While tender mists do blind us,
We'll pledge on this, St. Andrew's day,
"The land we left behind us!"
WHEN TREES ARE GREEN.
Would you be glad of heart and good?
Would you forget life's toil and care?
Come, lose yourself in this old wood
When May's soft touch is everywhere.
The hawthorn trees are white as snow,
The basswood flaunts its feathery sprays,
The willows kiss the stream below
And listen to its flatteries:
"O willows supple, yellow, green,
Long have I flowed o'er stock and stone,
I say with truth I have not seen
A rarer beauty than your own!"
The rough-bark hickory, elm, and beech
With quick'ning thrill and growth are rife;
Oak, maple, through the heart of each
There runs a glorious tide of life.
Fresh leaves, young buds on every hand,
On trunk and limb a hint of red,
The gleam of poplars tall that stand
With God's own sunshine on their head.
The mandrake's silken parasol
Is fluttering in the breezes bold,
And yonder where the waters brawl
The buttercups show green and gold.
The slender grape-vine sways and weaves,
From sun-kissed sward and nook of gloom
There comes the smell of earth and leaves,
The breath of wild-flowers all abloom.
Spring's gleam is on the robin's breast,
Spring's joy is in the robin's song:
"My mate is in yon sheltered nest;
Ho! love is sweet and summer long!"
While full and jubilant and clear,
All the long day, from dawn till dark,
The trill of bobolink we hear,
Of hermit thrush and meadowlark.
Sit here among the grass and fern
Unmindful of the cares of life,
The lessons we have had to learn,
The hurts we've gotten in the strife.
There's youth in every breath we take,
Forgetfulness of loss and tears,
Within the heart there seems to wake
The gladness of the long past years.
Peace keeps us company to-day
In this old fragrant, shadowy wood;
We lift our eyes to heaven and say:
The world is fair and God is good.
O RADIANCE OF LIFE'S MORNING.
O Radiance of life's morning! O gold without alloy!
O love that lives through all the years! O full, O perfect joy!
The hills of earth touch heaven, the heaven of blue and gold,
And angel voices swell the song of love and peace untold!
O radiance of life's morning!
The dew within the rose,
The fragrance fresh from Eden
That freights each breeze that blows!
Dear Christ, the wine of Cana pour out in rich supply,
These hearts keep young with gladness while all the years go by!
O radiance of life's morning!
O gold without alloy!
O love that lives through all the years,
O full, O perfect joy!
THE IDLER.
If but one spark of honest zeal
Flashes to life within his breast--
A feeble, flick'ring spark at best;
If for a moment he doth feel
A dim desire to throw aside
The bonds that idleness has wrought,
To do, to be the man he ought,
The tyrant thing he calls his pride--
The curse of all things good on earth--
Takes on the cruel midwife's role,
And each high impulse of the soul
Is strangled in the hour of birth.
"To dig I am ashamed," quoth he;
"Mine is the pride of name and race
That scorns to fill such humble space--
Life's lowly tasks are not for me."
Oh, he can flatter with his tongue,
Can toady to the rich and great,
Can fawn on those he feels to hate,
Until from out his nature's wrung
Each shred of honesty and zeal,
Each impulse independent, strong,
Till truth and honor's but a song,
And naught is beautiful or real.
THE TRUST.
We steal the brawn, we steal the brain;
The man beneath us in the fight
Soon learns how helpless and how vain
To plead for justice or for right.
We steal the youth, we steal the health,
Hope, courage, aspiration high;
We steal men's all to make for wealth--
We will repent us by and by.
Meantime, a gift will heaven appease--
Great God, forgive our charities!
We steal the children's laughter shrill,
We steal their joys e'er they can taste,
"Why skip like young lambs on a hill?
Go, get ye to your task in haste."
No matter that they droop and tire,
That heaven cries out against the sin,
The gold, red gold, that we desire
Their dimpled hands must help to win.
A cheque for missions, if you please--
Great God, forgive our charities!
We steal the light from lover's eyes,
We hush the tale he has to tell
Of pure desire, of tender ties--
No man can serve two masters well.
So loot his treasury of pride,
His holy hopes and visions steal,
His hearth-fire scatter far and wide,
And grind the sparks beneath your heel.
A cheque will cover sins like these--
Great God, forgive our charities!
WHEN PAGANINI PLAYS.
"Dawn!" laughs the bow, and we straight see the sky,
Crimson, and golden, and gray,
See the rosy cloudlets go drifting by,
And the sheen on the lark as, soaring high,
He carols to greet the day.
Fast moves the bow o'er the wonderful strings--
We feel the joy in the air--
'Tis alive with the glory of growing things,
With wild honeysuckle that creeps and clings,
Rose of the briar bush--queen of the springs--
Anemones frail and fair!
We listen, and whisper with laughter low,
"It voices rare gladness, that ancient bow!"
Then, sad as the plaint of a child at night--
A child aweary with play--
The falling of shadows, a lost delight,
The moaning of watchers counting the flight
Of hours 'twixt the dark and day.
It echoes the cry of a broken heart,
It grieves o'er a "might have been,"
It holds all the passionate tears that start
When our heaven and our earth drift far apart,
And the way lies dark between.
It stills all our laughter, and whispers low--
'Tis heart-strings it plays on, that ancient bow!
TO-DAY YOU UNDERSTAND.
You lifted eyes pain-filled to me,
Sad, questioning eyes that did demand
Why I should thrust back, childishly,
The friendship warm you offered me--
Ah, sweet, to-day you understand!
'Twas that my heart beat rapturously
At word of thine, at touch of hand,
At tender glance vouchsafed to me
The while I knew it must not be--
Ah, sweet, to-day you understand!
There's neither pain nor mystery
In that far-off and fragrant land
To which you journeyed fearlessly;
By gates of pearl and jasper sea--
Ah, sweet, to-day you understand!
LOVE'S SACRIFICE.
"And behold, a woman in the city, which was a sinner, when she knew that
Jesus sat at meat in the Pharisee's house, brought an alabaster box of
ointment and stood at his feet behind him weeping, and began to wash his
feet with tears, and did wipe them with the hairs of her head."
The eyes He turned on her who kneeling wept
Were filled with tenderness and pity rare;
But looking on the Pharisee, there crept
A sorrow and a hint of sternness there.
"Simon, I have somewhat to say to thee,"
The Master's voice rang clearly out, and stirred,
With its new note of full authority,
The list'ning throng, who pressed to catch each word.
"Master, say on," self-righteous Simon said,
And muttered in his beard, "A sinner, she!"
Marvelling the while that on the drooping head
The hand of Jesus rested tenderly.
"Seest thou this woman, Simon?" Scornful eyes
Did Simon bend upon the woman's face,
The while the breath of love's sweet sacrifice
Rose from the broken box and filled the place.
Self-righteousness, the slimy thing that grows
Upon a fellow-creature's frailty,
That waxes fat on shame of ruined lives,
Swelled in the bosom of the Pharisee.
"Into thine house I came at thy request,
Weary with travel, and thou gavest not
To me the service due the humblest guest,
No towel, no water clear and cold was brought
"To wash my feet; but she, whom you despise,
Out of the great affection she doth bear
Hath made a basin of her woman's eyes,
A towel of her woman's wealth of hair.
"Thou gavest me no kiss"--O Simon, shame,
Thus coldly and unlovingly to greet
The Prince of Peace!--"but ever since I came
This woman hath not ceased to kiss my feet.
"He loveth most who hath been most forgiven."
O Simon, hearken, learn the great truth well,
No soul on faith's glad wings mounts nearer heaven
Than that which hath been prisoned deep in hell.
Methinks I hear her say: "Thou who forgivest
My many sins, this off'ring, sweet of breath,
I pour on Thee, dear Lord, while yet thou liv'st,
For love is ever swift to outrun death."
Upon her are the eyes of Jesus turned,
With gaze which seems to strengthen and to bless.
Who knows how long the soul of Him hath yearned
For some such token of rare tenderness?
The flush of shame flaunts red on Simon's cheeks,
About the table idle babblings cease,
A deep, full silence, then the Master speaks:
"Thy faith hath saved thee, go in peace--in peace."
WHEN THE DUSK COMES DOWN.
Do you know what I will love best of all
To do when I'm old? At the close of day
When the dusk comes down and the shadows play,
And the wind sings loud in the poplars tall,
I will love to get into my corner here--
The curtains drawn, and never a one
To break the stillness--to sit here alone
And dream of these good old times, my dear.
In fancy you'll come and sit by my side--
I can see your face with my eyes close shut,
With the pride and the softness clearly cut,
The obstinate chin and the forehead wide,
The oval cheek and the smile so warm,
The dark eyes full of their fun and power,
With the tender light for the tender hour,
And the flash of fire that was half their charm.
I'll whisper: 'Twas sweet when youth was our own--
The laughter, the nonsense, the freedom from care,
The castles we built high up in the air,
The secrets told to each other alone!
Not all of laughter; the world went wrong,
And the shadows pressed till my heart was sore.
I'll never be glad, I said, any more,
Never be happy, or gay, or strong.
O the sweetest thing in the hour of pain
Is to have one near us who understands,
To touch us gently and hold our hands,
Till our strength and courage come back again.
At love's swift pace you hurried to me--
Your tender words they will ring in my ears
When I sit and dream after long, long years--
The shine in your eyes through the mists I'll see.
Our lives will be lying so far apart,
And time, no doubt, will have given us much
Of weary wisdom; put many a touch
Of his withering hand on face and heart.
But I know what I will love best of all
To do at the end of the busy day,
When the dusk comes down and the shadows play,
And the wind sings low in the poplars tall.
I will love to get into my corner here,
With the curtains drawn, and never a one
To break the stillness--to sit here alone
And dream of these happy days, my dear,
And take my treasures from memory's hold--
The tears, the laughter, the songs that were sung--
O the friends we love when the heart is young
Are the friends we love when the heart grows old!
THE GHOSTS OF NIGHT.
When we were children, long ago,
And crept to bed at close of day,
With backward glance and footstep slow,
Though all aweary with our play,
Do you remember how the room--
The little room with window deep--
Would fill with shadows and with gloom,
And fright us so we could not sleep?
For O! the things we see at night--
The dragons grim, the goblins tall,
And, worst of all, the ghosts in white
That range themselves along the wall!
We could but cover up our head,
And listen to our heart's wild beat--
Such dreadful things about our bed,
And no protection save a sheet!
Then slept, and woke quite unafraid.
The sun was shining, and we found
Our shadows and our ghosts all laid,
Our world a glorious playing-ground.
For O! the things we see at night--
The dragons grim, the goblins tall,
And, worst of all, the ghosts in white
That range themselves along the wall!
We are but children still, the years
Have never taught us to be bold,
For mark our trembling and our fears
When sometimes, as in days of old,
We in the darkness lie awake,
And see come stealing to our side
A ghostly throng--the grave Mistake,
The Failure big, the broken Pride.
For O! the things we see at night--
The dragons grim, the goblins tall,
And, worst of all, the ghosts in white
That range themselves along the wall!
How close they creep! How big they loom!
The Task which waits, the Cares which creep;
A child, affrighted in the gloom,
We fain would hide our head and weep.
When, lo! the coward fear is gone--
The golden sunshine fills the air,
And God has sent us with the dawn
The strength and will to do and dare.
For O! the things we see at night--
The dragons grim, the goblins tall,
And, worst of all, the ghosts in white
That range themselves along the wall!
THE LONG AGO.
O life has its seasons joyous and drear,
Its summer sun and its winter snow,
But the fairest of all, I tell you, dear,
Was the sweet old spring of the long ago--
The ever and ever so long ago--
When we walked together among the flowers,
When the world with beauty was all aglow.
O the rain and dew! O the shine and showers
Of the sweet old spring of the long ago!
The ever and ever so long ago.
A hunger for all of the past delight
Is stirred by the winds that softly blow.
Can you spare me a thought from heaven to-night
For the sweet old spring of the long ago?--
The ever and ever so long ago.
FORGIVE AND FORGET.
I'll tell you the sweetest thing, dear heart,
I'll tell you the sweetest thing--
'Tis saying to one that we love: "Forgive
The careless words and the sting;
Forgive and forget, and be friends once more,
For the world is an empty place
Without the light of your warm, true eyes,
And the smile of your tender face."
O the kissing and making up again,
And the tender whispering!
I'll tell you the sweetest thing, dear heart,
I'll tell you the sweetest thing.
I'll tell you the saddest thing, dear heart,
I'll tell you the saddest thing:
'Tis coming to one that we love full well,
Some tender message to bring.
And loitering, loitering, by the way--
Held back by a foolish pride--
Till it's all too late to say "Forgive!"
When at length we reach her side.
For the ears are heavy and cannot hear,
And the chill lips cannot move
To whisper "Peace," though our hearts may break
With longing, and pain, and love,
O this coming too late with our tenderness!
O the passionate tears that spring!
I'll tell you the saddest thing, dear heart,
I'll tell you the saddest thing!
Then let us make haste to be friends again,
Make haste to fold to our breast
The one we have hurt by word and deed,
Though we loved that one the best.
"Forgive and forget! Forgive and forget!"
O warm in the tear-wet eyes
Is the glow and the gleam of a golden light
From the shores of Paradise.
O the kissing and making up again,
And the tender whispering!
I'll tell you the sweetest thing, dear heart,
I'll tell you the sweetest thing.
THE ARGUMENT.
"As friend," she said, "I will be kind,
My sympathy will rarely fail,
My eyes to many faults be blind--
As wife, I'll lecture, scold, and rail,
"Be full of moods, a shrew one day,
A thing of tenderness the next,
Will kiss and wound--a woman's way
That long the soul of man has vext.
"You've been a true, unselfish man,
Have thought upon my good alway,
Been strong to shield, and wise to plan,
But ah! there is a change to-day.
"There's mastery in your 'Be my wife!'
For self stands up and eagerly
Claims all my love, and all my life,
The body and the soul of me.
"Come, call me friend, and own me such,
Nor count it such a wondrous thing
To hold me close, thrill at my touch--
A lord and master!--there's the sting.
"'Tis all or naught with you, you plead,
And he is blest who boldly wins;
These words," she said, "are proof, indeed,
That love and selfishness are twins.
"Yet, had you let my wisdom sway,
Would it have pleased me, who can tell?
I might have said regretfully:
'Methinks I reasoned far too well!'"
THE SECRET.
The throng about her did not know,
Her nearest friend could not surmise
Whence came the brightness and the glow,
The wondrous radiance of her eyes.
One said, half enviously: "Your face
Is beautiful with gladness rare,
With that warm, generous heart of yours
Some precious secret you must share."
Ah, true beneath the filmy lace
That rose and fell upon her breast,
Her first love-taken held its place--
From him, from him whom she loved best!
VASHTI.
"O last days of the year!" she whispered low,
"You fly too swiftly past. Ah, you might stay
A while, a little while. Do you not know
What tender things you bear with you away?
"I'm thinking, sitting in the soft gloom here,
Of all the riches that were mine the day
There crept down on the world the soft New Year,
A rosy thing with promise filled, and gay.
"But twelve short months ago! a little space
In which to lose so much--a whole life's wealth
Of love and faith, youth and youth's tender grace--
Things that are wont to go from us by stealth.
"Laughter and blushes, and the rapture strong,
The clasp of clinging hands, the ling'ring kiss,
The joy of living, and the glorious song
That drew its sweetness from a full heart's bliss.
"O wealth of tenderness! O gladness great!
That crowned me, covered me a year ago!
A bankrupt, I--gone faith, gone warm caress
Gone love, gone youth, gone all!"
She whispered low.
"Oh, last days of the year, you take away
The riches that I held so close and dear.
Go not so swiftly, stay a little, stay
With one poor bankrupt,
Last days of the year."
THE TREASURE BOX.
I asked Aunt Persis yester-eve, as twilight fell,
If she had things of value hidden safe away--
Treasures that were her very own? And did she love
To bring them forth, and feast her eyes upon their worth,
And finger them with all a miser's greed of touch?
She smiled that slow, warm smile of hers, and drew me down
Beside her in the inglenook. The rain beat hard
Against the panes, without the world was doubly gray
With twilight and with cloud. The room was full of shade
Till Persis stirred the slumbering grate fire wide awake,
And made it send its flickering shafts of light into
Each corner dim--gay shafts that chased the shadows forth
And took their place, then stole away and let
The shadow back, and then gave chase again,
The maddest and the stillest game!
To music of
The raindrops on the pane, and wind that softly shrilled
About the eaves, the treasure box was opened wide
And its contents exposed to the rude gaze of one
Too young, too worldly-wise to know their value great.
I thought to see pearls, corals, quaint, old-fashioned gems,
Or lace like gossamer creamed by the hand of time--
Real treasures worthy of the hoarding.
Lo! I saw
A leather-covered book, a worn and musty thing
With ragged leaves and many marks. "What is it?" I asked;
"To me it looks the school-book that some stupid child
Has learned its lesson from."
"And so it is," she smiled. "My father's testament,
And at his knee I conned the Golden Rule, and all
The wondrous truths that teach us how to live. 'Tis dear
To me, you may suppose."
A knot of ribbon that
Had once been blue, a braid of dark brown hair, a spray
Of lily o' the valley, withered, sere, yet holding still a breath
Of sweetness indescribable; some letters tied
With silk, a broken fan, some verses scribbled on
A yellow page, a baby's shoe, more letters, and,
What think you, friend? A string of amber beads, without
A trace of value--beads of glass strung on a bit
Of twine. Aunt Persis took them in her hand and let
The firelight play on them. "My grandmother's first gift,"
She said, and slipped them round her neck. "I love them best
Of all my ornaments--each amber bead holds fast
A joy caught in the childhood days of pleasantness,
And when I sit here with the sparkling things held close
The joys they gathered long ago slip from them to
My heart, and ere I know, I am a child once more.
"Treasures! Nay, dear one, in your clear young eyes I see
The disappointment grow--no treasures these, you say;
These faded things, and poor, these musty, ragged things--
But some day in the gloaming of your life you'll ope
Your treasure box, and find a hoard of just such things
As these--a few rare trifles wrapped in memories."
THE MESSAGE.
My Marjorie doth hold in her white hands
A spray of lilies plucked below the brook
Where the old ruin of a chapel stands--
A ruin tenanted by many a nook,
And all the grayness of it hid from sight
By gracious draping of the ivy green.
Sweet lilies, 'tis your glorious fate to-night
To lie upon her breast, to send between
Her silken bodice and the heart beneath
The fragrance given you by sun and shower.
Speak subtly with your warm, sweet-scented breath
Till, 'mid the dance and music of the hour,
She turn you love-filled eyes and glowing face,
With: "Ah, ye grew in that old trysting place!"
ESTRANGED.
"It is good-bye," she said; "the world is wide,
There's space for you and me to walk apart.
Though we have walked together side by side,
My thoughts all yours, my resting-place your heart,
We now will go our different ways. Forget
The happy past. I would not have you keep
One thought of me. Ah, yes, my eyes are wet;
My love is great, my grief must needs be deep.
"Yet I have strength to look at you, and say:
Forget it all, forget our souls were stirred,
Forget the sweetness of each dear, dead day,
The warm, impassioned kiss, the tender word,
The clinging handclasp, and the love-filled eyes--
Forget all these; but, when we walk apart
Remember this, though wilful and unwise,
No word of mine did ever hurt your heart."
THE PARTING.
One summer's morning I heard a lark
Singing to heaven, a sweet-throated bird;
One winter's night I was glad in the dark
Because of the wondrous song I had heard.
The joy of life, I have heard you say,
Is my love, my laughter, my smiles and tears;
When I have gone on the long, strange way,
Let these stay with you through all the years--
These be the lark's song. What is love worth
That cannot crowd, in the time that's given
To two like us on this gray old earth,
Such bliss as will last till we reach heaven?
Dear one, think oft of the full, glad years,
And, thinking of them, forget to weep.
Whisper: "Remembrance holds no tears!"
And kiss my mouth when I fall on sleep.
MARGARET.
Her eyes--upon a summer's day
God's skies are not more blue than they.
Her hair--you've seen a sunbeam bold
Made up of just such threads of gold.
Her cheek--the leaf which nearest grows
The dewy heart of June's red rose.
Her mouth--full lipped, and subtly sweet
As briar drowned in summer heat.
Her heart--December's chill and snow--
Heaven pity me, who love her so!
ST. VALENTINE.
The girl's a slender thing and fair,
With dimpled cheek and eyes ashine;
The youth is tall, with bashful air.
Heigho! a fond and foolish pair--
The day is yours, St. Valentine.
He says: "My heart will constant prove,
Since every beat of it is thine;
The sweetest joy of life is love."
The birds are mating in the grove--
The day is yours, St. Valentine.
What matter that the wind blows chill
Through leafless tree and naked vine,
That snowdrifts linger on the hill,
When warm love makes the pulses thrill?
The day is yours, St. Valentine.
TWO JUNE NIGHTS.
A red rose in my lady's hair,
A white rose in her fingers,
A wild bird singing low, somewhere,
A song that pulses, lingers.
The sound of dancing and of mirth,
The fiddle's merry chiming,
A smell of earth, of fresh, warm earth,
And honeysuckle climbing;
My lady near, yet far away--
Ah, lonely June of yesterday!
A big white night of velvet sky,
And Milky Way a-gleaming,
The fragrant blue smoke drifting by
From camp-fire brightly beaming;
The stillness of the Northland far--
God's solitudes of splendor--
My road a trail, my chart a star.
Wind, 'mong the balsams slender,
Sing low: O glad June of to-day,
My lady's near, though far away!
REMEMBRANCE.
"Once they were lovers," says the world, "with young hearts all aglow;
They have forgotten," says the world, "forgotten long ago."
Between ourselves--just whisper it--the old world does not know.
They walk their lone, divided ways, but ever with them goes
Remembrance, the subtle breath of love's sweet thorny rose.
THE EMIGRANT LADDIE.
Though long, long leagues of land and sea
Stretch out between Braemar and me,
I'll win home late or soon,
Will take the old familiar way
Past Isla Glen, up bold Glenshee,
By sun-kissed hill and valley gray--
These feet of mine will find their way
At midnight or at noon.
The hearth-fire, and the cot of stone
Set 'mong the fir trees tall and lone,
I'll see before my eyes;
Hear rough winds kiss the heath-clad hill,
The murmur gay of loch and rill,
The mavis singing sweet and shrill,
Hear, warm and soft as notes that thrill
The souls in paradise.
A voice all tremulous and glad
Cries out: "A welcome home, my lad!"
LOVE'S SERVICE.
Your presence is a psalm of praise,
And as its measure grandly rings
God's finger finds my heart and plays
A _te deum_ upon its strings.
I never see you but I feel
That I in gratitude must kneel.