Poems

O you who long for light,—God's keen, triumphant light,— Turn from the canyoned path where swilling shadows are; Above you waits the freedom of the mountain's height, Forever open to the surge of sun and star. O you who pray for peace,—God's satisfying peace,— Put off the hidden sword and armor that you wear; Rancor and strife and murmurings of fear must cease Ere you are worthy of the gift you crave in prayer.

The heralds called, and men from far and near Came surging in to see their hero's face. Fame had he won; his name was blazoned forth.

Humble are we when good in little ways, — In faithful doing of the common things. The gentle passing of the nights and days O'erfilled with storied blessings, outward flings A simple message, yet befitting kings! Who sees a duty, and his hand not stays From its completion, hears a song and sings To hearts through misery dumb; who softly prays The noble, silent prayer that, half expressed.

Where speed the swallows when the nights grow chilly And earth with longing gaze entreats the sun To shine again on rose and water-lily — Where speed they, hastening homeward, every one? Swift to a warmer clime their flights are winging, Where tamarinds ripen and the breeze is kind; where tenderest welcomes on the air are ringing, And songs are wafted on the scented wind. Where turns my heart, when slowly comes the learning, The bitter emptiness of love forgot? Whence finds it solace from the human yearning When earth no longer holds one gladsome spot? High in the heaven immortal Love is reigning, Where tired hearts and sore find now release; When mortals turn, no more earth's vain joys feigning, They in Christ's loving arms find joy and peace.

"You are sick," they said. "But that isn't the truth" And the woman shook her head.

Here in the hush where Love alone is speaking And faint beliefs reach out to understand. No earth-sounds jar, no voice the spell is breaking While Truth is whispering low a sweet command.

Hard by an orient sea. Where date and clove and sandalwood Whisper the heart to sunrise mood, I found a pearl Cradled in nacreous mystery, Hidden beneath the waters' silver swirl.

'Tis said that Nero played, and watched Rome burn. What strains must those have been, what dissonance To ear attuned to joyous harmony! He who from out such holocaust could bring His sense of joy and what to him seemed good, Is of low type—we cannot call him man.

For one brief hour upon the breath of spring A gleam of heaven-born happiness I bring: Out of the vast unknown, Out of the crystal zone Of all that's beautiful I flash and fly And float — I know not why! Out of the morn's empurpled empyrean, A tone of Truth's harmonious harp, a pæan, A strain of tuneful song, I flit the flowers among, A portion of the pageant of a dream, Part of the bright sunbeam. Upon the target of the tall sunflower— The golden house that Love has made my dower— I drink the nectar draught; And, when my thirst has quaffed, I seek the meadows and the myriad bells Knolling their silvery knells.

Love leadeth me! By the long way or by the slow, By paths I long have sought to know, Through prayers that have been breathed so low, That only His clear listening ear Could my importunings hear. Hour by hour through shade or shine, He holds the plummet and the line— The days are bright, the nights divine, Enough to know—through Life's full glow I travel on—enough to know— Love leadeth me!