Poems

Far back, in galleries olden, A Roman Emperor stood, And, looking upon the nations, Proclaimed that the highest good Was to be at one with Nature,— A part of the Life sublime, A note in the spheral music Of the everlasting chime. The world has gained in splendor Since Antoninus slept, And over its primal darkness Has the light of Science crept; Religion has raised her banners; And within the homes of men, Have art and affection gathered The trophies of sword and pen.

Father , I scarcely dare to pray, So clear I see, now it is done, That I have wasted half my day, And left my work but just begun; So clear I see that things I thought Were right or harmless were a sin; So clear I see that I have sought. Unconscious, selfish aims to win.

Whence are thy wooings, gentle June?  Thou hast a Naiad's charm; Thy breezes scent the rose's breath;   Old Time gives thee his palm. The lark's shrill song doth wake the dawn;   The eve-bird's forest flute Gives back some maiden melody,   Too pure for aught so mute.

If even thee, the righteous and the holy, These did forsake, What wonder human hearts, loving as lowly, Do sometimes break? All stand far off in the dark hour of trial, Just before sleep. 'Neath the lips' smile we feel the soul's denial, And turn and weep.

A melody is the Soul of a man, A melody is the Soul of a woman; None like another, in cadence or time, Trillings of sweetness and measure sublime Flow on forever. Harmony is the soul of mankind, Carols of sweetness and richness combined, Pure exultation, and strains but half-glad, Straying from keynotes expressing the sad, Flow on together.

The Easter Praises may falter, And die with the Easter Day; The blossoms that brighten the altar In sweetness may fade away. But after the silence and fading, There lingers, untold and unpriced.

Though in our chilly month of May The Maypole be not seen, Nor lads and lasses flock to pay Their greetings to their queen; Yet, twixt the weeping clouds of gloom The skies shine bright and blue, And Decoration flowers shall bloom O'er comrades brave and true. W.

O Sinners , weary of your sin, Longing a new Life to begin,— When all the gates of help are shut, And all the words of Love are mute, Earth's joys are sere, like burnt-up grass, And even the very heavens as brass,— Turn not away so hopelessly, Jesus of Nazareth passeth by. O all ye foolish ones, who feel A sudden doubt, like piercing steel, Strike your dead souls, make your hearts burn, Till conscience sighs, "Return, Return," Why let the heavenly impulse fleet, Love's wave wash back from your worn feet; Know ye not him who comes so nigh? Jesus of Nazareth, passing by? Mulock.

My boy, I 'd like a word with you! You 're starting up the hill of Life, And friends, whose hearts are warm and true, Will stand beside you in the strife. Their kindly words will make you strong, To bear the burden of the day, And willing hands will help along The ones who falter by the way.

Oh Abba, Father, hear us as we pray; Guard, guide, and keep us in the narrow way. Oh, Love Eternal, listen to our call, And on us let Thy Holy Spirit fall.