There is a little window.
’Tis called, I think, a screen.
Thru it the strangest people
And fairest things are seen.
Calm valleys, silent woodlands,
Tall summits, shining streams,
Long roads and busy cities
Are in this world of dreams.
There weary hearts may travel,
Each to its wonted place;
And lonely ones may revel
In pictured act and face.
There to our hidden longings
The waiting answer gleams
The while our thoughts inhabit
This pictured world of dreams.
Brotherhood (1924)
[Transcriber’s note: All verses are italicized.]
Let black be black and white be white,
As they were meant to be;
But let the hearts of men be right
On every land and sea.
Let brown and yellow boast their race,
Their blood no taint e’er tell;
But let them each possess the grace
To wish a neighbor well.
Let us forget our foolish strife,
And all our groundless hate.
We needs must live a common life,
And share a common fate.
Whatever troubles we must stem,
Whate’er our place or name,
Beneath the crust that covers them
Our hearts are all the same.
The Builder v1924
[Transcriber’s note: All verses are italicized.]
The builder of the future
Is not the trader keen,
The driver of the turbine,
Nor any swift machine;
Not he who rides in triumph
Through the admiring town,
Fawning for public praises
And seeking for renown.
The builder of the future
Sits not upon a throne.
He toils among the shadows,
His struggles oft unknown.
He is the one who kindles
And keeps the fires of truth,
The teacher who is molding
The plastic heart of youth.