quarries in the rocks.
My walls shall have choice decorations. drawn

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To show the Canterbury pilgrims full
Upon their journey to the holy shrine
Where Becket, priest and martyr, went to God.
Around the inner court a lattice work,
Of dainty filigree, shall catch the vines
That trail their clustered beauty up the wall,
While climbing toward the lght.
The mouldings round the cornice shall be full
Of gargoyles spouting joy, or making eyes
At one another, staring thus for aye.”
“My library shall be a dream of peace.
Its shelves shall hold the best. There all the wise
From mighty Homer down, shall live again.
Their precious dreams of beauty, truth and right
Shall be my daily joy. Among my books
The sorrows of the past shall disappear,
And I shall live again the dear, dead days
Of long ago. In Plato I have read
His plan of a republic, where the men
Of light and leading rule the state, and set
The pace for other men, and do it too,
Because it was ordained so from the first.
With Plato, Shakespere, Goethe, Dante, John
| shall sit down in blessed company,
To learn my lessons in a school I love,
Not full of chains and routine’s slavery.”
As days sped on, and time drew near to climb
The mountains and begin to build his home
His joy was evident. ‘The goal is reached.
Foundations will be laid in June. I see
My palace slowly rising even now.”
And from his palace windows he had seen
The children he had loved, and lost, at play
Out on the lawn, or as he climbed the hill
He saw them at the windows peering forth

24To hail him coming home. He saw the lights
From dazzling chandeliers: he heard the strains
Of music from the violins, and saw
His board surrounded by his friendly guests.
He saw it all too in the present tense.
And Emily, whose task in life, it seemed.
Was mending faded coats. sat at the head,
As happy as a queen, and when, at last,
His guests have left him one by one, he goes
To seek the presence-chamber of his queen,
His heart leaps up for joy to find her still
The rare and radiant maiden of his youth,
The years passed by and Lyndhurst still dreamed on.
One day they tound him dead, his face bent down
Upon his ledger, where he kept accounts
For years in one of Richmond's busy banks.
The men about him, as the end drew neat
Had noticed an increase of gentleness.
His courtly manners were subdued a bit.
But classic still in taste and elegance.
His eye of kindly humor was not dimmed.
But time had slowed him down until at last
He snapped. The struggle of his life was done.
And it had been a very worthy one,
Triumphant in its emphasis on high
Ideals of a truly noble sort.
In him the spirit had subdued the flesh.
Material things had blended with his dreams,
And in a house not made with hands he dwelt
On top the Blue Ridge Mountains near to God,
The clergyman who at the burial
Portrayed the ruling passion of the dead
Said graciously: “Before we close the lid
On Lyndhurst’s coffin let me stress the gifts
This man has left behind for all the world.

25a.

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His life itself was art. He gave us all
A precious heritage. To good true men

And women he devised rich golden words

Of praise, to use where little children are,

And to the young he left, by will, a life

Of freedom from undue restraint, and gave

To them the flowers for their care, the birds
And butterflies, and all the precious yields

On field and hill. the white clouds floating high
Above their heads. the waters singing low

[n all the meadow brooks. To lovers all

He gave the world of fancy, dreams, and art,
To own the stars, and walk the paths of light,
And love the landscape scenes of beauteous earth.
To all young husbands, wives and middle-aged
He sent the call to work and toil in hope,

And to the older people on the slope,

Who walk down toward the sunset and the night,
He gave sweet memories of battles fought,

And victories won, and rich experiences.

His body here returns to dust, not he

Himself. We have him with us still. He chose
The world of Plato and of Christ, and found
Reality in dreams, and truth set free
From time and space eternally in God.”

 

 

 
 
  

escasica tet AAA EARLE DIO LELL LDL LLOR

The Angel with the Smile

+0~0--0--0-

Along the eastern edge of Tennessee

The great long line of Smoky Mountains runs

And forms a boundary wall between two states.

The vast plateau on which it rests extends

For miles in breadth, and tumbling every way

Are ridges, spurs, and elbows large and small,

Majestic, beautiful, serene and grand.
When Walker, Robertson. Sevier and

Like them, the first to cross the m

men
ountain range.
Beheld its great magnificence. they dreamed

A dream of empire high among the hills.

And down the western slopes four hundred miles.
Behind them came a stream of pioneers,
Who spread themselves out down the mou
Poured like a living tide along the streams,
‘And flowed across the level plains below.

ntain sides.

Back in the mountains nature must have
In throes of pain to hurl earth masses,
Gigantic in their sizes, to such heights,

been

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The surface of the range is split and gashed
With gullies, gorges, caves, and creeks and glens.
There were no highways then across the ridge.
The Indians had made trails, but these were few.
Hence, inaccessible and far away,
So far the currents of the world, its trade,
Its laws, its customs, scarcely touched the dark
And hidden recesses, these mountain walls
Became the haunts of men who ruled the land
As absolutely as a king his throne.

Here men forgot the common law and clans
Arose as primitive as when the world
Was young. God wrote his law on human hearts
Before men wrote it down in codes on stone. |
Hence to these mountain men who lived a life
Of free and wild adventure far apart,
A civil law was void. At least it was
Whenever it: ran counter to their own
Inherent sense of justice. Clansmen’s law,
them accounted sacred, was the code

By
‘hat governed human action man with man.

‘|
The settlers in these valleys were from stocks

Of English, Irish, Scotch. The purest strains

Of Anglo-Saxon pioneers were here.

A hardier race it would be hard to find

In history. True it is they did not bring

The culture of the universities,

But they were hardy yeomen, skilled to toil,

Possessing strength of body, nerves and will,

In language, customs, habits, common sense,

And deep religious notions, like the rest

Who settled in Virginia, and the hills

Of North and South Carolina, whence they came.
Their poverty was evident. They lived

On game and fruits and hog and hominy.

28The men wore jeans and checkered shirts and boots
And woolly hats, if any hats at all,
While women were content with gingham skirts
And waists or dresses made of calico.
Along with poverty went ignorance,
For schools were few, and poorly taught,
And many children never learned to read,
Nor could they write their names. Of course the world
Bevond their near horizons was shut out,
And they were left to darkness and themselves.
Let those pronouncing judgment on these folks,
Who call them white trash, pause, reflect and know
That in the cities, everywhere, abound
A vice and crime and ignorance far worse:
That those who villify their fellowmen
Are passing judgment on themselves, for such
Are Pharisees who think themselves above
Their fellowmen and swell with empty pride;
And let them recognize the certain fact
That living far away from courts of law.
Corrupted often and perverted in its course,
These mountain men were bound to set up law
According to their own tried sense of right.
When Thomas Walker blazed a narrow path
Across the northern corner, with him came
One man, with many others, by the name
Of Thomas Marshall. He took up a claim
On Turkey Mountain, running down a gorge

~

Called Horse Shoe Bend. and there he drove his stakes.

 

His rough log cabin, poor and small, became

 

A sort of rendezvous when others came.
And come they did, but scattered far and wide. S |)
Down in the narrows. up along the ridge, |
In Pidgeon Cove. on Viper Rock, in Gaps,

And Forks, and Necks, and Runs, but much apart,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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And there they settled in their cabin homes.
Across a lateral ridge in Hollow Gorge
Another man named Reuben Benton lived.
He came with John Sevier, but strayed away
Because his honor was in question once,
He was a man of parts and mixed in well
With men of various types, and soon round him,
The people scattered over Orchard Knob,
Along Trout Run, at Eaglesmere, and, where
The Devil’s Pocket opens, learned to group
As when a natural leader claims his own.
All this was long ago, and when this tale
Begins, three generations, since the first,
Had crossed the stage, and wholly disappeared.
And with the passing years great changes came.
Large towns and even cities had arisen.
The population had increased by leaps
And bounds. The torch of learning had been lit
In many places. Law and order, light
And leading, found their way into the hills.
But still the Marshall and the Benton clans
Lived on. Not only did they live, they grew
And multiplied in numbers and in friends.
Not always had the best of feeling run
Between the factions, but the most that came
Were quarrels of a minor sort, until
A feud that tore the mountains far apart
Broke out, and threatened to destroy them all.
It raged for more than thirty years, and while
The row was going fourteen men were shot
From ambush or in open fight and killed.
Both settlements were well supplied with guns,
From squirrel rifles up to Winchesters,
Men took their shot-guns with them as the dudes
Their walking sticks when strolling down Broadway.

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eat hI EA TAN LOL LAA LLLPThe clasp-knife was the handiest tool they knew,
Protruding from their belts, while on their hips
Revolvers, pistols, horse and colt, were strapped.
Expert they were in using all these things,
For they were tools of trades in daily use.
From childhood up the boys and girls alike
Were trained to shoot. They drove the bullets home,
Straight to the mark, and bagged their game, with pride
In marksmanship that could not be surpassed.

These mountain men were deeply pious too.
It need not be assumed that they were bred
To notions fostered in the city streets.
They held the faith of Abraham who dwelt
Among the hills of Canaan. They were taught
Imperfectly of Jesus, but they had
Religious zeal that mounted to such heights
It ended in fanatical extremes.
In simple souls religion makes appeal
To feeling chiefly. That is no disgrace.
It must be so. Emotion has its place,
And is of God, and when it stands alone
It must be fed and satisfied and used.

And superstition played a daily part
In every mountaineer. The “haunts” would walk
At night. The air was full of ghosts that rose
In graveyards everywhere. Their lives were ruled
By signs and omens. Much they made of dreams.
The gift of fortune-telling came to some.
At times they heard strange voices in the woods
Or fields. When people died, a dove flew round
The room and mourned. Religiously inclined.
They had unusual visits from the Lord
And all these things became traditions, told
With circumspection and increased details
As time went on, and no one doubted them.

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Another thing that played a mighty part
Among these people was the whiskey jug.
They turned their corn to moonshine every year,
And none molested them. The law came in

And ruined all. This liquor was their food.

It served as medicine. Whatever ache,

Or fever, cold, debility or pain

Occurred, they dosed the willing patient full

Of rum. It was on hand in every home.

And if the wise herb doctor knew his cue,

He then and there prescribed the general cure.

As one might well suppose the women played

   
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   

A leading part among these hills and vales.

The men with one consent exalted her

To wield the sceptre, while about her throne,
Although they bullied, beat, and swore at her,
They knelt in adoration. Not a man

Would own the woman ruled, but all the same
She did. But like the boss she was, she gave
No outward show of power. Her need or wish

[f known, would start some worshipper to find
The means to gratify it. Yet, as slave,

She toiled the hardest on the place, to keep

Alive the children playing round the shacks.

Her reputation was beyond dispute.

No gentleman would slander her. The lie

Would quickly pass, and gun play then began.

And that was just the way the nasty feud

Began, that scorched the souls of men, and brought
A train of woeful misery and pain,

Some Benton man had charged loose life and ways
Upon a Marshall woman. He had said

The case was parallel to Jackson’s wite,

Who was an evil-minded piece, that lett

Her lawful husband’s bed and board, to live

9:
oeA life of vile dishonor with a cur,
That started civil war among the clans.
The husband of the lady got his gun, | :
And shot the man who had reviled his wite.
There was no law-suit over it. Why go
To law? The thing was treated in the way
Two men will settle with their fists a fight,
With this exception, in this case the guns
Were substituted for their fists. Why not?
When number one was dead it then behooved
Some kinsman of the dead to get the man
Who killed him. So the thing went on, until
The last man hit the trail across the ridge.
Just like this, blood revenge once ran of old,
When ancient Israel learned the law from God,
“Thou shalt not kill.’
Was shot from ambush. No one saw it done

In this case number two
But on the mountain side an inner voice
Revealed it to the son of number two.
And he got number three. The thing died down,
For something like a year, when number three’s
Assassin was plugged full of holes one night
Returning from a dance. The next demise
Occurred at church, not on the inside. note,
For that would violate religious creeds.
And such things should be done outside the church.
The next was shot from ambush. Then again
The Lord appeared in dream by night to one.
And showed him who had done the deed, and said.
“Go get him, Luke, or else deny the faith,
And lose your only chance of Paradise.”

One day a little lady, soon to be
Respected far and wide among the hills
And for her loving ways be called by all
"The Angel with the smile,” came to the gorge

33By Turkey Mountain, there to teach a school.
No one had sent for her, she simply came.
The Marshall clan received her glad enough
Because she came to teach their children “school.”
And just as men on jury duty fall
In love with every pretty woman called
To take the stand and swear her husband drunk,
So all the Marshall men gave up to her.
But she was there for other things than love,
And made it plain they must respect her will.
So they succumbed like sheep, and settled down
To aid the little lady in her game.

Two years before, in Hollow Gorge, there came,
Among the Benton clan, a sandy haired
Young preacher of the Baptist faith, uncalled,
Unheralded. They asked him why he came,
And what his business was, and he replied,
He came to preach the gospel, simply that,
And asked them all to help him with his plan.
At first the men demurred, but not for long.

 

The women took it up, and, as I said,
They are the uncrowned rulers of the men.
So when the women spoke, the men obeyed,
And told the preacher he could count on them
To help him, if he did not ask too much.

His parish was as wide as human need
In all the glens and hollows where the call
To duty sounded in his ears. ‘The poor
Were his especial care, and all were poor.
Beside the beds of pain he led in prayer,
And read the Scriptures in a simple way,
So full of sympathy, with emphasis
On God’s compassion for the woes of men,
That tears would often flow from eyes that dried
Long years before. And as the men received

34And truly loved “The Angel with the smile,”
Beyond the ridge in Turkey mountain gorge,
So did these women welcome Parson Brown,
Here in the Hollow where the Bentons dwelt,
And seemed the happier when he was around.
But if the women loved him, no one knew;
The women never told. His duties called
Him everywhere outside the glen, but not
To Turkey mountain gorge, except in rare
Events. His church was situated so
It might be central to the patches round.
From this he radiated love, as when
The sun above disports its sunbeams, warmed
To send a glow to earth that smiles beneath.
“The Angel with the smile” had opened school
In Turkey Gorge. Her children were the kind
One sees five hundred miles along the chain
Of mountains up in eastern Tennessee,
And on into Virginia. Underfed,
Their starved and skinny bodies showed the marks
Hook-worm disease and other ailments made,
Expressing mental states as sluggish as
Their bodies, and as starved. They did not come
Because they wanted learning, not at all.
But here they were because within the brains
Of parents burned a spark now well nigh dead.
Suggesting better things for every child
Within the settlement. The building stood
Beside the road, within a woods, and backed
sy hills that reached the very mountain tops.
‘Twas made of logs, with mud to fill the chinks.
For plaster, at the end a chimney, made
Of stone. Inside were logs across the floor,
On which the children sat. A simple chair
Of hickory limbs was what the teacher used.

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There, in the month of June, she made her start,

 

 

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For summer was the time that suited best.
And there assembled such a motley crowd
It might have scared a soul less resolute
Than stirred the little “Angel with the smile.”
A ereat fifth Sunday meeting was announced
By Parson Brown for Horse Shoe Bend, not far
From Beaver Neck on Viper Ridge, and news
Were spread of it for miles and miles about.
The meeting would be underneath the trees,
And last from early morning until night.
Whole families would come, and bring their meals,
And preaching would be off and on all day.
On all fifth Sundays churches closed and folks
From other centres gathered. These would come,
Of course. Fifth Sunday brought the folks in crowds,
And gave a chance to Parson Brown to preach
A universal message to the hills.
Who can resist the wondrous spell that holds
The mountains in a magic so divine?
A majesty of power their mass attests;
Their purple glow and other lights invest
Them with a glory, not of earth but heaven;
The mystery that broods upon their sides
Suggests a hidden presence in their hearts;
So solid are their rocks that human life
Seems transitory, insubstantial, light
As vapor, and as fleeting as a dream.
The silence and the stillness both are full
Of eloquence that stirs the soul with vast
Upheavals of emotions, and the stars
That shine at night, like sentinels, seem close
Enough almost to touch our earth, just as
Indeed they do besprinkle us with rays,
So tiny and so gentle they inspire

36Our hearts to high and holier thoughts and deeds.
Here in the open spaces Parson Brown
Came early on fifth Sunday to proclaim
The everlasting mercy of his Lord.
No finer day had kissed the mountain tops,
Throughout the year, so notable for peace,
Than dawned that Sabbath morning on the land.
What birds were on the wing were full of Joy,
Attested by their merry bursts of song.
The breezes blew up softly, and expressed
A warmth of summer sunshine 1n the air.
Though silence always reigned along the ridge,
It had that day a richer quality,
As one expressed it, from the day that God
Had called the Sabbath, as a day of rest.
On mule teams, ox-carts, horseback. and afoot,
The people trailed along the country roads,
A score of them in motion, e’er the day

7

Peeped o’er the rim the Smokys thrust against
The eastern sky. They centred on the grove
Beneath whose trees the preaching would be held,
And when the parson came, he found a crowd
Already waiting for the services.

The interest was intense, and many said
Religion never tasted half so sweet

As in the vesper hour that very day.

When consecrating all anew to God.

Proposal from the parson found response,

That in July a big revival start,

The preacher to secure such needed help

As he might deem sufficient for the work:
And, too, to make the resolution worth

Its weight in gold, to send a delegate

To ask the Marshall crowd to join the move,
That ended the devotions for the day,

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And all departed happy to their homes.

In Turkey Hollow all was going well.
“The Angel with the smile’ was working hard,
Amid all sorts of hardships, but in truth
Was winning laurels daily for her crown.
At first the children played the mischief, so
She found it hard to keep disorder down.
Not only that, but truancy began,
Abetted by the parents, who excused
Their children from attending when the whim
Was on them so to do, and further stressed
By tricky youngsters, bold in making schemes,
And troublesome both in and out of school.
But no one knew the metal of the maid,
Who wielded the authority she held.
No birch or strap or ruler was invoked,
In matters needing discipline. Instead,
A will as strong as steel was called in play,
That gripped each situation in a vise.
She was not in appearance very fair,
Nor had she ought in grace or strength to awe
The children in her room. But she had brains,
And principles, and force, and with them all
A smile. a wondrous smile, that reached the heart
When nothing else availed. It mattered not
How difficult the trials seemed to be
The lady still could smile. There was no laugh
Nor chuckle in it. She disdained to use
It in sarcastic moods. But, like the sun
That melts the winter ice, that lady's smile
Would warm the coldest nature, and inflame
Perverse and obstinate alike with love.

When children stayed away from school to work
Or play at home the teacher found the time
To visit in the cabins, and once there

38Would reason with that brain of hers so clear,
And warm the message with such golden smiles,
That when she, next, put back of both her will,
There was no longer any open choice; i
The children had to come. ‘That was at first.
It was not long before the parents found
The children could not be induced to stay
Away from school. A magnet had been found
That drew them from the cabins day by day,
In rain, in shine. and none would miss the chance
Of being with “the Angel with the smile.”

The delegate to Turkey mountain came
From Hollow Gorge with messages of peace,
Inviting all to join with Parson Brown,
And people of his flock, and hold a great
Revival of religion in July.
He was the sure ambassador of peace,
And brought the olive branch, and said he hoped,
The light that shone his side the ridge had shined
On their side just as strong, and would they come?
A long discussion followed, and the crowd
Reported they had need of longer time:
That in a week or so they would reply,
And with this answer given the man returned.
That night the store was full of idle talk,
A good deal said in bitterness and hate.
So deep had wrongs and grudges gone to heart.
A few with much profanity abused
Their enemies, and cursed them for their pains,

Declared them hypocrites, and ugly snakes,

Whose bite was poison, and whose eyes would charm

Their victims just to get a chance to strike.

But counsels of a better sort prevailed,

For men of sense explained no harm could come
From getting more religion in their hearts,

39

 
 
 
 
 
    
    

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And, in the end, they won the others too,
Except the merest handful of the worst,
So that, when time arrived to send the word,
They said they would attend the meetings held.
The parson had subdued the flesh, as far
As he was able, with the flock he served,
And in his heart believed that he could mend
The breach that widened, through the passing years,
Between the Bentons, whom he ably taught,
\nd Marshalls whom he hoped to conquer soon,
He was a ready talker, and well versed
In scripture texts which fitted every need.
His voice was tuned so sweetly that the tones
Were smooth and resonant, and softly fell
In accents musical. and rich and clear.
It came a natural gift, and was not trained,
But he had learned to use it with success,
And, everywhere he used it, both to sing
And preach, it always pleased the people well.
Besides. he was dead earnest in his work.

He was not wed, but, like the celebates

In olden times, gave all his strength to God.
Sincere in all his ways, he rang so true

The people waited for his word, and gave

An instant approbation to his plans,

That always aimed to help, and not to hurt,

Each person on the ridge. On every hand
They turned out now to make the meeting good,
And help along revival plans. They bore

His message through the gaps to other spots
Inviting them. They called at cabins, built

Off in the woods, and in secluded nooks,

To make it certain none should miss the call

To come to God. The preacher Brown was sate
And sane in his theology. He laid

40The greatest stress on practicing the word, 3

That was his common phrase. The word was lite,

And not a creed, and could not be quite grasped

By intellect alone, but every truth

And doctrine of the church must meet the test

Of life, and if it failed in that, 1t was

The rankest heresy. His God was good,

And rich in mercy, full of grace and truth.

His law must be obeyed, for He was just,

As well as good, and hated sin so much

He would destroy the sinner, root and branch,

Who dared transgress His holy law. On such

Foundations Parson Brown had built his church.
Off yonder in the Gorge, where Mary burns

Was teaching school, the Marshall crowd averred

She was the wonder of the world. She gave

Herself and all she had to lift the hearts

As well as teach the souls she had in hand.

Nor did she end her work when school let out

As others would. That was her time to do

The missionary work that filled her mind.

No child came to her school, and went away

At night, without a message to his folks,

In which “the Angel with the smile’ put such

A loving greeting, burdens passed away,

And hearts were lifted near the livi

For Mary Burns used teaching as the key

That opened hearts to hear the loving words

Of Matthew’s gospel, in disguise ’tis true,

But who shall say it has not greater force

When hid in words and deeds that show its power?

She trod the holy paths round Galilee,

And turned her mountains into Judah’s hills,

Imagining herself sent by the Lord

To reincarnate Him in human flesh.

41And live His life again. That was her goal,

Her daily, purposed aim, and plan. She flinched

Not one iota, hewing to the line,

And as the days went by she put her will

To bend the whole community to stress

The need of better living in and out

Those mountain homes, which she had pledged to God,

And daily brought to Him on bended knee.

Could they but love “the Angel with the smile?”
The month of June was gone, and now July

In all her glory played among the hills.

The summer clouds, in lazy fashion, moved

Across a bluish sky, and sunshine chased

The shadows in a frolic o’er the fields.

At times the heavier storm clouds hit the crags,

And veiled them from the eye. Downpours of rain

Were frequent, till the drenched and drooping trees

Seemed shedding tears. But smiles were on the way

For when the shower passed, and winds arose,

And stars, they danced and clapped their hands for joy.
Revival time drew near, and Parson Brown

Made preparations for the happy crowds.

He had engaged a helper who could preach

With unction. For himself, his style was plain;

And never did his voice rise high, or crack,

Or shout, or lose its resonance. He spoke

With downright earnestness, and pressed his points

Straight to his hearers’ consciences and hearts.

But now he meant to give them noise, and such

Arousements as the people liked. The man

He chose was an evangelist, who preached

From place to place the self-same sermons oft,

And was so skilled in using his appeals,

That hundreds sought the mourners’ bench, and prayed

For grace. His methods were legitimate,

42

 
 

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— peel i ne ALES ALOEAnd brought results, and many felt more sure
That when you got religion in a crowd,
Where men were calling mightily on God,
You had the genuine thing. This was the mark
Set by the Spirit on the preacher's work,

And any who resisted these appeals,

Or mocked at feeling when it ran so high,

Had sinned against the Holy Ghost, and died
Right there to all forgiveness from the throne.

The meetings had been on a week. A crowd
Professed conversion, or stood up for prayer.
The tide was running high, and feeling rose
To such a pitch men lost their self control.

The week-end brought the folks from everywhere,
And hardened sinners of the roughest type

Hung round the edges of the grove, ashamed

To have their neighbors think themselves aroused
By these appeals to lead a better life,

Now, when the meeting reached the topmost crest,
A Benton man arose, and said he hoped

A kinder feeling would result between the clans.
That even if the slander might be true

Against the Marshall woman, she was gone.

That started argument outside, and bang

A loud revolver shot was heard, and then

Another followed. Two had paid the price

Of sudden anger with their blood. A fight

With fists and knives ensued. The Marshall gang
Took to their heels, and struck across the ridge,

Nor stopped until they found the sheltered gorge

They called their home where every tongue could wag

Ss?

And where for days they railed against their foes.
But where was Parson Brown? Upon his knees

He agonized for days before the Lord,

Imploring Him to seal the gospel’s power

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In making o’er again our broken lives;
He begged for strength and wisdom to devise
A plan whereby this blood revenge should cease,
While, in the dark, he groped among his thoughts
To find God’s way himself to bring it to
An end. At last, it seemed, the light he sought
Was on the way. He called a few good friends,
Who had the qualities he needed most,
Good sense, and heart, and back of both the strength
To put through any measure deemed the best.
The upshot of their meeting and debate
Resulted in a solemn form of vow,
To root the thing out stem and branch, and start
At once to do it too. They formed a league
And then called in two blackguards whose vile talk
Had kept the enmity from dying out.
They said: “Dave Allen, you and Jake Maguire
Have got to go away. We give you time,
Two days, no more, to settle your accounts.
[f after that we find you hereabout
We mean to break your necks.” That was enough..
Inside another week no person knew
What had become of Dave and Jake. The place
That knew them once ne’er heard of them again.
And where was Mary Burns? In Turkey Gorgé
She struggled with resentment in the men.
They felt they had been sold, the thing a trick,
That took them to the meeting, planned and staged
To cut their throats, and fill them full of shot,
And vowed they would get even in the end,
Or die. “The Angel with the smile’ began
A canvass, man to man, in all their homes,
Enlisting all the women on her side,
Who at the first were full of venom too,
And urged the men to settle every score.

44

 

sh SEBS EOE ROLL LETRA,With madness in their blood the thing was hard,
But, like a leech, “The Angel’’ meant to suck
The poison from them. if it took her life,
A victim to the curse of ignorance.
Like Parson Brown, she too had laid the blame
To certain idle loafers of the glen,
Who baited all the others with loud talk,
And bragged about their own exploits and deeds.
Around the general store, the loafing place,
One week-end evening gathered groups of men.
The talk was much as usual, Bill and ‘Tom
With boastful speech inciting evil thoughts.
Along came Mary Burns, and by design,
It was no accidental happening.
The smile for OnCe had faded from her face,
And, going straight to Bill and Tom, she said:
“You have been doing devil’s work so long,
Here in the glen, no work of righteousness
Can prosper. You have sown the seeds of hate,
And now the guiltless women bear the cross,
While little children, innocent of blame,
Have been bereft of loved ones. Shame! Shame!!
Shame!!!

I lay God’s curse upon you. He shall blast
Your hearts with lightnings of His wrath. Begone!
I say the curse is on you. Leave the place.”
While, in her face, the angel of the day
Of judgment seemed ‘‘The Angel with the smile.’’
The superstitions of the hills awoke
In all who heard the little lady speak,
And such subdued resentment stirred their hearts.
That Bill and Tom slunk off, with downcast eyes,
And left the glen forever. So it came
That Mary Burns had done the will of God.

The night before, Nick Biddle took his horse,

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Rode forth, with murder in his heart, to give
A salutary lesson to the foe

By shooting one of Benton’s clan, who stole

The girl he loved, and now was also charged
With leading all the Benton men to fight.

He left the Hollow, climbed the Ridge, and rode
Across from Turkey mountain, where he hid

Till night and darkness sheltered his approach.
He had the cabin spotted, saw the smoke

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
     
  
 
 
 
 
  
   

That curled above the chimney, saw the lamp

And light that flickered from it, saw the logs

Piled on the grate, and slowly crept until

He had the distance wanted. Then he raised

His gun, a Winchester, and took a sight,

That all the mountain knew was deadly aim.

Nick Biddle was a young man fully grown,

But under twenty, and had gone to school

To Mary Burns the day she opened up.

He had been slow and ignorant and tough,

But Mary Burns had seen a noble man

Beneath his checkered shirt, and had appealed

To all the spirit in him to be good,

To lead a worthy life, and give to God

His heart, his thoughts, his feelings and his deeds.

He thought of this the moment he took aim,

To send the bullet on its deadly work;

He hesitated in the act, and then,

“The Angel with the smile’ had conquered death;

He dropped his arm, and turned away, and prayed.
In August Mary Burns was taken ill,

And school could not go on. ‘The doctor came,

Who said she had typhoid, and must be kept

In quiet till the fever ran its course.

At once she sent a message up the ridge

To Hollow Gorge, requesting Parson Brown,

46If he could get away, to come at once.

Neglecting eve erything, the parson came,

As “always to the bedside of the sick,

And now, especially, to one he knew

Was every way so worthy of his help.

“The Angel with the smile’’ said simply this:

“Your people asked us to a teast of Joy,

In that revival service on the Ridge,

And that was good of you. It was no fault

Of yours that Satan came to spoil the feast.

Now will you not return the ee lent,

By asking your chief men to came down here,

Tomorrow, next day, soon, I want to see

Them here? The parson promised and withdrew,
In three days Parson Brown returned, and brought

Six men who represented what was strong

And best in Hollow: Gorge. They all were awed,

As feeling they were in a room of death.

And with them came six men of Benton's gang.

“The Angel with the smile’? was smiling now,

Though burning up with fever. Then she said:

“My brothers, | have called you here today,

To ask you to join forces with my friends

And neighbors in this place, to kill the snake

Of hatred that has caused so much distress.

The work is slipping from my hands, I feel,

But Parson Brown and I. in full accord.

Would join the noble people in Our COVves

To work for peace and harmony. We owe

That much to all the boys and girls to come,

Our honor is at stake. Our traitor-lives

Deny the grace of God, and shut Him out.

And turn our prayers to mockery and sin.”

A solemn vow was taken by the men

To see that Mary Burns and Parson Brown

47Had not been loving them in vain. ‘They pledged
| Their best to stop the fighting of the clans.

| ~y All this was in the eighties. Long ago
| ) | Death claimed the leading figures in the play,

i | Ena¢@ted on the ridge. But Parson Brown

| | And Mary Burns survive the wrecks of time.

A thousand lives enshrine the soul of each,

; | And pass along their message to the world.

| | The gospel he proclaimed has won the day,
And has its grip on all the mountains still.
The other gospel, preached by Mary Burns

y To supplement her story of the Christ,

k The gospel of intelligence, and life

t | Delivered from dense ignorance and dirt,

s ) a

: | | Has spread through all the vales. The colleges

: | And schools of every sort have proved their worth,

And shown the splendid diamonds in the rough,

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The strong fine strains of Anglo-Saxon blood,
A hardy race of splendid thinking men,
With courage and with force to match their hills.

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The manor house was built upon a plan
Originating in the spacious days
When leisure was a luxury enjoyed
By every man of substance in the south.
Nobody knew the architect who drew
Upon his fancy for the vast details
But everybody knew who built the house,
And who the owner was that prospered there
It was a house baronial in its size
Intended to be used on royal lines
For comfort and for entertainment both.
Verandas ran around the spacious sides:

 

High columns graced it prettily in front:

Within the portico a balcony

Hung on the level of the second floor:

Great lawns and rows of trees, and drives, and clumps
Of shrubbery, laid out with taste and care.

Made such a picture of refinement. wealth.

And ease, a traveller wondered who the prince

Or potentate might be residing there.

It occupied a hill top, on a crest on
Of gently rolling land, near Milledgeville. .
In central Georgia. All the uplands, crowned

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With forests, filled with oaks and hickories,
Smiled down on valleys rich in bottom lands,
Edging a stream called Fishing Creek, that wound
Its crystal waters, like a silver thread,
Among the hills, along the capitol,
Before it paid its tribute to the fair
Oconee, then the Altamaha on
Unto the sea. The spot picked for the house
Was meant to give a wide survey on all
The country round. For this was in the days
Before the civil war, and all the big
Estates were managed in a lordly way.

The planter was a man of size himself.
He stood six feet, within an inch, in height,
His full broad shoulders marking him with strength.
The finely chiseled features of his face
Were made distinctive by a fiery eye,
In color brown. He wore a full length beard,
The fashion of his day, and he had hair
That hung in bushy locks of brownish black,
Which reached below his neck. In middle life,
Full blooded, vigorous, and strenuous,
He was not in the class of lazy dons
Inflamed imaginations gave the South.

The mistress of the manse was fully fit
To take her place beside so good a man,
She had been born a Rutherford, who had
As fine a line of ancestors as walked
The soil of Georgia. She was styled the belle
Of Fulton County in her younger days,
And still was in the thirties, not a hair
Yet showing gray, and not a prettier cheek,
Or mouth, or eye among the charming girls.
Abounding health had added special charms
To features, actions, spirit, all subdued

50By silken manners, lady-like address,
And all the lures of gracious womanhood.
But when her lovely children, six in all,
Disposed themseves about her on her chair
She then was glorified as when one sees
A halo round madonna and the child.
Two thousand acres, starting in the hills,
And stretched along the banks of Fishing Creek,
Comprised the vast plantation of this prince.
His name was Major Lawson, also called
The judge, both titles earned, not loosely given.
While resting in his easy chair at noon,
Placed on his front veranda, he could see
For miles around a sight that warmed his heart.
His fertile hills rolled slowly to the creek.
Upon his right and left the orchards stood
That yearly hung with bushels of ripe fruit -
While full in front, upon the lower slopes,
The cotton fields were placed. Still further on.
In bottom lands whose soil was full of wealth.
Great fields of waving corn enriched the eye,
The major though was not an idle man
Who loafed his time away, or spent a gun
In hand, pursuing game off in the woods.
He was a planter of the better sort.
Promoting industry, and civinge time,
Apart from strict employments on the place,
To raising civic standards in the state.
And giving close attention to the law.
Thee was a sense of order in the way
He placed his fruit trees, laid out cotton fields
And hemp, and planted rows of corn along

The meadow flats. He roused his hands on time

By clanging a huge bell, and had their work
Assigned the night before, so that all 1 cnew

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Their tasks, and time was never idly thrown
Away. A life like that was not a dream
Of idleness, of oriental ease
And luxury. He did not loll about
On lounges while his servants fanned the flies
And he imbibed mint julep by the hour.
His wife, but three years younger than himself,
He wedded when a girl of seventeen,
And now, in eighteen fifty-nine, they had
A son just twenty-one, whose name was Jim,
A daughter twenty named Louise, a son
Just two years younger, Tom, another, Dave,
About sixteen, and then two daughters, twelve
And fourteen—this in fifty-nine, the time
My story opens on the family lite,
Within the manor house of Oglethorpe.
The peach bloom gave such promise in the spring
Of fifty-nine the planter saw a crop
That seemed to him would net a tidy sum,
In apple blossom time the eldest son,
An image of his father, meant to wed,
And bring his bride to share the opulence
Abounding at the manor house and erounds.
Inside the family circle there was stir,
All members taking lively part in plans
To make the eldest happy bringing home
His bride. No less an interest had the slaves,
For Major Lawson always spoke to them
In fondness for his son young Master Jim.
His good old mammy Dinah seemed to feel
A due responsibility, and said:
“Why ain’t I raised him, Honey,” and her eyes
Would roll around to emphasize her words,
Describing with details his baby traits,
And prophesying great things in reserve.

92The wedding bells were ringing in due time,
So when the honeymoon was past,
And cotton fields in bloom had turned the rows
To fluffy beds of roses to the eye,
First white, then changed to red, until a sea
Of glory waved in billows on the slopes,
A great reception followed at the manse,
And planters with their families came for miles,
Felicitating Jim and Marjorie,
Rejoicing in their happiness. The lawn
Was gay with all the colors Iris boasts,
And women in their gorgeous hoop-skirts graced
The happy scene, as 1f they each and all
Had stepped out of a picture. Melody
From flutes and violins and other strings
Invited all to dancing, and the lead
Was taken by the bridegroom and his bride
Who danced a minuet with grace and skill.
And such a feast of good things followed next.
That neighbors said they never saw the like.
A host of servants had prepared the food,
Assembling the details weeks in advance.
Had set out tables near the hawthorne hedge,
And scoured the benches till they fairly shone.
The major, who was gifted with a voice
And fluency of phrase that won the name,
“The silver-tongued debater of the hills,”
(To set him off above the lowland plains)
Invited all to act as if at home.

And help themselves. The tables groaned with meats,

With spare ribs, bacon, beef and venison,

With ducks, wild turkey, chickens, quail and goose,
With vegetables, corn-pone, and breads and cakes,
Of various kinds, with jams, preserves and sweets,
Indeed it was pronounced the richest feast

53

     
      
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 

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The state of Georgia ever saw, and healths
Were drunk in classic style to bride and groom.

When, after all had gone, and evening came,
The moon arose, and shed its silver sheen
That made all things so beautiful, it seemed
As if a bit of fairy land had slipped
Across the night, and settled on the hills.
Then one by one the servants sauntered in
From all the nearby patches. Near the manse,
Off in the Negro quarters, there was joy
Beyond description. They had taken pains
To celebrate young master’s wedding too,
And started in with fiddle and the bow
And half a dozen banjos twanging strong
The old time melodies. Two scores of men
Endowed with singing voices swelled the songs,
Their tenors rising clear and musical,
Their bassos giving fundamental strength
Of tone. The women’s voices held the leads
And carried all the airs. All knew the worth
Of syncopated time, and twisted strains
Together with a skill that only comes
By nature. All their dances were the kind
Used everywhere in Georgia, first, the clog
With double shuffles, while some expert beat
His hands or patted juba on his knees,
Up to the great square dances where the beaux
All swung their partners to their places where
In streams of perspiration, laughing loud,
They called the fiddlers for the next quadrille,
And so the merry evening flew away,
A round of feasting and of merriment,

Sweet Marjorie was full of love’s romance;
She too had known the old plantation life,
For over on the fertile river banks

54Where Shellman Heights o'er look the Etowah,
|

Che had been reared among the Crawfords. names

Among the best, that live and shine above
The stars forever in the firmament.
And other suitors she had had. Indeed,
Such was her beauty, such her modesty,
That lovers vied with one another strong
To win her smiles and favor. But when Jim
Arrived upon the scene, the jig was up.
His manliness quite swept her off her teet
And Marjorie became his sweet-heart wife.
Upon the big plantation everywhere
The judge enforced respect for law on all,
As also for religion. Not the whites alone,
But black folks also were his daily care.
In business he was honest to the core.
His manners had been learned among the good
Refined old planters of the noblest sort,
Whose courtesy to inferiors was as marked
As was his chivalry toward the gentler sex,
On points of honor he was clear, clean-cut,
A gentleman deserving of the name.
The planters of the large estates, like lords
Of old surrounded by large retinues
Supreme within their vast domains, saw life
Upon a scale befitting many a king.

Another year rolled round, the famous one
In which the Democratic party split,
And Lincoln was elected President.
Men’s feelings ran so high the air was filled
With threats of quick secession. E’er the year
Had closed the great Palmetto State had led
The way. The new year, sixty-one, began
Amid the wildest interest through the South.
A great convention of the people met

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At Milledgeville to argue out the case.
Debate began and feeling ran so high
It soon became apparent that the die
Was cast. But not without a difference
Of strong opinion. Major Lawson joined
With Alexander Stephens to uphold
The rights of states, but urged the view to stay
Within the Union. In the end they lost.
“The states are older than the Union, sir,’
Flashed Toombs to Stephens in the great debate.
Majorities prevail, hence both men gave
Their full adhesion to the course pursued,
And, on the eighteenth day, the new year saw
The state of Georgia voting to secede.
The cotton fields in bloom that very year
Would see Louise a happy bride, for June
Was chosen as the loveliest month of all.
But drums of war were beating when the month
Of April brought the sections to a clash,
And dreams of weddings faded out of sight.
The major won his shoulder straps in days
Gone by, beyond the Rio Grande, when Polk
Was brought to war with Mexico. And now
He tendered to his state the services
Of one who knew the strategy of war.
His son, young Master Jim, was swift to join
A father whom he loved with all his heart,
And Marjorie was willing that he should,
Though all her soul went out to him in love.
Louise’s fiance, a William Lowndes,
Enlisted at Atlanta, so that when
The month of June arrived, and breathed and smiled
On cotton fields in bloom, instead of brides
And bridegrooms, there was seen the awful face
Of strife. The major and his two sons Jim

56

   

_ = ays, ~And Tom enlisted with their kin at home
At Milledgeville. The bugle call stirred blood
As nothing else had ever roused the South.
“My noble husband,”’ said his lovely wite

To Major Lawson, “you are more than life
To me, and [ would die to help your cause,
3ut if you did not do your duty now,
Upholding honor at the point of death,

I should not want to look on you again.”

This was the spirit of the daughters, born
In Dixie land, the free land long ago.

They breathed it in the air, and on their knee
Beside their mother’s couches, saying prayers,
They felt the sacred worth of Dixieland.

‘Twas boots and saddles, horse and off! |
Commissions came the majors rank was chat
Experience had made him brigadier.

The baton of a general now was his.

With troops from Georgia's mountains, hills,
He hastened north and joined Virginia’s men,
At that time sorely pressed with work to do.
Young Jim was with him too. He saw the te:
Stream down the cheeks of Marjorie, and felt
The separation fairly tore his soul.

But as a former knight had said to one

On going off to war, “I could not love

Thee dear so much loved I not honor more,”
So said the gallant Jim to Marjorie.

Before the summer waned young Tom |
All interest in the place. His thought went of
Beyond the cotton fields to where his kin,
Among the armies, camped along the hills
Just east the Blue Ridge mountains far away
One day they missed him from his room at hi

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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Before the year was out young Dave had slipped

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Away, and now in misery the wife
Of General Lawson saw she had to face
A world alone. Within her care she found
There were four lovely women with the bloom
That youth and girlhood gave them all. Just what
Her dangers were she did not know. ‘The slaves
Might start revolt now that the men were gone,
Or make attack upon her four choice girls,
Defenseless, weak, and wholly in their power.

No Lawson ever made surrender. More,
No Rutherford had ever failed to rise
In any crisis to her moral height.
When Mistress Lawson found herself bereft,
Her husband, sons, and men folks gone to war,
She summoned all her native strength to match
A situation charged with evil chance.
Assembling all the slaves, she told them plain
The judge would be away a good long time,
That she was left in charge, and every day
Would manage all details, and give commands
About the work, that none should be abused,
But all required to work as 1f the eyes
Of Major Lawson were upon them all.
When he came back she hoped the hands could show
How well they had behaved while he was gone.
The nervy woman firmly laid the law
In terms so clear and kind they all obeyed,
And from that day the agitators found
No chance of disaffection in the men.

3ut ah! the many nights she lay awake
Imagining the horrors round her home.
To pit her weakness and that of her girls
Against the brutal instincts of a race,
Who in their minds were children, in their lusts
Still savage as their kin in Africa,

58

Sy eg ne rast -She saw was utter folly. If she won

Her brain must master their brains, and her will
Must be imposed on theirs that all their thoughts
And actions should be governed from above.

|

Concocting schemes to fit each case that might

Arise, she schooled herself to instant thought
Regarding all details about the manse,
And all emergencies that might arise.

And so the summer passed on through July
With tardy tidings of the first attacks,
And when the new year, sixty-two, set in
She waited anxiously for news. None came
Until, the cotton fields in bloom once more
In June, a courier brought heart breaking word

That William Lowndes had been shot down and died.

(Ah! poor Louise!) at Seven Pines, and Jim

At Fair Oaks. Ah, the bitter loss to fair

Sweet Marjorie, a widow now, the bride

That yesterday had danced the minuet

With Jim out yonder on the grassy lawn!

Off in the negro quarters there was grief,

For Master Jim was such a favorite

All now remembered how his happy smiles

Rewarded them for service nicely done,

His kindness warmed the hearts of old and young,

And when his good old mammy heard his fate,

Poor Dinah took to bed, and mourned and wailed.

Because she’d “raised him, Honey, from a child.”’
To General Lawson men looked up, as men

Will always look when brains and strength of will

Grip situations calling for a rare

Unusual mastery of the art of war.

His skill was of a kind that showed in Lee,

In Stonewall Jackson, Johnston, Gi rdon, Hill,

Endearing him to those in his command

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Who loved him as ‘“‘the bravest of the brave.”
No difficulty was too great for him

To try to overcome it. Sacrifice

Became the leader, hence he gave his time,

His strength, his money, influence, his all

To purchase victory. His planter days

Inured him to tasks that taxed his strength,

So night and day he struggled with the troops,

Accepting hardness as the soldier's lot.

They followed where he led, and Lee would say:

“T have no fear, when battles rage around,

That troops are losing ground, when once | think

Old Lawson leads off

Or holds his ground
To Lawson there was grief too deep for words

yonder on the right,
like adamantine rock.”

When messengers announced the fate of Jim.

But in the presence of his suffering men

He shed no tears. Still, in the midst of toil,

An image of the faithful wife, alone,

Bereaved. in need of consolation, rose

Before his mind, intensifying pain

Unutterably severe. However, days

Requiring all his thought and skill, that called

For action in the field, great armies soon

To clash and vast details to claim his mind,

Were now upon him with their cares, therefore,

He resolutely set himself to face

The duties next before him. Lee at grips

With Hooker was the next thing on the boards.
It seemed as if the cotton fields had bloomed

With greater beauty in the month of June,

In eighteen sixty-three. The Negro hands

Had taken special care, in April past,

That in the planting all the seeds should fill

The rows in straight alignment. Just three feet

60Apart they grew, and when they were set out
Some extra acres had been ploughed. Old Jake,
The Negro overseer, since whites were gone,
Had said to all the farm hands, ‘‘\We must work
Much harder now that master 1s away

To show our mistress what we think of her.”

All through the month of May the tiny plants
Had struggled through the soil out to the light
And tossing all their heads with hi Ap] NESS,

Had waved their leaves of green in merriment,
As salutations to the passers-by.

The early days of June had brought great showers
That drenched the thirsty earth for inches deep;
On top of that a few days’ suns had warmed,
And steamed the cotton rows. But at the end,
Responding to the air, the rain, the sun,

A thousand acres burst their hearts with joy,
And, lo! the wonder of the month of June

Had come to life arrayed in garments new.

A myriad of white blossoms opened up;

Next day they turned to red; a myriad more,

In snow white raiment clad, danced forth to take
The place their sisters had the day before,

For all the world like roses red and white

And shaking free their petals all the fields

Of cotton were in bloom, and, full of glee,

 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 

 

They laughed and clapped their hands, and danced with

joy.

As Mistress Lawson gazed out on the fields.
Surrounded by her lonely girls, she spoke
Of Jim and William Lowndes, now dead a year.
And while with aching heart she eased the wounds
Inflicted on Louise and } Vlarjorie,
She offered up a prayer of gratitude
That Henry, her dear husb and, wounded sore

C]es ee ee NE ke ee te ed

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At Chancellorsville in early May, was well,
And, in the saddle once again, was gone
With Lee to press the fighting on the foe
In Pennsylvania. All the rest of June,
When evening came, they sought the porch, and watched
The fields of cotton, dreaming of their men,

And, on into July they waited word,

For everyone had learned a great attack

Above the line was imminent. July

The eighth, a horseman at full run was seen

Turn off the highway, take the lane, and make

Straight for the house. His message was quite brief :
“At Gettysburg, in action, fell, July

The third. our gallant General Lawson, killed.”

Louise and Marjorie reached out their arms,

And clasped their weeping mother to their hearts.

The younger children, Ella May and dear

Virginia, cried aloud, and ah! the tears,

The bitter tears of sorrow in that home.

Their prop was gone—the man of strength and heart

es

So good and brave and kind! “It cannot be,”
They said, ‘‘we shall not have him more, not
Hear his cheery voice, or know his words of love,
Or feel the pressure of his lips, his dear
Caresses, and feel safe, supported by
His wise and sweet provision for his home.

The summer lingers long within the state
Of Georgia. Sunshine, showers, fresh fruits and flowers
Are free there. Starting back in early March,
The days are warm, and stay so, till the short
November days draw near. Sweet April comes
And dances like a bride. And while her heart
Is in the hills the sweet magnolias bloom,
And peach trees are in bud, among the first:
Wild shrubs and mountain laurels come to life,

62Her call is heard, and so spring thaws begin
In upper Georgia, and the freshets start

To swell the rivulets that feed the streams,
And all go singing southward to the plains ;

While from their source along the slopes there comes

A sound of water, trickling from the springs.
The early flowers hear the voice and rouse,
And quickly starting rise to greet the sun,
The sweet warm sun of summer. In its rays
All things renew their youth, and take on life.
The birds are singing sweeter then. ‘Their cups
Are brimming full of joy, and, running oer
The lip, are spilled in liquid melodies

Of tone. All day the earth smiles till it weeps
Its joy in rain drops on the plain, and these
Sweet tears are seeds of other joys, that come
In music of the insect world, the hum

Of tunes the katydids and locusts know,

To sing in madrigals. The beetles boom
Their joy, and bumble-bees in bassos join

In singing tunes we sometimes hear when sung
On trips to Fairyland. The warm sweet days,
The gift of summer to our happy earth,

Were never sweeter than they are among

The old red tops, the clayey tops that smile

In Dixie land, among the Georgia hills,

The land of lilies, roses, pines and palms,

Of myrtle, ivy, vines and sycamores,

The year of eighteen sixty-three was fraught
With many dangers to the sunny South.
Emancipation at the start had set
The Negroes free as far as northern law
Could do so. In the south that law was null
And void. But who could say it might not work

63

 

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Much mischief? Agitators tried to use

It as a lever to pry loose the blacks,

And start an insurrection. All that spring

Had Mistress Lawson wondered what her fate

Would be, if, in the dead of night, her slaves,

Inspired by thoughts of liberty, misled

By base designing leaders, should revolt,

Attacking her and those four darling girls

Committed to her care. She did not know,

From day to day, what maggots in their brains

Might hatch a fearful brood of scorpions;

And should they sting, a deadly poison was

In wait for all. No slave had known a day

When love had failed in treatment of their needs.

[ll-usage never was allowed by those

Who were in charge as overseers. When death

Or sickness sought the Negro’s door, she first,

Had always gone to visit the distressed.

The sunshine and the shadows fell on all,

But Mistress Lawson, in her husband's days,

Had always diffused sunshine so it fell

Abundantly across the cabin floor.

Her servants all had been respectful, bowed

With marked good manners, done their work with skill,

But all were ignorant, impulsive, swift

Emotions sweeping through their souls at times,

And what sharp sudden turn affairs might take

Had taxed the wisest to predict.

The whites were in their power now; their lives,

Their fortunes, and their sacred honor too,

Were in the keeping of the southern slaves.

Would they prove true or false to such a trust?
The poetry in folks is never dead.

Hence, in the long drawn summer days, the songs

Of Negroes picking cotton in the fields,

64Or in the meadows hoeing corn, were good

To hear. The women felt much sater when

Thev heard the darkies singing. Holy bells

Would ring on Sunday mornings. To the church

The ladies in the carryall would go,

And lead the Negroes’ worship, as of yore

Old Master led them to the house of God.

For Mistress Lawson there could never be

Again such happy days as those now dead.

The dear old hills of Georgia still were full

Of poetry as in olden times, but now

She could not read the signs or sing the tunes,
3ut hope lives on eternally in men

And women who accept life’s gifts from God,

Two sons were left to comfort her, though both

Were in the army, and the worst might come.

The cotton had been picked, the corn was husked,

And winter ushered 1n another year.

News came from Tom that he was still in health,

That Yankee bullets were not made for him,

His regiment had fought its way across

Old Tennessee, and held the mission ridge,

And meant to see the struggle through till death.

Another letter came in May that said

His fellows had been sent to stem the tide

Of war that pressed its way on southward now.

In less than one full month another bomb

Came hurtling through the air, and once again

The old plantation turned to grief and tears.

Tom had been killed at Kennesaw. He fell

Just where the mountain meets the plains, and died.

And Dave was wounded, little Dave, the last
And youngest of her splendid men. Oh death.

Thou hast a sting! And grave thou hast for some

A crushing victory! But not for all.

65Ce ee So ee)

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Poor Mistress Lawson long ago had been
Prepared to hear the worst, accepting such
As Heaven should send to be her lot in life.
Her heart had been so crushed and broken twice
3efore. no blow could blast her soul much worse,
Her hair had been turned gray, just over night,
When that dear husband of her youth was struck.
From gray to white it went, and now she seemed
Much older than her years would indicate.
But Dave was only wounded. ‘There was hope
That he would live, and in the end he did—
A hopeless imbecile, from wounds that wrecked
His nervous system past all human aid.

The Negroes in the cabins seemed to feel
Within themselves the sorrows of the manse.
As soon as word leaked through that they were free,
A nameless dread oppressed them. Did it mean
They had to leave the place at once, and go
From Oglethorpe, the manor they had loved?
The bulk of them were born upon the place,
And loved it as men love their childhood homes.
They owned these hills, had tilled this soil, had kept
The chief place in their hearts for all the whites,
Who loved them in return, and sought their good
With kindly ministries. What frightful thing
Was this that they were free? Where should they go?
‘Tis true some sensed their freedom as a prize,
And stole away. A few were lured off.
A big majority had come to plead
That Mistress Lawson still would keep them there,
And pledged her faithful service in return.

So now, in eighteen hundred sixty-four,
When cotton fields had burst in bloom again,
Outspreading all their rosy glory, fed
By springs of life eternally supplied

66From reservoirs in nature never drained,
The lady in the manse was forced to face,
By sad reminders of her noble dead,
The fact that life renews itself each year.
Her husband and her four dear sons had bloomed
In glory, like the cotton fields that bloomed
The vears they died. She fancied that the soul
Ot nature too was bleeding with her own
That even in their beauty cotton fields
Were sighing full of grief. Transferring thus
Her personal experience to the flowers
She easily imagined they were sad
While murmuring requiems for her holy dead.

The cotton fields had bloomed. and now the balls
Of fluffy cotton hung upon their stalks,
And must be picked. From early August on
Till Christmas time the burrs would ripen, then
Would burst their pods, unroll their fibrous wealth,
And thrust their glossy capsules from the stems.
The armies had been calling for supplies,
And all that could be spared was freely given.
It seemed that nothing was too good, that naught
Should be denied. Those whitened fields were picked
And laid upon the altars with their hearts,
A consecration of their lives without
A thought of sacrifice. The family plate
Was melted for the guns, or sold to keep
The army from impoverishment. Some gave
Until they hardly had enough to hold
Themselves together. Thus, at Oglethorpe,
Did Mistress Lawson. thinking of her dead.
A daughter of the cause they all held dear,

But when November came wild rumors flew
About the big plantation. Some unnamed,
Invisible atrocity had struck

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Seer te ee ot

 

 

Them full of terror. Could it be defined:
Could any of the horrors be believed?
The day of Judgment was at hand, some said,
And strange, mysterious prophesies were made.
Within the Negro’s heart the strain was felt,
Until some fled as if a Nemesis

Was sounding in their ears. Atlanta was
The source that fed their superstitious fears.

In time the ugly shape took vital form.

‘Twas Sherman’s army headed for the sea,

To blaze a path across the cotton fields,

And leave the land a charnel house behind,

Which he called hell. Not down a country lane,

In single file, parading, did they march.

They cut a swath the width of sixty miles

Across the lovely state, its fairest part,

And left it desolate. Where all was bright,

A ruin smoked to heaven. The stores of food
Were seized as prizes fair in war. [states

Were looted, houses burned, and slaves removed,
Or urged to go away. ‘The fiery scourge

Poured down through Milledgeville, across the vast
Plantation where the Manor House with all

[ts precious inmates stood. The house was spared,
The women unmolested, but the slaves,

The live stock, crops, out-buildings, stores, supplies,
Were swept into oblivion. Not a trace

Of all their former loveliness was left,

Except the rolling hills, the same sweet air

And skies, and memory that bound the past

In golden chains of love and tenderness.

Some faithful servants in the house had stayed,

Also, a few old farm hands had remained,

And as the days went by some more returned,

3ut Oglethorpe was never more the same.

68Dear Marjorie, in time, returned to dwell
Among her kin along the Etowah. :
Louise, Virginia, Ella-May, and Dave,

: E Tay, 3 > | rpaTA sf “oO share
(Poor Dave no longer sane!) were left to s
With Mistress Lawson naught but misery.
Five years trailed slowly by, and mid the wreck
The woman, who had kept a heart ot oak
Through all the fiery trial of the war,
Was old at fifty, broken in her health, )
And felt the thread of life must soon be cut. ay
A family portrait, made when they were young,
Had shown the major in his handsome prime,
The bushy locks, the heavy beard, the eyes,

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The wondrous eyes of brown, the shoulders broad
And strong. The lady took the portrait, placed

It where she might behold it night and day,

Within the chamber where she slept and worked,
And, gazing at it longingly, would dream

All o'er again the happy days of yore. ie
Her strength of body failing fast it soon 2

 

 

Became apparent nature’s debt was due.

The claim was pressing, and it must be paid
Her in the spring. And so it was. The fields
Of cotton were in bloom again, but scant.

The Manor house unkept, much in decay,

 

And now the mistress failing too must yield.

Delirium toward the end had brought the past

Once more in vividness before her mind,

And much she talked of major, now away,

And wondered if he would not soon return.

Her fancies were pathetic. She would cal] Fe

In gentle tenderness for Jim and Tom, ; |
And raising up her head one evening, called : .
With all the love of youth in every word, |

“Yes, Henry, I am coming home.” With that

The mistress of the manse had passed away.

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COPYRIGHTED
1925
BY

LINCOLN HULLEY

DELAND, FLA.

PRESS OF THE
E. O. PAINTER PRINTING CO
DELAND, FLAInscribed to my wile

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POETIC PRODUCTIONS

By

LINCOLN HULLEY

Lullabies and Slumber Songs

Annie-Laurie: Love-Lyrics

Hiram Abiff, the Builder

Sonnets on the Immortal Bards

Shakespere’s Dream of Fair Women
Moonlight Nights at Palm Beach

King David: Israel’s Lyric Bard

Christina, or Christian Van Dusen’s Law-Suit
Chivalry in Dixie: Metrical Romances

Mike Murphy’s Dream

Campus Memories

Alice Coventry and other Metrical Romances
The Eloise Chimes

Chapel Lyrics of Faith, Hope and Love
Fables and Myths from the Sibyl’s Book

The Jubilate of Rabbi Ben Adam

Christian Hymns

St. Anne and the Children’s Hour

St. Michael and the Dragon: An Epic of the War
Savonarola’s Visions of Judgment

Broken Hearts and Lives

Vesper Songs of Joy, Trust and Praise
Brave Idylls of the Gallant South

Dwellers Beyond the Styx, or Tragedies of Love
Dixie Sketches in Chalk and Charcoal
Ghiberti’s Doors to Paradise and Other Art Poems
A Maker of Dreams and Poetic Fantasies
Gold-Fields, Gold-Skies and Gold-Seekers

A Farmer-Prince

Galloping Westward: A Ballad

A Disciple of Plato

Pipes of Pan

Florida the Beautiful

Ariel and Cinderella

The Holy Land

Pegasus at the Springs of Helicon

Eden, a Paradise of Love

College Lyrics of Idealism and Optimism
Chauncey and Kitty; also Bob’s Dilemma
Earth to Earth, or The Joy of Life

For Better For WorseCONTENTS
Sally in the Valley
30rn Out of Wedlock
Old at Twenty
Earthen Vessels
Judas Iscariot

Mary Magdalene

The Madhouse

Laurel, Ivy and Myrtle

The Rich Man and the Beggar
The Tambourine Gir]

Six Ghosts

The Legion of the Lost

Kiss Thee I Will

The Suicide’s Ghost

Stifle the Brute

The Flesh Pots

A Ghost Rides Forth

The Will is King

The Hidden Self

Our Tribal Gods

Unseen Spirits

The Dead Heart

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LS oS Ss Cty ae epee oFede tat ssThere’s a dear, brown house in the valley,
And a light in the window for me;

The war can’t last, then, to Sally
I hope to return from the sea,

When I said good-bye to the valley,
Trees were in leaf, and the hills
Danced in their joy, while my Sally
Danced in my heart till it thrills.

How often I think of the valley,

And the cottage embowered in vines,

Where the flowers were trained by my Sally
From the rose to the sweet columbine.

Last month I dreamed of the valley:
A festival was held on the green:

But none were so sweet there as Sally:
She looked full as fair as a queen.

Last week I heard from the valley,
Loved ones were waiting for me:
First of them all, I said, Sally

Is nearest and dearest to me.

Then came a flash from the valley,
Swift as a bolt from the blue:

Death came and claimed lovely Sally,
Killing the joy in me too. =

SALLY IN THE VALLEY.

  
   
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 

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A new-made grave in the valley
Is all that’s awaiting me now;
My heart cries in anguish for Sally,
Under the sad cypress bough.

BORN OUT OF WEDLOCK.

There at the grave they opened the lid
Of the casket, and I looked in it. :
What did I see? A dear little maid

Of seventeen summers within it.

Close to her heart lay a tiny babe,
Born out of wedlock, the duty

Of motherhood written upon her face,
A picture of tender beauty.

How I pitied the little dears
Fallen asleep there together!
Jesus, be kind to them both, I prayed.

And grant them sunnier weather.
Ss

With tears in my eyes, my heart said plain,
That death was most kind to caress her ;
Surely the angels of God above

Will pity and love and bless her!

OLD AT TWENTY.

She was old, yet in the twenties,
A pinched young mother of men.
Dear God, are thy tender mercies
Only for strong ones then?

8

7She was a toiler dreary,
And another toiled at her breast:
Dear God, how terribly weary,
And needing a year of rest!

Was there a vile oppressor
Somewhere in darkness hid,
Whose heel, invisible to us.
She felt, and whose will she did?

One noticed her cheeks and pallor,
A little pale woman, and sad.
And on her the marks of squalor
That matched her faded plaid,

So ragged and starved, my pity
Was moved to ask her name.
lt was plain she was lost. The city
Would lead to a life of shame.

She gave me her name and sundry,
As she answered my friendly nod,
“My baby and I are hungry,
I was talking here with God!”

EARTHEN VESSELS.

In earthen vessels hold we all
The golden treasures life imparts,

 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
   
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
 

 

And drop our gains, both great and small,

Into our urns—our hearts.

 
  

Ah, one I knew and taught, long since,

A rose jar was— and rare!

 

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She plucked the bloom of plum and quince
And all things growing fair,

But she had itching palms, beside,
And slyly thought to pluck
Forbidden flowers, and threw aside
Discretion, trusting luck.

She spied a bud that tempted quest ;
She thrust her arm out wide;
Her hand reached in a serpent’s nest,
And ah! her soul—she died!

 

JUDAS WITH ITCHING PALMS.

Judas, the man with the hang-dog look,
Who scowls in Da Vinci's picture,
Muttered at what the spikenard took
From the bag, and made his stricture:
“This was a treasure thrown away;

‘The poor had need of it here to-day.”’

Not that he cared for the poor, at all.
Who filled up the alleys and ditches;

They might have perished beneath the wall,
But he had the curse of riches;

He was the man who carried the bag,

But not the man to advance the tiag

He had the torment of itching palms,

\ torment that leads to sorrow;

He knew the measures of all the Psalms,
But not greed’s fate to-morrow ;

He was disloyal to Christ, his chief ;

He carried the bag, and was a thet

10But Judas was human. And any drudge
Can match the scowl in his features:
Thank God that none of us are his judge!
Perhaps none are fit as his teachers:

For he was so like us in soul and mind.
We need to be humble, and not unkind.

Let him who thinks he stands take heed:
The tempter, near by, is ready:

The scoffer is one who may have most need:

So stand to your duty steady :
Leave to Christ, the lover of man.
The sin of Judas and Judas’ clan.

MARY MAGDALEN.

Mary Magdalen may have been
As virtuous as Caesar’s queen:

Not meaning, then, to cast a slur.
We take her as they painted her:

As such she may parade to-day
Her finery along Broadway,

The great white way in every land,
Whose lights few ever can withstand:

She comes her woman’s right to claim:
All women, maybe, do the same:

I blame her not, for in her heart
Are yearnings for the better part,
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That life denies to all but those
Who either have the souls or clothes;

So Mary, with her painted face,
Her gewgaws, pins, and gaudy lace,

Goes forth to float before the eyes
Of those who rate her heart a prize;

For that she swaggers, smiles, and flirts,
And lifts her flimsy, silken skirts

Too far above her ankles quite,
Which proper folks say is not right;

Poor dear! Within her feeble brain,
There lies a very slender strain

Of girlish love for pretty things;
But these are loved by queens and kings;

And, Mary, though your heart is gay,
Parading down the great white way,

May God defend you from the beasts—
The men who count your kind a feast,

And, like that other Mary sweet,
Grant you a place at Jesus’ feet.IN THE MADHOUSE.

| saw my baby, nurse, last night,

And counted one, two, three:

He looked just like the Christ-child, bright
And cuddled close to me.

’

Hlis tug was tender at my breast:
I counted four, five, six:

He fed, and dozed away at rest—
[ held a crucifix.

They tell me that my baby died:
Master, toil no more!

Open now the windows wide.
While I pray on the floor.

There was a virgin once with child:
Oh! Mary, pity me!

How sweetly once my baby smiled!
I counted one, two, three.

He nuzzled at my face, and pressed
His wee small hand in mine:
O gentle Christ! Who would have guessed

Sweet Mary’s life was thine?

And is her baby dead, then, too?

I promised to be brave;

My baby had sweet eyes of blue:

To Him brown eyes she gave.

[ saw her count His tiny toes;

I counted one, two, three;

[ stopped, for death and life are foes:
They slew Him on a tree.

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They took my baby from my arms;
How tiny were his hands!

You would have loved him for his charms:
The doctor gave commands.

Sweet nurse, go fold the curtains now:
Ihe baby is asleep;

And spread the table, show me how
A wife her house should keep.

Some sweet forget-me-nots then set
Upon the mantel-piece:

My husband will be coming yet,
And baby, if you please.
He lay beside me in the bed:
I counted one, two, three;

And when my prayers were duly said,
| drew him close to me.

Sweet Mary's baby, Christ, was slain;
How cruel were her foes!

What awful agony and pain

They added to her woes!

Yes, she was on her bridal tour,
When her sweet boy was born.
She had a mother’s heart for sure
That happy birthday morn.

My boy was one year old, last June,
And he had curly locks;

[ always sang the Jesus-tune,

When putting on his socks.
14Dear nurse, you told me | could hold
My baby here to-day ;

Is he like Mary’s boy, so cold,
They’ve buried him away?

Oh lady, in the pure white dress,
[ count now one, two. three:
Take me to your sweet. kind care
Just like my baby wee.

SS

Next day they found her hanging, dead:
The bed clothes made a rope ;

Her life was gone, her prayers were said
Her baby found, we hope.

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LAUREL, IVY AND MYRTLE

Laurel, ivy and myrtle braid

In a crown for those who fought:
Whether they won or lost, ’tis said.
They battled for things all ought.

Some did the deeds of miracle-men,
And passed through the gates of death,
Their courage not even faltering when
They gasped for their dying breath.

Chaplets belong to the heroes sure.

But what for the average man,

The man who takes the work of the sewer,
And does the best he can?

He may be classed as a two-talent chap,
Or even one of the one:

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‘Twas no fault of his that into his lap
The five talents were not thrown,
Multitudes join in a thundering shout
For the heroes who duly win;

But are ready to throw the failure out,
As if he were guilty of sin;

Applause is deafening in the ears

Of the great big victors, mind,

But who will give flowers, or even tears,
For the man who falls behind?

Maybe that’s right, but still, as for me,

[ lift my hat to the crowd

Of hard-working toilers who bend the knee
And back, and are not too proud

To be known to the hard, exacting world
As average men, who meet

The common tasks that are on them hurled,
And are thankful to kiss God's feet.

RICH MAN—BEGGAR MAN.

The rich man heard a beggar’s plea
For alms, and asked his name;
Surprised he was, and called him in,
When he had heard the same.

“Are you the man I knew when boys

We played ’round here in youth,

When hearts were full of mirth and joy?”
He was the same in truth.

“Tell me your story, friend,” he said,
And on his startled ear
16There fell a tale that moved his heart
With mingled grief and fear.

“I sent a score of ships to sea

A long, long time ago,

And waited to receive them back,”
He said amid his woe.

~My ships have all been wrecked at sea:

Some went against the rocks:
Wild storms burst over some, and now
A grinning death-head mocks.”

The other said, “I too had ships,
And sent them far and wide:

They bravely caught the rushing winds,

And rode out with the tide.

“From many lands they took rich toll,
And, laden with their gain,

Came back in safety to enrith

My stores of golden grain.”

And so it is, on many seas

Our ships spread sail, and speed
Away before the winds and tides,
At beck of whim or need.

Our hopes, our dreams, our memories
Point back for fifty years:

Armadas of them come to grief,
And bring us nought but tears.

But, on the foam-flecked ocean, oft
We sight our argosies

With full sail spread, returning fast,
Enriched from all the seas.

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THE TAMBOURINE GIRL.

I am a roving gypsy,

That came from the south of Spain;
I’m savage at heart, and know every art
Afloat on the Spanish main

To win each bashful suitor,

Who crosses my path; there flares

Love from my eyes, that are gypsy-wise,
Till he stops in his tracks, and stares.

My father lived at Cadiz,

And he was a rover, too;

le pitched his tent, on mischief bent—
lo all of his tribe steel-true;

The day he met my mother,

In a house of gutter-fame,

He was a wild, fierce, savage child—
So, I was a child of shame.

She was a darling mother,

Who knelt at her crucifix;

| felt the grace in her troubled face
At father’s alien tricks;

But when the sweet spring opens,
And life is running high,

[ feel the tide of his blood inside,
That carries me to the sky.

By the Rio de la Plata,
In the beautiful Argentine,

Barefoot I go with the passing show,
As wild as the mountan kine;

In Buenos Aires suburbs,

\nd high on the plains, I roam;

18Under the stars, with the heart of Mars,
{ make my shifting home.

And when I dance the tango,
And rattle my tambourine.
The whispered sighs and the fle
Of the dandies are clearly seen.
Devouringe me with kisses,
Their flesh-lusts crying loud

shly eyes

~ Whither away? O gypsy, stay!
Your race is all too proud.”’

Under my feet ] trample

The women with looks of hate.

Who glut their eyes with feigned surprise,
And quarrel with chance and fate;
Withered and wrinkled beldames.

What do they know of bliss.

Of a lover’s cries, of the joy that lies

In the depths of a gypsy’s kiss?

And lovers there are a-plenty ;
They buzz like bees in a hive:
Their talk is honey —they throw me money—
You see I am warm, alive!

Mine are the fresh, pure blood-tints.
And my cheeks are rosy red:

Wanton the charms of my graceful arms,
And the arch coy slant of my head!

My blood is the blood of a tigress
To those who oppose my will:
With a glare my glance shoots out of the dance,
For I am a gypsy still,

And pierces the men with torment,

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Who then are my willing slaves,
With chains that are old their hearts I hold;
My smile is the prize each craves.

Their throbbing souls | master ;

They dance with me to their death;

My old red shawl, and spangles, and all
But heighten my gypsy breath,

That whispers a sweet-heart’s secrets,
With a poisonous serpent’s sting,

Till hearts are crushed to ashes and dust
As a moth round the flames that sing.

I went to make my confession,

At the Plaza de Mayo church;

The rotund priest had been to a feast,
And still he thought to smirch

Our gypsy arts and graces,

And he leered, as he railed, in spite,
Upon our tribe, and he sought a bribe
Against our law of right.

The next to shrive my spirit

Shall be the lord of the ways,

The open space, the wooded place,

And the long sweet summer days;

He put in me this savage

And fierce wild heart, this lust

That loves the sky, and the hills on high,
And shall till my body's dust.SIX GHOSTS.

Six ghosts met once in the dense, dar]
When the sky was black with clouds,

Six ghosts wrapped up in tight-drawn |
And swathed with moth-eaten shrouds,

One said, ‘““Why are we so full of
For me, I can tell you why ;
I murdered a man in a shady lane,
And I still can see him die.”

pain?

Another said, “I was a guilty thief,
With an itching palm for gold:

[ stole the goods of my trusting chief
Who was weak and blind and old.”

A third said, “T played false to my wite;
The flesh-pots were all my desire:

The thing in the end cost her her life,
And I was consumed by fire.’

The next said, “I was a drunken sot.
Who crippled my will with drink:

The thing took hold of the ones |] begot
Till none of us, lost, could think.”

The fifth said, “I was a liar by choice,
And practiced the art each day:

It got so bad no one heeded my voice,

I was lost past finding the way.”

The last said, ‘I was a heretic.
That flouted at man and God:

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I lost all faith in them both, and Nick
Was on hand with assenting nod.”

“We all had our day, and we played the fool;
Our knavery costs us yet;

Life was our chance to attend God’s school;
We failed, and we pay the debt.”

THE LEGION OF THE LOST.

We are of those whose daily work
Was never up to par;

We did not exactly like to shirk,

But we scattered our thoughts afar.

We are of those great Dante saw,

Who never accomplished well;

And so they made use of a well known law
And sent us down here to hell.

We are of those who had brains, yes,

But then we had passions too;

We laid many plans our poor world to bless,
But our lusts wouldn’t carry through.

We are of those who committed crime;
We never knew why, I vow;

But here we are bottled, and doing time
In an everlasting now.

We are of those who closed the gates
Against our poor fellowmen;

Then came their turn, and they called the fates
To clamp us here in this den.

22We are of those whom slot]
Too lazy to beat the world:
We lagged bel

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Our hopes all withered and curled.

We are of those whose blood-kin hung

Like millstones ‘round our necks,
Thieves and crooks who should h

lave been strung,—
We've had to pay their bad checks,

KISS THEE I WILL.

“Kass thee I will, if that thou but consent

To give thyself in holy wedlock pure:

Else were it sin against Dagon, my God—

Fle who has made our hearts feel sure,
Somewhere in Eden, ere the world began,
Both of us, espoused by nuptials sweet,

When I, thy Eve, and thou. my strong cave-man,
Knelt trembing at the great Lord’s feet.’

Delilah by her blandishments aspired

To know the secret of his streneth, and he,
The mighty Samson, knowing she was hired.
Betrayed himself to Israel’s enemy,

For, with the soft impeachment of her tongue,
The sweet Philistine broke his strength of will,
And though she had his hidden secret w rung,
Infatuated with her charms. he loved her still.

His frailty was the common sort that breaks
Beneath the stress of as calls of lust:

A big, strong nature he, but, how he quakes
With fear and torment where he needs disgust!

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No vice-control can come to one who yields,
With promise to himself some future day
He will do better. Nothing ever shields

A man like instant fight. That clears the way.

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Delilah was no angel, and her wile

Deceived a judge and hero to his death;

Within her heart she paid for all her guile,

And whispered Samson’s name at last, when breath
Was failing; then, with smiling face, recalled

The passion that had seized her with his kiss,

And praying to his ghost, her soul enthralled,

She plead for his forgiveness, and the bliss!

THE SUICIDE’S GHOST.

I thrust this knife into my heart,
Committing suicide ;

And now I lie here, fret, and smart,
And know my action lied.

Now that I am a pale, thin ghost,
[ have much time to think;
Above me moves a mighty host
Who sleep, and eat, and drink.

I’d give the world if I could change

My place for theirs a space;

My course in life was queer and strange;
[ fell a deal from grace.

This ghostly house I live in now
Is full of dead men’s bones;
24Their evil courses. broken vows,
Now rattle on the stones.

[ hardly grasped life was a school
To learn the great God’s plan,
And so I lived and played the fool.
A sinful, godless man.

No wonder, when I felt the whip,
[ turned to suicide:
The devil had me on the hip,

With all I had beside.

And so I live, and dream, and think,
But never sleep a wee:

They say my eyes shall never wink
Through all eternity.

STIFLE THE BRUTE.

“Stifle the brute!’ I heard one say
To a man whose conscience pricked
Poor advice to a troubled soul.
Because the brute had kicked!

;

Call it instinct, or what you will:

A monitor, faculty, God—

Deep in the soul of the humblest man
Is something above the clod.

Whether the thing he stabbed to the heart.
Or drowned in the golden bowl,
Overflowing with liquor, still

[t’s the vital spark in the soul.

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For, it is the lamp in the holy place
Of the great Lord God, His shrine,
Intended to light the pathways, laid
From His loved house to mine.

Call it the moral sense, and say

It’s educable, and all that,
Differing as the souls of men,

Or bodies, some lean, some fat.
Say it speaks different languages
To you, and to me, and to all,
Taking its cue from the way I grow,
And destined at last to fall.

Still in the hearts of men we have
A certain, still, small voice,

Whispering hope, reproof, and law—
It’s God, and our hearts rejoice,

THE FLESH POTS.

The flesh pots troubled him even in dreams;
He never could get relief;

It seemed the pattern of Egypt’s scheme
Was better though all too brief;

Out of the smoke, when he fell asleep,

He scented the odor, and thought

What would I give for a piled-up heap,

[f the flesh pots could be bought?

The flesh pots, yes, are the pleasures of sense;
The animals have their fill;
Nor do they have to spend good pence,

26Or bother about the bill:
When the contents are steaming hot,
And the odors rise in air.

Then some yearn for the big flesh pot
They called in Egypt fair.

Men may live in a hovel, I know.
And strive for the things on high,

In their poverty, here below,

Build castles within the sky:

But what care some for Plato’s world.
Or the Master of Galilee?

Give them the pots with drops impearled,
For that is the Heaven they see.

Heaven for some is a place called Hell,
Where the caldrons in the pit

Brew the liquors and tleshly lusts,
That rise from the depths of it :

Only the grace of the living Christ
Can change the heart in its core.

Or lead from lusts that once sufficed

\en’s souls as He did of yore.

A GHOST RIDES FORTH.

\

\ ghost rides forth in wind and rain.

It’s time the blackest night.

| saw him come, through a window pane,
On a sudden flash of light.

He rode in flame, and he rode in haste.
With a cloak thrown over his head:

a minute to waste,

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For he came from the realm of the dead.

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He blew a bugle, as on he flew,
As clear as a clarion’s call;
And this he said, ““O men, to you

I come with a message for all!

Cleanse your souls with truth and grace!
Rend your hearts and tear

The hypocrite-masks from off your face
That daily you love to wear.

   
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  

“Back in your homes, both false and mean,
You dagger the hearts you love,

Filling with tears the souls that lean

On you for the life above.

There you rule in your lust and pride,
And stifle the souls that trust,

Bringing them down to your own low side,
To trample them in the dust.

“Vonder at church you gloze and lie

As oft in the market place,

Shaming the devil who can’t reply,

Because he can’t keep your pace.

I come with the grief of a dead man’s heart,
To warn you with voice and pen,

Beware of the end! for you have a part

In the judgment of God. Amen!’

THE WILL IS KING.

The will is king. On a golden throne.
A sceptre within his hand,

He rules a realm that’s all his own,
That yields to his command;

No king ever had better right,

28Or a better realm. to rule
With a rod of iron, to check or smite,
Than he, whether prince or fool.

Conscious action is what I mean:
An act in its essence is will:
But only acts that are conscious lean
To deliberate good or jill:
Here is the seat of character. mind,
Whether in God or man:

Nothing is good or bad, you ll find,

But will,—and the plan’s divine.

As a man is in his heart, he thinks:
As a man is he wills:
Will is expressed in one’s act, a link
Connecting the two, that drills
Cannot keep them apart, the two
Welded and bolted in one:

So, with an act of a man in view.
We know what his will has done.

Volition is choice, and a man is free
To act as his will may choose;
Energy here, in a good degree,

Will stiffen him not to lose:

God, in His wisdom, His way fulfills,

 

And I know my will is mine:
But, Lord, Thy wisdom has taught, our wills
Are ours to make them Thine.et

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THE HIDDEN SELF.

   
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
   
  
  
      
   

‘The hidden self is a thing apart;

It never comes into view,

Except when something assails the heart,
And rives the soul in two;

Flashes of lightning, then, reveal,

In hidden and darkened caves,

Ugly beasts with consuming zeal,

Our conquerors and our slaves.

lames from the fires of God light up
These hidden and dark retreats;

Then the lion and lion’s pup

Spring savagely for their meat;

And I fall back with drops of sweat
Beading my frightened face,

Dazed with grief, and surprise that yet
| have not been brought to disgrace.

Little [ dreamed that vipers made
‘Their nests in my secret soul,

That hungry beasts of every grade
Might get far beyond control,

And springing upon me, given a chance,
With the force of a mighty thrust,
Sting me into a deathly trance,

And trample me in the dust.

God’s grace has held the beasts in lease,

And bound the vices down;

But for his keeping my soul in peace

| might have been under the frown;

Only by effort, and prayer, and faith

Can evil be surely checked,

And we be saved from the fearful wraiths,
That gloat o’er their victims wrecked.

30OUR TRIBAL GODS.

Our tribal gods of every sort

Belong to the temple of Baal:

One with another will not consort.

But thrusts him out the pale:

Narrow in all we think and do.

Hach claiming the mind of God.

We build our temples to suit our view;
Time levels them with the sod.

We kill each other, and call on Him
Whose worship we vainly boast:
Another, an idol, receives our hymn

Of praise, though he be a ghost:

None slash their flesh, as the mystics did,
But we gash our souls with hate.

And we do the things God’s laws forbid.
Then call our conduct straight.

We pray to our gods, and forthwith rise
To talk about fate and chance,
Believing the worn-out devil’s lies

Of destiny, as a dance

Where none may choose to sit, or say
Just what the tune shall be,

But sees the fiddler get his pay

for time and eternity.

We count the corpses in our choirs,
And the stops to the organ reeds;

We mumble stock cant about heart’s desires,

And haggle about the creeds:
But most of us worship at alien shrines,
Whose tribal god is self,

While the soul of the Christian mysteries pines,

And God is reduced to an elf.
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UNSEEN SPIRITS.

I walked along a Boulevard,

One day, across the séa,

And saw a man dragged by a guard
Who heeded not his plea;

The thing played havoc in my brain;
[ could not shake it out;

And then there came a long, long train
Of furies round about.

These unseen spirits filled the air;
Not one could catch the eye;

But they were very real there,

As each went muttering by;

One held a club within his hand,

His name was ugly—Greed;

He searched the corners with a brand
And flouted human need.

Another spirit’s name was Lust;

His eyes were bleared and wild;

It seemed his heart had turned to dust,
His soul within defiled;

Another walked with fearful tread,
Some anguish weighed him down;
While one held high a scornful head,
And wore a wicked frown.

“Dear God,” I said, “These are my kind,
My brothers in the flesh;

They have the priceless, deathless mind;
Shall they not taste afresh

The love Thou hast in Christ, our Lord,
Or, must they die the death?

The unseen spirits heard the word,
And called it idle breath.

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32THE DEAD HEART.

[ loved him once with heart aflame.
But now my heart is dead and cold:
He is to me an empty name;

His wishes have grown stale and old.

He passes me each day, as dead

As I am in my secret soul -

He speaks, or idly nods his head,
As I do, like a blind deaf mole.

My heart is in a living tomb,

Whereon there shines no ray of light:

He waits, I wait, the crack of doom.
And then the sable shrouds of night.

Could tragedy be named more black,
Or mystery enfold more gloom?

| weep in pain, and turn my back
On days when joy lit up my room.

I do not wish him ill or harm,

Nor care I aught for what he’s owned:

He has no further power to charm

A heart where once he was enthroned.

In this confessional I state

My love has crumbled into dust;
[ do not spend my time in hate
For one whom I no longer trust.

He goes his way, and I go mine,
Nor waste on him a single breath;
[ am not now his clinging vine,

But wait my future lover—death.

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THE BLACK VULTURE.

A vulture, black as night, was near me gazing
With eyes that pierced my soul, and caused me pain;
| hurled a wild invective at him blazing

My own two eyes at him, with proud disdain,

His look inspired fear. He seemed to swallow
My very heart beats, with deep gulps of joy,

And wait to tear my flesh. His eyes would follow
Hach move I made, as children watch a toy.

Sometimes he drew so close I| fell back frightened,
He seemed so full of fight. And then he stayed
His distance, all his ugliness so heightened,

My heart became increasingly afraid.

He flew away beneath the blue dome; screening

My eyes, I followed him with deep relief,

And straightway brought my will to work in weaning
My thoughts away from fears grown past belief.

The burden lifted. As my heart grew lighter,
I smiled at all the ghosts that now were slain;
My skies were daily growing fairer, brighter
By contrast with the dismal former rain.

Then from the eagle's domain I saw wheeling

That same black vulture with its talons, beak

More sharp, and eyes aflame, and, earthward kneeling,
Besought high Heaven to come and help the weak.

Too late! My prayers like hail-stones came rebounding
Upon my guilty head. In sin and shame,

| heard the very crack of doom resounding,

And furies heaped abuses on my name.

34And there again the vulture. black and shining,
More hideous than before, I saw perch down,
To fix his eyes upon my soul, divining

That he would tear my flesh off for his own.

His look is torment, hence. in pain I languish
Beneath those vulture-eyes, that pierce me through;

Too late! too late! through life, perpetual anguish

Shall curse me with a grief the years renew.rt fo eet)

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CONTENTS

Campus Memories

1—BILL AND GENEVIEVE
2—BUCKNELL CLASS OF EIGHTY-EIGHTLIBRARY OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA

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BY

LINCOLN HULLEY

   
  
   
    
 

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CONTENTS
Campus Memortes |

1—BILL AND GENEVIEVE
2—BUCKNELL CLASS OF EIGHTY-EIGHTCe Lee fe ke ioe re

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COPYRIGHTED
1924
BY

LINCOLN HULLEY

DELAND, FLA.

PRESS OF THE
E. O. PAINTER PRINTING CC:
DELAND FLAInscribed to my wife,

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POETIC PRODUCTIONS

BY

LINCOLN: HULLEY

Lullabies and Slumber Songs

Annie-Laurie: Love—Lyrics

Hiram Abiff, the Builder

Sonnets on the Immortal Bards

Shakespere’s Dream of Fair Women
Moonlight Nights at Palm Beach

King David: Israel’s Lyric Bard

Christina, or Christian Van Dusen’s Law-Suit
Chivalry in Dixie: Metrical Romances

Mike Murphy’s Dream

Campus Memories

Alice Coventry and Other Metrical Romances
The Eloise Chimes

Chapel Lyrics of Faith, Hope and Love
College Lyries of Idealism

Fables and Myths from the Sibyl’s Book
The Jubilate of Rabbi Ben Adam

Christian Hymns

The Children’s Hour and other Poems

St. Michael and the Dragon: An Epic of the War
Savonarola’s Visions of Judgment

A Confessional for Broken Lives

Vesper Songs of Joy, Trust and Praise
Brave Idylls of the Gallant South

Dwellers Beyond the Styx, or Tragedies of Love

Sketches in Chalk and Charcoal

   

DixieCAMPUS MEMORIES

I. BILL AND GENEVIEVE

Dedicated to the Alumm of John B. Stetson University

INTRODUCTION

It came about this way. For many years

I lived among the lumber camps, and when

The time arrived that | should work, my ears
Heard gladly all that father said, for, then,

At twelve, began my prenticeship. The woods

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Were ringing with my toil. I had the
So father said, who watched me swing the axe.
He loved me, therefore made me work. To him
I owe the strength and hardihood that tax

My neighbors. All bore witness to the vim

With which I tackled work. A foot-ball squad
Once said I slammed my man hard on the sod

In those same woods I learned the game of life
As well as young men who may do and dare;
The world I lived in was as full of strife

As hornets’ nests stirred up by some fool bear;

We fought, and joked, and laughed, and toiled, and

danced ;
The common joys of life were all enhanced.

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So sped the days till I was just fifteen,
My sinews tough as iron, and my will
As strong as flint. Indeed, I had to screen

My temper with a smile. A lumber mill

Is just the place to test your metal’s worth,

And put an edge on blades hot from their birth.

 

I said, “fifteen!” For then the long lane turned;

My father sent me off to books and school;

The fires of learning kindled in me burned

With fuel laid on daily, and by rule;

It took four years of study by the clock,

Before my mass of brain-cells felt much shock.

Then came the change that knocked me off my base;
What of that? 7

[ had a case

They sent me off to college.
Why, thereby hang's this tale.
Of measles, mumps—my heart went pitty-pat;
For on the bus that night, would you believe,
[ first was introduced to Genevieve.

THE HOWLING DERVISHES

The dormitory yawned and gulped me in;
A lot of howling dervishes about

Made Bedlam with their constant, noisy din,
That died away at times, then on a shout
Arose again. For here youth ruled the roost,
And spirits corked too long were now unloosed.

A pumpkin-headed dolt saw I was new,
And greeted me with supercilious air;
[ was not out for trouble, so I threw

A smiling bouquet at him. With a stare

6He eyed me out of countenance. This struck
Me in the stomach. I seemed out of luck.

Did I get square with him? They say | did:
But that’s not what this story aims to tell:
Come in, and see my room. Here’s where I hid
Some of the talents in me—some, ah well!

I always was a modest man, so here:

My hand, and silence, for I still feel queer,

When I reflect on all the jolly turns
Dealt out to me by fortune those few years

Inside this room. My heart still hotly yearns
For all the boys whose comradeship |
The world has since been dippy, inside out

But back to these old times ] turn and shout.

[ had a chum, of course. His bright, red hair

Shone in the darkness. He was red inside,
For he was made of gold, not clay. His air
Was regal, and he had a knightly pride

In chivalry, the common kind, that

Cc .
~
om WG

A long way in resolving human Woes,

At six o'clock a big: bell rang. What for?
A shout went up: “It’s time to
We tumbled out, an easy count five score.
And danced a hallelujah with our
We squared ourselves at table.

Across from me I saw f

£0O and eat:”’

fee .,
By your leave,
air Genevieve.

THE DINING ROOM

But what of that ?

lt was her right. Just then
Che thing I noticed was

the hungry crowd.

i

Iring’s tears:

      
  
 
  
  
 
   
       
 
    
  
   
  
   
   
 
  
  
 
   
  
     

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That ate with gusto such a meal the men
Off in the woods might envy them. A loud
Background of happy voices rose and fell,
As breakers beat the shore with every swell.

They hummed, and buzzed, and laughed in hearty glee,
Recounting to each other all the joys

The blessed summer past had held in fee,

Like children showing off their Christmas toys;

And I sat like a boob. The thing was gall,

Mixed well with wormwood, to a lumber jack,

Like me. who once felled pine trees by the pack.

For just a bit the blood flushed in my face
On recollecting in my hurry, blest,

If I had not forgotten (such disgrace!)

To put my collar on. Perhaps, the rest
Would not have noticed it, had not a clown
Thought every Freshie needed taking down.
Well. there I was, abashed, the young galoot
Who was my ruin, later paid the bill;

No, no, I didn’t take him out and shoot

The ruffian—but the thing I did was—nil;
He says to this day what I did to him

Was done with vigor, virulence and vim.

As soon as we were through, a roaring sound
Of chairs pushed from the tables smote the ear;
Ashamed, chagrined, I flared around,
Filled with resentment, and a foolish fear;
I jerked, some fellow had me by the sleeve,
And bumped square into smiling Genevieve.THE DEAN’S OFFICE

What was she laughing at? I never knew.
The thing was torture to me. for my pride
Was hit a body blow. The thing went through
Me like a knife. And I was mad beside,
Which was the reason why I kicked the fool
That lowered me before the grinning school.

Next day I saw this Genevieve again,

But I felt mad at her, for had she not
Been witness that my collar, ah! the stain!
Was off at supper? She had smiled a lot.
It must have been at me. Now, in despair,
I had to face her standing on the stair.

Like others she was waiting for the Dean
To settle what her studies were to be:

I saw a dude bow low, as to a queen,

And then walk up to her to speak. as free.

As if he’d known her all his life. The toad!
I could have crushed him outside in the road.

For girls like these are not your common clay,
I thought within myself, as looking round

Upon their angel-faces, in a way

That showed I worshipped well the very ground
They stood on. It was sacrilege to stand,
Before these sweetest lilies of the land.

Co-education was a word they used

To justify irreverence. But to me

The thing was silly, and my heart was bruised,
To think of treating angels quite so free;

9

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Beside, my legs were tired standing so,
And I was piqued to see the thing go slow.

But, one by one, they settled with the Dean;
Sometimes he got the best of it. Perhaps,
Some falsifier with a case too lean

Would win. He only thought he did, mayhaps;
Not he, sir. I was bound a sigh to heave

For all at once the Dean called Genevieve.

PROFESSIONAL DIGNITY

While waiting there | had a chance to think
Of all the mighty men who taught this tribe;
They seemed to me to live out on the brink

Of Paradise. Their word of praise or gibe
Meant heaven or hell as I saw things that day,
And I felt I was in for work, not play.

The man who taught the Greek was tall and straight,
As I imagine Plato was. He looked

As one who stepped from out a fashion plate,

With learned spectacles, his elbows crooked,

To give an air of leisure. Thus the gods,

| fancied, on Olympus gave their nods.

The science men were all well groomed and fat,

As if high living was their rule of life;

They looked as wise as Aesop, as I sat

And read their faces, where I saw the deadly strife
They waged with error daily. Yet the mobs,

Who live and die in ignorance, call them snobs,

And Prexy was a greater king than Zeus;
The English teacher greater far than Pope;

10And Euclid had his match in one no ruse
Or subtlety could conquer. Let us hope
The wise men in their glory back in Greece
Had mastered all the learning known by these.

But when the college course was half-way run,

I knew a dozen fellows who would pose

As knowing more than all of them. What fun
It was to see them, spectacles on nose,
Rehearsing all the airs the teachers had.

In voice, and manner, substance, form, egad!

Our sons of Golias called one don, “Kaj (gar?
Another, “Corks and Bottles,’ one a “Monk.”
A jolly one they pseudonymed, ‘The Czar,”’

And one, the “Scribe,’’ and one, the “] loly Skunk.”

How are the mighty fallen! how! said I.
And yet these masters lured us to the sky.

THE CLASS ROOM

My studies were in mathematics, Greek.

And Latin, chiefly. How my father danced
On learning that his son was deemed a freak
In analytics! How he frowned and pranced
On hearing of the Greek! ’Twas very plain,
A jackass had been caught out in the rain.

To my surprise, lo! Genevieve took two
Of those same courses loaded on to me ;
But other girls were doing it. A few
Seemed glad to see me. Not a jubilee,
Exactly, was the way they viewed it all:

I thought they fell for me. I had the call.

11

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‘Twas pleasant to assemble in a class
Where youth and beauty, full of grace and charm,
3eguiled the shining hours. Every lass

Was struck on me, And that was good. What harm,
If all were casting soft sheep’s-eyes my way!

I couldn’t help the thing, or cry out, “Stay.”

I did my best to beat it, when the hour
Was ended. Could I help their being quick
To head me off, or fling me just a flower?

I was a greenhorn to their every trick;
Who wouldn’t like attention, when it whirls
Itself right at you from such lovely girls?

But Genevieve was uppish, so it seemed;
She never crowded me outside the aisle;
Her gracious eyes had only softly beamed
That day at table, when I saw her smile,
My collar off, my cheeks a crimson flush,
While far behind my ears I| felt a blush.

THE CLASS RUSH

Quite early in the term, I can't say when,

A galloping consumption seemed to shake

The Sophomores. They dressed themselves like men
From some infernal region, come to take

The hair and hoof and hide right off the backs

Of Freshmen fearful, trembling in their tracks.

How did we take it? Stand aside, and look!
Their onslaught was so sudden the surprise
Quite swept us off our feet, at first. It took
Our breath away. But fight was in our eyes,

12And calling to the boys I led the gang
To battle, and to victory with a bang.

A mass of tangled warriors rolled around
The campus all the morning, by the clock,
None heeded bells or classes. On the ground
They fought and bled and blustered till the shock
Had quite exhausted ‘them. Then locked In pairs
They hoped for time. Some vanished for repairs,

sut in my soul I felt the mighty call

A bull-moose feels when set upon by fate;
The muscles that had felled the oaks and tall
Pine timbers of the woods were now elate.
And swinging with terrific force on jaws

Of flabby Sophs I taught them better laws.

But things were not entirely to my taste,

No, no, a half a dozen toughs, or more.

Bore down upon me, with such sudden haste.

They pinned me to the ground, and how they swore!
I bit, and clawed, and punched, and kicked them still.
And did it with a bull-dog’s force and will.

But when they turned me loose, or I did them.
My eyes were blacked, and blood was on my face;
The shirt was torn clean off my bruised stem,

And, save my pants, there wasn’t left a trace

Of clothing on me. When I went to leave,
Whom should I see but smiling Genevieve.

THE CLASS MEETING

Again I say, what was she laughing at?
A bleeding body isn’t fit for jokes;

13

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Oh, no, I wouldn't say she was a cat!
Nor would I call a class fight all a hoax!

But there she stood with smiles up to her eyes,
A satyr, not a sister, in disguise.

My class-mates lifted me above their heads,
And carried me in triumph to my room;
They said I tore the dignity to shreds

That covered Sophomoric pride. The gloom
EKnshrouding all our enemies was felt;

 

or us—each had to lengthen out his belt.

The upshot was we had to organize
Against a common foe. The weakest spot
About us was we had no bonds or ties,
So, now, our units formed a single lot,
Put up a solid front, and forged a bolt
To give assaulting enemies a jolt.

With one consent they made me president;
The “hero of the hour,” they labelled me,
A sort of compensation for the rent

Made in my clothing. This new dignity
Was not without its duties, so I planned
That every office should be duly manned.

The fellows were amazing in their speech,

[xalting me to heights ne’er known before;

They vowed to ring me round, joined each to each,
And shook the rafters, clamoring for the floor;

The Freshmen had arrived, and meant to stay,

And so it went till each had had his say.

The meeting came to order once again;
A secretary now we must elect:

14We've got the brawn we need, to pull the train;
Now give us brains; the best we must select ;

Well who would think it? Was it done to peeve?

They straightway chose their idol, Genevieve,
CLASS PICNIC

I didn’t want to start right in, and shirk
The duties laid on me. But what a task!
How could I ever bring myself to work
!

With one who laughed at me!
My feelings, and | think none understood

| tried to mask
The struggle | was making to be good.

To show the others we were on the map

A picnic was proposed, in handsome style;
We meant to give our wings a mighty flap,
Surpassing all the others many a mile,

I swallowed all my pride, but not with glee,

And asked. if Genevieve would go with me.

~

Of course she’d go with me, I reasoned strong:

3ut there | had not counted on my host:

My reasoning turned out to be dead wrong:
Another had reserved the charmed post :
That made me sore. But what was I to do?
The luck was all against me, that I knew.

But was it? I could still recall her erin
At my discomfiture, not once, but twice:
And now a third time malice had to win:
A knock-out blow was dealt me in a trice:
Still I was glad she had another beau

To do the honors at the coming show.

15

 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
   
  
    
  
   
  
 

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So I allured a maiden more demure,
Ouite tame compared to Genevieve. The thing
Got on my nerves though. I was pretty sure
To pass fair Genevieve, and have her sting
Me with a smile. I couldn't eat or sleep

For half a week, I felt so blue and cheap.

With great exertion though I kept the tryst:
It wouldn't do to skip, and show bad faith;
Demure or gay, the lady might have kissed
Herself to be got rid of me. A wraith
Were better company than a dummy fool,
Whose absent-mindedness was now the rule.

THE CLASS DANCE

But picnics have an end. This one in time
Was relegated to the past. By hook or crook
The fellows got me to endorse in rhyme

An invitation to a dance. My book

Was loaded down with partners in advance,
Who knew to teach me every latest dance.

And now I felt a spirit of revenge

Toward Genevieve. What had the lady done?
Well, she had smiled. The time now to avenge
Myself had come. The town girls should be won;
The college girls could not attend a dance,

But had to grit their teeth, and wait their chance.

Now let them grin. I felt a strange delight
In getting square with Genevieve. It seemed
To me I saw her in a desperate plight,

On which no single ray of sunlight gleamed.

16Yes, let her smile and gloat, if that she would:

The town girls knew a good thing as they should.

Just one thing ground me though,
My triumph at the dance,
Perhaps, or know how happy, bright, and free

I could behave.

This tortt

Nor did 5

ired me.

She could not see

he care.

Beware,

I said, deep in my heart, to Genevieve,

You may have gone too far now to retrieve.

All this toward one | hardly knew.

A college works in one is past belief:

This lady had no claim on me.
I had no claim on her.

As w

The spell

ell,

Still, to be brief.

An inner law was working in us both.
In me at least, that leads to plighted troth.

But no! It was not so to be.

Ab ve

Us all a master-mind works out our ends:

In all the heavenly registries of love

Our names could not be found.

God sends

ilis angels to tie each true lover’s knot:
But Genevieve and I were clean forgot.

FAIR GENEVIEVE

But who was Genevieve ?

Had she to force herself on me, |
Gr did she force herself ar aur A

What hidd

pa

Of all my thinking, she had made me
Against myself to hold my place in cl:

And not be mired in some

[f she were trying to tray

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She didn’t even know | breathed:

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At least it seemed that way, for she would fly
So quickly past me, I had hardly heaved

A sigh and she was gone. This too was strange,
And quite in keeping with her smile in range.

   
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 

In range, I said, for both were far away,
Yet hit the bull’s-eye when it came to me;
She had a saucy mouth, as if to say,

The keepers of the gates of truth are free,
And shall be so, until they open wide

To bid their true possessor come inside.

She had a mind that held us all in fee,
Her humble worshippers. Yet I defied
The gentle sceptre lifted over me,

And told myself my heart to me had lied;
That Mona Lisa smile had done the trick,
The day I lost my collar. I was sick.

She had a springing walk disclosing health,
An open countenance where angels lurked,

A soul behind it holding all the wealth

Of Midas, and a will that never shirked

The duty straight before her. In my dreams
[ saw her face lit up with holy beams,

And yet I hardly ever spoke to her;
My lips were gummed together where she was;
1 knew she had some holy essence, myrrh

Or frankincense; my heart said that, because
Her soul was in her eyes. Ye gods! believe,

I saw a heavenly light in Genevieve.THE CLASS BANQUET

Your humble servant is no laggard, mind.
In matters of the heart. so. long ahead.
He made his mind up to avert the wind
Of adverse circumstance. and, therefore, said.
Unto himself, some day the class will eat.

And then I mean to get there on both

feet.
But here again I had to face defeat,
Perhaps. A college dude is apt to tell,
When once a girl goes with him, he’s a cheat

Who tries to cut him out. My spirits fell
When I recalled, that picnic counts me out,
The other fellow has the eirl, the lout.

But Genevieve should settle that. and so.
Before a banquet was proposed, I asked

Her to attend it with me. You may know,
She said she would. I walked on air. I basked
In sunshine all that livelone summer day ;
“Twas winter, mind: but not so out my way.

I had the inside track. But, now the spread!
That must be managed; and I knew a plan ;

I called the gay Lotharios round my bed

At midnight. ‘Fellows! to our last good man,
We must beat out the Sophys. I suggest

A banquet where we'll hold their class inquest,

We'll have it at the swellest place in town,
And bring the best girls to it by the score;
We'll pass it on to history with renown,

And shut our foes outside a guarded door:

19

  
 
  
  
     
   
   
   
  
    
   
   
  
    
   
 
  
  
 

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Then, while they grind their teeth, we'll have a feast
To beat, Belshazzar’s in the amcient East,’

The thing was greased. The fellows shot it through;
Like lightning from the sky it hit us hard;

No finer stroke had come from out the blue,

And, so, the spread was on, the date, and card.

And all the while, remember, up my sleeve

[ had the sweet consent of Genevieve.

THE SEQUEL

At that class banquet all the things I said
Were saturated with an ego’s mighty I;

lor I was bound to get it in the head

Of Genevieve | was no common guy;

What fools we are when women are around,
Though in our own eyes heroes I'll be bound!

She heard my history from the ancient days
Of Noah’s ark, and all my valorous deeds;

[ wreathed myself in laurels, tvys, bays;

And exploits beating Samson grew like weeds;
She listened with abated breath, the while

She turned on me that Mona Lisa smile.

rom that time on my spirit felt a strain,
For [ was puzzled how to make her out;
Had all my eloquence been spent in vain?
Pshaw! Virtue is its own reward. “I doubt,
If any fellow has a chance to win her hand,
She seems to hold herself in full command.”

But when commencement came that first good year,
J found myself manoevered out of place;

20

  

ev tke
CueSome silly chap had edged me off. No tear
Was shed. I took it in the best of grace,

And made my mind up when next year began
To go hot-footed after her. Oh. man !

And so I did. She seemed to like it, too:

[ dared to ask if I might make a call ;

I wrote her several scented billet-doux,

And sent her flowers. and candy, yes, and, all
The while, I was so undone by that smile,
She once let fall on me, it still could rile,

Hope springs eternal, and | lived on hope;

My soul was addled, in a stupor, dazed;

Some fiend incarnate must have fed me dope;
My heart with anguish was now nearly crazed;
She loved me not, she loved me well, it seems,
And Genevieve filled all my waking dreams.

SOPHOMORE WISDOM

What place has study in a scheme like this?
Why, that was taken at our meals in speech ;
To some it came in sleep, to others. bliss!

It never came at all, was out of reach:

But most of us in deadly earnest fought
To master every subject we were taught.

It makes one sore when critics scowl and frown
At colleges, as though made up of bums;

The fellows burn the midnight oil. and crown
Their toil with music from the fife and drums:
The people hear the drums, and think that’s all:
They never know the work done in the hall.

21

    
 
     
 
 
  
  
   
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 

a GOS the

Reeae ee a Le

TiS ew SE Eee ey ey tsa wen aia

“*er alee ea eS oe oe

 

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So, year by year, the college piles in heaps
The wisdom left upon its common tray;
The Sophomores contribute it for keeps,
The Seniors never take a bit away;

At least they say that’s so. We take the gaff,
And join good-naturedly the general laugh.

 

Our crowd was made to bend its back to work;
‘here were no simple courses offered us;

I had to labor like a hungry Turk;

All got their feathers ruffled in the fuss,

But when the thing was over we were glad

To don the Junior dignity like mad.

Our wisdom was beyond dispute, I know,
For were it not, a fist-fight had ensued;
We knew we knew a thing or two, I trow,
And stood to our opinions firmly glued;
Still when the year was over we unbent,
And advertised our learning as we went.

But Genevieve was modest as of old,

And just as charming, I would have you know;
Yet still to me her manner formal, cold,

Of any hidden fires would give no show;

In scholarship she led us with a whirl;

In beauty she excelled the fairest girl.

THE JUNIOR TRAGEDY

Now, by the time the Junior year had reached
Its apex, there were whispers to be heard
That I had hit the clover. It was preached

‘One morning loudly to me that a bird

22Had let the secret out. Go tell that dude
To shut his mouth, or he will find me rude.”’

What, rude? That puts it rather mild. My soul
Was wild to let the world know how J felt.
That was a week before. Just as the goal

Was neared, a Senior hit below the belt,

And knocked my breath away. Could I believe
My eyes? The fellow called on Genevieve.

Well, there I was, cut out! The sky turned black;
I kicked a dog that came to lick my hand:

That made me bluer still: why break the back
Of any brute for that? Go get the bland

Hidalgo of the Senior class, the same

We licked once in that Freshman scrapping game.

In time [ did, but now my heart was sore.
To think that she should chuck me in the street
I vowed I’d never go to see her more:

,

As Vergil said, her sex have fickle feet :
>

Why, hadn’t I lost sleep on her account?
My anger daily swelled a vast amount.

Yes sir, I said that I was through with her:
I had a jilted feeling, much the worse
Because I brooded on it. What a burr

A woman is, and also what a curse!

I could have shipped the lot to Borneo,
And then [ hit a better plan, heigh, ho!

I knew a pretty girl a class below:

What did I do, but ask her for a date?

She gave it too. That settled it. Yes? No?
The world should see I wasn’t so sedate,

23

   
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
   
   
  
  
 
  
  
 

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But could cut up high-jinks, and kick my heels;
You know of course how such a fellow feels.

 

A SUMMER REPENTANCE

Now it so happened, when school let out in June,
I stayed to work about the campus. Men

Were scarce, | landed a good job. My tune
Had mingled joy and sadness in it, when

I whistled of a morning, on my round,

And sadder still at twilight, I'll be bound.

For | felt glad to think how quick I'd been
Parading with another girl. It showed

How handy with the ladies I could win,

And saved my self respect. Why, man, the road
Was hardly wide enough when | went by!
And presents! say, the limit was the sky!

But just as surely as the crested wave
Drops to the trough, | hit the shallows too,
And wondered if my heart would ever rave
For any other girl; the best are few;

I wondered too, if I should e’er reprieve
The sentence | had fixed for Genevieve.

About midsummer I[ was taken to a show

By one or two good fellows of my class,

And out there came a singer, full of woe,

Whose song was all about a lovelorn lass,

Rejected by her lover, torn apart

With grief, that swelled and broke her trusting heart.

I thought of Genevieve, and fairly rose
Up from my seat. ‘Sit down’, the fellows said;

24They didn’t know the trouble, nor the blows
My conscience there was dealing on my head;
[ sat it out, but didn’t sleep a wink

That night ; I heard the hangman’s cell-keys clink.

A month remained before the new year brought

The college world together. What an age!
It seemed to me a century. I fought

Wild devils of impatience, nerves, and rage:
The weary days and nights crept slowly past,
But summer ended, school began at last.

A COLD RECEPTION

So now [ should see comely Genevieve,

And iron out the wrinkles I had made:

My soul was porous as a holey sieve

That wouldn't hold its feelings. But | staid
There on the campus till the crowds came in.
And watched the busses closely with a erin,

Ah! there she is, the girl I longed to see:
Just watch her eye me with an icy stare!
Her look was cold and glassy as could be:
To try to speak to her I wouldn't dare:
‘Twas just as plain as daylight she was done:

The mocking-devils played their game and won;

I slunk away far out of sight, and hid:
The world had lost its music. Out of tune,
I ambled round the corridors. and bid

Some guy to hit me for a crazy loon:

They noticed I was out of sorts, and gave
Me all the room ] bargained for, to rave.

25

    
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
   
   
 
  
 

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The thing had hit me midships. In the dark
I lost my bearings, carried out to sea,

And floated round, a drifting sailless bark,
Without a rudder, aimless, crewless, free;
The women hardly know the damage done,
When once they try to strangle any one.

I thought she ought to like to see me back ;
3ut she was like an iceberg. How could |
Not feel the chill deep down in every crack
Within my marrow-bones! I had to fly,

And keep away from her, and hide my face,
For fear she might ‘be gloating on my case.

How did it end? It didn’t end. J mooned

About for weeks. None knew the reason why.

Some said, ‘Poor Bill is working hard. He spooned
Too much the first three years. He has to try

To make it up, or lose his first degree ;”

I cuffed one man who said that heartily.

THE FOOTBALL GAME

Well, man is made to mourn, not lively youth;
I couldn’t hide the light I had and live,

For I was captain of the football booth,

And had to lick the country. So, forgive
Intrusions of an idle sort like those

That Genevieve imposed upon her beaux.

That football squad was out to beat the world:
It felt its oats, and champed hard on the bit,
And when we got the signal fair, and whirled,
The other side knew surely they were hit;
Each hide was tough as leather, and each head
Was just as hard as bullets made of lead.

26The usual games were played, and then at last.
Thanksgiving Day came round. Al] things were set
To trounce the State, and even up the past;

“I’m for the lumber jack,” [ heard one bet.
He little knew, the gambler, how my heart
Was broken. But his words gave me a start.

“They knocked me oft my feet,” I said; said I,

' I’m coming back.” The thief w ho stele my girl
Is out of luck against a hero. high

In confidence among the boys. Unfurl,

Ye gods, the standards! Here’s to win the game,
Or die attempting it—in glory, not in shame!

I clinched my teeth. and said, they'll know full well
They’ve had the bi iggest battle of their lives:
They may forget their Latin, how to spell,

But not this game. If any man survives

The dust and whirlwind of this crow ning day,

He'll tell his children’s children of the fray.

And so it was. The battle, good and hot.

Was waged relentlessly, while, up and down,
The fallen heroes died. all o’er the lot.

And glory, hallelujah! filled the town:

Then, as they grabbed me, could my eyes deceive?
I saw the happy face of Genevieve.

THE DOOR AJAR

The Mona Lisa smile was gone, an angel-face
Was beaming full of happiness. I saw

In her a radiance full of joy, no trace

Of anger, bitterness, and, so, a thaw

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Within my heart began, and soon the ice
Had melted quite away. Ah! She was nice.

Mine was not like the usual run of girls

Who throw themselves at men. I know of one

Who prunes her wings, and primps, or bobs, or curls
Her hair, and waits her prey. And when she’s done,
She has him, as a spider in his net

Has caught a fly, and keeps him as her pet.

That smile had healing in it. What it meant

I did not know. I heard she had declined

An invitation to the game, and went

Alone. What for? J] reasoned. And she dined
That day among the girls. No man could get
Within the charmed circle she had set.

That is, until I saw her smile, and knew,

Or thought | did, the bars would be let down,
If I should come her way. A fair wind blew
As certain as could be. Bring on the crown.
Still, not so fast; perhaps I had misjudged,
And had [| thought so long, I had not budged.

It never pays to be too quick, or soft.

I said unto myself. What if I jump

Right after her, and hang my flag aloft!

She might conclude I was an easy chump;

Go slow! Its just a nibble: wait until

The cork goes down, then hook her at your will.

But, somehow, thinking that of her, I felt
Condemned. It seemed to hold her light and cheap ;
No, no, she was not made of gold you melt,

But pearls and rubies. Man, I could not sleep!

  

28So eager was I now her smile to greet,
And throw myself most humbly at her feet.

THE RECONCILIATION

So I prepared to face the music. First,

I sent a note clandestinely. Now. look!

She sent it back, unopened: but she burst

Right through her cold reserve, and kindly took
Occasion to invite me to the Hall:

I went as blind as Samson to his stall.

She asked me where I’d been so long; mind that!
“I’ve missed you much, and wondered why you stayed
Away. Perhaps I have offended.” Scat!

I could have kicked myself, and was afraid

To open up, for fear my foolish tongue

Would spill my thoughts as water from a bung,

I told her I had been in torment worse

Than any in the catalog of sin:

That all my days were under some vile curse.
Because that Senior—and, so. “‘] begin

To paste him for his dastardly offense ;”’
Like that I chattered on without much sense.

“Why, Billy!’ That is what she said. Till then
I had been Mr. Deever. Think of that!

She said it twice. I thought about it when

I stumbled into silence in my flat.

That man, she said, was nothing to her heart:
He told me you had asked him take your part.

Well, I was sold! That Soph had cleaned me out;
I was an easy tenderfoot. a mark

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For that vile trick, an easy one to rout;
Then I remembered too how prompt that shark,
His roommate, was to fill me full of bunk
About the faithless girls,—the sly, old skunk!

Who laughs the last laughs best, they say; and so
The one-time Soph, and Senior, now a Grad,
Essayed once more to deal me a hard blow;

But I was wise—his effort made me glad.

I handed him the “horse-laff!’’ Up my sleeve

I had the whole thing cooked with Genevieve.

THE MASK AND WIG

The winter term though brought us both a thrill;

I nearly spilled the beans. It came about

This way. The “Mask and Wig” would have to fill
Their drama up by duly trying out

New men. They hit at once on me. I wrote

My name for one, and nearly lost my goat.

The play was melodrama. Some young lord
Made agonizing love to his sweet dame,

And clasped her in his arms, and pledged his word,
That he’d be true till death, and when that came
He still would love her in the other world.

Whereon a rival sundry missiles at him hurled.

The cast was promptly chosen, and I found

That Genevieve was picked to play the part

The sweetheart had; her lover was the hound

Who beat me out in speaking, with an art

That made me feel he might break through the door,
And run away with Genevieve, the bore.

80Besides, I didn’t like to think that yellow dog
Should put his arm around her, ashe did:
The playman coached him so. Then too the hog
Enjoyed the repetitions. Well, I slid
To get an egg or two, and so let fly,

And paste the brute, if haply, in the eye.

He saw me out for blood, and so resigned
But gave no reason. Still, I understood:
They gave the part to me, and | designed
To make it true to life. I knew I could
And so I did; and Genevieve would smile.
And seemed to like the part much after while.

)

,

It was not art to me; the thing was life:

I fell down on my knees, and plead with zeal,
That she should be my happy wedded wife:
Professor said: “To say it right, you feel
The part you play; ”’ I felt the thing all right,
And worshipped, as [| said it. in her sight.

THE COLLEGE PLAY

The fellows guyed me some; that didn’t hurt:
What counted was the way it took her ear:

For Genevieve was not your common flirt:

I had to watch the thing all through, for fear
It might offend proprieties in taste,

And so the whole good thing should go to waste.

She liked it though, I half-way understood ;
For I was such a boob in love my sense
Could not be counted on. She was so good;
She one day lifted all my grave suspense,

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And said I was so natural in the part,
She wondered where I’d mastered such an art.

Rehearsals often are a beastly bore,

But this one was not. Quite the other way;
‘The members of the caste all called for more:
And so we got the lines worked out to stay;
The last one found us ready, set to go;
Another night, and on would come the show.

The fame of it had spread out through the town,
Kar in advance. The seats with tickets sold
Like hot cakes. All the students came, and, down
In front, I saw a row of jokers hold
Suspicious-looking carrots in their hand,

And back of them I spied the college band.

But what the big idea was no guess

Of mine could ferret out. I asked a few

But none were wise to it. I do confess

As matters stood they worried me. I knew
Some job was on that night; but when, or what,
Quite bothered me and I was getting hot.

The first act ended, full of life, but tame
Compared to what should follow, by the book:
Nor was the second like the third; the game
Was meant to grow in interest. till we took
The house by storm, half way along the next:
It was a storm all right, not in the text,

THE CURTAIN CALL

“Hurrah for Bill!’ Some pippin duly yelled,
Just as I held the lady in my arms:

  

32A riot started, not so easy quelled:
The products of at least a dozen farms
Were hurled upon the st: ize in big bouquets,
Enough to fill a dozen good sized trays,

But I was not the only one of whom
They made a target. Girls were in it too:
“Hurrah for Genevieve!’ ’ they yelled.
Was full of fragrance from the
To smother her with glory. What a blow!
It stopped the act and busted up the show.

£2 bie room

A curtain call for Genevieve and me

Was urgent, and it couldn’t be denied :

So there we stood: I felt like ‘ ‘twenty-three.”’
The girls were shouting. singing, and some cried:
What was the point? But Genevieve with Joy
Said, “These are football laurels for you, boy.”’

Well, ’ll be hanged! It hadn’t yet leaked through:

I always was a nut. But now I saw

The boys were celebrating. What to do
Was quite beyond me. No bright, inner law
Had ever flashed its light on stupid me,

Or gifted Bill with happy repartee.

Next day I found I had been sadly fooled,

In part, at least. The lively jolly crowd

Had meant to crown my Senior year, and pooled
Their wits to do it, in a way so loud

That I should hear its echoes for all time,

As Jim, the cellege poet, said in rhyme.

But they had planned it e’er I reached the peak

Of making love to Genevieve: a few

 

 

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Of telling Genevieve, before that show,
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PRIZES AT COMMENCEMENT

Commencement burst upon us in a blaze
Of floral glory, music, speeches, gifts;

My stupid senses caught it through a haze
Of adoration. Even now it lifts

Me to a dazzling pinnacle of joy

That brings relief when other things annoy.

The fellows said, I won the greatest praise,—
A vast applause with voice and heart and hand;
The students started out, as if to raise

A shout that should re-echo through the land:

And when the Prex. gave me my degree,

He added words of kind felicity.

Not only did my own fraternity

Unite to make my exit one of pride;

The others were my friends; no enmity

Had ever caused our drooping heads to hide
In shame. And so, the wonder of it all,

A miracle took place within that hall.

A Junior, with a strong stentorian voice,
Arose, came up and asked the President,—
‘Twas all put up—if he might show the choice
Of all the fellows,—I supposed he meant
Some joke,—the choice of all, he said, to stand
For Alma Mater, born to hold command.

34He then delivered such a glowing speech

I didn’t know myself. He stuck me ful]

Of honors, badges, compliments, and each
Pinned on with flowers, ribbons. while his bull
Exalted me among the glorious line

Of graduates who in great glory shine.

I muddled through the whole thing, feeling licked:
The thing ran counter to my every rule:

If he had tried to bully me, or kick.

I might have felt at home, and then the school
Fad seen I knew just how to rise. and act,

And shunt his wordy phrases for a fact.

DESTINY

3ut, happy? Why, the best girl in the world

Sat through it all, and saw me get the crown:

My straight, black hair had turned to wool and curled
My face was livid, white, then red. and brown.

By turns. But I was thinking most of her.

Whose heart was gold and frankincense and myrrh.

For I had won, I knew. the greatest prize
In all the school that day. To me at least
The thing seemed settled. In her glorious eyes
She spread for me with royal air a feast
That waited for her silly captive’s word,
The which, before that day passed by, she heard.

Oh, boys! your picnics, feasts, and such are drab.
Compared to one half hour with such a girl;
The bell rang all too soon; I had to grab

My hat and go, my brain in such a whirl,

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I turned the dormy inside out, and swelled
To such a pitch of voice the fellows yelled :

 

“Well, what’s got into Bill? He must be sick;
Go, call the doctor, give him physic, such

A colic needs attention; boys, be quick!”
Before I settled, all the hall was much

In need of something settling to their nerves;
We all get,—they did,—just what each deserves.

“It happens, fellows, just a year from now

In June; that speaker, lads, has turned the trick,
His voice was so persuasive, and, | vow

He laid it on me there so good and thick,

The jury was converted to my mind;
Unanimous the verdict! He was kind!

The bullies caught my drift; though, I’m so dull

A speech like that to me would fill me up

With doubts and puzzles. But the boys were full
Of pep and ginger, filling up my cup

With all good wishes, hopes, and begging leave

To send their best to winsome Genevieve.

L ENVOI

The years have flown by swiftly, as on wings
Of eagles. But through all the passing days
My heart turns back, and holds the lovely things
That college gave me, high above all praise,
And campus memories come to me galore,

All hoarded as a miser holds his store.

The yellow gold of commerce won't compare
With that fine star-dust of the human soul:

  

36Imagination treads enchanted alr,

And as sweet incense rises from a bow]

Full of choice spices, so the human heart
Perfumes all past experience with high art.
But no days are so good as those we spent
In happy fellowship within the college halls;
roadway and Paris never yet have lent

A glamor half so rich as that which falls
Upon the campus in our college years,

Still full of fairy music in our ears.

I sit here now, at peace with all I know.

And wonder how the boys have fared with fate;
No stormy winds around my cabin blow.

And I am growing mellow, calm. sedate :

Sut Genevieve is fairer than the day

She stole my heart, and gave herself away.

And yonder by the fire sits little Bill-
He’s dreaming of the time. not far off, when
He too shall climb the dear. old hill,

And emulate the deeds his dad did then:
Sometimes he teases to be told once more

The things his father did in days of yore.

Ah me! how good those memories are to us—
To her I call my wife, the sweetest flower

In all the world. She rules me without fuss.
Or talking of it, every day and hour:

And every evening, now, she gives me leave
To sing to her and little Genevieve.

 

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BUCKNELL: CLASS OF EIGHTY-EIGHT

jy

Dedicated to the Alumm of Bucknell

Lewisburgh, Pennsylvania

University,

Of eighteen eighty-eight | sing, the class that left Bucknell;

Excuse me, Vergil, if | crib your phrase we knew so well;

Exiled by rule, to tempt the fates they've wandered far and
wide,

And rigged the universe. What else should Alma Mater’s
pride

Attempt to do? Let other classes bide their time at home,

The class of eighty-eight went forth through every land to
roam,

Before we came—now stop and think—the school was on
the bum.

They mowed the campus once a year, but, since, they make it
hum,

The paths that led to yonder hill were washed with every
storm !

Since we arrived upon the scene they've always held their
form,

The chapel, too, was three by four, a class-room ever since:

Upon the rostrum teachers sat, and every man a prince;

But eighty-eight’s great dignity began to bulge the wall:

And so the Trustees said we'll have to build a Bucknell Hall.

39

   
   
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
   
 

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In those good days we used to play some marbles, too, with
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eight
To run the bases, catch the ball, or beat it to the plate,
Or tag the umpire if he gave his judgments wrong or late.
We splintered bats in every game and made the crowd re-
joice
With singles, doubles, triples, too, and all with one big voice
Would roar their joy when one of eighty-eight, sent into bat,
Would land a homer in the creek, outcast from poker flat.

To throw the hammer, put the shot, to run, or climb, or swim,
To break the records on the track, folks said they need a gym;
How else can prodigies of worth in brain, or brawn, or mind
Be graduated from these halls and leave great names behind?
And so Professor Martin went with scowl, and growl and
erin
To separate the wealthy grads from their superfluous tin.
Said he, “The class of eighty-eight within this selfsame year
Will graduate and leave this place, and then, if all I hear
[s true, we'll never see their like in all the days to come,
Unless we build a ‘gym’ right now in which to grow us some.”
A goodly company we were. A fellowship of saints
Could not have shown more harmony, and if a body paints
That class in all the lurid reds and yellows, greens and blues
The half would not be told, for there would still be other
hues.
If boarding houses round this town could tell tales out of
school
Of how the fellows settle things by arguments and rule,

40late
Have settled half the problems solved by good old eighty-

eight.

What Plato was to Socrates they knew from a to z

And that the earth was round, not flat, why any fool could
SGC,

But why the world had waited so for Newton was a joke:

A man who can not see the force of gravity’s a bloke

If scientists had only thought to wait a few more years,

The men of this great class had saved them all their pains
and fears:

For genius oozed at every pore, and wisdom from their looks,

And what they didn’t know would fill a million good size
books.

Here first of all comes Addison Bartholomew Bow ser,

A tall and lean and lanky lad my rhyme here needs ‘“‘Tow
ser.

His merry spirit ran to jests, to poetry, and art:

He knew the tuneful songs of birds, their melodies, by heart

For every fellow in the class his soul threw off disgut

He brought a bright and smiling look to every cl;
eyes :

His hymn books sing like Lowrie’

Ds and his pulpit rino’s with
Joy.

Lavy

And Bowser when he’s ninety will be playing like a |

When Braker crossed the river |
days

It creaked beneath his weight, for he was stately in his ways;

He studied hard, had nimble wit. w

ridge in those momentous

as busy day and night:

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‘There were no twilight zones in Jim; his logic clear and
bright

Would flash like lightning, roar like Jove, then pour in floods
like rain;

And when we thought the storm was o’er, he would begin

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
  
 

again.

They won’t beat Jim—No sir, not Jim—nor lay him on the
shelf,

And so with Riley; ‘Good bye Jim, take right good keer o’
yerself.”

To William Henry Clipman all the others give the prize;

He was the first to marry, and it happened on this wise:

The lady was a flower rare that bloomed in this same town,

A lovely miss, a radiant bride, and eke her name was Brown,

Now Clipman had just found a place wherein to pray and
preach ;

The things he learned at college were the things he longed to
teach ;

The Deacons said, ‘we want you sure. We think you're
pretty slick,

ut if you come, now mark us well, you must come ‘double’

quick.”

When Griffith left to take the train, the boys in old West
Wing

Called, ‘Farewell, Brother Griffith, we have liked to hear you
sing.”

‘The teachers all stood on the steps, and each and all would
say,

“Farewell, dear Brother Griffith, we’re sorry you cannot
stay.”’

And as he sauntered down the paths, the robins all sang out

  

42“Farewell, dear Brother Griffith, we

about.” ;
The leaves on every tree top lisped, and sobbed farewell to

him, es
Likewise the bull frogs and the flowers that lined the river's

brim.

The father of his country gave his name to quite a batch;

None wear it with more dignity than our George double u
Hatch,

A boy of broad proportions from his jacket to his hose,

He looks the part of Socrates in all except his nose.

In Central Pennsylvania he toils among the hills.

Where the Susquehanna’s sources trickle softly down in rills,

From the best the country offers he will feed his mountain
flock

When “the frost is on the pumpkin and the fodder’s in the

shock,”

The writer sat by Billy Hayes through all his college course.
In every class those four long years without a sole remorse.
No finer fibres, better lumps of earth’s most precious clays,
Were ever moulded into man than those in William Hayes.
His shingle hangs high in New York. and all who know him
say,
He heals men’s bodies, and their souls. in every proper way
He superintends the Sunday School in Calvin’s big brick
church,

He is an honor to his class, whose fame he'll never smirch.
The clock has struck eleven. and so.
We recall our absent member—as

T .
We hold this lodge of sorrow.
name:

dear Hollenbaugh.
‘tis written in the law

and we pause to speak youree ee ef ee

 

 

   

Your labors ended early in the days unknown to fame;
Inscrutable the plans of Him who gives the soul His face,
And then as suddenly removes the candle from its place:

)

We bow to Him who gave to us the chance of knowing you,
)
Who was one of earth’s true noblemen, a hero through and -

through,

When Eden bloomed, a paradise of birds and precious stones,

The first man was a Welshman—his name was Adam Jones;

His offspring, Danny, hit the trail that leads to Lewisburg,

And hibernated seven years before he dared emerge.

The diamond mines round Lansford used to hear his preacher
voice ;

He played upon their heart strings and he made their souls
re }¢ ice :

He would utter words of warning, in the Valley of Dry
Bones,

And all the miners doffed their hats to the Reverend D, M.
Jones.

In science, Kelley delved beneath our Susquehanna sods;

He'd track a crinoid to his lair, and lived on gasterpods;

The palaeozoic era shook throughout its mighty frame,

For Kelley knew its birds and beasts and called each one by
name ;

To reconstruct a glyptodon was easy, in the dark;

He’d shut both eyes, and build the brute, and frame it in a

park ;

His eagle eye and massive brain ransacked the woods and
streams,

And when they'd yielded all they had, he’d conjure more in

dreams.Then Bob McDanel, good old soul, his heart brimful of fun,
Had drained a golden goblet of the wine of lite; the sun

In giving him the joy ot youth got tangled in his hair,

Not very much, but just enough to put some ginger there;
Bill Shakespeare may have set a pace in writing this and that,
But even Bill could not beat Mac in talking through his hat;
lust touch him off, away he’d go, and that is why he stands

)
)

Ahead of all Kentucky in the Bluegrass Country lands.

Dave Minick took his household gods LO (Carolina's hills.

Got married, struck a rise in lands, quit teaching, pays his
bills

With turpentine, pine timber, corn, and other sordid wealth

He hardly could have missed it, for 1t came on him by stealth ;

You see Dave Minick had the grace, the grit, and gumption
too,

To put his hands square on the plow, and then to drive it
through ;

He girt his loins, stuck to his job, and as the adage states,

He proved that all things come to him who hustles while he
waits,

My neighbor, O. K. Pellman, was a fiddler of renown:
He knew more horn-pipes, jigs and reels than any man in
town;

He roomed next door, and every night his dear old violin
Would wake the echoes through the halls, and all the bovs
joined in. 7
Oh! somewhere in this vale of tears the hearts of men are

torn
By Pellman fiddling tangos for the maidens all forlorn,
And somewhere, when the shadows in our hearts grow dark
and long, |
We shall miss our minstrel’s music. both his fiddle and his
song,he Ll ee eee Se es

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When Doctor Pontius joined the class we thought he meant
to preach,

But if he did, he changed his mind and soon became a leech,

The name, you understand, they used to give to doctors Wise,

And Pontius was a cracker-jack to look you in the eyes:

A Mason, thirty-third degree, of portly form and wit,

He rose through every style and rank by sheer deserving it;

A triend to all the boys he was, now Prexy of his class,

A jolly lad, a useful man; he’s big, but let him pass,

Dear Milton Reinhold, answer to your name as oft before:

We see you stalking through the halls, and to your class once
more;

Across the deep and dark divide that separates us now

We can see a radiant halo that encircles your fine brow;

Dear Reinhold, you too early passed to yonder realms of light ;

Your class-mates cherish tenderly your memory tonight;

Look through the blue, and answer us, and give us some sure
sion,

That you have not forgotten the dear days of “auld lang
syne.”

John Schreyer was a likely lad, with business in his head:

He hit the rolling mills, at first, and wrought in iron red:

The steel trust jogged along the road—the mill went up the
flume—

But Johnny Schreyer got his price; his clover’s now in bloom;

The valley here on either side where Susquehanna flows

Pays tribute to the genius of the man who always knows;

His farms and mills and stores and things, his stocks and
bonds and banks

Are pouring golden treasures into Johnny’s barns and tanks.Theres Freddie Senft, evangelist, who speaks with a, “thus
saith ;”

He has gone to Philadelphia to cure men by faith,

He was ever on the warpath hot against our earthly ills,

Which he said could all be cured without the aid of pills:

He clung stoutly to his principles, when others shrugged, and
said,

They would dance around his coffin when his views had
‘knocked him dead:

Which ones were right we do not know—nor which will win
the bet

For the rest are hale and hearty and our Freddie's living vet

When Soars came down from Muncy, why! the boys all called
fm, © Dad;”

He wasnt very pious then, nor was he very bad:

He had skipped the class before us, when his eyes went on
the blink,

Because he couldn't study hard and neither could he think:

But Soars made good, he alw ays did, and ever since has done:

He's a prince of right good fellows, and his size is number

one:

He now goes up and down and round the grand old Kevstone
State.

A strong big-hearted preacher, and the people call him great

When Billy Woodward left this place, he hied away to take
A course in medicine, and learn to give cold chills the shake:

He thumps your chest, and feels your purse, and shouts,

“hold out your tongue,”’

You've got ten thousand microbes in your liver and yout
lung ;

He can chase tuberculosis with a dose that’s hard to take

47

 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
    
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
 

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And can scare you with gastritis when it’s just plain stomach |
ache ;

He has won much true affection in McKeesport on the hills

By his great big broad philanthropy, mixed in with liver pills.

 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
    
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
 
   
 

When Doctor Hill was President the boys first came to town,
And graduated in those days without your cap and gown;
But to sit in “Davy’s” class-room was to us a daily feast:
No wonder Uncle Samuel said we need him further East:
He shifted all his baggage from the wild and wooly West,
And many lands have honored him, but we who like him best,
Through all the years have followed him, and to his love lay
claim,
And weave a glory round his head in Bucknell’s Hall of
‘ame.

Professor Tustin taught the boys the rules of ancient Greek,

And doubtless often wished to throw us headlong in the
Green

His patience would have made of Job a worthy Christian
Saint ;

It made of him a martyr to a lot of folks that aint;

His kindness was unfailing, and the way he used to prop

The candidates for pulpits should have made the sinners
stop,

And live up to his counsel which was always good and sound,

As a father’s to his children, whom the strongest ties have
bound,

Professor Loomis, both in French and German, was our
euide,

And then to add good measure taught us History on the side;

And what he didn’t know, we did—we added, each his dole—

And often proved the parts were sometimes greater than the
whole;

48re all a trifle oft

~ os - re , rt’ > 1c ae re
The big guys who wrote history W :

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In stating things about the past, and so with many a scoff

The boys of eighty-eight would prove old time was off his
base,
That things were either as they seemed, or such was not the

case.
No better crews of engineers have shone on dress parade
Than those same boys when Bartol came, and sought the
precious aid.

~

For when it came to polygons, to triangles, anchsquares,
They'd build a ladder into space and climb /itJ ayy
In measuring off the vertical from Montour st
Or calculating in cold terms the way to [urtle Creek,

He sought their aid, I said, and so it was to him great gam;
He did the mathematics, and t

Beneath the trees behind West Wing we skinned a dog and
cat,

To test their livers, and to see just where their lungs were a

For Doctor Groff. the good old soul, had filled us thro’ and
thro’

With vain desires to classify an animated zoo;

In just two days the stench that rose stirred up the Bo
of Health;

We beat it to our several rooms when they essayed by stealth

To track those odors to their source in that uncanny grove,

And scattered to the four great winds our hopes and treasure

trove.

Professor Rockwood lined 1S up without much pomp or fuss:

It might have seemed he did not know. and so kept asking us

The biggest lot of questions on the forms of nouns and verbs:

Indeed we lived on Latin roots. and other luscious herbs:

19

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The Odes of Horace lived once more in our inspired brains,

And grew new meanings like the shoots that follow April
rains :

While as for those orations that exploded Cataline,

We admitted they were classics, though they barely crossed

the- line.

The ‘Trustees saw what husky boys there were in eighty-
eight,
And that their zeal for le: imning’s lore was w axing ever great,
So they called Professor Owens with his bottles and his corks
To let loose the magic forces of the cosmic fire- works;
And then they held a meeting, and they passed around the hat,
And every man has wondered how they turned the trick at
that:
They raised a mighty purse of gold: ’Twas not hot air or gab;
They said, it’s mighty plain we’ve got to have a brand new

via.

But of all the jolly class-rooms sure the jolliest was Perrine’s;

His jokes were like good medicine but smacked like Rhenish
wines;

His laugh was most contagious and he had a nimble wit;

Nor was he short on metaphors nor similes to fit:

Like “Uncle Joe” he got “‘het up’ in arguments erstwhile,

But all his dander vanished in the brightness of his smile,

And when the ladies entered and the boys each gave their
chair,

Perrine looked o’er his goggles, and exclaimed. “oive each
three ‘cheers.’

Professor Martin in those days was our particular friend;
With winged words he talked to us whene’er we went to
spendAn evening in his study, where among his ay VS and books.

4 o> - ) : :

There was uplift in his counsel, there was kindness in his
looks ; |

He opened Browning to us, and he opened us to a |

And Professor Martin was as full as Browning to the brim,

With thoughts that breathed and words that burned we gave
old time the slip,

And the memories that linger are like honey to the lip.

A lady, Larison by name, ruled, in the days of yore,

Behind board fences, rows of pines, and watchmen there
galore ;

In yonder grove thrice-hallowed by the sweet forget-me-nots

That grew in all their glory there, in fairy garden spots,

With mild persuasives oft we went to plead some special case,

And just as often came away with joyful heart and face

Her genial spirit gripped us in a kindly, gentle way,

As the roses breathe their fragrance in the flowery month
of May.

“What makes the Tear rank breathe SO hard said I iles on pa-

rade?”

There must be a chicken in the yard, the ‘‘colored” sergeant
said:

And William Bell played sergeant, and braved the recreant
crew

That used to serenade the “Sem.” as later callants do:
But William was a diplomat, and scudded on his way.
When the boys declared for slavery inviting him to stay
The belle of Bucknell Institute he was. and all agreed _
That William knew his business, and stuck to it indeed

t

Did Gretz belong to eighty-eight? Why, he belonged to all!
The Jolliest German cherub when he first showed on the

Mall!
5]ee eee

 

 

Days in and out he flashed on us his merry-hearted grin
f )
And sent us all away to cherish warmer souls within ;

 

For twenty years he labored, in the wind and in the rain,
Though oft his tortured spirit writhed with agonizing pain:
And there are those, as in the dear dead days beyond recall,
Who still await his coming, and still listen for his call.

You should have seen how Bucknell slumped, when eighty-
eight went out;

The college and alumni all began to wail and shout:

So they sent for Doctor Harris, in his school across the State,

lo come and bolster up the work of good old eighty-eight;

[hey pulled together, he and they, and Bucknell took a jump;

She's been a-jumping ever since; say, can’t you see that
hump?

It is Bucknell getting ready for another move today:

There's a reason: it’s the Doctor; get the habit: on I say!

For when the leader gives the word the rank and file should
2QO,

And count it love’s great privilege their loyalty to show,

Since Alma Mater has in him a lion-hearted king,

Who wills, and dares, and does brave deeds, and so with Field
| sing:

“God bless you, Doctor Harris, may you live a thousand
years,

To kind o’ brighten up things in this vale of human tears.

And may we live a thousand too, a thousand less a day,

lor we should hate to live to say we'd seen you pass away.”

And now, dear Alma Mater, we assemble in this hall,

Our hearts responding warmly as we listen to your call;
We lift our souls in gratitude, for all your kindly ways,
When you rocked us in the cradle of our academic days.

  

5?Another milestone on the way we've covered, by God’s grace,
And still your smile is kindlier and gentler too your face;
Again we pledge our faith to those ideals of the past

Received from our young mother which her vigor made to

last.
ee ; :

Forgive the boys who criticize your wrinkles and gray hairs;
You have helped those very children as they climbed the

golden stairs
That led them to achievements in the various walks of life. |
And you buckled on their armor that equipped them for the

strife ;
Forgive the ugly tempers, and the hot words we have shown:
They are only on the surface, just as fitful gusts are blown:
The hearts of all your children turn to you; our hearts up- i

raise if
To the best of Alma Maters a most fervent hymn of praise. ’ee eee

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COPYRIGHTED
1925
BY

LINCOLN HULLEY

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PRESS OF THE
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ELOISE MAYHAM HULLEY

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POETIC PRODUCTIONS

BY

LINGOLN HOLLEY

Lullabies and Slumber Songs

Annie-Laurie: Love-Lyrics

Hiram Abiff, the Builder

Sonnets on the Immortal Bards

Shakespere’s Dream of Fair Women
Moonlight Nights at Palm Beach

King David: Israel’s Lyric Bard

Christina, or Christian Van Dusen’s Law-Suit
Chivalry in Dixie: Metrical Romances

Mike Murphy’s Dream

Campus Memories

Alice Coventry and other Metrical Romances
The Eloise Chimes

Chapel. Lyrics of Faith, Hope and Love
Fables and Myths from the Sibyl’s Book
The Jubilate of Rabbi Ben Adam

Christian Hymns

St. Anne and the Children’s Hour

St. Michael and the Dragon; An Epic of the War
Savonarola’s Visions of Judgment

Broken Hearts and Lives

Vesper Songs of Joy, Trust and Praise
Brave Idylls of the Gallant South

Dwellers Beyond the Styx, or Tragedies of Love
Dixie Sketches in Chalk and Charcoal
Ghiberti’s Doors to Paradise and Other Art Poems
A Maker of Dreams and Poetic Fantasies
Gold-Fields, Gold-Skies and Gold-Seekers

A Farmer-Prince

Galloping Westward: A Ballad

A Disciple of Plato

Pipes of Pan

Florida the Beautiful

Ariel and Cinderella

The Holy Land

Pegasus at the Springs of Helicon

Eden, a Paradise of Love

College Lyrics of Idealism and Optimism
Chauncey and Kitty; also Bob’s Dilemma
Earth to Earth or The Joy of Life

For Better For WorseCHAPE], LYRICS
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CONTENTS

The Trinity
The Chrysalis
Close up the Ranks

The Costly Glories

A Morning Prayer

The Health of the World
Master, Give Us a Sign
Water and Dust and Air
The Paradise of Fools

The Christian Spirit

The Comrade in White

Lost

The Road to Jericho

Jacob and the Angel

New Clothes for Old

The Lost V oice

Carry On

Architect and Tenant

I Sought Him in the Stars
The Four-Square Man

Ninety Years Old

Dead and Forgotten

Duty Learned Through Prayer
Four Levers That Lift

As the Dew

Thanks for Unrest

Wholly Thine

Jesus Made a Will

Far Above Rubies

Potter and Clay

The Philosopher’s Stone

[ am That Sisyphus

Lay on the Lash

Make Me Thy Harp

Open the Doors

What Is Truth

Borrowed Light

To God Above the Skies

I Saw Thee, Lord
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THE TRINITY.

White light braided of seven strands,

Seen in the rainbow’s colored bands,

Showeth how many may be in one,

Blended completely, until the sun

Shoots the prisms, hurled from the cloud,
Spreading them fan-shaped, curved, and bowed.

Ah! how beautiful to the eye

Is the rainbow in the sky!

A bow of promise, that from the sod
Reaches the very throne of God,
Where the Trinity, Three in One,
Issues the white light seven in one.

So the soul of a mortal man

Thinks and feels and wills, a plan
Suggesting Trinity, Three in One.

In the tangle our minds have spun,
Enmeshed with feelings, and shot with will,
We see the unit—one man still.

He that commanded the light made me,
That selfsame God, the One in Three,
Made me think, and made me feel,
Gave me a will like tempered steel,
Made in His image, so when done,

I too imaged the Three in One.

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THE CHRYSALIS WAITED.

The Chrysalis waited the day of God,
That loomed not far away;

It seemed a desolate, queer-shaped pod,
But the resurrection day

Turned it into a butterfly,

That, out in the sunlight, gleams,
Irised with colors, like those on high,
Or pictured to men in dreams.

The nestlings trembled inside their shells,
Fulfilling the law of God,

With inner wisdom that soon foretells
The lift of His mighty rod;

A magic wand is waved, and, lo!

The tomb is rent in twain,

When, out of the grave, and singing low,
A miracle blooms again.

Shut up within this house of clay,

My spirit yearns for light;

Biding God’s time, I await the day
That chases away the night;

Leaving the shroud in an empty grave,
And winging my way on high,

I'll leave the earthen shell He gave
Its uses—next, the sky.CLOSE UP THE RANKS.

Close up the ranks where the men are shot,
And draw off the dead behind us:
Defenders at work within the trench
Must sweat ere the enemy find us:
Suitable graves for those that are slain,
And hospitals for the wounded ;

Never a shot but it gives us pain,

And shall till our arms are erounded.

These battles may count for little, I know,
In a war so long continued,

But every victory gives us strength,
And makes us better sinewed

Later to carry the line and the flag
Beyond the present border:

The Day of the Lord may slowly drag,
But leads to a better order.

The withering fire of enemy guns

Is a hurricane apt to blind us,

But faith in the cause of truth and right
Will strengthen the ties that bind us;
Never a battle was fought for God,

In the strife between fellow-mortals,
But lifted our souls from the lowly sod,
Some nearer to Heaven’s portals.

Whether the battle is one with swords,
Or fought in the halls of learning,
Those who have kept their hearts in truth
May look for the devil’s spurning:
Still press on to the hills of light,
Though the enemy guns may grind us;
Close up the ranks where the men are shot,

And draw off the dead behind us.
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THE COSTLY GLORIES.

The costly glories that flash along
The paths of the higher life

Inspire the souls of chosen ones

To enter the arduous strife

By which alone they may be grasped,
And brought down to our earth—
These costly glories that lie along
The paths of higher worth.

The saints of God who hold the faith
That quickened the heart of Paul,
Who walk the ways that Jesus trod
And suffer the jibes of all—

These keep the road at any cost,
And count their losses gain,

Without a single regret to pay

For what they achieve through pain.

The heroes who have trod the earth
With heads erect and high,

Receiving the poisoned barbs of men
But willing to do or die—

These kept the faith in truth and love,
Nor swerved a single time,

Pressing along the stormy heights
Determined to rise and climb.

The martyrs and prophets who came to death,
As they struggled along the way,

Repented not, but gladly went

With faith in a better day;

The costly glories were worth the price,
And they paid it all in blood;

These were the ones who sealed the truth,
Accepting the blessed rood.

10A MORNING PRAYER.

Lord, grant Thy servant strength

To lift his load to-day,

That through the heat, and dust, and strain,
He faint not by the way.

 
  
  

And grant Thy servant taith

To pierce the darkest doubt,

That breeds despair, and chills the life ;
Lord, keep his soul devout.

 
  
  

Send out Thy light and truth

To clarify his mind

  

And teach him, that Thy servant be

A help to all his kind.

Oh!

  
  
  

Grant Thy servant love

To warm his heart for men.
That he may lead lost souls to Thee,
To make them whole again.

 
   
 

Then grant Thy servant peace,
The kind that follows strife,
And toil, and weariness, and woe
Throughout this mortal life.et be ee ae ee ee

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THE HEALTH OF THE WORLD.

I sing the health of a world where God
In holiness built His throne;

Where orchids and asters and goldenrod
Are smiling with health alone;

Where always the sunshine scatters tears,
And soft west winds are blown,

And like a Niagara through the years
The life of the Lord pours down.

I sing the goodness of God at heart,
Whose ethics are never wrong;

His word makes right, because His art
Flows out of His nature strong;

All of the sins of our erring lives

Are stabs at the heart of God;

And never a ghost in the soul He shrives
Shall rise from the crumbling clod.

I sing the love of the dying Christ

Who suffered that we might live;

Who came to our spirits when we were iced
And offered new life to give.

His low, sweet whispers are heard around
The hearths where men kneel in prayer;
One hears His love in the song's that sound
In ocean and earth and air.

I sing the beauty that lies along

The rim of the sky each day;

Beauty is kingly, and sits among

Those angels that light the way,

Studding it under with gems beneath,

And over with stars above,

Thus wedding the earth with a bridal wreath
For the bride He has wooed in love.

12

~MASTER, GIVE US A SIGN.

Master, give us a sign,” they plead;
But Scribes and Pharisees can’t be moved;
They knew the sign of the evening red,

Their minds were hardened, and fixed and grooved ;

With holy thoughts of His Father, God,
His words were hot, and sharp as swords
That pierce the crust of the matted sod ;
They might have seen His signs in words.

Give us a sign,” they asked again;

But Scribes and Pharisees can’t be taught ;
They hold themselves the elected men:

All others, in fine, they count for naught ;
He cleansed the lepers, and raised the dead ;
He lifted the fallen by others trod:

He healed the sick, and the hungry fed;
His signs were very pleasing to God.

“Give us a sign, that’s all we seek:”

But Scribes and Pharisees wear a mask;
In swollen pride they abhor the meek,

And, lazy, they also avoid the task:

On mountain heights, in midnight chills,
He sought the Father, day and night,

Flis sign was the stars, and the lonely hills,
And the face of His Father, shining bright.

“Give us a sign,” they glared at last,
Thrusting Him into the judgment hall:

But Scribes and Pharisees murder fast,
And so they jostled Him, great and small.
Then, on the top of a hill near-by,

He suffered and died with bitter loss:
They asked for a sign, we know not why,
And so He gave them the sign of the Cross.
13ee

 

 

  

WATER AND DUST AND AIR.

 

Water, and dust, and air I am,

Kneaded into a paste,

Born in the zodiac sign of the ram,

Starting the year with haste;

Of mud I was made, and they called me mud,
For that is what ““Adam’”’ means,

And into my body they poured the blood

That flows in both kings and queens.

How much better, then, is a man

Than a sheep? Now who will say?
Look at the bodies of both—the plan

Is the same in both to-day ;

Burn them in crucibles—count the kinds
Of elements, each and each,

And all will consider that, lacking minds,
Their bodies the same thing's teach.

Some of God’s creatures have better ears,
And some of them better eyes,

Than human beings; and some have fears,
And loves, and hates, likewise;

Then how are we better than beasts, I ask,
And who shall lay down the law

By which to settle the difficult task

Of choosing the best to draw?

Now note, they stood me upon my feet,
And called me the anthropos,

The only animal then complete,

Who could look all the way across

The measureless spaces, and call on God,
And equally laugh and pray,

Who rises up from the common sod

To the thought of a Judgment Day.

14THE PARADISE OF FOOLS.

Hood and bauble, cap and bells,
And asses’ ears to match,

Well become the fool who tells
Still other fools to catch

All gay pleasures on the wing
Swift as they come and go—,
Youth avails to pull the sting,
And age will never know.

The Paradise of Fools is built

Of fabrics light as air,

Tawdry tinsel, glittering gilt,

And ornaments seeming fair;

But when one is building a house to stay,
And not to go down in the flood.

Mud for mortar, and unbaked clay,

Are certainly not so good.

Ease, and pleasure, and feather-beds,

And wine with a daily feast,

Are not along paths a hero treads

In his journey out to the East;

Men who are light in their hearts and heels
Are light in the head as well;

Give them a monocle, cane, and seals,

And a dunce’s cap and bell.

‘Eat, drink, and be merry, boys,
To-morrow you all shall die,”

A creed like that give a child with toys—,
And feed the pigs in the sty:

But when a man has been told of God
To conquer the earth and rule,

Silly it is he should caper and nod

In the Paradise of a Fool.

15THE CHRISTIAN SPIRIT.

 

Not for an easy couch I pray;
Give me a bed of stone;

But with it give me grace each day
To make that bed a throne.

Not for release from grief and pain
I yearn; O, give me these!

But with them both give me the brain
To find in both Christ’s peace.

Not for a life denied the toil
That makes men grind, and sweat,
Do I repine. But with the oil
Of gladness smooth the fret.

Give me the daring heart to win
The battles heroes fight,

That high emprise and courage in
The martyrs for the right!

Give me the gracious soul to love
The man who stabs my heart,

That he may share Thy grace above
All earthly gains or art.

Give me the courage of the Man
Who faced pale death with calm,

The God-man, great of soul, whose plan
Poured on His foes sweet balm.I lay on a bed of pain,

Shot through the leg to die,
Was it the Marne or the Aisne?
I know not, for death was nigh,

A comrade came up, and knelt
Beside me. He heard me beg.

A strange sense of comfort I felt,
As he started to dress my leg.

He lifted me, then. in his arms,

To carry me off the field:

His life seemed girdled with charms;
He needed no gun nor shield.

Then I saw in his hand a wound:
The bullets had bored him through;
His feet bloodied up the ground:
And a slash in his side showed, too.

“You're wounded,” I said, and he
“Yes, this is an old. old sore,
And of late it has been to me
More painful than ever before.

)

“Now when you get well,” he said,
“I have a great work for you;”

 
    
   
  
  
  
  
  
 
    
    
  

THE COMRADE IN WHITE.

’Twas he, the white Comrade, Who bled

On Calvary’s cross, ’tis true!a al

 

 

   

LOST.

I am lost, and there are no signs

To point out the way to take,

Since blinding lights and sudden frights
Beset me asleep or awake.

I am lost in a wilderness,

And cannot find a clew

To lead me out of sin and doubt,
And never a guide in view.

I am lost on a desert waste,

Where mirage to horizon dips;

Its promising gleam fades out, like a dream,
Tormenting my parched lips.

I am lost on a wild, wide sea;

The sun and the stars are dark;

The stormwind shrieks, and my rudder creaks,
And waves overwhelm my bark.

I am lost in a labyrinth,

Where terrors and specters are;

But only the clouds hover round like shrouds,
With never a guiding star.

I am lost in the snow and rain,

And my soul cries out with cold;

But the chill damp air answers not my prayer
For one to lead to the fold.

Lo! Out of the fog and the mist,

The darkness and dread of night,

As bright as the day, there shines on my way
God’s infinite, perfect Light.

18THE ROAD TO JERICHO.

Last year I went to Jericho

Along the selfsame road

On which the deadly work was done

To one outside the code:

And as I rode to Jericho
I fancied I could see
Still other deeds of violence

To poor humanity.

Our human hearts are still in bond
To rules of tooth and claw;
And we are slow of mind indeed

To learn the higher law:

The more we toil for what is best

For every needy soul,

The more we find in sympathy
Our rightful human goal.

Along that highway men of wealth

And poor men dail

So;

A thousand dangers lurking near
May teach both that they owe

A kindlier feeling, each to each,

For learn it, ye! who can,

The knightly souls are linked to serve
The brotherhood of man.

The road that leads to Jericho

Was trod by sundry knaves,

Who seemed hell-bent to work their will
On men they deemed their slaves:

But on that way sweet Mercy dwelt,
With winged sandals shod;

She knelt, and kneeling, taught the world

The fatherhood of God.

19Ce ee Soa Pet ee ee

 

——

 

  

JACOB AND THE ANGEL.

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 

Jacob might wrestle with angels,

Elusive, and dim, or unseen,

The night-watches running through darkness,
Obscurely, to serve as a screen.

But Jacob held on to his vision;

He clung to the angel all night;

On through the midnight they wrestled,

On till the coming of light.

The ways of the Lord with our spirits
Are often so subtle and swift

He comes and departs in a moment,

So sudden one misses the drift;

We know from the flash in the darkness
That God has been seen very nigh;

We touch His hand oft in the shadow,
As passing He goes swiftly by.

Unto us all inspirations
Come like a flash and depart;

No one can fathom the stillness

That dwells in the human heart,

Or tell whence the source of the flashes
That light up the innermost cave
Except that the Lord, in His goodness
Blesses the natures He gave.NEW CLOTHES FOR OLD.

‘New clothes for old!” js what he said;
The thing can’t be, I thought within ;
But hat: that pedlar shouted led

My fancies into worlds akin.

New clothes for old each day gives out,
The old day passing on at night;

We shall new garments wear, no doubt,
When earth rolls forward into light.

New clothes for old each year affords,
The past ones worn and frayed a bit,
And from the old year’s S precious hoards
New styles will charm us, we admit.

New clothes for old! It all seems strange,
3ut quite in line with nature’s laws.

The brown earth makes its winter ch lange

Obedient to the first great Cause.

New clothes for old; again we see
The world’s old Seder fall away;
The garments of sweet liberty

The world shall wear some future day.

New clothes for old! The earth dissolves,
And then the man that is to be

Puts on the raiment of God’s praise

To wear it for eternity.Lith alia te Teer ee ee ee

Se ae Pee ae ee

 

 

    
  
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

THE LOST VOICE.

O, singer in God’s choir loft!
What ails thy voice, I pray?

Why do thy fingers strike the strings
In such a jangled way?

Thy song was once the joy of all,
And none could match thy skill;
Why has the music suffered change
Foreboding naught but ill?

The lyric outbursts of thy voice

In tremors ran along;

Strong-winged they soared above the crypt
In soul-uplifting song;

Aflame with passion and with fire,

In notes that praised the Lord,

Thy voice rang out; now what is wrong?
Hast thou, then, lost the chord?

A sunset’s beauty, then the stars,
And thy sweet voice were one;
Now all the richness of the sky

Is faded out and gone;

I fear it is not loss of voice,
Nor loss of chord—how odd!

It must be, in the ruin wrought,
That thou hast lost thy God.CARRY ON.

Carry on! the Captain bids thee

 
 

Though thy strength will shortly fail
Let no hardship crush or daunt thee!

Strive! let not thy spirit quail !
Is thy will in weakness bent ?
God is near thee with His aid
Rally all thy powers spent:
Carry on, nor be afraid.

I

Carry on! we have the orders

We must hold our gains, in fine:
Else, disaster through our borders
Sweep away the trembling line:
Farther than the eye can reach
Others may depend on thee,
Standing shoulder each to each
Carry on, in your degree.

>
+

Carry on! the foe is sweeping
Downward on our ranks to-day -
See! the brave ones have in keeping
Barriers that must not give way;
Comrades, hold! give not an inch!
Yielding will begin retreat:
Steady, then, and do not flinch,
Carry on! the danger meet.

Carry on! Ah! see, you’re winning!
Glorious now the turning tide!
Rest will follow this beginning
Of the sudden change of side;

  
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
 
 
  
   
 
  

Stand your ground, and with the night

Bright shall shine the stars above:

  

With the morning comes sweet light;

Carry on, for those we love.
23be oe fe ee

 

 

  

ARCHITECT AND TENANT.

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 

Architect and tenant both

Am I of this house of clay,

And to leave, my soul is loth,
When long years have made it gay:
But the sentence seemeth just,
Beauty dies and turns to dust.

When my spirit turns to go,
Locks the door, and takes the key,
Let no mortal talk of woe;

Life was passing sweet to me,
Now I leave because I must

Close the house that turns to dust.

Why the soul should have a house

Far surpasses me to tell;

Why a cat is not a mouse

Serves the same end just as well;

The house will soon be down, and thrust
Into earth to turn to dust.

While I lived, the golden mean
Was a rule that promised good;
Pleasures neither fat nor lean
Were the measure of my food:
Will restrained the body’s lust;
Now the body turns to dust.

But my spirit slips away
To a brighter world than this;
None dwell there in huts of clay,
But enjoy diviner bliss;

In that realm of love and trust
Bodies never turn to dust.

24I sought Him in the stars that shine,
And said, “Perchance He dwells

In silence far removed, and nid”
They held me with their spells,

Their calm great spaces taught me much:
Their figures, too, were odd:

They told me He had been there once ;
They did not show me God

I sought Him in the early spring ;

His breath was in the air:

The miracles of bud and bloom

Said plainly He was there:

The beauty painted on the rose,

The sweet smell on the sod,

Were proof His presence had been felt.
But these did not show God.

I sought Him in the tunes of birds:
Their calls were rich and sweet :

[ heard Him in the lowing herds,
And thought I saw His feet

Had left their prints across the fields
In every upturned clod

,

I SOUGHT HIM IN THE STARS.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
  
 

3ut bird, and beast, and field. and flower

Could not say where was God.

I sought Him in the lowly Christ,
Whose life beside the sea

   
  

Transformed the earth, and drew all hearts

To walk in Galilee:

I saw His purity and love,

The humble paths He trod,

I saw His deeds, and heard His words,
And said: “Lo! here is God.”

25CE ee ee ee ee

 

ae cg ree
a

 

  

THE FOUR-SQUARE MAN.

    
  
 
 
 
   
   
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
  

Jesus increased in stature, waxing strong;
Three-storied the house we live in here;
Masters but not the owners long,

Gathering fresh strength every year;

Lay broad and strong the foundations, O sage!
In such an house as thine an angel dwelt;

He honored the house of his pilgrimage;
Bodies are divine, tho seen and felt.

Jesus increased in wisdom, that is, mind,

The second story, where the treasures are
That make us clear-eyed, or like bats, blind,
Not seeing beauty in earth, sea, sky, star;
Sitting one day with doctors, He asked the law;
They were surprised at His questions, and plied
Him with a few hard ones, hard on the jaw,

But He had a wisdom uncanny, clear-eyed.

Jesus increased in favor with God too;
Top-floor of all, it would seem, was fine!

Here He had heaven and earth too in view,
And saw everything as it was, divine;

Yes, He heard God’s voices in the sweet winds:
He felt God’s breath, too, in the cool evening air;
He saw God’s glory also in men’s minds;

It always moved His heart and lips to prayer.

Jesus increased in favor with men, last;

He was so social in all His ways, when,

On the street, or by the lake, the crowds passed,
That none were afraid there but loved Him then.
Ah! what a model in body, mind, soul,

Social, and all, which He held in fee,

Caught in life’s beautiful, golden bowl,

Example for us to eternity !

26

  

i ge re tan neNINETY YEARS OLD.

The days of man are three score years and ten;
In that we have the limit set by law;

Three score and ten, and after that, why then,
We face the iron gate and wait with awe.

By reason of great strength, sometimes the rule
Is lengthened to the limit of four score,

But all these days are sometimes to the fool,
And aggravate our miseries the more.

Sans eyes, sans teeth, sans hair, sans everything
Are promised those who go beyond life’s span,
Our youthful memories take sudden wing,
And leave our minds where infancy began.

With piping treble voices we are left:

The doors are closed that open to the street:
In twain the plans we laid in youth are cleft,
And to our graves we go with shuffling feet.

But I am ninety, Lord, and by Thy grace,
Shall reach a hundred years if all goes well,

I stand erect, and look men in the face,
And know the secret where the muses dwell.

There are no tears or grief or pain in mine;
Sweet joy is pleased to dwell beneath my roof;
And now I’ve lived full ninety, watch the sign;
Just how to live a hundred I’ve the proof.

I have no debts to mirth and wine to pay;

Nor have I cast my pearls before low swine;
But know just how the mind of God would say,
We ought to keep the soul within His shrine.

27Satetass

ae oe ed

 

- =

 

When we

  

DEAD AND FORGOTTEN.

   
 

are dead we are soon forgotten;

Quickly we pass from mind;
Changed are the times, and all we’ve gotten

Follow us

Brief was

Throwing

After the

down the wind.

the life we squandered,
our gold away;
will-o-the-wisp we wandered,

Chasing it night and day.

Yet it seemed long, for the dreary pining

After sin

lengthened the hours;

Why, I have lived a thousand years whining,

Wet with

Earlier ye

my tears like flowers.

ars were athrill with laughter,

Merrily beat the drums,
Not once a thought of the great hereafter,
Picking up pleasure’s crumbs.

Then came the years with the rainy weather
And winds with winter’s chill;

Little men think when carousing together,
Life will present its bill,

Now they

are gone—the swift years of plenty,

Like a dream when we awake;
Gone are my comrades, not one in twenty

Left to re

They are
Lonely an
Now I go
Up to the

view the stake.

forgotten, I am forsaken,
d sad I plod;
empty, hopeless, and shaken,

bar of God.

28DUTY LEARNED THROUGH PRAYER.

Low at the shrine his fathers loved one knelt
In penitence. He sought the peace of God;
Whereat into his heart the Holy Ghost

Shed golden light upon the way he trod.

Above him were the cherubim in song,
Uplifting him above all narrow creeds:
To breathe the breath of life into our words
We must embody them in daily deeds.

Around him sang the angels of the gates,
And all their voices trembled with the joy;
They open the pearly doors of Paradise

To those alone who all their sins destroy.

Beyond he heard the martyrs at their prayers,
Beseeching God’s forgiveness on their foes;
With faces turned toward the throne, they said,
“Charge not to their account our woes.”

Near by he saw the saints in order stand:
They had been shrived by God alone, not man:
Their holy thoughts with patience intertwined :
They ended praising God as they began.

Below the level of the lovely chapel’s floor,
He heard outside the people’s cries and groans;
The misery of the world he heard arise,

The sobs of children and the women’s moans.

Uproused from reverie, sublime and sweet,
He knew the cross invited him to strife:

That only through Christ’s conquest of Himself
Could any mortal enter into life.
29FOUR LEVERS THAT LIFT.

Reason, duty, law, and love—

Raise us from the earth, above

Meaner creatures of the field,

Whose brute strength must surely yield
To endowments such as men

Exercise with open ken.

Reason is the holy truth,

And it keeps perpetual youth
Lodged within the heart of God,
Lifting men above the clod.
Reason holds the true ideal,
Fixing it within the real.

Duty is divine. Her “ought”

Far exceeds what may be bought;
With gold chains she binds her own
To the bases of God’s throne;

Blest are all her devotees

Through the vast eternities.

Law depends upon God’s will,
And on His nature, better still.
Who obey His just decrees

Rise from low to high degrees;
Men applaud with happy voice
Law and order done from choice.

Love, the highest one in rank,

Moves the world. And when we thank
God for gifts of heavenly grace,

Love beams on us from His face;
Love lights up our earthly way,
Changing all our night to day.

30As the dew in silence
Settles on the leaves,

So do healing slumbers
Comfort him who erieves.

As the mist bank gathers,
So the Christian’s strength,
Bit by bit, increases,

Till it grows full length.

As the snowflakes softly
Fall to earth and lie,

So the grace of Heaven
Comes from Him on high.

As the light increases

In the early dawn,

So our visions open:
Else they are withdrawn.

As the sunset lingers
In the glowing west,
So our dreams continue,
And our hearts are blest.

As the stars shine sweetly,
Still, serene, at ease,

So the hearts of millions
Find in Christ their peace.

As in sleep the angels
Give God’s loved ones rest,
So the wise Creator

Gives us what is best.

3]

AS THE DEw.Se de ek ee ee ee ee

 

 

  

THANKS FOR UNREST.

   
    
  
 
  
  
   
  
  
 
  
 
  
   
   

Thanks for unrest and hungers, Lord;
Satisfied? No! not I,

That would spell death, and each one’s hoard
Needs swelling before he die.

Notions of all sorts in our minds

Are keeping us all alive;

Thanks for the spurs of various kinds
‘That into our leisure drive.

Spare us stagnation, and give us work
That taxes our strength and skill;
Give us the needle till no one shirk,
But braces his yielding will.

Make us insurgent against the claim
That this is a world of peace,

In any sense other than no man aim
At the heart of a brother at ease.

sarbs and stings that prick and bite
Develop in all the grit

To press along the sloping height
Until they have mastered it.

Peace will come at the end, mayhap,
But now the battle’s best;

We ask not good Dame Fortune’s lap,
But grant us, dear Lord, unrest.WHOLLY THINE.
Wholly thine | pray to be

In full mental sanity.

Not in mystic dream, O Christ,
Such as Kempis felt sufficed.

But in marts of busy trade
Where I feel men’s rapier blade.

Not that I would walk on air,
Rapt in constant thought of prayer,

But so full of love for Thee
All my actions should agree,

Having set my rudder true,
Help me keep Thee, Lord, in view.

Though I must face daily care,
And the woes of others bear,

Help me in these ministries
To advance them on my knees,

Help me to attend my work,
That my spirit never shirk:

Give the church its rightful place
And my duty its fair space.

Keep me from each morbid view
That belies Thy mission true,

Give me sane and healthful eyes
For the things in earth and skies.
33ee ek ee fae ee

i

ange

 

 

  
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  

 

When the office toils grow stale,
And I see my plans may fail,

Fix on Thee this heart of mine,
Make me, keep me, wholly Thine.

JESUS MADE A WILL.

3efore He died, our Saviour made a will,
And sealed it with a very solemn word;
Recorded in the Gospels it holds still,

From which His mighty plans may be inferred.

The human weaknesses of those He chose

To be His inner circle, as He preached,

Were such the Master always feared to lose

A chance that all their interest might be reached.

‘““My peace I leave to you,’’ He sweetly said;
We always think of money, houses, land,
And other things that prove our spirits dead;
Material things He had not to command.

“Not as the others give, give I to you;”

He stressed it by the words upon His lips,
And by His emphasis, and heart, and view,
That His sweet gift the others should eclipse.

What was this peace the Saviour gave to man?
Did it mean ease, and luxury, and rest?

Did it mean mystic idleness, a plan

That seemed to suit a type of follower best?

34It did not mean a flowery bed of ease,
On which they might be lifted to the skies ;
It carried not a promise that disease

 
 
  

And death should never touch their mortal eyes.

In substance it did mean the devil lied,

  

Who thought to keep our world in war and pain,
That when their Master suffered, bled, and died,
The base was laid for peace that He might reign.

At once, a chart to guide them in their cause,
A weapon in their hand to use in fight,
A dear possession in their hearts. whose laws
Would lead them out of darkness into light,

 

FAR ABOVE RUBIES.

Far above rubies, or pearls, or gold,

Is wisdom, by God’s decree:

None of the things that are bought, or sold,
Compare with her in degree:

Men may dig in the hills and mines,

Or search in the uttermost parts

For precious metals—their worth declines
From the wisdom in human hearts.

She is a treasure more sacred than life,
To be guarded, and honored, and sought,
Sometimes distilled in the midst of strife,
And treasured in hidden thought:

Else, life itself would be fitful and false,
Rudderless, far out at sea,

Or, like a meaningless, aimless waltz,
Better, indeed, not to be.— at

 

 

  

Sweeter is wisdom than passion that burns
For the learning that lurks in books,

Piled in the shelves of the learned, like urns,
Or around in crannies and nooks;

For men are learned, sometimes, and fools;
And often the men who are wise

Have little learning to edge their tools,

But a wisdom that’s from the skies.

 

Wisdom, ’tis said, is the principal thing;
Hence, give me wisdom, Lord—

The kind that bubbles within the spring
Of Thine infinite, perfect word.

Help me to treasure it in my heart,

And live by it day by day,

For conduct is reckoned the highest art,
That never shall pass away.

POTTER AND CLAY.

Potter and clay we stand to each other,
Wholly, or only in part,

God of my life, Creator, my Brother—
Christ had a human heart—

What is the mystery binding together
Maker and man, I pray,

Each holding each in loving tether,
Now and forever alway?

Potter, I know from a monitor’s thunder,
Man, self-determined, lives;

Free acts of will come up, and dive under,
Freely as Heaven gives;
36Here in myself, a splinter, the Father
Gives in pledge to earth,

I find a law that helps me rather
Estimate my true worth.

Potter, I know Thy name is mighty ;
Multitudes bow the knee ;
Millions of men, scared and flighty,
Pay a lip tribute to Thee ;
This I know, beside Thy finger
Fashioning me to form,

[ have a will, myself, to ginger
Self to a perfect norm.

“Potter and clay’’ has excess vigor,
Teaching too much, and false,
Flattering us with too much rigor,
As manikins in a waltz:

False the figure, true the adage,
“Christ working in me”

We together fashion my image
For all eternity.

THE PHILOSOPHER’S STONE.

Ah! this, then, is the philosopher’s stone,
Aflame with celestial fire,

Converting baser metals to gold,

And kindling high desire,

An elixir of life to invigorate,

And wash our hearts out pure,

To fill us with dream-stuff high, elate,
And to warrant these dreams stand sure.

37We spend our money for things indeed,
That satisfy not, our souls

Famished for bread; we inly need
Bigger and better doles ;

Eager we look for the things worth while,
And probe to the depths of space,

While the angels gaze at our search, and smile
To think we have missed the place.

 

Take the philosopher’s stone, and see,
If it will bring success.

Never a mortal has bent the knee,
But he would at last confess,

This is the key that unlocks the door,
The charm that will surely work
Miracles here on the cabin floor,

And miracles, too, at the kirk,

Prayer is the stone with the magic power,
Come down from the days of old,
Turning the soil to grass and flower,
And baser metals to gold;

Prayer is the gift that Jesus pressed

In sweet, heart-talks with the throne,
That changes the ore in a sinner’s breast
Into the gold of His own.IAM THAT SISYPHUS,

I am that Sisyphus, Lord, who strove,
In yon Greek myth, to roll uphill

The stone which ever turned, and drove
Him back, and Overcame his will.
Have I, as he, with sinful greed,

An avaricious spirit fed?

Then should the task be like the need,
And I to punishment be led.

Have I not fought the flesh, and found
The old sins flaming out again ?

I rolled the stone, and saw it bound
Down hill among my fellowmen.

Forgive me, Lord, that I repeat

My sinful practices so much ;

Then grant me strength, that I defeat
Them all, through Thy revealing touch.

Day after day I make my vow

To Thee, that I shall keep Thy laws;
But blushes redden on my brow,

When I count up my inward flaws.

The things I do are far outclassed
By those I ought to do, and don’t:
Omitted duties, when amassed,
Resolve themselves into—I won't.

I roll the stone up hill all day,

And find myself pushed back again;
Thy mercy is so great to men
That I shall keep my toilsome way.
39RE aie ee ee ee a ee

Sno

 

 

  

LAY ON THE LASH.

   
  
   
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

Lay on the lash! Spare not a single blow!
Excoriate my soul until I bleed!

To all my groans and crying pay no heed,
If only I may win the Christ I know.

His own soul was not given indulgent ease;
Nor did He beg a truce with death and pain;

He struggled on through cold, and wind, and rain;
He won His way to victory on His knees.

The precious metals all are proved by fire,
Whose hungry flames burn out the baser sorts,
The flaming furnace bubbles, cracks and snorts,
But last comes out the gold we much admire.

And so in human hearts, the very best
Possessions of our characters are found
To be the ones we got in griefs profound,
Or by some other almost torturing test.

Those golden chains, worn by the saints of God,
Were not obtained without the goldsmith’s aid:
They were not found one day on dress parade,
Nor were they picked up loosely on the sod.

A gaunt, pale figure looking like a ghost,
Arrayed against my soul a brood of care,
Disease, loss, pain, misfortune and despair,
Until the crowd amounted to a host,

But still lay on the lash, and spare me not!
Already have I measured all the loss;

Did not the crystal Christ die on the cross?
And shall His agony be soon forgot?

40)MAKE ME THY HARP.

Make me Thy harp, responsive, sweet,
To every breath the Spirit sends,

As when the zephyrs swept the strings
Of that Aeolian harp that blends

In such fine harmony of sound,

Which Lesbian poets used of old,
That echoes still the world around,

As softly in those days of gold.

Spirit of God, work in my heart

Those deep true changes, that Thy grace
Alone can make. Burn out the dross,
And in the change show me Thy face,
That when my lips shall speak the word,
Inspired by Thee in me to say,

The music of the message heard

Shall grow the sweeter day by day.

Shine in my mind, Celestial Light,
Till all its darkness pass away;

Or, as the whiteness of the dawn,
May truth come to me like the day;
Veil not Thy glory from my eyes;
But, seeing it, may I go forth,

And fetch that glory from the skies,
A boon to men of priceless worth.

O tune my voice, and make it Thine,
That I may join the hosts that praise

Thy matchless love through all the earth,
In countless hymns and countless ways!
Thee only would I worship, Lord,

Thy truth and light proclaim, until

The world shall know Thy holy word,

And do Thy righteous sovereign. will,

4)De he ee eel ete a ey ee

Cee Sele Pet ee ee

 

aoomnannetlg emacs saver ree
ee"

 

  

OPEN THE DOORS.

   
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
  
  

Open the doors, and let me through;
It must be grand to die,

And enter again, as heroes do,

The lists for another try,

Out on the field of another life,
Where men may tilt a lance

In some such hearty, congenial strife,
As this world gave in advance.

Open the doors, and stand aside!
Welcome, O coming change!

The heroes come, a swelling tide;
This is a glad exchange.

Throw the gear of earth away!
Step out with a courage high!
This flesh-disguise is only clay;
It must be grand to die.

Open the doors, the sapphire walls

Of a city come to view

Where none of our earth-care ever appalls,
And souls shall live anew;

Out of this trembling house of dust

My spirit shall soon escape,

And test the strength of its daily trust

In God who gave it shape,

Open the doors! ah! see them swing!
It is just grand to die!

The life beyond is a blessed thing,

As it bursts upon my eye;

Under my feet I tread the stars,
And count them common clod:

To perfect life there are no bars

In the holy city of God.

42WHAT IS TRUTH?

~ What is truth?” the judge once asked ;

We echo him still, ““What ?”
And, then, in trutt
Men chase their phantoms hot.

One said, “The truth is dearer far
To me than hands or eyes,

And I would rank with Socrates,
Who in its service dies.”

Another: “Truth to me is sweet ;
‘Tis passion—sweet, and so,
ll cast all other things aside

And in its livery go.

One said, “The truth to me is far
More grand than liberty—

A sacred treasure, to be held,

For it will make men free.”’

Another said, “The truth is high
Above all things of price.

  
   
  
    
    
  
   
  

1’s wild, vain pursuit,

All pearls and gold, all joy and love,

For it I’d sacrifice.”

   

But, “What is truth’’? the judge once more

Demands; his words are iced

)

  

“I am the Truth,” speaks out our Lord,

And millions echo, “Christ.”ee ee er ee

 

 

  

BORROWED LIGHT.

   
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
   

The moon, though dark itself, reflects

The glory of the sun; :
From night till morn its pale light beams
Until the night is done.

The sea reflects the moon that sinks
Beneath the dancing wave;

Its heart is glad to show the moon
The glory that it gave.

So may my life give back to Thee
The brightness of Thine own,
As all the splendid angels do
Around Thy shining throne.

TO GOD ABOVE THE SKIES.

Beneath yon overarching dome
A million altars rise;

The smoke of sacrifice goes up
To God above the skies.

Amid our pain we summon help
With weeping voice and eyes;
Our prayers like incense float aloft
To God above the skies.

And when we suffer for our sins,
With groaning shouts and cries,
We lift our pleading voices up
To God above the skies.

44When rank oppression works us wrong,
And fills our hearts with sighs ;

Our sobs and loud complainings reach
To God above the skies.

But God is not so far away,

Our prayers His love belies:

God dwells in human Heri as well
As up above the skies.

 

I SAW THEE, LORD, TO-DAY.

I saw Thee, Lord, today
While on the way to church;
I saw Thee on the shaded way
In oak and ash and birch.

I heard Thee, Lord, today
While birds were on the wing;
Thy music was so bright and gay
My heart began to sing.

I found Thee, Lord, today

In beauty on the hills,

In sighing winds and weeping clouds,
And in the singing rills.

I sensed Thee, Lord, today;
Thy perfumes on the air

Were sweet as clover in the hay;
They stirred my soul to prayer.

I felt Thee, Lord, today
Upon my face; Thy breath
45Was warm as June, and like a spray
Of sea air o’er the heath,

I breathed Thee, Lord, today

In odors from the wood,

Blown up by soft sweet summer winds;
Thy breath to me was good.

I knew Thee, Lord, today;

I tasted that sweet wine

Of joy Thy holy grace doth pay
To those most truly Thine.

I grasped Thee, Lord, today

By faith, that best sixth sense;
Through it I learned to truly pray
Till Thou shalt call me hence.

THE COLLEGE CHAPEL.

Within this holy place
I hear the students singing:
“Praise ye the Father,”

With reverent voice and face.
Through many years

I've heard their voices bringing
Praise to the Father

For His unfailing grace.

Alone here in silence

I still can hear them phrasing
Their daily offering to

The Lord of life and love,

And all my soul joins in

46Their joyful praisin

  

§

The good Almighty Giver
Of blessings from above,

O blessed memory,

How sweet you make their singing,

O cherished friends,

My students, one and all!

O dearly loved!
My soul to you is cl
And shall on throug!

inging,
1 the years

Until the Father’s call.
And when strong hands

My body shall be br
To fill its narrow ni

Inging
che

Beneath the lowly sod,
Across the lonely night
In that bright day your singing
Shall blend with mine

About the throne of

God.FeGe Boenee sing

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must be presented at
desired.

   

ALDERMAN LIBRARY
The return of this book is due

on the date
indicated below

ee ee

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there are exceptions and the borrower should
ote carefully the date stamped above, Fines
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