Poems

Because no more I tread earth's darkling way, Deem me not dead, beloved, pitying me, Nor on a new-made mound white flowers lay And lavish longings on a memory. Oh, sordid is the vision, short and dim, That cannot pass the gray horizon's rim! The gates of flesh through which but now I passed Are swinging shut, yet would I, ere they close, One flaming message pluck and downward cast Upon the carrier-wind—one radiant rose That may, perchance, the sweet of comfort bear To them that walk the desert ways of care.

I watched the snowflakes as they fell, And listened to the winter's moan; Death's icy hand plucked bud and flower, And turned my stricken heart to stone. A pall of snow lay on the earth; A pall of grief closed in my life; Oh, would it never, never cease— 'Tween life and death, this bitter strife? In far Judea's rock-ribbed tomb, O'ercome at last, death vanquished lies; Earth's champion, Life, comes forth to claim From willing hearts the victor's prize.

When thy Dead Sea apples are ashes, And the light has died out in thy home, While the sea of thy sorrow updashes, Whitening thy robe with its foam, Shut out from pity or pardon. With thy hope in thy hand lying dead — Remember the tomb in the garden, And the words the angel said.

One looked, and having looked he turned away And moved again among the petty men That peopled his small world. On field or fen He caught no beauty, yet that perfect day Earth's glory was too fair for tongue to say Or pen to intimate; it was as when One prays a memory may be spared, and then Enjoins his heart to treasure it alway.

Not by any shore embound, Not encroached upon by sound, Nor by the presence of a fear, Nor yet the memory of a tear,— Is that sweet spot of which alone I fondly say, It is my own. Not any time-built crumbling wall Can house the sacred place I call My home.

When the glint of the diamond, sparkling white, Sheds luster and glow in the somber night; When the emerald, shaded to azure hue, So pleases the eye that life seems new — Think of this, dear heart: Earth's daintiest art Is not of the Spirit, however true. Love lurks in the gleam of an amber light.

Arise ! arise and, shine! On thee hath dawned the day! God is thy sun, and Christ thy light— Be thou a steadfast ray! Sing praise, O waking heart, For all thy God hath wrought; For Truth's clear light on thee hath shone And purified each thought. No more shall sin and wrong Obscure the light divine, For God hath given thee His Son, And lo! all things are thine! Arise! arise and shine! Uplift thee from the sod.

One thought he hated me: I thought the same. His looks were bitter, and his speech a flame That seared my soul and turned its day to night; In agony I sought relief in flight.

The promise of the distant day, The former time, the far away. For which the people watch and pray, — The Comforter! When will that happy time be here? The world awaits in doubt and fear; When will within our midst appear The Comforter? Lo, here and now all may be free! The day has dawned for you and me.

The devious paths of worldly glory lay Before me, and my heart exultant rose, In self-sufficient pride, to choose of those One for myself,—nor word nor deed might stay My eagerness for self-sought, self-made fray Against self-chosen, self-evoked foes. Yet strange the battle went.