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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/20174-0.txt b/20174-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..46a643a --- /dev/null +++ b/20174-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3732 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Freedom, Truth and Beauty, by Edward Doyle + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: Freedom, Truth and Beauty + +Author: Edward Doyle + +Release Date: December 23, 200 [eBook #20174] +[Most recently updated: October 18, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Sigal Alon, Brett Fishburne, David Garcia and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FREEDOM, TRUTH AND BEAUTY *** + + + + +FREEDOM, TRUTH AND BEAUTY + +SONNETS BY EDWARD DOYLE + +Author of Cagliostro, Moody Moments, the American Soldier, the Haunted +Temple and other poems; The Comet, a play of our times and Genevra, a +play of Mediaeval Florence. + + + "He owns only his mental vision. But this is clear and broad of + range--as broad, indeed, as that of Dante, Milton and Goethe, + sweeping beyond the horizon of eschatology and mounting, like + Francis Thompson's, even to the Throne of Grace itself when the + theme demands reverential daring." + + --STANDARD AND TIMES, PHILADELPHIA. + + + MANHATTAN AND BRONX ADVOCATE + 1712 Amsterdam Avenue, New York. + + THE SECOND REVISED EDITION + + + + _Copyright, 1921_ + BY + EDWARD DOYLE + + + + +CONTENTS + + + + PAGE NO. + + The Quality of Edward Doyle's Work, by Ella Wheeler Wilcox 7 + True Nationalism, by David Klein, Ph.D. 9 + Genevra, Review In the Independent 12 + Dedication to the Daughters of the American Revolution 13 + The Proem 19 + The Atlantic 20 + Human Freedom 20 + The Stars 21 + The Genesis of Freedom 21 + The Pilgrim Fathers 23 + Plymouth Rock 23 + The Catholics in Maryland 24 + A Forest for the King's Hawks 24 + To Arms Shouts Freedom 25 + British Soldiery 25 + Amphibious Barry 26 + Freedom's Triumph 26 + Washington's Army and Barry's Navy 27 + The Sunken Continent 27 + Elisha Brown 28 + Evacuation Day 28 + Manhatta 29 + The Burning of Washington City by the British 29 + The Land of the Great Spirit 30 + The Blight to Spring 30 + The Scorn of Human Rights 31 + Not This Our Country's Glory 31 + America's Glory No Fugitive 32 + Hate Thou Not Any Man 33 + The Celtic Soul Cry 34 + British Glory in Kipling's Boots 36 + To the English People 36 + Shakespeare 37 + England's Righteousness 37 + The Massacre of the Welsh Miners 38 + A Dirty Work 38 + Human Nature 39 + Our Country--Soul and Character 39 + Juda and Erin 41 + The Easter Rising in Ireland 41 + The Fight in Ireland 42 + To Erin 42 + The Queen of Beauty 43 + Liberty the Light to Peace 43 + Why Play with Words, England 44 + Freedom's Wardens 44 + List to Demosthenes, If Not to Hearst 45 + Caledonia 45 + Canada 47 + Dragon Incursions 51 + All Stars Merged in One 52 + Nemesis 52 + Lincoln's Lightening in Wilson's Hands 53 + The Cataclysm 54 + An Epoch's Angel Fall 54 + The America of the Future 55 + The Inevitable 56 + Reptiles with Wings 57 + The Outlaws in Our Country 58 + The Press 59 + The Truth 59 + Our Lord's Last Prayer 60 + Thought Is Truth's Echo 60 + Heaven 61 + Humility 61 + The Night of Mysteries 62 + What the Poets Show 62 + The Soul's Ascension 63 + Lyric Transport 63 + The Sunrise 64 + Two Darknesses 64 + The Doom of Hate 65 + The Evil in the World 65 + The Earth Renewed by Memory 66 + In the Dimple of Beauty's Cheek 66 + The Camp Fire 67 + Mother 67 + In Heaven No Heart Still Heaves 68 + Saint Peter's Cathedral in Rome 68 + My Bugler Boy 69 + Kaiser, Beware 69 + Woman in Germany 70 + O Thou Pale Moon 70 + The Tiger 71 + To Our Boys "Over There" 71 + The Profiteers 72 + Why the Stars Laugh 72 + Prayer for the World Peace 73 + Religion 73 + The Golden Jubilee of Sisters of Charity 74 + Winifred Holt, the Lifesaver of the Blind 75 + A Choice 75 + All Luminaires Have One Trend 76 + Life Takes Morning Hues with the Arts of Peace 76 + U. S. Senator James A. O. Gorman and the Stalwarts 77 + Minister of Justice Palmer, A Bastile Builder 77 + A Speck, But Not a Stain, Harvard 78 + Supreme Court Justice Charles L. Guy 78 + Rear Admiral Sims 79 + Saint George and the Dragon 79 + +[Illustration] + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE QUALITY OF THE WORKS OF EDWARD DOYLE + + +The quality of Edward Doyle's work was appraised by Ella Wheeler Wilcox +in the following article by Mrs. Wilcox which appeared in the New York +Evening Journal and the San Francisco _Examiner_, in 1905: + + +Shut your eyes and bind them with a black cloth and try for one hour to +see how cheerful you can be. Then imagine yourself deprived for life of +the light of day. + +Perhaps this experiment will make you less rebellious with your present +lot. + +Then take the little book called "The Haunted Temple and Other Poems," +by Edward Doyle, the blind poet of Harlem, and read and wonder and feel +ashamed of any mood of distrust of God and discontent with life you have +ever indulged. + +Mr. Doyle has been blind for the last thirty-seven years; he has lived +a half century. + +Therefore he still remembers the privilege of seeing God's world when +a lad, and this must augment rather than ameliorate his sorrow. + +He who has never known the use of eyes cannot fully understand the +immensity of the loss of sight. + +I hear people in possession of all their senses, and with many +blessings, bewail the fact that they were ever born. + +They have missed some aim, failed of some cherished ambition, lost some +special joy or been defeated in some purpose. + + +A GREAT SOUL + +And so they sit in spiritual darkness and curse life and doubt God. But +here is a great soul who has found his divine self in the darkness and +who sends out this wonderful song of joy and gratitude. + +Read it, oh, ye weak repiners, and read it again and again. It is +beautiful in thought, perfect in expression and glorious with truth. + + +CHIME, DARK BELL + + + My life is in deep darkness; still, I cry, + With joy to my Creator, "It is well!" + Were worlds my words, what firmaments would tell + My transport at the consciousness that I + Who was not, Am! To be--oh, that is why + The awful convex dark in which I dwell + Is tongued with joy, and chimes a temple bell. + Antiphonally to the choirs on high! + Chime cheerily, dark bell! for were no more + Than consciousness my gift, this were to know + The Giver Good--which sums up all the lore + Eternity can possibly bestow. + Chime! for thy metal is the molten ore + Of the great stars, and marks no wreck below. + + +I know a gifted and brilliant man in New York who is full of charm and +wit in conversation, but the moment he touches a pen he becomes, as a +rule, a melancholy pessimist, crying out at the injustice of the world +and the uselessness of high endeavor in the field of art. + +When urged to take a different mental attitude for the sake of the +reading world, which needs strong tonics of hope and courage, rather +than the slow poison of pessimism, however subtly sweet the brew, my +friend responds that "The song and dance of literature is not my special +gift." And he is obliged to "speak of the world as I find it." + +He is an able-bodied man, in the prime of life, with splendid years +waiting on his threshold to lead him to any height he may wish to climb. +But to his mental vision, nothing is really "worth while." + +What a rebuke this wonderful poem of Edward Doyle's should be to all +such men and women. What an inspiration it should be to every mortal who +reads it, to look within, and find the =Kingdom of God= as this blind +poet has found it. + +Mr. Doyle was in St. Francis Xavier's College when his great affliction +fell upon him. He started a local paper, The Advocate, in Harlem +twenty-three years ago and has in the darkness of his physical vision +developed his poetical talent and given the world some great lines. + + +AN INSPIRATION + +Here is a poem which throbs with the keen anguish which must have been +his guest through many silent hours of these thirty-seven years: + + +TO A CHILD READING + + + My darling, spell the words out. You may creep + Across the syllables on hands and knees, + And stumble often, yet pass me with ease + And reach the spring upon the summit steep. + Oh, I could lay me down, dear child, and weep + These charr'd orbs out, but that you then might cease + Your upward effort, and with inquiries + Stoop down and probe my heart too deep, too deep! + I thirst for Knowledge. Oh, for an endless drink + Your goblet leaks the whole way from the spring-- + No matter, to its rim a few drops cling, + And these refresh me with the joy to think + That you, my darling, have the morning's wing + To cross the mountain at whose base I sink. + + +But Edward Doyle has not sunk "at the mountain's base." He is far up its +summit, and he will go higher. He has found God, and nothing can hinder +his flight. He is an inspiration to all struggling, toiling souls on +earth. + +As I read his book, with its strong clarion cry of faith and joy and +courage, and ponder over the carefully finished thoughts and beautifully +polished lines, I feel ashamed of my own small achievements, and am +inspired to new efforts. + +Glory and success to you, Edward Doyle. + + ELLA WHEELER WILCOX. + +[Illustration] + + + + +TRUE NATIONALISM + +(_From the "Maccabaein", June, 1920._) + + +THE JEWS IN RUSSIA + + + From town and village to a wood, stript bare, + As they of their possessions, see them throng. + Above them grows a cloud; it moves along, + As flee they from the circling wolf pack's glare. + Is it their Brocken-Shadow of despair, + The looming of their life of cruel wrong + For countless ages? No; their faith is strong + In their Jehovah; that huge cloud is prayer. + + A flash of light, and black the despot lies. + What thunder round the world! 'Tis transport's strain + Proclaiming loud: "No righteous prayer is vain + No God-imploring tears are lost; they rise + Into a cloud, and in the sky remain + Till they draw lightening from Jehovah's eyes." + + +The author of this superb little gem, like Homer, is blind; but, like +Homer, his mental vision is clear, and broad, and deep. President +Schurman, of Cornell University, commenting on Doyle once said: "It +is as true today as of yore that the genuine poet, even though blind, +is the Seer and Prophet of his generation." The poem here printed +illustrates the point. Did we not know that it was published some +fifteen years ago in a volume entitled "The Haunted Temple," we should +assume that it was written on the occasion of the fall of the Czar. In +fact, however, it merely foretells this event by some dozen years. And +how terribly applicable are the lines to the facts of today! The +prophecy is one capable of repeated fulfillment. + +But it is as a prophet of nationalism that this man compels our +particular attention. The prophecy is embodied in a play entitled "The +Comet, a Play of Our Times," brought out as far back as 1908. The play +is a microcosm of American life. The chief character is a college +president, and he it is that is chosen to expound the true nature of +nationalism and to give voice and utterance to the principle of +self-determination. (Is it merely a coincidence that at that time +Woodrow Wilson was President of Princeton, or is it a case of poetic +vision. Wilson, be it remembered, was already a national figure, and +there were already glimmerings that he was destined to usher in a new +era in politics.) According to the protagonist, America is not "a +boiling cauldron in which the elements seethe, but never settle," but +rather a college where every class is taught to translate-- + + "Into the common speech of daily life + The country's loftiest ideals--" + + +and any body of citizens form a part of our republic only in so far-- + + "As they contribute to its character + As leader of the nations unto Right + By thought or deed, in service for mankind." + + +We must lead the peoples of the world to freedom. And what is freedom? + + "'Tis intelligence + Aloof from harm and hamper, grandly circling + Its native sun-lit peaks, the highest hopes + Heaved from the heart of man upon the earth, + In ranges long as time and soul endure." + + +What, then, is America's duty to the oppressed race or the small nation? +It is to "wake and disabuse it of false hope"-- + + "and urge it on + To the development of its own powers, + The culmination of its own ideals, + The star seed sown by God,--the only means + By which a tribe can thrive to its perfection." + + +To make this possible, civilization must be given a more human content. +It is therefore necessary to awake human intelligence, "the godlike +genius," to a realization of the fact-- + + "--that, on having brought + This world from out the chaos dark + Of waters and of woody wilderness, + And shaped it into hills of hope for man, + Must providence its beautiful creation + With altruistic love and tenderness; + So that all tribes of man, what'er their hue, + Have each a hill where it can touch the star + That it has followed with its mental growth." + + +Such a program is rendered imperative by the inexorability of the law +of race, which nullifies any attempts to force assimilation: + + "It is a foolish, futile thing + To try to shape society by codes, + Vetoed by Nature. Nature trumpets forth + No edict, through the instinct of a race, + Proclaiming certain territory hers + And warning all encroaching powers therefrom, + Without the ordering out of her reserves + To see to it the edict is enforced. + Let politics keep off forbidden shores." + + +If any powers preserve in a policy of oppression, our duty is plain: + + "To teach the barbarous tribes throughout the globe, + Christian or Turk, that all humanity + Is territory sheltered by our flag; + That butchery must cease throughout the world; + That, having ended human slavery, + Old glory has a mission from on high + To stop the slaughter of the smiling babe, + The pale, crazed mother, weak, defenseless sire, + All places on the habitable globe." + + +Finally to render feasible the ideal development of all peoples, and +put an end to war, America must bring about a league of all nations. +It develops on us-- + + "To get the races by degrees together + To talk their grievance over, in a voice + As gentle as a woman's.... + There is no education in the world + Like human contact for mankind's advance; + All differences, then, adjust themselves; + But when two races are estranged by hate, + They grow so deaf to one another's rights, + That it soon comes to pass that either has + To use the trumpet of artillery + In order to be heard at all." + + +Recently, Doyle wrote the following lines. Their application is obvious: + + "Vault Godward, Poet. What though few may climb + The mountain and the star on trail of thee? + Thy wing-flash beams toward man, and if it be + True inspiration--whether thought sublime, + Or fervor for the truth, or liberty-- + Thy light will reach the earth in goodly time." + + +What wonder that from so lofty an outlook his searching eye should +pierce the tragedy of "The Jews in Russia"--or elsewhere--should pierce +even the revenges that Time would ring in, and rest on a vision of +righteous peace! + + DAVID KLEIN, Ph.D. + +_AUTHOR OF LITERARY CRITICISM, from the Elizabethian Dramatist._ + + + + +GENEVRA + +(_From the "Independent," May 30, 1912._) + + +The scene of Mr. Edward Doyle's new play is the Florence of 1400; +the atmosphere that of a plague stricken city in a time when man was +helpless, authorities hopeless, social life in shreds and patches. The +plot of the play founded on this state of affairs is rich in incident, +varied and sufficiently complex in color, passion and character to +furnish material for an exciting spectacular representation. The +tragic element is strong, but supported and shaded by the company of +roysterers, a jester, whose foolery is a compound of bluff of that +period and bluff of modern politics and athletics. The jester, the black +company and the penitents, together with the roysterers, form now the +foreground, now the background, of action, which in itself is never +without the dolorous sound of the death bell. The doomed city is under +a spell comparable to that set forth so vividly in Manzoni's "I Promessi +Sposi." Says the villain of the plot as he listens from his seat at the +festive board: + + "It bodes ill for the black Cowled company + To make a visit to a festive house. + 'Tis like death looking in and whispering 'Next.' + Fool, call the servants. Bid them fetch the wine-- + A cask of it--the best varnaccio! + Here come my friends to help me drown the Plague." + + +Pictures like this as sharply defined are frequent and throw in shadowed +blackening on shadow. The author defends the use of a meteorological +phenomenon translated in the spirit of the time as supernatural by +quoting Dante as recognizing it, but the authority of Dante was not +necessary to justify the dramatist in introducing the "Crimson Cross." +It was a part of the pyrotechnics of the church propaganda. Though the +advance of scientific discovery has laid a heavy hand on thaumaturgy +of the sort, it would no doubt, have its use when properly handled +on a modern stage. The action of the drama is rapid and natural, the +characters well drawn and individualized, the dialogue spicy, forceful +and varied. + +Price $1.00. + +[Illustration] + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +DEDICATION + +TO THE DAUGHTERS OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION + + +I + + What lineage so noble as from Sires, + Laureled by Freedom? For, who, but the brave + Have glory to transmit? The Hero's grave + Blooms ever. It is there the spring retires + To dream to flowers, her heart and soul desires, + When winter's whitening wind, like wash of wave, + Sweeps mauseleums of the skulk and knave + From mounts of glare off to Oblivion's mires. + + The bloom, for which mere wealth lacks length of arm, + And fainting Time takes for reviving scent, + Fame, with bright eyes from heart and soul content, + Forms wreaths for Valor's Daughters--crowns that charm + Not with death-smells from Human welfare rent + But breath of Country's rescue from dire harm. + + +II + + Those crowns, not cold from death sweat on the brow, + At sight of apparitions with fixed stare, + But warm with summer, conjuring beauties rare-- + Wilt not. They are dewed daily by your vow, + Daughters of sires who, to no thrall, would bow! + Which, at the alter with raised hands, ye swear, + Cheering the blessed spirits, gathered there, + That, like their Mothers, are their daughters now. + + True women--and therefore, craft foilers clever-- + With sons for your hearts utterance, ye sue + Not, but like Barry to the British crew, + Ye cry out: "What! we strike our colors? Never! + Fie, shot! fie, Gold! these colors, since they drew + Their first star-breath, are God's, and God's forever." + + + Ye know the Leopard changes not his spots. + The Prince of Peace, who spake eternal truth, + Confirmed this fact of Nature. He, with ruth + Omniscient, saw afar, the scarlet clots + Of English nature, in profidious plots + For conquest, mangling not alone brave youth + With teeth set, but old age without a tooth, + And Mothers, clutching up their bleeding tots. + + Oh, yea, this beast makes his own desert, still; + And Ireland, India and Egypt show + His spots so spread, he is one ghastly glow; + Aye, as your sires saw him from Bunker Hill. + Oh, vain, gold rubs the skin and press shouts, "Lo! + It has not now one spot of threatening ill." + + +IV + + O Daughters of the brave, well ye abjure + The fiend and all his works. Ye know his smiles + Are fire-fly flare at gloaming, lighting miles + Of snake-boughed forests down to swamps, impure + From mind and soul decay; hence are heart-sure + That creed and racial hatreds are his wiles, + For God is Love, and Love draws, reconsiles, + And is the strength that makes our land endure. + + O Mothers, as you lift your babes and gaze + Into their eyes, your love runs through their vains + In crimson flushes--oh, your love that pains + At any of God's creatures hurt! that stays; + The heavens may pass away, but that remains, + Being of Christ, who walks earth Mother-ways. + + +V + + Oh, like your sires, you, too, know Freedom's worth + To Human Spirit. For its liberation, + A God unrealmed himself by tribulation, + And was an out-cast on a scornful earth. + Christ is no myth and, since with Human birth + He forms new Heavens for blissful habitation-- + There unto is the Freedom of the Nation; + All other trend is down to dark and dearth. + + When from the darkness rainbowed birth comes pouring, + Your virtue heeds the voice, Eternity-- + Re-echos: "Let them come." 'Tis Nature's plea + For broadening progress; Nay, 'tis God imploring + The Human to take strength for Liberty, + Truth, Honor, to catch up to the stars, a-soaring. + + +VI + + O Daughters of brave sires, what is true glory? + No marsh-ward falling star, however bright. + 'Tis inspirational; its upward flight + Lifts generations--such your Father's story, + And also yours, for is not that, too, gory? + You pour out your hearts blood in sons to fight + For honor, and cease not till every right + Has been set down in Triumph's inventory. + + Oh, into daughters, too, old noble Mothers! + You pour out your hearts blood that, in your place, + They may fill up the ranks and, as in case + Of Molly Pitcher, man guns for their brothers, + And hearten firm, the trembling human race + To know, though brave men fall, there still comes others. + + +VII + + If Christ's foreshadowing in Juda's haze + Was of his grief, 'tis of His triumph, here, + For, is not His celestrial glory clear + In Freedom for all men? First, gaseous rays + In Maryland, then rounded firm full blaze + In the Republic, it draws every sphere + Of Human welfare, whether far or near, + From depths occult to nights with dawns and days. + + The Freedom of the Generation's longing + Reflects Lord Christ in glory, hour by hour, + With more distinctness, as you, with His power, + Free heart and brain from every brother-wronging, + And give your offspring, these, as flesh and dower, + To live and lead the millions, hither thronging. + + +VIII + + Oh, ever Mothers--shaping robust youth + No less than infant, and as perfectly! + There's life blood to their veins from when on knee + To when thy battle, from your broadening ruth + For Human kind and fervent love of truth. + If, like their fathers, they have come to be + The wonder of the world, for liberty, + Your virtue, 'tis, that in their valor greweth. + + Oh, as the Roman Mother, when she showed + For jewels, her two sons, saw each of them + In Time's Tiara, glittering there a gem; + So, see your offspring shine. The light, bestowed + Your Fathers, in your sons is diamond flame, + Encircling Freedom's ocean-walled abode. + + +IX + + Is it Apocalyptic Vision, when + White-winged Columbus swoops from Spain's palmed shore + And, from dark depths, lifts at San Salvador, + A continent, adrip with streams which, then, + Become the fountain of the Psalmist's ken, + Where Right the heart, from hoof to horn foam-hoar + From craggy speed, slakes thirst, and, evermore, + Comes Hope's whole clattering herd?--you chant, "Amen." + + Aye, for your sires made earth this new creation + Where, from San Salvadore and Plymouth Reef + To Westward Mission Trails, ascends belief + In God and, therefore, in the Soul's Salvation + Through Freedom, in white, spiral spray which grief + Sees, spite earth-mists, or solar obscuration. + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +SONNETS + +FREEDOM, TRUTH AND BEAUTY + + + + +THE PROEM + + + Soar thou aloft, though thou ascend alone, + O Human Spirit! Thou canst not be lost. + What though yon stars, the azure's nightly frost + Melt dark, or mount round thee an arctic zone! + Thou hast sun-warmth and star-source of thine own. + If thou mount not, how bitter is the cost! + What anguish, when whirled down, or tempest tossed, + To know how high toward God thou mightst have flown! + + Vault Godward, Poet. What though few may climb + The mountain and the star on trail of thee? + Thy wing-flash beams toward Man, and, if it be + True inspiration--whether thought sublime, + Or fervor for the Truth, or Liberty-- + Thy light will reach the earth in goodly time. + + + + +THE ATLANTIC + + + Forming the great Atlantic, see God take + The mist from woe's white mountain, spring and stream, + The breath of man in frost, the spiral lean + From roof-cracked caves where, though the heart may break, + The soul will not lie torpid, like the snake,-- + And battle smoke. On them He breathes with dream + And, Lo! an Angel with a sword agleam + 'Twix the Old World and New for Justice's sake. + + What sea so broad, as that from Human weeping? + Or Sun so flaming, as the Angel's sword + Of Human and Devine Wills in accord? + There, with sword-flash of myriad waves, joy-leaping, + Shall loom forever, Freedom's watch and ward, + With the New World in his Seraphic keeping. + + + + +HUMAN FREEDOM + + + This is thy glory, Man, that thou art free. + 'Tis in thy freedom, thy resemblance lies + To thy Creator. Nature, which, tide-wise, + Is flood and ebb, bounds not sky flight for thee. + Lo! as the sun arises from the sea, + Startling all beauty God-ward, thou dost rise + With mind to God in heaven, from finite ties, + And there, in freedom, thou art great as He. + + Meeting thy God with mind, 'tis thine to choose, + Wheather to follow him with love and soar, + Or dream Him myth and, rather than adore, + Plunge headlong into Nature's whirl and ooze. + Thine is full freedom. Ah! could God do more + To liken thee to Him, and love, infuse? + + + + +THE STARS + + + God loves the stars; else why star-shape the dew + For the unbreathing, shy, heart-hiding rose? + And when earth darkens, and the North wind blows, + Why into stars, flake every cloud's black brew? + What fitter forms for longings high and true, + Man's hopes, ideals, than bright orbs like those + Asbine from Nature's dawn to Nature's close, + In clusters, prisming every dazzling hue? + + Nor is the Sun with harvests in its heat, + And that, sky-hidden, makes the moon at night, + An earth-ward cascade for its leaps of light, + More real, or a world force more complete, + Than Faith and Hope, that brake through clouds with sight + Of evil's foil and ultimate defeat. + + + + +THE GENESIS OF FREEDOM + + +I + + O Freedom! Born amid resplendent spheres, + And, with God-like creative power, endowed, + Hast thou, to human life's blue depths, not vowed + A splendor, not alone like that which 'pears + At present, where the upper asure clears, + But that the Nebulae will yet unshroud? + I hear thy far off cry where thou art lone, + A John the Baptist: "Lo! one greater nears." + + What is this Greater--this which is to meet + The planets and ascend high, high and higher? + The right of human spirit to aspire + And mount, unhampered--and by act, complete + Creations harmony, as by desire, + Proclaimed by brain with throb, by heart with beat. + + +II + + In thy descent through azures, all aglow + With circling spheres, the beauty of each blaze, + And grandeur, then, of all, entrance thy gaze. + Thou thinkest, why not thus all life below? + Perceiving, then that all the breezes blow + Upward and onward, in the skyey maze, + Thou wouldst go back and start with them, to raise + A new creation from chaotic throe. + + Thou seest plainly that without that breeze, + The breath of God, all that thou couldst create, + Were lifeless, save to turn on thee with hate, + And chase an age with grim atrocities; + But with that breath, thou couldst raise life to mate + The Planet's splendor, in the azures Peace. + + +III + + O Freedom! as thy sister spirit, Spring, + Pausing above the earth, sees every hue + Of her prismatic crown, reflected true + In forests and in fields, and fledgling's wing, + So thou dost see thy spirit glorying + With faith, that man is more than Nature's spew-- + In human spirit that, from beauty drew + First breath to know that soul is more than thing. + + O Freedom! fain we follow thee in flight + From chaos to God's glory round and round, + Aloft! how like an elk pursued by hound, + To brinks thou springest toward the distant height + And, on bent knees, then speedest without sound, + Like Faith through Death, till, lo! thou dost alight. + + + + +THE PILGRIM FATHERS + + + "Ye Wreaches, who would lay proud England's head + Upon the block, and raise her features, then, + Bloodless and ghastly, for the scorn of men! + Begone forever. Go where terrors spread + Their sea and forest mouths to crush you dead. + Oh, how the clouds shall crimson from each glen, + A roar with blaze, and flame search out each fen, + If back to us, yea e'er are vomited." + + To this Parental blessing and God-speed, + The Pilgrim Fathers gladly made reply: + "These waves are Conscience's wings along the sky; + They carry us to God, whose call we heed. + The further from thy coast of hate and lie, + The nearer God. On! On!--that is our creed." + + + + +PLYMOUTH ROCK + + + O Sun and Stars! bear ye Earth's thanks to God; + For Oh! what waters, slaking every thirst + Of heart, mind, spirit, in long cascades burst + From Plymouth Rock, when struck by Freedom's rod! + No wanderer in the burning sand, unshod, + Plods man with lolling tongue, dog-like, as erst; + For lo! this fountain, deepening from the first, + Floods Earth's old wells and greens Life's sand to sod. + + Oh, more those waters than the Font of Youth, + For which, through field and swamp, the Spaniard ran! + For they are clear with God's eternal truth + Of fatherhood, hence brotherhood of man, + And are no dream. They quench all human drouth + And cleanse man's desert dust of sect and clan. + + + + +THE CATHOLICS IN MARYLAND + + + Of Expeditions in the Arctic Past, + All honor to the one that reached the pole + And formed a settlement where every soul + Enjoyed full freedom. There above the blast, + How musical the bell, by Justice cast! + It welcomed all to come. It ceased to toll + After a while, but why? Those, welcomed, stole + And dragged it where the ice formed thick and fast. + + Of Arctic Expeditions there is none + So profitable to the human race + As that toward Freedom's pole, and hence men face + All storms to reach it. If they fail, the sun + Has but one joy--to thaw out wrecks, and trace + Man's progress where alone it can be done. + + + + +A FOREST FOR THE KING'S HAWKS + + + Say, what is Ma-jest-y without externals? + Is Burke's analysis not right--"A Jest"? + Ah, but a jest, at which the poor, oft pressed + To their last heart-drop, laugh not, like court journals. + The King needs coin, and, where he sowed no kernels, + Wants the whole forest for his hawks to nest + And breed in, and became an annual pest; + In this the farmers show that they discern ills. + + Hark! blares the tyrant's horn and, in a thrice, + The Tories gather. Eagerly they band, + For is the King not greater than the land? + And rows with royalty, a rabble's vice? + Besides, what creeping tribes at his command, + And Spies and Hessians at a ferret's price! + + + + +TO ARMS SHOUTS FREEDOM + + + To Arms! shouts Freedom to her sons. Behold! + How, like Job's war-horse, they gulp down the ground + To battle! What care they how foes surround? + Oh, joy to Celts, nigh half the true and bold! + There, with the roar of all their wrongs uprolled + From ancient depths, they dash with billow-bound + Up rock and summit, and through cave and mound, + Spurning both Tyrants' steel and Treason's gold. + + No tide are they to ebb in heart and spirit. + If dashed back, they return with all the force + Of six dark sea's momentum on its course + For vengeance on the vile, who disinherit + The human-being--shut off every source + Of happiness, or let but Serf's draw near it! + + + + +BRITISH SOLDIERY + + + The wounded Sidney, who despite his thirst, + Gave water to his comrade, shines, a lamp + In the Cimerian dark of Britain's camp. + Even the Raleigh, who so finely versed, + Preferred to such a light, the flame accursed + Of sword and torch, to please a royal vamp. + Is British triumph in its world-wide tramp + The Hell, still "lower than lowest"--Milton's worst? + + Lord Christ! is British soldiery the swine, + In whose gross forms the fiends, exercised, flew? + Oh! watch them through the ages, they pursue + The noble and devour all things Divine. + Look! they illustrate horrors, which prove true + The Hell, which Milton's glimpse could not outline. + + + + +AMPHIBIOUS BARRY + + + Look! Freedom glares and pallid as a ghost, + Except for gashes on her brow and breast, + And faint from hunger, sits awhile to rest. + Amphibious Barry, bold on sea or coast, + Mounts and spurs darkness to the Tory Host, + And, like an Indian rider with head prest + Down to his steed's hot neck in prowess test, + Plucks from the ground, a prize he well may boast. + + Oh, as the sun's smile passing through the rain, + Shines forth a double arch, so, Barry's deed, + Refleshing Freedom's bones made gaunt by need, + Shines through the Ages; aye, and shines forth twain-- + Both for America, from Britain Freed, + And Erin, still choked black in Britain's chain! + + + + +FREEDOM'S TRIUMPH + + + With France and Erin heartening Washington, + Prone Freedom rose, with head above the cloud. + Beholding her transfigured, Thrall is cowed. + His minions are bewildered. How they run! + Some follow him against the rising sun; + Others plod north. The Torries' vaster crowd + Hide in dark places, and like Satan, proud, + They hate the glory, that the true have won. + + O Milton! Thou beheldest them. Thine ear + Caught their defiance and thy lightening pen, + In shattering the dark in evil's den, + Caught hope amphibious from leer to leer + Of those grim shadows, plotting to regain + Lost Paradise, or bane its atmosphere. + + + + +WASHINGTON'S ARMY AND BARRY'S NAVY + + + Who loosed our land from Britain's numbing hold? + "They who had naught to loose," the Tories say; + That is--not menials in the King's sure pay, + Nor mongrels, chained to guard their master's gold. + They were True Men. Their spirit, young and bold, + With dreams played follow-master, climbing day + From deepest night, to catch the Sun and stay + His glory for the World, then whiteing cold. + + Though darkness be far vaster than the lamp, + It is the beams that lead to progress, count. + "To manhood, with the virtues to surmount + Such darknesses as Valley Forge's camp, + And seas, deep hell's sky-reaching, broadening fount, + Honor!" The ages shout on Triumph's tramp. + + + + +THE SUNKEN CONTINENT + + + When hurled from heaven, 'tis thought, the fiends of pride + Caught Earth to brake their fall. The regions gave + And sank with all the hosts beneath the wave! + 'Tis in those sunken regions which divide + The new world of the resolute and brave, + From the old world of king and abject slave, + Where Torries, counterfeiting Satan, hide. + + Clinging, like lava, to a lifeless limb, + They think the phosphorescence of the bark + Is morning, which the long-belated lark + Is hastening to welcome with his hymn; + Else, they form poisons and breathe from the dark, + Miasma mist to make the sun-rise dim. + + + + +ELISHA BROWN + + + Old Guard of Boston! Halt; Right Face; Attention! + Order One: quell the weeds in rankest riot + Where lies Elisha Brown, in conscience, quiet. + This Brown was John's precursor. Ye, on pension + For ancient glory, now do duty. Mention + Elisha's name for countersign--and why, it? + Because with him, wrong, seen, was to defy it, + And act, else, was beyond his comprehension. + + Against his home's invasion this man held + A red-coat regiment for seventeen days, + Which was a spark to help start freedom's blaze + And, therefore, Order Two: the weeds all quelled, + Stand sentries till a statue takes your place + And throngs shout, "Bravo, Brown!" as 'tis unveiled! + + + + +EVACUATION DAY + + + What is it that today we celebrate + With school recital, banquet and parade + Of our achievements, pageanting each trade? + The ousting of the English--train and trait-- + And posting, then, sharp-eyed, eternal hate + To watch with Josuah's son above his head, + That night come not to help them re-invade, + However wide, we swing our ocean gate. + + If not un-Englishing America in mind + And heart forever, vain the shrieks + Of Freedom, eagling back to dawn's first streaks. + Oh, yea, the sun stands, and the night afar + Holds Thrall, whose craft would swamp our noblest peaks + And leave but bubbling mud show where they are! + + + + +MANHATTA + + + Manhatta! Glory flings his arms round thee + And proudly holds thee in his high caress. + What charms him, Mother, is thy nobleness + Of spirit. How his features beam to see + Thy scorn dash in the bay the tyrant's tea, + And hear thee call to Boston: "Do no less; + Else on sunlight, heart, soul--all we possess-- + Will tyrant's next exact their deadly fee." + + In thee I glory. Can the world else boast + A harbor, like thy heart, for every sail + In flight from sea-toss, white with horror's gale, + Or icebergs from despondence Polar coast? + Oh, fleets whose throngs, glad Freedom well may hail; + For, landing, they became her staunchest host. + + + + +THE BURNING OF WASHINGTON CITY BY THE BRITISH + + + With what wild glee, the British set on fire + Yon Capital, beholding in its flames, + America, robed in her deeds and fames, + In death throes at the stake of England's ire? + Though that was long ago and, then no pyre, + The stake still stands; 'tis Anglo-Saxon claims, + And Arnolds, bearing infamy's last names, + Tilt schools to raise the stake flames high and higher. + + Oh, sight to strike the coming ages dead, + My country, were a cloud, thy mocking crown, + And schools, ignited by Truth's lamps hurled down, + To feed that cloud, like craters, inly red! + What! mock with cloud, Thy land and sea renown + And Washington, God's Holy Spirit--known + By the unerring World Light, that it shed? + + + + +THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT + + + Behold Ye Here the Happy Hunting Grounds, + Where the Great Spirit, called Democracy, + Sets every heart and soul forever free, + An Equity, not royal grant, sets bounds. + No Phaeton attempting Phoebus rounds + And burning up earth's grass and forestry, + Is lust for power; 'tis love for liberty, + With bloom and birds for wheel-sparks, here resounds. + + It is the land of Spirit. "Ye who enter, + Abandon first all fratricidal hate," + Proclaims the edict, blazoned o'er each gate. + There see all tribes chase truth to joy--the center + Convexing broad and broader, as more great + Their numbers from where prejudice is mentor. + + + + +THE BLIGHT TO SPRING + + + Hark, 'tis the sea! How leonine its roar! + But, oh, how more the lion on a height, + As there he glares and listens for the night, + Having devoured day's clouds from shore to shore! + Now grows his mane of billows, high and hoar. + What scents he? Potencies escaping sight, + Till, like the cold, they icily alight + Upon a land where all was spring before. + + The sun darts under earth and east again, + What sees he? First the lion at earth's brink + With head down to the stream of stars to drink; + And then, arising to his zenith ken, + Sees that which makes his high, warm spirit sink-- + The blight to spring, blown here from England's fen. + + + + +THE SCORN OF HUMAN RIGHTS + + + What is the blight to spring that kills the seed + And raises spectres, so that stars cry "See!" + Aghast at forests, white or shadowy? + The scorn of human rights, that can but lead + The world from doom to doom! and for what mead? + A bronze for rain and rust, or effigy + For nibbling minutes--ah, not hours!--these flee + To life's progression--truth and kindly deed. + + Look! How this scorn holds freemen in the dark, + Except for a flare at will that, then, the throng, + Reduced to dust, may rise and whirl along + The lift and drop of glitter, without spark + To set the spring a-crackling with bird song, + Till bud and angel both come out to hark! + + + + +NOT THIS OUR COUNTRY'S GLORY + + + O Country of the Sun's warm plenteous hand + To every germ of virtue, how below + Thy progress, mope Gold Mongers to and fro, + Who think they're vaulting from sunlight so grand, + It forms thy chiefest glory. Closely scanned, + They are gross worms, each with the thought to grow + "The Conqueror," as staged by Edgar Poe + For darking planets and a world, Last Manned. + + Those worms that, moving, think they move the earth, + Or, under Growth's equestrian statue, think + They hold the horse and hero from the brink, + Are pitifully not a glance's worth, + As of thy glory; they but foul the chink, + If not of thee in warming Good to birth. + + + + +AMERICA'S GLORY NO FUGITIVE + + +I + + How weird a whisper! 'tis from Wallabout. + 'Tis glory hoarse with calling: "Raise those hulks + Where writhe my faithful." See! the tory skulks + Behind the sun who, stooping to fill out + Their throats with his god-breath, to swell the shout + Of a free people, finds the brave in bulks, + Strewn and held fast where Darkness, beaten, sulks + That thrall has been forever put to rout. + + Those mangled thousands are not dead; they live, + Refashioned men by freedom. Is the tory + Behind the sun, to mock me, who am Glory, + Being the lifted life those martyrs give? + He creeps beneath the sun and, ghastly gory, + Crys out: "Thou yet shall be the fugitive". + + +II + + Oh, weirder grows the whisper into word, + As sharp as lightening, and as broad of reach, + As seas, flung down by God to every beach + Where thirsts a sparrow, or a bleating herd! + There is no soul through out the land, not stirred; + For, oh, to glory God gives his own speech + When darkness, raised by Gold, declares that each, + Hulk-held, is good but for the wolf and bird. + + Is Gold grown conscious, now the Country's King + That, at his beck, the blood for Freedom spilt + Shall be accursed, and I, then, for the guilt + Of dropping not with thud, as he with ring + At Darkness' feet, be shut in mud and silt + Forever and with stars, cease, beaconing? + + +III + + Oh, as the earth in discord and in dark, + When struck by Love on high with will for mace, + Keeps rattling till each mote finds its true place, + And mountain, fledged with groves, vies with the lark + To reach the sunrise; so the madness stark + Of gold, dethroning blood as God's best grace, + When struck by Glory's voice drops Nadir-base, + And blood for Freedom spilt, forms heaven's blue arc. + + The shouts of millions shake Oblivion's mire + And raise Thrall's Hulks. Look! Justice's stooping sun, + Seeing in agony's each, a Washington, + Breaths life in them, and, over Brooklyn's spire + And New York's Babel Tower, they, one by one, + Hold Liberty's broading Torch of quenchless fire. + + + + +HATE THOU NOT ANY MAN + + + Hate thou not any man, for at the worst, + He still is brother. Will a glance not find + Whole peoples alchemied from heart and mind + To steal projectiles by a craft, accursed + By Human Nature? Aye, for, as they burst + At dusk, or midnight, slamming Heaven behind + And crashing Hell wide open, 'tis mankind + Is shattered and quick-gulping grave slake thirst. + + Hate thou no man, but scorn all crafts, that smelt + The heart and mind for huge projectiles, shattered + When bursting grandly that some pride be flattered. + Nature beholds not Saxon, Slav, nor Celt; + She only sees the Human fragments scattered, + And, covering them, her eyes to rivers melt. + + + + +THE CELTIC SOUL CRY + + +I + + O Freedom! Have I ever been untrue? + When, to thy moan of hunger anywhere, + Have I been deaf? Was I not quick to share + My little, nay, give all! for oh! I knew + Thy beauty, and my love such passion grew + At thy distresses,--What would I not dare! + So, though the bellow, like a grizzly bear, + Reared up before me, on to thee I flew. + + O Freedom! Is thy beauty without heart, + Or sense of justice? Unto whom art thou + Indebted for thine arm, encircling now + The world, sun-like, more than to me? My part + I glory in, for I have kept my vow. + I hold thee now to thine, if true thou art. + + +II + + Speak Freedom! When a haggard fugitive, + Thy dwelling was a swamp, who first to trace + Thy crimson footprints to thy hiding place? + With signs thou hadst not many days to live, + I found thee. Had the sun more heart to give + To warm thee, than I gave? Ah, then and there + Thy heart said to my heart; "Ill would I fare + Without thee. I give love for love, believe". + + Thy silence, when in glory, troubles me. + Oh! warm blood dashed back cold, chills to the bone! + What do I ask for? Only Erin's own, + That which God gave her, and, if true it be, + Thou art the minister of justice grown, + Thy gratitude should thunder God's decree. + + +III + + What! Why bemoan one island in the sea, + When I can range like mountains, or, the sun, + Above all clouds, and, rosy from my run + To God, like morn, chant praise, since flesh of thee? + Oh, yea, my pride and transport, verily, + Is, thou and I eternally are one; + And this god-passion which no power can stun, + I owe to her, who gave her soul to me. + + Oh, when I see her golden hair, adrift + On sorrow's sea, like weeds rent from their reef, + And know she breathes with her sublime belief, + It crazes me that thou, when thou mightst lift + Her saintly features, and dry them of grief, + Wads't not, but waitest for the tide to shift. + + +IV + + America! 'Tis not thy mines of gold, + Nor streams from mounts to meadows, like God's hand + From out the heavens, a-flash across the land + In long, deep sweeps to quicken winter's mould + To reaps of ripeness,--that mine eyes behold, + Invoking thee; for these are mere shore-sand + To the broad ocean of thy spirit grand, + Forming for man a new world for the old. + + 'Tis Liberty, to whose most blessed birth + The stars all lead, rejoicing, which souls thee + With God's compassion for humanity,-- + That I invoke; and, now, when all the earth + Bears palms and chants hosannas--what! shall she, + The most devout, be shut from Freedom's mirth? + + + + +BRITISH GLORY IN KIPLING'S "BOOTS" + + + All English glory is in "Kipling's Boots." + O English People! read that poem true, + And answer,--are those maddening men not you? + Oh, not yea few, who gather all the loots, + But yea vast legions, lured to be recruits + To march, march, march and march with naught in view + But boots, boots, boots with blood and mud soaked through,-- + And, after ages, with out rest, or fruits! + + "Boots, boots, boots, and no discharge from war,"-- + That is the Empire's anthem. Brass it out, + Ye Orchestras! But oh, leave not in doubt + Its import, Kipling,--that 'tis maelstrom roar-- + 'Tis England's streams of home-life, world about + And down a gulf, for Greed and Pride on shore! + + + + +TO THE ENGLISH PEOPLE + + + If deaf to Shelley's loudest sky-lark strain, + His rage at tyrants, and to Byron's thong, + Nerve-proof, how wake the English to the wrong + Done their true selves, no less than to the slain, + When willing weapons for Ambition's gain? + Aye, weapons only; for, to whom belong + The minds of England, and treed fields of song-- + Nay, all but grave-ground, grudged by hill and plain? + + O English People, whom the crafty class + Has huddled into graves from sight and sound + Of what God hands you, and, with pence, or pound, + Lids down your wild dead stare,--wake! why so crass? + See in the Celts spring-burst from underground, + The Human Resurrection come to pass. + + + + +SHAKESPEARE + + + Oh, what are England's lines of lords and kings, + Shakespeare, to thine, a-throb with thought and feeling? + In thine, imagination shines, revealing + The soul's convictions, swift on dawn-ward wings + From beastly life and such Hell-smelling things, + As wealth and pomp from church and abbey stealing,-- + And hearts in hopes high Belfries, Heavenward pealing, + As Time, his Sun and Starry censor, swings. + + Would thou wert England's Nature, Bard Supreme, + To fashion kings and lordlings fit to rule; + They would be flesh and blood, not fiend and ghoul; + And would thou wert her Sun, that every beam + Might not, for tally, show a youth's blood-pool, + Choking blithe Spring, as, now, to earth's extreme. + + + + +ENGLAND'S RIGHTEOUSNESS + + + The righteousness of England! "Tis to kneel + Full weight on weaker nations, and entone + Hosannas louder than the victims groan; + Then, stooping, drink their blood with gulps of zeal." + What right have wounds, though wide, to throb, or feel? + 'Tis blasphemy to England's crimson throne. + Knee-deep in Erin's blood, she mocks Christ's moan: + Forgive them, Lord! they know not their true weal. + + "Whose is the fault? Tis not my arrogance, + But candor, Lord, that puts the blame on Thee. + What right hadst Thou to make these people free + And let all nature prompt them to advance?-- + Oh, no such blunder, Lord, hadst Thou called me, + Instead of Wisdom, to approve Thy plans!" + + + + +THE MASSACRE OF THE WELSH MINERS + + + The Bard's curse: "Ruin seize thee Ruthless King," + Took bat-like form for hollow echo-flight. + Though stoned and lanced at, when, at fall of night, + It darted forth with ghastly--spreading wing, + It found in fresh, wide, royal ravishing, + New hollows, dark with horror and sad plight, + To dash in and live on. Oh, to my sight, + How grows its grimness, while eternaling! + + Deep are the minds of Wales, but far more deep + The horror, gulfed out by McCreedy, firing + On men defenseless and, through want, expiring. + Oh, from that gulf the Bard's curse makes a sweep + Up to the Sun and, from its long desiring, + Grown eagle, shrieks to heaven from steep to step! + + + + +A DIRTY WORK + + + "A dirty work," said Dyer, rebuked for spilling + Hundreds of lives to irrigate new lands. + A dirty work, but not for British hands, + Dabbling in blood to earn each day their shilling. + Hark! Mohawk Valley and Wyoming, chilling + With thought of Tarleton's King-serving bands, + And Canada red-clayed, though high snow stands, + Cry: Work for which the British are too willing! + + Invaded lands need terror irrigation + To make them fruitful. Better flood the field, + Then let the native bloom become the yield; + And, so, this Dyer submerged a small whole nation + With crimson death, that England might, deep-keeled, + Have for display, new seas of desolation. + + + + +HUMAN NATURE + + + The ocean, holding pure the azure's blue, + Laughs at the tempests, with one empire's dust + After an other, to round out Earth's crust. + Ah, so does Human Nature hold the hue + It takes from heaven, its conscience, and laughs, too, + At madness, wrecking life and with its gust + Forming new islands, where Pride, Greed, or Lust, + Welcomes the crater's glare, in sun-light's lieu. + + Look in the sea and deep, what scattered rock, + The islands which at dusk, the tempest piled! + Ere rose a star, they sank with crews, beguiled. + O Tempests that with world formations, mock + The good Creator, how, as ye grow wild, + Earth quakes and no live thing survives the shock. + + + + +OUR COUNTRY--SOUL AND CHARACTER + + +I + + Our country is not rock and wood and stream, + But soul transfusing them. What is the soul? + The substance, born of God, above control + And, when one, with God's love, called "Will," supreme; + And Freedom is the soul in thought, and dream + That Nature's beauty and harmonious whole-- + God's foot-steps--followed, life attains its Goal; + And soul is purpose to achieve God's scheme. + + The soul, then,--our true country,--is the brave + Who fought and bled for Freedom, or will fight + To their last pulse, last breath, for Human Right.---- + Great soul! oh, how like bubbles in the wave, + Are the Sierras in cerulean flight, + To thy true grandeur, letting nought enslave! + + +II + + O thou art Character--art only those + Who formed the good and great by thought, or deed. + All others are not worth a moment's heed,-- + Mere prairie dogs, who raise gold hills in rows-- + When gazing at thy glory; for that grows + With Freedom from all foul untruths; with lead + In art for weal; with science for all woes; + With hate of thrall and help for all unfreed. + + No mere foot-shadow, on time's wall, art thou, + Without eye-sparkle, swing of arm, warm flow + From heart to vain, and cheeks with health of glow. + Oh, 'tis eternal heights reflect thy brow + And shoulders, that avert man's overthrow, + Threatened all times, and never more than now. + + +III + + Oh, what if lone and long thy lofty flight, + My country? Is thy vision not as clear + As that of Vesper, dauntless pioneer + On Twilight's altitude? As from that height, + He sees plain through the thick black walls of night, + The stars all massing; so dost thou, his peer, + Behold all peoples gathering, year by year, + To scale the clouds to thy White Range of Right. + + How thy lone loftness, aloof from wrong, + Refracting man-ward, God's enrapturing smile + Of fruitful fields, leads legions! On they file + And phalanx, and the vision makes thee strong: + What, though God's searchlight flares the sky the while? + It nears not thee, ear-close to heaven's high song. + + + + +JUDAH AND ERIN + + + From out a desert where the trails run red, + Judah and Erin speed their camel pace, + Sighting green palms. The flush on either face + Is from the fissure where each wedged her head + From sandstorms, that hurled heavens down, as they sped; + It is no blush for thought, or conduct, base + To the high trust to bring the Human Race, + Truths, without which Time's offspring are born dead. + + In spirit, they are sisters; for, beyond + The desert, where the vision, like a dove, + Soars round the palace of Almighty Love, + God hails them as "My Daughters, true and fond, + Who show man, through Noon blaze, my star above, + And to my will, fail never to respond." + + + + +THE EASTER RISING IN IRELAND + + + Who, in descent from Heaven's ecstatic throng, + Was twin to light, and ranged from source to sea, + And shore to peak, and God, drew up to thee + The generations happy, pure and strong? + Freedom, as Erin's was, ere ruthless wrong + Caught, scourged and hanged it on the out-law's tree; + And is; for lo! it proves Divinity, + Transfiguring from anguish, ages long. + + True, they have strangled Freedom on the cross + Of every Right's suppression--nay, have barred + His body's tomb, and placed a host on guard! + Still, He is risen; His faithful mourn no loss. + He shines forth in their midst. No bolts retard + His entrance, where grand aims for life engross. + + + + +THE FIGHT IN IRELAND + + + The fight in Ireland is 'twixt Man and Brute. + A lion with the sea-surge for his mane, + Is there hurled back by Man with proud disdain, + Although heart-drained with gash from head to foot. + Oh, in that Eden of Forbidden Fruit, + How Satan, searching for a snake in vain, + Fumed forth a monster from his heart and brain-- + The Lion--as the serpent's substitute! + + Oh, all ye peoples of the World draw nigh! + Stand on the bodies of eight centuries, + Struck dead with horror; for, raised thus, one sees + In Erin, torn, a soul that cannot die, + And that its struggle is Humanity's + Against the fiend, who would give God the lie. + + + + +TO ERIN + + + How help take pride in thee, whose golden hair + Of culture trailed the earth for centuries; + Whose throne was freedom and whose realm was peace; + And, in strange lands, whose joy and only care + Were to spread light, and who, not anywhere + Thy charm made headway, planting liberties, + Didst, then, by stealthy step, or creep on knees, + Sow with the lilies, faster-growing tare! + + How help love thee, whose hand, raised to the sun, + Glows rosy, and not red with murder's stain? + The angels kiss it. Force can forge no chain + To drag thee false-ward. Like a holy Nun, + Stigmated, how thy faith grows with thy pain-- + Aye, till thy Cross, like Constantine's has won. + + + + +THE QUEEN OF BEAUTY + + + In rapt, roused Erin, who does not behold + A Venus, rising from the sea of tears, + Up to her native, Earth-illuming spheres? + Her hair, long matted, is a flow of gold + Which even the Sun might wear and feel not cold; + And, oh, her heavenly smile at doubts and fears, + As when she, at all depths, raised to her ears, + Shells of her Glory, murmuring, "Be bold!" + + Lo! where the green and orange morn unfurls, + See Erin rise. How shine her golden tresses! + They form her crown, for trailing rocks down whirls, + And reaching all the under-sea recesses, + They draw about her brow, the rarest pearls-- + Love for what frees and hate for what oppresses! + + + + +LIBERTY, THE LIGHT TO PEACE + + + All hail to those who, through the stormy night, + Make Liberty the light on Erin's coast; + Who, ceaseless, send up sparks; who hold their post + On each and every ledge of Human Right, + Forming a beacon blaze from base to height + Where Erin's hope may steer and land its host. + Look, Human Nature! Where else canst thou boast + To the eternal stars, so grand a sight? + + Look! How men there ennoble human kind + By making Liberty the light to Peace! + All other lights are false. Oh! who but sees + In the unconquerable Celtic mind + That, even in Time, there are Eternities-- + Love, true to Right, and Will no wrong can bind! + + + + +WHY PLAY WITH WORDS, ENGLAND? + + + Why play with words? There never can be peace + Till Ireland is set free. One might as well + Expect the great Arch-angel rest in Hell + And genuflect to Satan's blasphemies, + As Erin's spirit that, for centuries, + Has been aloft with God in virtue, sell, + Like Esaw, her birthright, and not rebel, + But to her home's invaders, bend her knees. + + Her spirit is no norbury Banshee-- + To wail and, then, to vanish. She will stand + With lifted flambeau, lighted by the hand + That lights the stars, till she again is free, + Inspiring normal man in every land + With love of Freedom, by her scorn of thee. + + + + +FREEDOM'S WARDENS + + + Look! British fury that, barraging, lights + Up Irish skies, like pathways down to hell, + Doubles its fire to reach our land as well, + Where Freedom's Wardens cry from justice' heights: + "'Tis Deicide to murder Human Rights. + Stop foul God-slaughter where to not rebel, + In order to develop and excel, + Were God in man, succumbed to age-longed blights." + + Where Heavenward rose the God in man of old, + Staunch stand these Wardens. Sleepless, they behold + Each turn of England's Evil Eye. They call, + When she would form the fulminate of gold, + A thumb and finger-pinch of which, let fall, + Might blast Columbia's peaks to slit of thrall. + + + + +LIST TO DEMOSTHENES, IF NOT TO HEARST + + + Of all the fulminates, gold is the worst, + Which England, aeroplaning, now, lets drop + By day and night, in bank, press, church and shop, + Timed to the minute that it is to burst. + List to Demosthenes, if not to Hearst, + Sublime Republic! Lest thy great heart stop, + Shocked by the blast of Freedom's every prop, + And bats and owls in dwellings, Human's erst. + + "Watch Macedon. She drops her gold, in creeping + Beneath free Athens' sky-ascending stair. + Watch her with glance of sword. Oh, watch, for where + She sows her gold, she comes with scythes for reaping! + Is Athens in ascent with sun-light flare, + To come down ashes, not worth history's keeping?" + + + + +CALEDONIA + + +I + + In only Wallace and Paul Jones and Burns, + Does Caledonia, child of Erin, show + His mother's features, lit by soul to know + The Right Divine of freedom, when it yearns + For what exalts the human, or, it spurns + What bars its flight to truth--all stars aglow, + That form God's trail to joy for man below?-- + Sole trail, as time, who peers through grief, discerns. + + O Caledonia, by thy Burn's brave song, + And deeds of Wallace and Paul Jones for Right, + Thy mother knows thee in the dark of night, + And claps thee heart-close. She cries out: "Be strong, + Soul of my soul! though not a Boswell quite, + Still, be whole man! remember Glencoe's wrong." + + +II + + Wake, Caledonia! though Macauley, Whigging, + Would ward the flames from scarring William's face, + So that, then, Cain might shriek,--here, take my place, + A fugitive and outcast, with no digging + To hide in, nor a rest for my fatiguing; + The mark on me, is but God's finger trace; + On you, 'tis God's whole hand!--Still, there's the blaze! + There's England's soul of merciless intriguing! + + List! 'tis the bagpipes welcoming the guest. + See the assembly, dance and feast. Oh, watch + The open heart and flow of good old Scotch; + The English come, as friends, must have the best. + There, hospitality is at top notch,-- + And so is treachery in Britain's breast. + + +III + + The cock crows.--Is he dreaming? 'Tis dark still. + He crows again and now, from farm to farm, + His fellows echo far his dazed alarm + And flap of wings on fences. He is shrill + Because it is not dawn above the hill, + That wakes him, but the English, as they arm, + And murder sleep, that has no dream of harm, + In couch and crib,--to further England's will. + + O Caledonia! with such lamp in hand + As Glencoe's horror, thou hast England true. + Why let Froude fiction haze thy vivid view? + Put not thy light out for sound sleep, but stand + And answer, when the mother, whom thou drew + Thy soul from, cries "Glencoe"! when Black and Taned. + + + + +CANADA + + +I + + O Canada, Long red with cottage flame + From Britain's torch! thy blasts milk not the cloud + To nourish hope; instead, they spread the shroud + On Human Spirit answering Freedom's claim. + Whence comes the cold which icicles with shame, + Thy heart's Niagara, that should thunder loud + Unto thy far off soul in sorrow, bowed + O'er Papineau, whom Thraldom could not tame? + + Now following the Friends, who grandly led + The slave through tunnels to the Northern Star, + To find, in freedom, richer bloomage far, + Than the Magnolia o'er the cattle shed,-- + I reach thy soul,--where now the Crawfords are, + And learn the cold is not from manhood dead. + + +II + + Whence comes this cold to Freedom's claim? we know + Only too well,--from creatures of the King, + Who had dragged Hell of every poisonous thing + And, through our country, had spread waste and woe. + Beaten at last, they flocked like carion crow, + On the dead body of their will to sting, + Which drifting Northward, and enlargening, + Loomed Dante's Nimrod, 'mid the Arctic snow. + + There, with the reptile's hate of Man Upright, + As God created him, and reptiles veins, + Aflow with deaths cold blood--for that sustains + The life of tyrant and of parasite-- + This monster, though half sunk in Hell, remains + High, still, above the Arctic's shuddering night. + + +III + + The monster's inhalations empty Hell + Of all deterents to Life's flow and flower; + Then, its outbreathings icily devour + The cataract in flight and, down the dell, + The streamlets to delight, and buds, as well, + Of virtue, forming bloom for Freedom's bower;-- + Nay, its out breathings,--through Creed hatred's power-- + Grow Boreus and face where freeman dwell. + + Lo! with Sun-warmth for Truth and Human Right, + Is Boreus met. Who hurles him down the deep? + Look close;--'tis Gladden who, on Freedom's steep, + Is as inspiring, as, on Andes' height, + The great Christ Statue, bidding Rancor sleep + And Life's diverging rays in love, beam Light. + + +IV + + The cataracts wild leap, turned glittering ice + In shame's suspension, and crow souls afeeding + Upon a huge dead body and fast breeding,-- + Is, as a scene, not worth the railroad's price; + But, oh, if, with "Excelsior" for device, + Thou climb thy Alpine way, each day exceeding + The other's height, what throngs would watch thy speeding + And, for the thrill thou woulds't give them, come twice! + + O Canada! why all this sleigh-bell rhyming? + 'Tis on the reindeer, hope, in speed with me + To the grand morning, when thou shalt breathe free + Upon the apex of thine Alpine climbing, + From foulsome, choaking smells of tyranny, + Thick from the Great Sea Serpent's inland sliming. + + +V + + God said to Wrong: "No further shalt thou go." + This, Monroe heard and held, then, in his heart. + It was this he repeated, when on chart + He made his markings, checking Freedom's foe. + God never grants to Wrong the right to grow; + Because He sets its bounds, does not impart + His blessing on its growth, more than its start; + His blessing goes to Right, to overthrow. + + Oh, let thine eyes for migratory flight + Speed southward! Passing Prejudice's Lake, + Green-crusted with stagnation which some take + For verdure, they will see from Andes' height, + How Freedom's battle forms the red day-break, + And tides are swells from thrall, hurled deep from sight. + + +VI + + Thine eyes returning from the Southern Cross, + Will, when like Perry, they have reached the Pole, + Search under it to find thy banished soul, + O Canada, and tell it of thy loss + In letting a foul dead body, which the moss + Of the deep sea should hide, loom as thy whole + And rule, as dead things rule, with death for toll, + As pierced by Papineau through Glamor's gloss. + + From South to North, no sky is black but thine. + Thy fecund brain, the Borealis, shows + A swaying disc with shades of dark for glows, + With but a faint salt smell of Color's brine, + The pent-up billows in the disc's dark close, + Which might flood midnight with rare, world-wide shine. + + +VII + + We seek no annexation, but of Mind, + Heart, Spirit. True, thy clear, sonorous voice + At Freedom's class-call, would make us rejoice, + For, then, close-coasting thrall would fail to find + In the new world, one truant to mankind, + Swimming out to the foreigners' decoys, + Or fast asleep amid his infant toys, + Instead of at the task, which God assigned. + + Oh, let thy spirit come, but it must be + Along the star-way to the rising sun-- + The way of love; not down creed hates that run, + Like broken stone-steps, to a roaring sea-- + The way thou oft, hast come. Rise, and be one + On the new world's Star-top of Liberty. + + +VIII + + "The Angels come in dreams," says Holy Writ; + And Science says, "No sleep so deep, but dreams." + Devine appearances with brightening gleams + Toward Paradise up from the demon's pit, + Ever rouse virtue; aye, for God redeems + His fire, wherever hid; the tempest teems, + But still his sparks fly, quick as flint is hit. + + Wake, Canada! and let thy Papineaus + Be dreams remembered; yea, let them inspire + Thy life to follow Freedom high and higher + Through Rights' whole range of summits, crowned with snows + Sparkling from star-moulds of the Soul's desire, + On earth from Heaven where, clouds from flames, they rose. + + + + +DRAGON INCURSIONS + + +I + + O Freedom! whose pure soul and heart embrace + Translates me into heaven, I draw for breath + The joy of angels who have not known death. + Child-like, I look up in thy loving face, + Else gaze around and point, and curious place + My hand on Mottoes, hung on high. One saith: + "Beware, for he not with me scatterith." + Its meaning comes to me with growth, like grace. + + Ah, as a youngster, on its mother's arm, + Seeing a hideous thing approaching night, + Will not lay down its head and shut its eye, + But will with look and lung express alarm-- + My mind cries out in dread--when sea and sky + Show dragons, tendencies that work thee harm. + + +II + + O Freedom! Up to whose raised hand the seas + Leap, playful lions, or with head and main + Across their paws lie couchant--it is pain + To see thee whose heart beats are God's decrees, + And vital breathings are infinities, + Now check thy heart and hold thy breath to gain + The smile and plaudit of a depths with bane + In finger tips, while fawning on their knees. + + What! Think the tyrant, whose great soul is trade, + Whose history, a crater, belching black + And lurid, keeps glad Easter morning back + From half the world--loves thee save to invade, + As blackward planned? loves thee, along whose track + March Human rights up to the stars parade? + + + + +NEMESIS + + + There where the Tyrant long has loomed, wreck-crowned, + Are young and old hurled to the coast and blast. + Frail are their ships; still, Sun, why glare aghast, + Watching the billows monstering around? + The soul of man was not born to be drowned. + It mounts and mounts, till, at God's throne, at last, + And freedom welcomes it with arms, sky-vast, + As down it comes to meet Thrall and confound. + + O, deathless spirit, born of hosts sea-hurled, + Who hast out soared night's stars with agony's cry + For justice! Thou hast come down from the sky, + Heralding doom to Thrall, whose flag unfurled + By steel, or craft, shows, as 'tis hoisted high, + The blood of man and ruin of the world. + + + + +ALL STARS MERGED IN ONE + + + What is the Truth? The thought, the act, or cry, + Recasting the Supreme Intelligence; + All else is false. Look! where are stars so dense, + That each has not the freedom of the sky? + And, still, what peace, what glory, reigns on high! + What! with the wisdom of the heavens, dispense? + The Peace, for which our longings grow intense, + Comes through the stars to earth, and but thereby. + + What splits dark mid-night and gives earth a thrill? + All stars merged into one--our Country's aim. + It is a lightening, formed by God, to flame + Across the ages and flash bolts to kill + The stranglers, who the heart or spirit, main, + Or choke black in the face, a People's Will. + + + + +LINCOLN'S LIGHTENING IN WILSON'S HANDS + + +I + + Who is to rise and hurl God's flame world-wide, + As Lincoln hurled it, setting free a race + From Sphinx-shaped wrong--a beast with human face? + That shattered, how our land rose glorified + And, from the stars last laggard, soared, their guide! + Oh, who can take Promethean Lincoln's place, + To bring light where-so-ever he can trace + A Human, with his rights to soul denied? + + He must be one, not only to illume + All ages, and not leave one region dim, + But at no height, allow his senses swim, + Or let mirages lure him with false bloom. + Lo! Here one comes with all the virtues prim + To hurl God's fire and end all human gloom. + + +II + + 'Tis Wilson takes God's flame from Lincoln's hand. + This Princeton man,--who has outgrown the prince, + A hundred years, and, in the ocean since, + Seen with delight, Eternity expand + And loom in glory from the despot's strand,-- + Shapes fourteen dazzling bolts without a wince. + He pauses. Why not hurl them and convince + The world that, hence-forth, not one thrall shall stand? + + What! Wilson's arm lacks strength to hurl the flame, + God gave to Lincoln for the Human race? + Look! Look! it falls. What! Gone? Quenched by dark space? + No; it describes an orbit there, the same + As comets, and regains its heavenly place + For one to hurl it true, and doom Earth's Shame. + + + + +THE CATACLYSM + + + In Wilson we beheld and proudly hailed + The World's Deliverer. In him, we saw + A luminous being rise from earth and draw + All lands above the clouds. We were regaled + With justice cascades flow, long ice impaled + Upon high mountains. Was not Nature's thaw + From his heart heat for truth, Eternal Law? + His was the heat of all the stars, he scaled. + + Though his ascension was like Christ's, sublime + With lift of continents and every isle, + He, less than Christ, succumbed to Demon Guile. + Oh, God, that he should drop his mountain climb + Below sea-level, and let earth the while, + Fall back and settle in Primeval Slime! + + + + +AN EPOCH'S ANGEL FALL + + + Judging from Wilson's virile virtue-voice, + Whose whisper hushed Earth's Hum, were we not proud + To have him cross the sea to speak aloud + And, with a finger raised, hush battle noise, + And lift all lands to Justice's equipoise? + Oh, such his truth to God,--so oft avowed,-- + A spirit thund'red from a luminous cloud: + "This man crowns Lincoln's work. All Men! Rejoice." + + Oh, had he read his bible where St. Paul, + Grown man, put off child things--or, had not smiled, + When told, strong Ego oft, is man grown child! + Look! Who sees not an Epoch's Angel Fall + From hope for earth, in Wilson's truth, beguiled + By second childhood's toys to play with thrall? + + + + +THE AMERICA OF THE FUTURE + + +I + + Our Country still is in the womb, dark Time. + It shows life by its brisk and robust turns, + Which thrill the Mother, Liberty, who yearns + To see her man-child born. Oh, how sublime + With genius, not of one, but every climb + Where art forms beauty, or the spirit spurns + The foul and spurious,--her desire, that burns + Prenatally in him, to form him prime! + + Oh People, all--Italian, Spanish, French, + Dutch, English, Irish, German, Jew, and Greek-- + What see you, as you climb the Future's Peak? + Oh! no illusion. What looms there, shall wrench + From life, all monsters out from Hell, to seek + Dead consciences and plague earth with their stench. + + +II + + Ascend, O Land of every Creed and Race! + Not thy full image, in New England's brook, + Nor in the South's lagoon; though there, a look + Delights us with thy chubby, infant face. + 'Tis seas of joy, that shorelessly replace + The Ocean which, in time of old, forsook + The prairies for the cloud, or spring in nook,-- + That show thee, Grown, through God's abundant grace. + + From East to West, how joy's high seas expand, + Reflecting, not a foolish, mundane pride + That, thinking it does all, sets God aside-- + But Virtue which, with heart and head and hand, + Works out God's purpose, with dear Christ for guide, + And holy spirits Light to understand! + + +III + + All Virtues from the longing of the soul; + From wisdom, gained by sorrow through long ages; + From inspiration of the bards, in rages + That inter-marrying maniacs control + A people's life, and drain its sea to shoal, + And from the vision of sky-topping sages, + Gasping for breath from rot in all its stages,-- + Aye, these and new-born Genius loom there Whole. + + Look, People! Little less than God's own size, + Your virtues merge and, with speed God-ward, burn, + An unconsuming sun, that at no turn + In spiral flight, for still a grander rise, + Lets night advance where human Rights still yearn, + Except with great, new stars and dawning skys! + + + + +THE INEVITABLE + + +I + + Behold two fleets, the one with woe for trail, + The other, rapture. As they sight the strait, + Through which but one can pass, Greed, urged by Hate, + Drives Thraldom's crafts with help of steam and gale. + They feel their way. The guns, with which they hale, + Raise jets, that look tall elms from Hope, the gate, + To Peace, the Palace; then, their speed is great, + Manoeuvering fast to head off, or assail. + + Drawing the sea up for his driving steam, + Greed breaks all mirrors in his grand state room, + That show him dark inevitable doom, + Close hovering, and exults: "I am Supreme. + When seas lack water for my funnel fume, + I bid life send its every crimson stream." + + +II + + What! in the darkness lowers boat after boat + From Freedom's fleet, and each with lightening oars? + Treasons to God and country are the rowers. + They are the Gold and Hireling Brain, that gloat + On conscience body with face down, afloat. + Why hail they Greed, to run on menial chores + From deck to deck, or to and from all shores? + Why? To ensure the payment of a note. + + Meanwhile, brisk Freedom's fleets with justice manned, + And cosmic full momentum for their speed, + Confront the crafts, fired up by fiendish Greed. + A clash and--lo! they pass the strait and land, + Leaving in smoldering heaps, like autumn's weed, + The hulks of thrall along time's vultured strand. + + + + +REPTILES WITH WINGS + + + Are lust for Gold and Power not hideous spawn + Of prehistoric reptiles, that had wings? + Where e'er those crawled, they chawed all greening things + And, when they mounted, how their lengths, full drawn, + Basked barren in the sun before the dawn, + Absorbing all its rays from budding Springs? + These drain life's dawn and by impoverishings, + Draw and reduce to pulp, frail Consciences. + + Oh, yea, bewinged with legislative crime, + They bask in sunlight e'er the east sky greys, + And drag the soul of man from God's embrace + Of rights and freedom. Oh, how long a time + Shall reptiles, deadly to the Human race, + Be let grow wings and heavenward trail their slime? + + + + +THE OUTLAWS OF OUR COUNTRY + + +I + + The outlaws in our country are the wretches, + Who wreck the legislatures with their gold, + And with the ruins, form a high stronghold + To sally from, to what good nature fetches + From God to man. What though fine graphic sketches + In magazines show them with shoulders bold + Against the nights flood-gates of dark and cold? + All effort is but life in death-throw stretches. + + They are the outlaws, who stop Nature's train + And take its corn and coal for selfish use; + Then, put their shoulders to Night's gate, to loose + Its hinges for a forty-day dark rain, + To drown all life, that they, like Noah, may cruise + Through thick drifts of the dead in heart and brain. + + +II + + O heart and brain, who see the father load + His train with food, not for the few, but all, + And hear train-whistlings in March winds, jay call + And ground-hog sniffs! Haste out, for from the road + That leads to every Industry's abode, + The trust that, bat-eyed, comes out at night-fall, + Now moves the tracks inside his private wall, + Claiming all trains from God a debt long owed. + + O heart and brain, it rest with you, how long + The legislative wreckers shall prevail. + Ye have the power to balk them. Why then, fail? + Regain your legislatures. Man them strong + And drive thence all sleek hounds, trust-trained to trail + Safe outlaws' paths to fastnesses of wrong. + + + + +THE PRESS + + + Was ever such unblushing harlotry, + Such sale of virtue in the Market place, + As by the Press? The red paint on her face + Is Degradation's mark. Alas, that she, + Born to bring forth the truth, still, is so base, + She kills her child and, then, to hide all trace, + Cracks bone by bone to dust, too fine to see. + + O Press, poor harlot of the tyrant, Gold, + What freedom, but from truth, hast thou to boast? + Hark, who now speaks is murdered Truth's pale ghost: + "Conceiving life--oh, bring it forth! aye, hold + Thy child on high with love, as priest, the Host! + Crush not its bones, with smile and eyes set cold." + + + + +THE TRUTH + + + What is the truth? The focus of all rays + Passing through Nature and the soul and mind. + It is the Sun of Suns, around which wind + The Heavens and all the worlds. Such is its blaze, + That had it not, at intervals, a haze, + Grading both Angel and the Human-kind, + The bright Arch-angel would be stricken blind, + To grope in Heaven, a Homer, sighing lays. + + What less could fitly crown Omnipotence + Than Truth, the focus of all rays in Good? + Lo! there it shines upon the Holy Rood, + Breaking through clouds, a-massing dark and dense + From countless ages, Cains to Brotherhood-- + With rays of pardon for the World's offense. + + + + +OUR LORD'S LAST PRAYER + + + "Forgive them, Sire! They know not what they do."-- + Ah, Christ! how at that face to face God-plea, + The Demon and his legions, mocking thee + With every generation, brought to view, + Flashed with dismay, and, boltless lightening through + The ages, thunder down Eternity, + 'Till faint as the sound in shells, far from the sea; + For that thy prayer would be vouchsafed, they knew. + + All grandeurs, gathered as a dazzling crown + For thee, in barter for thy knee's least bend, + The Demon dashed to fragments to Time's end. + There, born anew in spirit, we look down + And, in the ocean of thy prayer, Amen'd, + See but earth's monsters, with the demons drown. + + + + +THOUGHT IS TRUTH'S ECHO + + + Thought is truth's echo--not her glorious eyes + Beholding God, nor her white arms of light, + Lifted in worship. Following truth, our flight + At highest range is where our echo dies. + Oh all your power and beauty, earth and skys! + And, Soul and Mind! your Beauty and your Might-- + Truth gathers in one flash and, catching sight + Of God, lifts high in love's full sacrifice. + + Twixt Truth and Thought, what Truth is oft is space + Wherein, with intuition for her wing, + The soul mounts. It is there I hear her sing: + "Lo, Truth, so swift aloft, Thought dies in chase, + Turns earthward, and the gifts her white arms bring, + Are outshone by God's glory in her face!" + + + + +HEAVEN + + + Ah, what is Heaven? Such Glory that Sun-light + Seems darkness, and Mass Music, shell-shut sound. + What we call senses here, there so abound, + The soul appears a broadening heaven in flight, + Feathered and downed with all the stars, whose white + Is all hues mingled. Oh, the awe profound! + For every moment there, new Heavens astound + The myriad senses, with God's Love and Might. + + If "Holy, Holy, Holy, Evermore?" + Be the one chant of angel and of Saint + Before the Throne, it is their gaspings faint + Between their transports to high Heavens from lower; + For, what is love's eternal Firmament + But Heaven on Heaven, that we may ceaseless soar? + + + + +HUMILITY + + + Was not humility the Earthward stair + From highest Heaven, by which God came to men, + To show the way aloft to human ken? + Ah, by what other pass, are men to fare + Through mist and cloud, except the path, aflare + With his blest steps from Heaven, and up again? + Steps, not from star to star, but fen to fen, + That all might follow and not one despair! + + Oh, steps of Love! Could we reach with our eyes + Their fulgence, we would shrink back with dismay; + For, though 'tis through the world's contempt move they-- + Hark! How the hidden choirs of countless skies + Chant at all heights: "Lo, God comes by this way, + And makes world-wide, His stair to Paradise!" + + + + +THE NIGHT OF MYSTERIES + + + A cataract of stars, which, with each fall + Broadens and brightens, rapturing the sight + Of angel hosts, that view it from the height + Of knowledge of God's love for one and all + His creatures--and not darkness to appal + The spirit by the quench of every light, + For which God grants it vision--is the night + Of Life's strange mysteries, both great and small. + + Oh cataracts, beyond the angels' count, + Pause and shine pendant over every deep + Of heart, mind, spirit! Lo! how down they sweep + To basic Good where, massing, they remount, + Till, mid God's "Many Mansions," high they leap, + Forming forever, joy's most splendent fount! + + + + +WHAT THE POETS SHOW + + + When, at God's fiat, Light flashed forth, the beam + Evolved a million pigments, as it sped + To every nature. Now, of all its spread, + What shaft so glorious as the poet's dream + Which, mote and mass, reflects the Will Supreme + That life is progress, and by flight, or tread, + It circles God-ward up, till perfected! + For, harboring meaner thought were to blaspheme. + + What, if the world be chaos where it sins, + Race feuds, Creed hatreds, falsehoods gross, deceit, + Intrigue and greed, form swirling, blinding sleet? + Honor and Truth, though buried to their chins, + Look up and smile; for, though the storms still beat, + The poets show 'tis Spring, not Winter, wins. + + + + +THE SOUL'S ASCENSION + + + Not mine the night that creeps beneath Life's sea, + Or lurks within Hope's ruins, sunk below + The desert, or the stagnant pool--oh, no! + But night that mounts the heavens, till it is free + Where stars, prefiguring all things that be + Obscure on earth, catch sight of God and glow, + And golden shadows large and larger grow, + Cast by Gift-bearers to Humanity. + + Oh, once the cold of all the unsunn'd space + Was in my reptile life of soul, wing-bound; + But now, soul-free, what warmth from stars all round! + 'Tis not by strength of mine, Lord, but thy grace, + My soul soars from the depths of sea, or ground, + Till, at star-heights, it meets Thee, face to face! + + + + +LYRIC TRANSPORT + + + What but the spirit's ladder to God's throne + Is beauty? Oh, from rung to rung to climb, + Till faint becomes the azure's anthem chime + Of planets, multitudinous, or lone, + And Inspiration, drunk with fragrance, blown + From God's rare, inmost garden, wall'd from Time, + Sets free the Sonnet with is wings of rhyme + To carry down the transport, upward known! + + Mine is no swaying ladder, like he sea's, + Whose rounds of rollers, raised above Sun-rise, + Lean not on Heaven, hence shattered lie at noon; + For 'tis set firmly on the verities, + Which form God's throne. Ah, there, what joy, my prize! + Would that I had a dove for every boon! + + + + +THE SUNRISE + + + The Sun is God's great joy to Human sight. + Oh, up and off in chariots, Sea! and ride, + All generations, up, till mountain-eyed, + To welcome earth-ward, God's Supreme delight. + Imagination swirls in swallow flight, + Giddy with Beauty, deepening--Oh, how glide + From star to star, to the haloes, season-dyed + And countless! Its wings shrivel up like night. + + Oh, yea, the Sun in one subliming rise + From Wisdom's infinite mind! This Reason knows. + It has no set. There, Sense, with weals or woes + For beads, or fingers, count our shuts of eyes, + Excluding Knowledge. What! God's joy to close + And all its goodness break and drift cloud-wise? + + + + +TWO DARKNESSES + + + There are two darknesses; one where the Lord + Hides beauty--that by which men know His face. + All, in that darkness, feel His fingers trace + Their features gently, and their hearts record + The feeling, as of one, whose eyes, restored, + Would see, but for the Father's close embrace. + The other is the outer dark--a place + Where hate turns black the light upon it poured. + + O God! the only darkness that I dread, + Is where Thou art not--that where Hate's black fire + Surmounts the heavens, to burst with thunder dire + And, in its fall forever, drag the dead + Of heart and spirit--those whom Thy desire + Would fain have made the halo round Thy head. + + + + +THE DOOM OF HATE + + + A spirit passed the Sun, the Moon and Star, + And dwelled and dreamed in darkness all its own. + The music of the spheres, though thither blown, + As faint as fragrance from a flower afar, + Disturbed this spirit's ear, attuned to jar + Of orb with orb; for hate of light, truth known, + Fashions hot worlds which, cooled to clay and stone, + Clash, rising toward calm Heaven, which they would mar. + + Ah, if where love was not, he smiled elate, + His smile at God returned, a lightening flash + That shattered him. He saw his planets clash, + Burst and, then, by the downward law of hate, + Sink and leave not a single spark, nor ash, + For the new firmament he would create. + + + + +THE EVIL IN THE WORLD + + + There are two Gods--one, Good, the other, Ill. + They clash in Nature--so the Persian taught, + And long a sect in Europe spread the thought. + Why there is evil is a problem still + To many, who see not in Human Will, + A being that with beauty could have caught + Up to his Maker, had he gladly wrought + With light and warmth, instead of dark and chill. + + God said, "Let there be Light," and light was made. + God made not darkness--that is light's exclusion, + Forming a region where, in wild confusion, + Men, Nations, each a ferret, blood-eyed shade, + Worry each other, till, with disillusion + For lamp, comes conscience, crying, "God Betrayed!" + + + + +THE EARTH RENEWED BY MEMORY + + + Ah, in the angel-fall from Heaven, is hope? + The wing-whir discord of the legion's fall + From God forever, mocks my heart's loud call. + Empty of beauty from its base to cope, + The Earth is hollow. Where, then, can I grope + And not be met by echoes that appal? + What! shouts my mind, in wonder that I crawl + And, having skyey wings, in hollows mope. + + Does scent from bloom, or warble from the wood, + Not atmosphere the un-aerial void + Twixt thee and beauty, which thy youth enjoyed? + Fly back to earth, by memory renewed; + She fills the hollow, echoing hosts destroyed,-- + With Spring, reflecting Heaven's Triumphant Good. + + + + +IN THE DIMPLE OF BEAUTY'S CHEEK + + + O beauty! in the dimple of thy cheek, + My love could live forever and be blest. + There, with the sun, a rose-bud on thy breast, + How thou rejoicest, hastening to speak + To thy fond Father! Oh, how vain to seek + A sweeter refuge for the Spirit's rest, + Than mid thy blushes, when thou marvelest + At His great love, for, oh! thy heart is meek. + + Oh beauty! in thy Father's arms, thou art. + Enclose me in thy dimple; for, though this + Were but a bud, or molded seed, what bliss + To watch bloom gather scent, or new life start, + And hear our Father, bending for a kiss, + Whisper to thee, the secrets of His heart! + + + + +THE CAMP FIRE + + + Beauty is love and, hence is heightening fire, + Consuming Nature. All the dark can bring + To quench it, feeds it. Look! how everything + Is caught in the blaze, which mounts up high and higher! + Oh! truly, 'tis a vision to inspire + The soul with transport, more than joy can sing; + For, if not for the blaze, what cold would sting + Poor mortals, who crowd round it, nigh and nigher! + + Is beauty not the camp-fire, which one host + Leaves burning for another, close behind? + Yea, yea, the Powers Divine, O Human Kind! + Have left their camp-fire burning on the coast, + Where they embarked from glimpse of Human mind, + To give you warmth and light to hold your post. + + + + +MOTHER + + + All beings, legioning celestial light, + Moved in procession toward a vacant throne. + Their chant was faith and hope, as, now, our own. + At last, it came to pass, their faith grew sight. + They saw One Star in night's down-fall, stay white + And, by the Holy Spirit brighter blown, + Ascend in Heaven, till there, as high and lone, + As over Nature's marveling zenith height. + + Reaching the throne, its queen, this star became. + Awed by the Triune's Honor as her crown, + The legions, circling, soared with eyes cast down; + But, when their wonder heard the strange, new name + In Heaven, from Christ's lips, "Mother," how they shone, + Reflecting Christ's child-eyes, with love aflame! + + + + +IN HEAVEN NO HEART STILL HEAVES + + + Lo! God lets drop blue doves which ground the mind + Like clover; then, with drawing to the skies, + His pleasure is to watch the flocks arise. + Here, there, they mount; they show no cloud, no wind, + Can hinder homing; and the angels find + No transport, like the sight, for, to their eyes, + 'Tis more souls for the joy, which glorifies + The Father, traced to love by pigeon-kind. + + Oh, to his love, how great our spirit's worth! + Each is as all. In heaven, no heart still heaves. + The sun sinks with its last of lingering eves, + And, then, if dearest doves of azure birth, + Wife, parent, child, be missed, off mercy leaves + With stars for eyes, to search the darks of earth. + + + + +ST. PETER'S CATHEDRAL IN ROME + + + This temple is soul-startling. 'Tis to me + A thunder storm in stone, with Sinai flare + Across the Ages. 'Tis the Fiend's despair + And the Arch-angel's Triumph. It sets free + The mind and soul with certitude, Christ's key + Which, like the Sun, opes Heaven--the Good and Fair. + Still, oft, what darkness drowns the sun's noon glare + Within the Temple! 'Tis from Calvary. + + Oh, 'tis from Calvary's grief. 'Tis Christ's emotion, + On from the Cross, that from His glory known, + The German should have fled and, frantic, thrown + Away his soul to Strauss or Kant's vague notion, + Unhumaning, till, in the Kaiser, grown + A Neitche whirl-wind in a crimson ocean. + + + + +MY BUGLER BOY + + + With heart pain and with quiver of the lip, + I bid my boy "good bye," with words of cheer. + I hug him to my heart to hide a tear, + And hold him close so long, that no tongue-slip + Could more betray my bodings for his ship, + Or troop, when landed. It is when I hear + My daughters' voices, that I shame off fear + And take my boy's both hands with firmest grip. + + Go, son, and, though with thy young life 'tis blown, + Blare thou the Bugle, rousing man to sweep + The monsters back to Hell's profoundest deep, + Where, mocking Spring and Sun-rise, they have grown + On longings for the sea, the world must weep + When, from its heart, the hope of Peace has flown. + + + + +KAISER, BEWARE + + + Dost thou, mad Kaiser, for historic name, + Set fire to Europe? Is it joy to gaze + At blacker smoke than Etna's, and a blaze + That wakes up Chaos, wild to come and claim + The World, since Light, God-bidden though it came, + Has failed to dawn upon our human ways? + O Twin of Chaos! peer thou through the haze! + 'Tis Human Beings feed the crackling flame. + + Beware, the smoke, like Etna's, is the curse + Of widows on thy people-dooming throne, + And in no country, more than in thine own, + Cry out all mothers: "Wherefore bear and nurse? + To feed war with our sons, our flesh and bone, + That chaos may reclaim the Universe?" + + + + +WOMAN, IN GERMANY + + + The German mother has too long been what + A Chancellor once called the "Kingdom's Cow." + Ah, as she bears the droves for slaughter, how + Her dumb-beast eyes crave pity for her lot! + See, there she smiles, like loving God forgot-- + All His supernal patience on her brow. + How long must her grand arch of brain, as now, + Bear up a universe "of what should not"? + + There, lies she, crushed by troops in hot pursuit + Of mocking shadows; for be Gain complete, + What is it but twin brother to defeat? + Stand up the dead on any bloody route. + Stoop for no kiss from orphans, at thy feet, + O Triumph! for ash-cord is all thy fruit. + + + + +O THOU PALE MOON + + + O fair, full moon! I look close at thy face. + Thou must be happy, being in the skys; + And, yet, thy flush grows pallor to mine eyes. + Thou art as one, who breathless after chase, + Would rest, but dreads to check her onward pace. + O fugitive from where no fledgling flies, + No bee finds bud, and where red billows rise, + Engulfing down dark years, the Human Race! + + O thou pale moon, who hast companioned Man + Through every darkness since the night's first fall! + Hast thou, along thy foot-worn, azure wall, + Ever seen seas so hard for hope to span, + As this red surge, that in a spring so small, + A bird could beak it up, its flood began? + + + + +THE TIGER + + + How glares the tiger in his desert lair-- + Now half the world! Beholding with dismay + That Human Freedom is the tiger's prey, + A giant, down whose shoulders, broad and bare, + The long, thick, crimson flow is Sampson's hair, + Makes haste to clutch the beast. + Oh, how the clay beneath their struggle, reddens, night and day, + Till lies the beast, a shapeless carcass there! + + Oh! never from the long, thick crimson flow + A down thy shoulders from thy noble brow, + America, came such God's-strength as now, + Comes to thine arm against the world's grim foe-- + The beast that, sighting man, devours him, how + The world may end, a wilderness of woe. + + + + +TO OUR BOYS "OVER THERE" + + + Where flies our flag is Freedom's holy ground; + There, it unfurls all benisons to Man. + The twin of Spring, its spread unfolds God's plan + Of human happiness, by setting bound + To greed, lust, powers,--all colds,--that Right be crowned. + Lo! where it leads, ye youth form valor's van, + Mirrored and echoed by the azure's span + For ages, for Man's gain in yours is wound. + + Oh, justice's Hot Gulf Stream are ye, who open + The sea, which fiendish craft has frozen hard! + Oh, may your warmth for righteousness transform + The tyrant's artic region, with no hope in, + To Freedom's Temperate Zone, which they, who guard + The planets, save from wreck by quake or storm. + + + + +THE PROFITEERS + + + Now and in life--not Virgil--breaks a storm + Of Harpies, harsh to ear and foul to smell. + It sweeps War's lengthening coast, where each sea-swell + Is Humans, gasping. Hope drags each cold form + From hearth to hearth, to find no ember warm; + Then, their eyes glitter frost, who hear hope yell + As up she climbs the rocks and falls pell-mell + Back from small herbs, where monsters swoop and swarm. + + Oh, could the bestial birds, in Virgil's verse, + See Hope's hands redden, as she rends her hair, + They would grow human--would not glut, but share; + Nor, then, shed human semblance for man's curse-- + As ye do, who from want, hold warmth and fair, + And gorge your bulks to sleep, as want writhes worse! + + + + +WHY THE STARS LAUGH + + + Hark! 'tis the laughter of the stars at Earth, + And Nature's, too, with every pitch of voice. + Earth's carnival of sheer grotesque and noise, + Where, gagged and manacled, walk Peace and Mirth, + Shows Britain now, a beast of broadening girth, + Set out to crush World Freedom. He destroys, + And thinks his bear-like rearing, planet poise + That is to influence the world's new birth. + + The stars are kind, as all the ages know; + The sense of humor twinkles in their eyes, + At Earth's strange follies; but this beast would try + To thrust aside the planets, and make woe, + The fortune of World Freedom! That is why + The stars laugh, and all nature jeers the show. + + + + +PRAYER FOR WORLD PEACE + + + Lord, not Thy work, the World's calamities, + But Man's. If Human Will revolt from Thine, + It flees Thy region, where the stars all shine + With longing to let down the Azure's Peace-- + To dash its hosts from summits into seas, + Where Empires are the breakers. There the brine + Is anguish, and there Triumph leaves no sign, + Save wreck on rock, and Plague, adrift on breeze. + + When Nations turn from Light, in thought, or life, + Their speed is brink-ward, save Thy Mercy stay; + For all is precipice, except Thy way. + Help, Lord, for here is heightening surge of strife; + Here, clouds turn floods, coasts are wind-whirled, like spray, + And lightenings, hurling back thy light, are rife. + + + + +RELIGION + + + Religion is Ascension. 'Tis the flights + Of souls to summits of the true and wise. + One, witnessing the generations rise, + Sees them a shine at countless, different heights, + Where they, responding to their inner lights, + Glow, like the clouds at morn, with graded dyes. + If summits, there are depths; if virtue, vice; + Hence, 'tis life's rise from falls, that judgment sights. + + Witnessed, or not, there is no age, nor climb, + But souls arise as bloom, where earth is treed; + As warm, red rays, where cold from mountaining need; + As burst and spread of planets, where dark crime; + Nay, rise to poise above the star's top speed + To God, like larks, in praise for life and time. + + + + +THE GOLDEN JUBILEE OF SISTERS OF CHARITY + + +I + + How thy Half Century shines over head! + 'Tis an unfading rain-bow, one whose dyes + Are richer and more numerous to the eyes + Of Angels, than to ours. Its rays, if spread + Above a flood of sin and world of dead, + Give to the drowned, new life, new earth, new skies. + Night counts her stars, but falters, when souls rise + Bright with the Grace which God's annointed shed. + + Belov'd Irene, how great our joy to see + Thine arch, aglow with virtue's every hue! + Oh, how much more must they rejoice, who view + From inner Heaven, the arch that is for thee, + Triumphal! for than vows like thine, lived true, + No grander arch from earth to heaven could be. + + +II + + The "Church Triumphant" shines in lives like thine, + Calista! 'Tis the Saints' procession, shown + In Dante's vision, near Lord Jesus' throne, + In greatening splendor, never to decline. + Ah, if our minds grow dark, our hearts repine, + How, from sweet lives, dear Sister, like thine own, + Be-Mothering with mercy all who moan, + A light comes, and a warmth is in its shine. + + We shade our eyes, as when we face the Sun + On level with the earth, at lives all love-- + The Church Triumphant, as in Heaven above! + Aye, lives all love for Christ, in every one + Who suffers wrong, or any pain thereof, + As on His Throne--such lives as thine, dear Nun. + + + + +WINIFRED HOLT, THE LIFESAVER OF THE BLIND + + + Once, blindness was a burning ship at sea, + With panic-stricken souls on every deck. + The flame blew inward on that awful wreck, + Burning the hopes that make life glad and free. + Ah! then, through thee, it was, Philanthropy, + Who trains her searchlight on the smallest speck + And Speed out boats, like horses, neck to neck, + Reached the dark hulk and thrilled its crew with glee. + + The flame is quenched, that burned out heart and brain. + The ship where woe was mute, is loud with joy. + Hark! hear the cheer on board, and cry, "Ahoy!" + As fast the sails are hoisted, and the main + Tides back toward hope for every girl and boy, + Who, else, might reach no star of night's whole train. + + + + +A CHOICE + + + Above and under life, eternally, + A subtle light and dark run parallel. + One prompts men to build Beauty, cell by cell, + In Home, Religion, State, Society; + The other, to destroy the fair they see. + Like Spring, wilt thou roof Earth with bloom and dwell + Thereunder? or, with Scalping Winter's yell, + Scour grove and bush? Choose--how else art thou free? + + If Freedom is the gift of the all-wise, + It is because he will not have a slave + To serve Him. Which wilt thou be, base or brave? + With Morn, climb, or, with Night, skulk down the skies + To grope in caverns, or beneath the wave, + Creep, till aghast at monsters that arise? + + + + +ALL LUMINARIES HAVE ONE TREND + + + All luminaries have one source, one trend. + The stars that calm the sailor, long sea-swirled, + And canopy fond lovers from the World, + And those that lead the heart and spirit, blend. + Lo, only in the things and thoughts that tend + Toward Love's High Harmony, is truth unfurled; + All else are lies, whence heart, soul, mind are hurled + Back to the Right--to Progress without end. + + The stars all chant as one. My soaring song + Catches their flame and these few sparks reach earth: + "As soon the shells forget their Ocean birth, + As men forget the Right, where they belong + By reason and by soul of deathless worth; + Address the God in man, wouldst thou grow strong." + + + + +LIFE TAKES MORNING HUES WITH THE ARTS OF PEACE + + + America! from out the depths thy coast + Was lifted skyward for Humanity. + Thy Life, once finny circlings in the sea, + Is now the orbits of the starry host, + Encircling God with trust. Be this thy boast, + When the long line of Ages, passing thee, + Lifts each his heart and soul, and shouts with glee, + "That Trust in Him was Sentinel on post." + + Night, that once boa-like hung from thy trees, + Gorged with crushed tribes--with pottery, or mound, + Or print of foot for trace--slinks underground; + For lo, the forests, like the mist on seas, + Clears, ere the Sun, at earth's edge, glows half-round, + And life takes cloud-hues with the arts of Peace. + + + + +U. S. SENATOR JAMES A. O'GORMAN AND THE STALWARTS + + + On toward the Senate scuds a thunder-rack-- + Nay, cyclone--and the columns--all star-straight-- + Of Freedom's Temple sway with the roof's flood-weight. + Ye Stalwarts who scorn off a fate, pitch-black, + Holding the columns, let no sinew slack. + A crash and through the roof, what floods of hate! + Still, ye budge not, for "Freedom," your teeth grate, + "Shall lie no wreck along the cyclone's track." + + Oh, not for you was dark the time to slumber, + But to hold Freedom's columns all star-plumb! + Yours was a watery grave, but Martyrdom + And, hence, your resurrection with the number, + Whose greatness greatens, as the Ages come + To know why their pathway, no wrecks encumber. + + + + +MINISTER OF JUSTICE PALMER, A BASTILE BUILDER + + + O Bastile Builder! Nature, when she shaped + Thy soul, was stricken, with a long attack + Of sleeping sickness; nor till wheel and rack + Had rusted, and man spirit had escaped + The bolsted, loathesome tomb where right was raped, + Did she awaken and, alack! alack! + Deliver thee, who, put on Freedom's back, + Would'st grab all things, at which thy Past-eyes gaped. + + Freedom would humor thee; so, down he flopped + On Justice's floor to watch thee build with blocks. + Great was thy skill with walls and dungeon locks, + And with the trap, down which poor Freedom dropped + To be steel-masked, or, else, put in the stocks, + To writhe, then, with his tongue and ears, both lopped. + + + + +A SPECK, BUT NOT A STAIN, HARVARD + + + O Harvard of the Norton wreath of gold + And pearled, Longfellow purple! wherefore frown? + If Eliott is a speck upon your gown, + It will wash off; it is no stain to hold, + For you had let him go for being old. + Your wisdom was confirmed when to the crown, + A'gainst good folks who, like Elisha Brown, + Fought for their homes, he gave his name's renown. + + Come, Agassiz! for, from the smallest bone, + You reconstruct the creature, tongue to tail. + Tell us what Eliott is. Phew! What! a Whale? + No; tis the prehistoric monster, known + As Tory, that devoured young Nathan Hale + And, where it crawled, spread horror's crimson zone. + + + + +SUPREME COURT JUSTICE CHARLES L. GUY + + + Your heart is not a traitor to your mind. + Who, knowing innocence in danger, dares + Not turn his eye, for fear of smirk, or stares, + By other courts, is Justice's statue blind, + That to the wall, not Bench, should be assigned. + Oft, Precedent is Folly with gray hairs; + So you, recalling Junius, heard the prayers + Of friendless Stilow; then, what did you find? + + A fellow man doomed wrongfully to die + A felon's death. If such was Stilow's fate, + You saw, the felon would have been the State; + Hence, turned from Precedent, demanding "Why?" + Justice, asleep in marble, woke and straight + Unroofed the courthouse to let down the sky. + + + + +REAR ADMIRAL SIMS + + + A Dukedom, and not one the worse for wear, + Has Sims well earned by service to the King. + 'Tis said at court, Howe's spirit following + The ocean still, found Sims his natural heir + And said: "Swap souls; and, that the swap be fair, + Give me to boot, the bone of Freedom's wing, + To make the skyey bird a hobbling thing + In marshes, where the ignisfatus flare." + + The Eagle with his eye and pinion, trained + For mateship with the sun, twitched at a sting. + Amazed to find a "cootie" on his wing, + And that the insect dreamed, it was ordained + By race heredity to serve the King-- + He shook his plume and azured, unprofained. + + + + +SAINT GEORGE AND THE DRAGON + + +I + + In English nature, did Saint George prevail + Over the Dragon? Maybe in the time + When England knew not poverty, nor crime, + Described by Cobbett, who would not go bail + For falsehood, nor let truth remain in jail. + It must, then, have renewed life from its slime, + For, oh! through deeds, that turn the blood to chyme + And eyes white inward, see him ride the gale. + + In English nature--oh, where now the saint-- + The spirit, to sublime conceptions, true? + Has good Saint George, too woundful to renew + His conflict with the dragon of base taint, + Been caught up by Elias from earth's view? + How, else, the dragon's rage in irrestraint? + + +II + + The dragon is grim greed. The Saint's long spear, + That once transfixed it, can no longer touch. + No land is safe from its sting, blood-drain, or clutch-- + For it takes Protean shapes; 'tis, therefore, clear, + Since good Saint George has failed to re-appear + To mortal sight, save in the King's escutch-- + Worn off at edge and blurred with Tudor smudge-- + Freedom must drive the Dragon off this sphere. + + The Dragon's soarings cause the sun's eclypse.-- + Hark! is that thunder, God's collapsing skys? + No; 'tis the Eagle, with un-hooded eyes + And lightening flash from beak to pinion tips, + Seizing the Dragon that, despite its slips + From form to form--craft, gold and false sunrise-- + Can not elude his eye and talon grips. + + +III + + A conflict, this, refracted, cloud to cloud! + Where a white summit? Under crimson seas, + And these still hightening. Through far azure, Peace + Listens and, eager, peeps; then, turns headbowed. + The conflict circling earth, all plains are ploughed + New rows of gulches. God! can aught appease + The Dragon with fiend thirst's eternities + For tongue! The sun might, if it were well sloughed. + + The Dragon, mounting, draws aloft earth's slime + With which to dim the all-producing Sun + From broadening light and warmth for every one; + But, look! The Eagle, with the thirst sublime + Of Justice, that the right on earth be done-- + Flashes and--hark! 'Tis earth's Te-Deum chime! + + +IV + + Oh, yea, the Earth's Te Deums, visibling + As well as voicing forth the joy of Nations, + Fill up the vastest Heaven--that of God's Patience + With Human Will most grossly reptiling + In insincerities, worse than negations; + And for what blessing are the earth's laudations? + The grace to soul to scorn to be mere thing. + + Oh, of this grace was born the Eagle's vim + To dash the Dragon down in hell so deep, + It is a maggot there, which can but creep; + And draw Elias' chariot to Earth's rim, + Wherein Saint George stands with his heart a-leap-- + As, now, in labor, we catch glimpse of him. + +[Illustration] + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FREEDOM, TRUTH AND BEAUTY *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Freedom, Truth and Beauty</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Edward Doyle</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: December 23, 200 [eBook #20174]<br /> +[Most recently updated: October 18, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Sigal Alon, Brett Fishburne, David Garcia and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FREEDOM, TRUTH AND BEAUTY ***</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page1" name="page1"></a>[1]</span> +</p> + +<h1> + FREEDOM, TRUTH AND BEAUTY +</h1> +<h2> +SONNETS BY EDWARD DOYLE +</h2> +<p class="center"> +Author of Cagliostro, Moody Moments,<br /> the American Soldier, the Haunted<br /> +Temple and other poems; The<br /> Comet, a play of our times<br /> and Genevra, a +play of<br /> Mediaeval Florence. +</p> +<p class="quote"> + "He owns only his mental vision. But this is clear and broad of + range—as broad, indeed, as that of Dante, Milton and Goethe, + sweeping beyond the horizon of eschatology and mounting, like + Francis Thompson's, even to the Throne of Grace itself when the + theme demands reverential daring." +</p> +<p class="right"> + —STANDARD AND TIMES, PHILADELPHIA. +</p> + +<div class="figure"> +<img src="images/ill-001.png" width="30" height="30" alt="" style="padding: 30px;" /> +</div> + +<p class="center"> + <span class="sc">Manhattan and Bronx Advocate</span><br /> + 1712 Amsterdam Avenue, New York. +</p> +<p class="center"> + THE SECOND REVISED EDITION +</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page2" name="page2"></a>[2]</span> +</p> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<p class="center"> +<i>Copyright, 1921</i> <br /> +BY <br /> +EDWARD DOYLE +</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page3" name="page3"></a>[3]</span> +</p> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + CONTENTS +</h2> +<table border="0" align="center" summary="Contents"> +<tr><td></td><td align="right">PAGE NO.</td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0001"> The Quality of Edward Doyle's Work, by Ella Wheeler Wilcox </a></td><td align="right"> 7 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0002"> True Nationalism, by David Klein, Ph.D. </a></td><td align="right"> 9 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0003"> Genevra, Review In the Independent </a></td><td align="right">12 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0004"> Dedication to the Daughters of the American Revolution </a></td><td align="right">13 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0006"> The Proem </a></td><td align="right">19 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0007"> The Atlantic </a></td><td align="right">20 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0008"> Human Freedom </a></td><td align="right">20 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0009"> The Stars </a></td><td align="right">21 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0010"> The Genesis of Freedom </a></td><td align="right">21 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0011"> The Pilgrim Fathers </a></td><td align="right">23 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0012"> Plymouth Rock </a></td><td align="right">23 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0013"> The Catholics in Maryland </a></td><td align="right">24 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0014"> A Forest for the King's Hawks </a></td><td align="right">24 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0015"> To Arms Shouts Freedom </a></td><td align="right">25 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0016"> British Soldiery </a></td><td align="right">25 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0017"> Amphibious Barry </a></td><td align="right">26 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0018"> Freedom's Triumph </a></td><td align="right">26 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0019"> Washington's Army and Barry's Navy </a></td><td align="right">27 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0020"> The Sunken Continent </a></td><td align="right">27 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0021"> Elisha Brown </a></td><td align="right">28 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0022"> Evacuation Day </a></td><td align="right">28 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0023"> Manhatta </a></td><td align="right">29 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0024"> The Burning of Washington City by the British </a></td><td align="right">29 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0025"> The Land of the Great Spirit </a></td><td align="right">30 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0026"> The Blight to Spring </a></td><td align="right">30 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0027"> The Scorn of Human Rights </a></td><td align="right">31 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0028"> Not This Our Country's Glory </a></td><td align="right">31 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0029"> America's Glory No Fugitive </a></td><td align="right">32 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0030"> Hate Thou Not Any Man </a></td><td align="right">33 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0031"> The Celtic Soul Cry </a></td><td align="right">34 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0032"> British Glory in Kipling's Boots </a></td><td align="right">36 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0033"> To the English People </a></td><td align="right">36 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0034"> Shakespeare </a></td><td align="right">37 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0035"> England's Righteousness </a></td><td align="right">37 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0036"> The Massacre of the Welsh Miners </a></td><td align="right">38 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0037"> A Dirty Work </a></td><td align="right">38 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0038"> Human Nature </a></td><td align="right">39 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0039"> Our Country--Soul and Character </a></td><td align="right">39 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0040"> Juda and Erin </a></td><td align="right">41 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0041"> The Easter Rising in Ireland </a></td><td align="right">41 </td></tr> +<tr><td> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page4" name="page4"></a>[4]</span> + <a href="#h2H_4_0042"> The Fight in Ireland </a></td><td align="right">42 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0043"> To Erin </a></td><td align="right">42 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0044"> The Queen of Beauty </a></td><td align="right">43 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0045"> Liberty the Light to Peace </a></td><td align="right">43 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0046"> Why Play with Words, England </a></td><td align="right">44 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0047"> Freedom's Wardens </a></td><td align="right">44 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0048"> List to Demosthenes, If Not to Hearst </a></td><td align="right">45 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0049"> Caledonia </a></td><td align="right">45 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0050"> Canada </a></td><td align="right">47 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0051"> Dragon Incursions </a></td><td align="right">51 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0052"> All Stars Merged in One </a></td><td align="right">52 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0053"> Nemesis </a></td><td align="right">52 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0054"> Lincoln's Lightening in Wilson's Hands </a></td><td align="right">53 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0055"> The Cataclysm </a></td><td align="right">54 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0056"> An Epoch's Angel Fall </a></td><td align="right">54 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0057"> The America of the Future </a></td><td align="right">55 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0058"> The Inevitable </a></td><td align="right">56 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0059"> Reptiles with Wings </a></td><td align="right">57 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0060"> The Outlaws in Our Country </a></td><td align="right">58 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0061"> The Press </a></td><td align="right">59 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0062"> The Truth </a></td><td align="right">59 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0063"> Our Lord's Last Prayer </a></td><td align="right">60 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0064"> Thought Is Truth's Echo </a></td><td align="right">60 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0065"> Heaven </a></td><td align="right">61 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0066"> Humility </a></td><td align="right">61 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0067"> The Night of Mysteries </a></td><td align="right">62 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0068"> What the Poets Show </a></td><td align="right">62 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0069"> The Soul's Ascension </a></td><td align="right">63 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0070"> Lyric Transport </a></td><td align="right">63 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0071"> The Sunrise </a></td><td align="right">64 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0072"> Two Darknesses </a></td><td align="right">64 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0073"> The Doom of Hate </a></td><td align="right">65 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0074"> The Evil in the World </a></td><td align="right">65 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0075"> The Earth Renewed by Memory </a></td><td align="right">66 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0076"> In the Dimple of Beauty's Cheek </a></td><td align="right">66 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0077"> The Camp Fire </a></td><td align="right">67 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0078"> Mother </a></td><td align="right">67 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0079"> In Heaven No Heart Still Heaves </a></td><td align="right">68 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0080"> Saint Peter's Cathedral in Rome </a></td><td align="right">68 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0081"> My Bugler Boy </a></td><td align="right">69 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0082"> Kaiser, Beware </a></td><td align="right">69 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0083"> Woman in Germany </a></td><td align="right">70 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0084"> O Thou Pale Moon </a></td><td align="right">70 </td></tr> +<tr><td> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page5" name="page5"></a>[5]</span> + <a href="#h2H_4_0085"> The Tiger </a></td><td align="right">71 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0086"> To Our Boys "Over There" </a></td><td align="right">71 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0087"> The Profiteers </a></td><td align="right">72 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0088"> Why the Stars Laugh </a></td><td align="right">72 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0089"> Prayer for the World Peace </a></td><td align="right">73 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0090"> Religion </a></td><td align="right">73 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0091"> The Golden Jubilee of Sisters of Charity </a></td><td align="right">74 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0092"> Winifred Holt, the Lifesaver of the Blind </a></td><td align="right">75 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0093"> A Choice </a></td><td align="right">75 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0094"> All Luminaires Have One Trend </a></td><td align="right">76 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0095"> Life Takes Morning Hues with the Arts of Peace </a></td><td align="right">76 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0096"> U. S. Senator James A. O. Gorman and the Stalwarts </a></td><td align="right">77 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0097"> Minister of Justice Palmer, A Bastile Builder </a></td><td align="right">77 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0098"> A Speck, But Not a Stain, Harvard </a></td><td align="right">78 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0099"> Supreme Court Justice Charles L. Guy </a></td><td align="right">78 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0100"> Rear Admiral Sims </a></td><td align="right">79 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0101"> Saint George and the Dragon </a></td><td align="right">79 </td></tr> +</table> + +<div class="figure"> +<img src="images/ill-005.png" width="300" height="80" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page6" name="page6"></a>[6]</span> +</p> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page7" name="page7"></a>[7]</span> +</p> + +<div class="figure"> +<img src="images/ill-007.png" width="500" height="150" +alt="" /> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0001" id="h2H_4_0001"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE QUALITY OF THE WORKS OF EDWARD DOYLE +</h2> + +<img src="images/ill-007b.png" style="width: 90px; height: 105px; float:left; padding:0; margin-right:1em;" +alt="" /> +<p style="text-indent: -1em;"> +<span style="display:none;">T</span>he quality of Edward Doyle's work was appraised by Ella Wheeler Wilcox +in the following article by Mrs. Wilcox which appeared in the New York +Evening Journal and the San Francisco <i>Examiner</i>, in 1905: +</p> +<p> +Shut your eyes and bind them with a black cloth and try for one hour to +see how cheerful you can be. Then imagine yourself deprived for life of +the light of day. +</p> +<p> +Perhaps this experiment will make you less rebellious with your present +lot. +</p> +<p> +Then take the little book called "The Haunted Temple and Other Poems," +by Edward Doyle, the blind poet of Harlem, and read and wonder and feel +ashamed of any mood of distrust of God and discontent with life you have +ever indulged. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Doyle has been blind for the last thirty-seven years; he has lived +a half century. +</p> +<p> +Therefore he still remembers the privilege of seeing God's world when +a lad, and this must augment rather than ameliorate his sorrow. +</p> +<p> +He who has never known the use of eyes cannot fully understand the +immensity of the loss of sight. +</p> +<p> +I hear people in possession of all their senses, and with many +blessings, bewail the fact that they were ever born. +</p> +<p> +They have missed some aim, failed of some cherished ambition, lost some +special joy or been defeated in some purpose. +</p> +<h3> +A GREAT SOUL +</h3> +<p> +And so they sit in spiritual darkness and curse life and doubt God. But +here is a great soul who has found his divine self in the darkness and +who sends out this wonderful song of joy and gratitude. +</p> +<p> +Read it, oh, ye weak repiners, and read it again and again. It is +beautiful in thought, perfect in expression and glorious with truth. +</p> +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page8" name="page8"></a>[8]</span> +</p> +<h3> +CHIME, DARK BELL +</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> My life is in deep darkness; still, I cry, </p> +<p class="i4"> With joy to my Creator, "It is well!" </p> +<p class="i4"> Were worlds my words, what firmaments would tell </p> +<p class="i2"> My transport at the consciousness that I </p> +<p class="i2"> Who was not, Am! To be—oh, that is why </p> +<p class="i4"> The awful convex dark in which I dwell </p> +<p class="i4"> Is tongued with joy, and chimes a temple bell. </p> +<p class="i2"> Antiphonally to the choirs on high! </p> +<p class="i2"> Chime cheerily, dark bell! for were no more </p> +<p class="i4"> Than consciousness my gift, this were to know </p> +<p class="i2"> The Giver Good—which sums up all the lore </p> +<p class="i4"> Eternity can possibly bestow. </p> +<p class="i2"> Chime! for thy metal is the molten ore </p> +<p class="i4"> Of the great stars, and marks no wreck below. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +I know a gifted and brilliant man in New York who is full of charm and +wit in conversation, but the moment he touches a pen he becomes, as a +rule, a melancholy pessimist, crying out at the injustice of the world +and the uselessness of high endeavor in the field of art. +</p> +<p> +When urged to take a different mental attitude for the sake of the +reading world, which needs strong tonics of hope and courage, rather +than the slow poison of pessimism, however subtly sweet the brew, my +friend responds that "The song and dance of literature is not my special +gift." And he is obliged to "speak of the world as I find it." +</p> +<p> +He is an able-bodied man, in the prime of life, with splendid years +waiting on his threshold to lead him to any height he may wish to climb. +But to his mental vision, nothing is really "worth while." +</p> +<p> +What a rebuke this wonderful poem of Edward Doyle's should be to all +such men and women. What an inspiration it should be to every mortal who +reads it, to look within, and find the <b>Kingdom of God</b> as this +blind poet has found it. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Doyle was in St. Francis Xavier's College when his great affliction +fell upon him. He started a local paper, The Advocate, in Harlem +twenty-three years ago and has in the darkness of his physical vision +developed his poetical talent and given the world some great lines. +</p> +<h3> +AN INSPIRATION +</h3> +<p> +Here is a poem which throbs with the keen anguish which must have been +his guest through many silent hours of these thirty-seven years: +</p> +<h3> +TO A CHILD READING +</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> My darling, spell the words out. You may creep </p> +<p class="i4"> Across the syllables on hands and knees, </p> +<p class="i4"> And stumble often, yet pass me with ease </p> +<p class="i2"> And reach the spring upon the summit steep. </p> +<p class="i2"> Oh, I could lay me down, dear child, and weep </p> +<p class="i4"> These charr'd orbs out, but that you then might cease </p> +<p class="i4"> Your upward effort, and with inquiries </p> +<p class="i2"> Stoop down and probe my heart too deep, too deep! </p> + +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page9" name="page9"></a>[9]</span> + +<p class="i2"> I thirst for Knowledge. Oh, for an endless drink </p> +<p class="i4"> Your goblet leaks the whole way from the spring— </p> +<p class="i2"> No matter, to its rim a few drops cling, </p> +<p class="i2"> And these refresh me with the joy to think </p> +<p class="i4"> That you, my darling, have the morning's wing </p> +<p class="i2"> To cross the mountain at whose base I sink. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +But Edward Doyle has not sunk "at the mountain's base." He is far up its +summit, and he will go higher. He has found God, and nothing can hinder +his flight. He is an inspiration to all struggling, toiling souls on +earth. +</p> +<p> +As I read his book, with its strong clarion cry of faith and joy and +courage, and ponder over the carefully finished thoughts and beautifully +polished lines, I feel ashamed of my own small achievements, and am +inspired to new efforts. +</p> +<p> +Glory and success to you, Edward Doyle. +</p> +<p class="right"> +ELLA WHEELER WILCOX. +</p> + +<div class="figure"> +<img src="images/ill-001.png" width="30" height="30" alt="" style="padding: 30px;" /> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0002" id="h2H_4_0002"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + TRUE NATIONALISM +</h2> +<p class="center"> + (<i>From the "Maccabaein", June, 1920.</i>) +</p> + +<h3> +THE JEWS IN RUSSIA +</h3> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> From town and village to a wood, stript bare, </p> +<p class="i2"> As they of their possessions, see them throng. </p> +<p class="i2"> Above them grows a cloud; it moves along, </p> +<p class="i2"> As flee they from the circling wolf pack's glare. </p> +<p class="i2"> Is it their Brocken-Shadow of despair, </p> +<p class="i2"> The looming of their life of cruel wrong </p> +<p class="i2"> For countless ages? No; their faith is strong </p> +<p class="i2"> In their Jehovah; that huge cloud is prayer. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> A flash of light, and black the despot lies. </p> +<p class="i2"> What thunder round the world! 'Tis transport's strain </p> +<p class="i2"> Proclaiming loud: "No righteous prayer is vain </p> +<p class="i2"> No God-imploring tears are lost; they rise </p> +<p class="i2"> Into a cloud, and in the sky remain </p> +<p class="i2"> Till they draw lightening from Jehovah's eyes." </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +The author of this superb little gem, like Homer, is blind; but, like +Homer, his mental vision is clear, and broad, and deep. President +Schurman, of Cornell University, commenting on Doyle once said: "It is +as true today as of yore that the genuine poet, even though blind, +is the Seer and Prophet of his generation." The poem here printed +illustrates the point. Did we not know that it was published some +fifteen years ago in a volume entitled + +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page10" name="page10"></a>[10]</span> + + "The Haunted Temple," we should +assume that it was written on the occasion of the fall of the Czar. In +fact, however, it merely foretells this event by some dozen years. And +how terribly applicable are the lines to the facts of today! The +prophecy is one capable of repeated fulfillment. +</p> +<p> +But it is as a prophet of nationalism that this man compels our +particular attention. The prophecy is embodied in a play entitled "The +Comet, a Play of Our Times," brought out as far back as 1908. The play +is a microcosm of American life. The chief character is a college +president, and he it is that is chosen to expound the true nature of +nationalism and to give voice and utterance to the principle of +self-determination. (Is it merely a coincidence that at that time +Woodrow Wilson was President of Princeton, or is it a case of poetic +vision. Wilson, be it remembered, was already a national figure, and +there were already glimmerings that he was destined to usher in a new +era in politics.) According to the protagonist, America is not "a +boiling cauldron in which the elements seethe, but never settle," but +rather a college where every class is taught to translate— +</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> "Into the common speech of daily life</p> +<p class="i2"> The country's loftiest ideals—"</p> +</div> +</div> +<p style="text-indent: 0;"> +and any body of citizens form a part of our republic only in so far— +</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> "As they contribute to its character </p> +<p class="i2"> As leader of the nations unto Right </p> +<p class="i2"> By thought or deed, in service for mankind." </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +We must lead the peoples of the world to freedom. And what is freedom? +</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> "'Tis intelligence </p> +<p class="i2"> Aloof from harm and hamper, grandly circling </p> +<p class="i2"> Its native sun-lit peaks, the highest hopes </p> +<p class="i2"> Heaved from the heart of man upon the earth, </p> +<p class="i2"> In ranges long as time and soul endure." </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +What, then, is America's duty to the oppressed race or the small nation? +It is to "wake and disabuse it of false hope"— +</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i24"> "and urge it on </p> +<p class="i2"> To the development of its own powers, </p> +<p class="i2"> The culmination of its own ideals, </p> +<p class="i2"> The star seed sown by God,—the only means </p> +<p class="i2"> By which a tribe can thrive to its perfection." </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +To make this possible, civilization must be given a more human content. +It is therefore necessary to awake human intelligence, "the godlike +genius," to a realization of the fact— +</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i12"> "—that, on having brought </p> +<p class="i2"> This world from out the chaos dark </p> +<p class="i2"> Of waters and of woody wilderness, </p> +<p class="i2"> And shaped it into hills of hope for man, </p> +<p class="i2"> Must providence its beautiful creation </p> +<p class="i2"> With altruistic love and tenderness; </p> +<p class="i2"> So that all tribes of man, what'er their hue, </p> +<p class="i2"> Have each a hill where it can touch the star </p> +<p class="i2"> That it has followed with its mental growth." </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page11" name="page11"></a>[11]</span> +</p> +<p> +Such a program is rendered imperative by the inexorability of the law +of race, which nullifies any attempts to force assimilation: +</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> "It is a foolish, futile thing </p> +<p class="i2"> To try to shape society by codes, </p> +<p class="i2"> Vetoed by Nature. Nature trumpets forth </p> +<p class="i2"> No edict, through the instinct of a race, </p> +<p class="i2"> Proclaiming certain territory hers </p> +<p class="i2"> And warning all encroaching powers therefrom, </p> +<p class="i2"> Without the ordering out of her reserves </p> +<p class="i2"> To see to it the edict is enforced. </p> +<p class="i2"> Let politics keep off forbidden shores." </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +If any powers preserve in a policy of oppression, our duty is plain: +</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> "To teach the barbarous tribes throughout the globe, </p> +<p class="i2"> Christian or Turk, that all humanity </p> +<p class="i2"> Is territory sheltered by our flag; </p> +<p class="i2"> That butchery must cease throughout the world; </p> +<p class="i2"> That, having ended human slavery, </p> +<p class="i2"> Old glory has a mission from on high </p> +<p class="i2"> To stop the slaughter of the smiling babe, </p> +<p class="i2"> The pale, crazed mother, weak, defenseless sire, </p> +<p class="i2"> All places on the habitable globe." </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +Finally to render feasible the ideal development of all peoples, and +put an end to war, America must bring about a league of all nations. +It develops on us— +</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> "To get the races by degrees together </p> +<p class="i2"> To talk their grievance over, in a voice </p> +<p class="i2"> As gentle as a woman's.... </p> +<p class="i2"> There is no education in the world </p> +<p class="i2"> Like human contact for mankind's advance; </p> +<p class="i2"> All differences, then, adjust themselves; </p> +<p class="i2"> But when two races are estranged by hate, </p> +<p class="i2"> They grow so deaf to one another's rights, </p> +<p class="i2"> That it soon comes to pass that either has </p> +<p class="i2"> To use the trumpet of artillery </p> +<p class="i2"> In order to be heard at all." </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +Recently, Doyle wrote the following lines. Their application is obvious: +</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> "Vault Godward, Poet. What though few may climb </p> +<p class="i2"> The mountain and the star on trail of thee? </p> +<p class="i2"> Thy wing-flash beams toward man, and if it be </p> +<p class="i2"> True inspiration—whether thought sublime, </p> +<p class="i2"> Or fervor for the truth, or liberty— </p> +<p class="i2"> Thy light will reach the earth in goodly time." </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +What wonder that from so lofty an outlook his searching eye should +pierce the tragedy of "The Jews in Russia"—or elsewhere—should pierce +even the revenges that Time would ring in, and rest on a vision of +righteous peace! +</p> +<p class="right"> +DAVID KLEIN, Ph.D. +</p> +<p> +<i>AUTHOR OF LITERARY CRITICISM, from the Elizabethian Dramatist.</i> +</p> +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page12" name="page12"></a>[12]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0003" id="h2H_4_0003"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + GENEVRA +</h2> +<p class="center"> + (<i>From the "Independent," May 30, 1912.</i>) +</p> +<p> +The scene of Mr. Edward Doyle's new play is the Florence of 1400; +the atmosphere that of a plague stricken city in a time when man was +helpless, authorities hopeless, social life in shreds and patches. The +plot of the play founded on this state of affairs is rich in incident, +varied and sufficiently complex in color, passion and character to +furnish material for an exciting spectacular representation. The +tragic element is strong, but supported and shaded by the company of +roysterers, a jester, whose foolery is a compound of bluff of that +period and bluff of modern politics and athletics. The jester, the black +company and the penitents, together with the roysterers, form now the +foreground, now the background, of action, which in itself is never +without the dolorous sound of the death bell. The doomed city is under +a spell comparable to that set forth so vividly in Manzoni's "I Promessi +Sposi." Says the villain of the plot as he listens from his seat at the +festive board: +</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> "It bodes ill for the black Cowled company </p> +<p class="i2"> To make a visit to a festive house. </p> +<p class="i4"> 'Tis like death looking in and whispering 'Next.' </p> +<p class="i2"> Fool, call the servants. Bid them fetch the wine— </p> +<p class="i4"> A cask of it—the best varnaccio! </p> +<p class="i2"> Here come my friends to help me drown the Plague." </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +Pictures like this as sharply defined are frequent and throw in shadowed +blackening on shadow. The author defends the use of a meteorological +phenomenon translated in the spirit of the time as supernatural by +quoting Dante as recognizing it, but the authority of Dante was not +necessary to justify the dramatist in introducing the "Crimson Cross." +It was a part of the pyrotechnics of the church propaganda. Though the +advance of scientific discovery has laid a heavy hand on thaumaturgy +of the sort, it would no doubt, have its use when properly handled +on a modern stage. The action of the drama is rapid and natural, the +characters well drawn and individualized, the dialogue spicy, forceful +and varied. +</p> +<p> +Price $1.00. +</p> + +<div class="figure"> +<img src="images/ill-012.png" width="200" height="70" +alt="" /> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page13" name="page13"></a>[13]</span> +</p> + + +<a name="h2H_4_0004" id="h2H_4_0004"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<div class="figure"> +<img src="images/ill-013.png" width="500" height="75" +alt="" /> +</div> + +<h2> + DEDICATION +</h2> +<h3> + TO THE DAUGHTERS OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION +</h3> +<h4> +I +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> What lineage so noble as from Sires, </p> +<p class="i6"> Laureled by Freedom? For, who, but the brave </p> +<p class="i6"> Have glory to transmit? The Hero's grave </p> +<p class="i2"> Blooms ever. It is there the spring retires </p> +<p class="i2"> To dream to flowers, her heart and soul desires, </p> +<p class="i6"> When winter's whitening wind, like wash of wave, </p> +<p class="i6"> Sweeps mauseleums of the skulk and knave </p> +<p class="i2"> From mounts of glare off to Oblivion's mires. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> The bloom, for which mere wealth lacks length of arm, </p> +<p class="i6"> And fainting Time takes for reviving scent, </p> +<p class="i6"> Fame, with bright eyes from heart and soul content, </p> +<p class="i2"> Forms wreaths for Valor's Daughters—crowns that charm </p> +<p class="i2"> Not with death-smells from Human welfare rent </p> +<p class="i6"> But breath of Country's rescue from dire harm. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page14" name="page14"></a>[14]</span> +</p> +<h4> +II +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Those crowns, not cold from death sweat on the brow, </p> +<p class="i6"> At sight of apparitions with fixed stare, </p> +<p class="i6"> But warm with summer, conjuring beauties rare— </p> +<p class="i2"> Wilt not. They are dewed daily by your vow, </p> +<p class="i2"> Daughters of sires who, to no thrall, would bow! </p> +<p class="i6"> Which, at the alter with raised hands, ye swear, </p> +<p class="i6"> Cheering the blessed spirits, gathered there, </p> +<p class="i2"> That, like their Mothers, are their daughters now. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> True women—and therefore, craft foilers clever— </p> +<p class="i6"> With sons for your hearts utterance, ye sue </p> +<p class="i6"> Not, but like Barry to the British crew, </p> +<p class="i2"> Ye cry out: "What! we strike our colors? Never! </p> +<p class="i2"> Fie, shot! fie, Gold! these colors, since they drew </p> +<p class="i6"> Their first star-breath, are God's, and God's forever." </p> +</div> +</div> + +<h4> +III +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Ye know the Leopard changes not his spots. </p> +<p class="i6"> The Prince of Peace, who spake eternal truth, </p> +<p class="i6"> Confirmed this fact of Nature. He, with ruth </p> +<p class="i2"> Omniscient, saw afar, the scarlet clots </p> +<p class="i2"> Of English nature, in profidious plots </p> +<p class="i6"> For conquest, mangling not alone brave youth </p> +<p class="i6"> With teeth set, but old age without a tooth, </p> +<p class="i2"> And Mothers, clutching up their bleeding tots. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Oh, yea, this beast makes his own desert, still; </p> +<p class="i6"> And Ireland, India and Egypt show </p> +<p class="i6"> His spots so spread, he is one ghastly glow; </p> +<p class="i2"> Aye, as your sires saw him from Bunker Hill. </p> +<p class="i2"> Oh, vain, gold rubs the skin and press shouts, "Lo! </p> +<p class="i6"> It has not now one spot of threatening ill." </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page15" name="page15"></a>[15]</span> +</p> +<h4> +IV +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> O Daughters of the brave, well ye abjure </p> +<p class="i6"> The fiend and all his works. Ye know his smiles </p> +<p class="i6"> Are fire-fly flare at gloaming, lighting miles </p> +<p class="i2"> Of snake-boughed forests down to swamps, impure </p> +<p class="i2"> From mind and soul decay; hence are heart-sure </p> +<p class="i6"> That creed and racial hatreds are his wiles, </p> +<p class="i6"> For God is Love, and Love draws, reconsiles, </p> +<p class="i2"> And is the strength that makes our land endure. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> O Mothers, as you lift your babes and gaze </p> +<p class="i6"> Into their eyes, your love runs through their vains </p> +<p class="i6"> In crimson flushes—oh, your love that pains </p> +<p class="i2"> At any of God's creatures hurt! that stays; </p> +<p class="i2"> The heavens may pass away, but that remains, </p> +<p class="i6"> Being of Christ, who walks earth Mother-ways. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<h4> +V +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Oh, like your sires, you, too, know Freedom's worth </p> +<p class="i6"> To Human Spirit. For its liberation, </p> +<p class="i6"> A God unrealmed himself by tribulation, </p> +<p class="i2"> And was an out-cast on a scornful earth. </p> +<p class="i2"> Christ is no myth and, since with Human birth </p> +<p class="i6"> He forms new Heavens for blissful habitation— </p> +<p class="i6"> There unto is the Freedom of the Nation; </p> +<p class="i2"> All other trend is down to dark and dearth. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> When from the darkness rainbowed birth comes pouring, </p> +<p class="i6"> Your virtue heeds the voice, Eternity— </p> +<p class="i6"> Re-echos: "Let them come." 'Tis Nature's plea </p> +<p class="i2"> For broadening progress; Nay, 'tis God imploring </p> +<p class="i2"> The Human to take strength for Liberty, </p> +<p class="i6"> Truth, Honor, to catch up to the stars, a-soaring. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page16" name="page16"></a>[16]</span> +</p> +<h4> +VI +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> O Daughters of brave sires, what is true glory? </p> +<p class="i4"> No marsh-ward falling star, however bright. </p> +<p class="i4"> 'Tis inspirational; its upward flight </p> +<p class="i2"> Lifts generations—such your Father's story, </p> +<p class="i2"> And also yours, for is not that, too, gory? </p> +<p class="i4"> You pour out your hearts blood in sons to fight </p> +<p class="i4"> For honor, and cease not till every right </p> +<p class="i2"> Has been set down in Triumph's inventory. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Oh, into daughters, too, old noble Mothers! </p> +<p class="i4"> You pour out your hearts blood that, in your place, </p> +<p class="i4"> They may fill up the ranks and, as in case </p> +<p class="i2"> Of Molly Pitcher, man guns for their brothers, </p> +<p class="i2"> And hearten firm, the trembling human race </p> +<p class="i4"> To know, though brave men fall, there still comes others. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<h4> +VII +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> If Christ's foreshadowing in Juda's haze </p> +<p class="i4"> Was of his grief, 'tis of His triumph, here, </p> +<p class="i4"> For, is not His celestrial glory clear </p> +<p class="i2"> In Freedom for all men? First, gaseous rays </p> +<p class="i2"> In Maryland, then rounded firm full blaze </p> +<p class="i4"> In the Republic, it draws every sphere </p> +<p class="i4"> Of Human welfare, whether far or near, </p> +<p class="i2"> From depths occult to nights with dawns and days. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> The Freedom of the Generation's longing </p> +<p class="i4"> Reflects Lord Christ in glory, hour by hour, </p> +<p class="i4"> With more distinctness, as you, with His power, </p> +<p class="i2"> Free heart and brain from every brother-wronging, </p> +<p class="i2"> And give your offspring, these, as flesh and dower, </p> +<p class="i4"> To live and lead the millions, hither thronging. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page17" name="page17"></a>[17]</span> +</p> +<h4> +VIII +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Oh, ever Mothers—shaping robust youth </p> +<p class="i6"> No less than infant, and as perfectly! </p> +<p class="i6"> There's life blood to their veins from when on knee </p> +<p class="i2"> To when thy battle, from your broadening ruth </p> +<p class="i2"> For Human kind and fervent love of truth. </p> +<p class="i6"> If, like their fathers, they have come to be </p> +<p class="i6"> The wonder of the world, for liberty, </p> +<p class="i2"> Your virtue, 'tis, that in their valor greweth. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Oh, as the Roman Mother, when she showed </p> +<p class="i6"> For jewels, her two sons, saw each of them </p> +<p class="i6"> In Time's Tiara, glittering there a gem; </p> +<p class="i2"> So, see your offspring shine. The light, bestowed </p> +<p class="i2"> Your Fathers, in your sons is diamond flame, </p> +<p class="i6"> Encircling Freedom's ocean-walled abode. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<h4> +IX +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Is it Apocalyptic Vision, when </p> +<p class="i6"> White-winged Columbus swoops from Spain's palmed shore </p> +<p class="i6"> And, from dark depths, lifts at San Salvador, </p> +<p class="i2"> A continent, adrip with streams which, then, </p> +<p class="i2"> Become the fountain of the Psalmist's ken, </p> +<p class="i6"> Where Right the heart, from hoof to horn foam-hoar </p> +<p class="i6"> From craggy speed, slakes thirst, and, evermore, </p> +<p class="i2"> Comes Hope's whole clattering herd?—you chant, "Amen." </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Aye, for your sires made earth this new creation </p> +<p class="i6"> Where, from San Salvadore and Plymouth Reef </p> +<p class="i6"> To Westward Mission Trails, ascends belief </p> +<p class="i2"> In God and, therefore, in the Soul's Salvation </p> +<p class="i2"> Through Freedom, in white, spiral spray which grief </p> +<p class="i6"> Sees, spite earth-mists, or solar obscuration. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page18" name="page18"></a>[18]</span> +</p> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page19" name="page19"></a>[19]</span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="h2H_4_0005" id="h2H_4_0005"></a>SONNETS</h2> + +<div class="figure"> +<img src="images/ill-019.png" width="500" height="125" +alt="Sonnets" /> +</div> + +<h3> + FREEDOM, TRUTH AND BEAUTY +</h3> +<a name="h2H_4_0006" id="h2H_4_0006"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE PROEM +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Soar thou aloft, though thou ascend alone, </p> +<p class="i6"> O Human Spirit! Thou canst not be lost. </p> +<p class="i6"> What though yon stars, the azure's nightly frost </p> +<p class="i2"> Melt dark, or mount round thee an arctic zone! </p> +<p class="i2"> Thou hast sun-warmth and star-source of thine own. </p> +<p class="i6"> If thou mount not, how bitter is the cost! </p> +<p class="i6"> What anguish, when whirled down, or tempest tossed, </p> +<p class="i2"> To know how high toward God thou mightst have flown! </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Vault Godward, Poet. What though few may climb </p> +<p class="i6"> The mountain and the star on trail of thee? </p> +<p class="i6"> Thy wing-flash beams toward Man, and, if it be </p> +<p class="i2"> True inspiration—whether thought sublime, </p> +<p class="i6"> Or fervor for the Truth, or Liberty— </p> +<p class="i2"> Thy light will reach the earth in goodly time. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page20" name="page20"></a>[20]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0007" id="h2H_4_0007"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE ATLANTIC +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Forming the great Atlantic, see God take </p> +<p class="i6"> The mist from woe's white mountain, spring and stream, </p> +<p class="i6"> The breath of man in frost, the spiral lean </p> +<p class="i2"> From roof-cracked caves where, though the heart may break, </p> +<p class="i2"> The soul will not lie torpid, like the snake,— </p> +<p class="i6"> And battle smoke. On them He breathes with dream </p> +<p class="i6"> And, Lo! an Angel with a sword agleam </p> +<p class="i2"> 'Twix the Old World and New for Justice's sake. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> What sea so broad, as that from Human weeping? </p> +<p class="i6"> Or Sun so flaming, as the Angel's sword </p> +<p class="i6"> Of Human and Devine Wills in accord? </p> +<p class="i2"> There, with sword-flash of myriad waves, joy-leaping, </p> +<p class="i6"> Shall loom forever, Freedom's watch and ward, </p> +<p class="i6"> With the New World in his Seraphic keeping. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0008" id="h2H_4_0008"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + HUMAN FREEDOM +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> This is thy glory, Man, that thou art free. </p> +<p class="i6"> 'Tis in thy freedom, thy resemblance lies </p> +<p class="i6"> To thy Creator. Nature, which, tide-wise, </p> +<p class="i2"> Is flood and ebb, bounds not sky flight for thee. </p> +<p class="i2"> Lo! as the sun arises from the sea, </p> +<p class="i6"> Startling all beauty God-ward, thou dost rise </p> +<p class="i6"> With mind to God in heaven, from finite ties, </p> +<p class="i2"> And there, in freedom, thou art great as He. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Meeting thy God with mind, 'tis thine to choose, </p> +<p class="i6"> Wheather to follow him with love and soar, </p> +<p class="i6"> Or dream Him myth and, rather than adore, </p> +<p class="i2"> Plunge headlong into Nature's whirl and ooze. </p> +<p class="i2"> Thine is full freedom. Ah! could God do more </p> +<p class="i6"> To liken thee to Him, and love, infuse? </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page21" name="page21"></a>[21]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0009" id="h2H_4_0009"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE STARS +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> God loves the stars; else why star-shape the dew </p> +<p class="i6"> For the unbreathing, shy, heart-hiding rose? </p> +<p class="i6"> And when earth darkens, and the North wind blows, </p> +<p class="i2"> Why into stars, flake every cloud's black brew? </p> +<p class="i2"> What fitter forms for longings high and true, </p> +<p class="i6"> Man's hopes, ideals, than bright orbs like those </p> +<p class="i6"> Asbine from Nature's dawn to Nature's close, </p> +<p class="i2"> In clusters, prisming every dazzling hue? </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Nor is the Sun with harvests in its heat, </p> +<p class="i6"> And that, sky-hidden, makes the moon at night, </p> +<p class="i6"> An earth-ward cascade for its leaps of light, </p> +<p class="i2"> More real, or a world force more complete, </p> +<p class="i2"> Than Faith and Hope, that brake through clouds with sight </p> +<p class="i6"> Of evil's foil and ultimate defeat. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0010" id="h2H_4_0010"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE GENESIS OF FREEDOM +</h2> +<h4> +I +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> O Freedom! Born amid resplendent spheres, </p> +<p class="i6"> And, with God-like creative power, endowed, </p> +<p class="i6"> Hast thou, to human life's blue depths, not vowed </p> +<p class="i2"> A splendor, not alone like that which 'pears </p> +<p class="i2"> At present, where the upper asure clears, </p> +<p class="i6"> But that the Nebulae will yet unshroud? </p> +<p class="i6"> I hear thy far off cry where thou art lone, </p> +<p class="i2"> A John the Baptist: "Lo! one greater nears." </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> What is this Greater—this which is to meet </p> +<p class="i6"> The planets and ascend high, high and higher? </p> +<p class="i6"> The right of human spirit to aspire </p> +<p class="i2"> And mount, unhampered—and by act, complete </p> +<p class="i6"> Creations harmony, as by desire, </p> +<p class="i6"> Proclaimed by brain with throb, by heart with beat. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page22" name="page22"></a>[22]</span> +</p> +<h4> +II +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> In thy descent through azures, all aglow </p> +<p class="i6"> With circling spheres, the beauty of each blaze, </p> +<p class="i6"> And grandeur, then, of all, entrance thy gaze. </p> +<p class="i2"> Thou thinkest, why not thus all life below? </p> +<p class="i2"> Perceiving, then that all the breezes blow </p> +<p class="i6"> Upward and onward, in the skyey maze, </p> +<p class="i6"> Thou wouldst go back and start with them, to raise </p> +<p class="i2"> A new creation from chaotic throe. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Thou seest plainly that without that breeze, </p> +<p class="i6"> The breath of God, all that thou couldst create, </p> +<p class="i6"> Were lifeless, save to turn on thee with hate, </p> +<p class="i2"> And chase an age with grim atrocities; </p> +<p class="i6"> But with that breath, thou couldst raise life to mate </p> +<p class="i6"> The Planet's splendor, in the azures Peace. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<h4> +III +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> O Freedom! as thy sister spirit, Spring, </p> +<p class="i6"> Pausing above the earth, sees every hue </p> +<p class="i6"> Of her prismatic crown, reflected true </p> +<p class="i2"> In forests and in fields, and fledgling's wing, </p> +<p class="i2"> So thou dost see thy spirit glorying </p> +<p class="i6"> With faith, that man is more than Nature's spew— </p> +<p class="i6"> In human spirit that, from beauty drew </p> +<p class="i2"> First breath to know that soul is more than thing. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> O Freedom! fain we follow thee in flight </p> +<p class="i6"> From chaos to God's glory round and round, </p> +<p class="i6"> Aloft! how like an elk pursued by hound, </p> +<p class="i2"> To brinks thou springest toward the distant height </p> +<p class="i6"> And, on bent knees, then speedest without sound, </p> +<p class="i6"> Like Faith through Death, till, lo! thou dost alight. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page23" name="page23"></a>[23]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0011" id="h2H_4_0011"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE PILGRIM FATHERS +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> "Ye Wreaches, who would lay proud England's head </p> +<p class="i6"> Upon the block, and raise her features, then, </p> +<p class="i6"> Bloodless and ghastly, for the scorn of men! </p> +<p class="i2"> Begone forever. Go where terrors spread </p> +<p class="i2"> Their sea and forest mouths to crush you dead. </p> +<p class="i6"> Oh, how the clouds shall crimson from each glen, </p> +<p class="i6"> A roar with blaze, and flame search out each fen, </p> +<p class="i2"> If back to us, yea e'er are vomited." </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> To this Parental blessing and God-speed, </p> +<p class="i6"> The Pilgrim Fathers gladly made reply: </p> +<p class="i6"> "These waves are Conscience's wings along the sky; </p> +<p class="i2"> They carry us to God, whose call we heed. </p> +<p class="i6"> The further from thy coast of hate and lie, </p> +<p class="i6"> The nearer God. On! On!—that is our creed." </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0012" id="h2H_4_0012"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + PLYMOUTH ROCK +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> O Sun and Stars! bear ye Earth's thanks to God; </p> +<p class="i6"> For Oh! what waters, slaking every thirst </p> +<p class="i6"> Of heart, mind, spirit, in long cascades burst </p> +<p class="i2"> From Plymouth Rock, when struck by Freedom's rod! </p> +<p class="i2"> No wanderer in the burning sand, unshod, </p> +<p class="i6"> Plods man with lolling tongue, dog-like, as erst; </p> +<p class="i6"> For lo! this fountain, deepening from the first, </p> +<p class="i2"> Floods Earth's old wells and greens Life's sand to sod. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Oh, more those waters than the Font of Youth, </p> +<p class="i6"> For which, through field and swamp, the Spaniard ran! </p> +<p class="i6"> For they are clear with God's eternal truth </p> +<p class="i2"> Of fatherhood, hence brotherhood of man, </p> +<p class="i6"> And are no dream. They quench all human drouth </p> +<p class="i6"> And cleanse man's desert dust of sect and clan. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page24" name="page24"></a>[24]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0013" id="h2H_4_0013"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE CATHOLICS IN MARYLAND +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Of Expeditions in the Arctic Past, </p> +<p class="i6"> All honor to the one that reached the pole </p> +<p class="i6"> And formed a settlement where every soul </p> +<p class="i2"> Enjoyed full freedom. There above the blast, </p> +<p class="i2"> How musical the bell, by Justice cast! </p> +<p class="i6"> It welcomed all to come. It ceased to toll </p> +<p class="i6"> After a while, but why? Those, welcomed, stole </p> +<p class="i2"> And dragged it where the ice formed thick and fast. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Of Arctic Expeditions there is none </p> +<p class="i6"> So profitable to the human race </p> +<p class="i6"> As that toward Freedom's pole, and hence men face </p> +<p class="i2"> All storms to reach it. If they fail, the sun </p> +<p class="i6"> Has but one joy—to thaw out wrecks, and trace </p> +<p class="i6"> Man's progress where alone it can be done. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0014" id="h2H_4_0014"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + A FOREST FOR THE KING'S HAWKS +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Say, what is Ma-jest-y without externals? </p> +<p class="i6"> Is Burke's analysis not right—"A Jest"? </p> +<p class="i6"> Ah, but a jest, at which the poor, oft pressed </p> +<p class="i2"> To their last heart-drop, laugh not, like court journals. </p> +<p class="i2"> The King needs coin, and, where he sowed no kernels, </p> +<p class="i6"> Wants the whole forest for his hawks to nest </p> +<p class="i6"> And breed in, and became an annual pest; </p> +<p class="i2"> In this the farmers show that they discern ills. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Hark! blares the tyrant's horn and, in a thrice, </p> +<p class="i6"> The Tories gather. Eagerly they band, </p> +<p class="i6"> For is the King not greater than the land? </p> +<p class="i2"> And rows with royalty, a rabble's vice? </p> +<p class="i6"> Besides, what creeping tribes at his command, </p> +<p class="i6"> And Spies and Hessians at a ferret's price! </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page25" name="page25"></a>[25]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0015" id="h2H_4_0015"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + TO ARMS SHOUTS FREEDOM +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> To Arms! shouts Freedom to her sons. Behold! </p> +<p class="i6"> How, like Job's war-horse, they gulp down the ground </p> +<p class="i6"> To battle! What care they how foes surround? </p> +<p class="i2"> Oh, joy to Celts, nigh half the true and bold! </p> +<p class="i2"> There, with the roar of all their wrongs uprolled </p> +<p class="i6"> From ancient depths, they dash with billow-bound </p> +<p class="i6"> Up rock and summit, and through cave and mound, </p> +<p class="i2"> Spurning both Tyrants' steel and Treason's gold. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> No tide are they to ebb in heart and spirit. </p> +<p class="i6"> If dashed back, they return with all the force </p> +<p class="i6"> Of six dark sea's momentum on its course </p> +<p class="i2"> For vengeance on the vile, who disinherit </p> +<p class="i6"> The human-being—shut off every source </p> +<p class="i6"> Of happiness, or let but Serf's draw near it! </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0016" id="h2H_4_0016"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + BRITISH SOLDIERY +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> The wounded Sidney, who despite his thirst, </p> +<p class="i6"> Gave water to his comrade, shines, a lamp </p> +<p class="i6"> In the Cimerian dark of Britain's camp. </p> +<p class="i2"> Even the Raleigh, who so finely versed, </p> +<p class="i2"> Preferred to such a light, the flame accursed </p> +<p class="i6"> Of sword and torch, to please a royal vamp. </p> +<p class="i6"> Is British triumph in its world-wide tramp </p> +<p class="i2"> The Hell, still "lower than lowest"—Milton's worst? </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Lord Christ! is British soldiery the swine, </p> +<p class="i6"> In whose gross forms the fiends, exercised, flew? </p> +<p class="i6"> Oh! watch them through the ages, they pursue </p> +<p class="i2"> The noble and devour all things Divine. </p> +<p class="i2"> Look! they illustrate horrors, which prove true </p> +<p class="i6"> The Hell, which Milton's glimpse could not outline. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page26" name="page26"></a>[26]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0017" id="h2H_4_0017"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + AMPHIBIOUS BARRY +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Look! Freedom glares and pallid as a ghost, </p> +<p class="i6"> Except for gashes on her brow and breast, </p> +<p class="i6"> And faint from hunger, sits awhile to rest. </p> +<p class="i2"> Amphibious Barry, bold on sea or coast, </p> +<p class="i2"> Mounts and spurs darkness to the Tory Host, </p> +<p class="i6"> And, like an Indian rider with head prest </p> +<p class="i6"> Down to his steed's hot neck in prowess test, </p> +<p class="i2"> Plucks from the ground, a prize he well may boast. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Oh, as the sun's smile passing through the rain, </p> +<p class="i6"> Shines forth a double arch, so, Barry's deed, </p> +<p class="i6"> Refleshing Freedom's bones made gaunt by need, </p> +<p class="i2"> Shines through the Ages; aye, and shines forth twain— </p> +<p class="i6"> Both for America, from Britain Freed, </p> +<p class="i6"> And Erin, still choked black in Britain's chain! </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0018" id="h2H_4_0018"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + FREEDOM'S TRIUMPH +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> With France and Erin heartening Washington, </p> +<p class="i6"> Prone Freedom rose, with head above the cloud. </p> +<p class="i6"> Beholding her transfigured, Thrall is cowed. </p> +<p class="i2"> His minions are bewildered. How they run! </p> +<p class="i2"> Some follow him against the rising sun; </p> +<p class="i6"> Others plod north. The Torries' vaster crowd </p> +<p class="i6"> Hide in dark places, and like Satan, proud, </p> +<p class="i2"> They hate the glory, that the true have won. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> O Milton! Thou beheldest them. Thine ear </p> +<p class="i6"> Caught their defiance and thy lightening pen, </p> +<p class="i6"> In shattering the dark in evil's den, </p> +<p class="i2"> Caught hope amphibious from leer to leer </p> +<p class="i6"> Of those grim shadows, plotting to regain </p> +<p class="i6"> Lost Paradise, or bane its atmosphere. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page27" name="page27"></a>[27]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0019" id="h2H_4_0019"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + WASHINGTON'S ARMY AND BARRY'S NAVY +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Who loosed our land from Britain's numbing hold? </p> +<p class="i6"> "They who had naught to loose," the Tories say; </p> +<p class="i6"> That is—not menials in the King's sure pay, </p> +<p class="i2"> Nor mongrels, chained to guard their master's gold. </p> +<p class="i2"> They were True Men. Their spirit, young and bold, </p> +<p class="i6"> With dreams played follow-master, climbing day </p> +<p class="i6"> From deepest night, to catch the Sun and stay </p> +<p class="i2"> His glory for the World, then whiteing cold. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Though darkness be far vaster than the lamp, </p> +<p class="i6"> It is the beams that lead to progress, count. </p> +<p class="i6"> "To manhood, with the virtues to surmount </p> +<p class="i2"> Such darknesses as Valley Forge's camp, </p> +<p class="i6"> And seas, deep hell's sky-reaching, broadening fount, </p> +<p class="i6"> Honor!" The ages shout on Triumph's tramp. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0020" id="h2H_4_0020"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE SUNKEN CONTINENT +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> When hurled from heaven, 'tis thought, the fiends of pride </p> +<p class="i6"> Caught Earth to brake their fall. The regions gave </p> +<p class="i6"> And sank with all the hosts beneath the wave! </p> +<p class="i2"> 'Tis in those sunken regions which divide </p> +<p class="i2"> The new world of the resolute and brave, </p> +<p class="i6"> From the old world of king and abject slave, </p> +<p class="i6"> Where Torries, counterfeiting Satan, hide. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Clinging, like lava, to a lifeless limb, </p> +<p class="i6"> They think the phosphorescence of the bark </p> +<p class="i6"> Is morning, which the long-belated lark </p> +<p class="i2"> Is hastening to welcome with his hymn; </p> +<p class="i6"> Else, they form poisons and breathe from the dark, </p> +<p class="i6"> Miasma mist to make the sun-rise dim. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page28" name="page28"></a>[28]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0021" id="h2H_4_0021"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + ELISHA BROWN +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Old Guard of Boston! Halt; Right Face; Attention! </p> +<p class="i6"> Order One: quell the weeds in rankest riot </p> +<p class="i6"> Where lies Elisha Brown, in conscience, quiet. </p> +<p class="i2"> This Brown was John's precursor. Ye, on pension </p> +<p class="i2"> For ancient glory, now do duty. Mention </p> +<p class="i6"> Elisha's name for countersign—and why, it? </p> +<p class="i6"> Because with him, wrong, seen, was to defy it, </p> +<p class="i2"> And act, else, was beyond his comprehension. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Against his home's invasion this man held </p> +<p class="i6"> A red-coat regiment for seventeen days, </p> +<p class="i6"> Which was a spark to help start freedom's blaze </p> +<p class="i2"> And, therefore, Order Two: the weeds all quelled, </p> +<p class="i2"> Stand sentries till a statue takes your place </p> +<p class="i6"> And throngs shout, "Bravo, Brown!" as 'tis unveiled! </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0022" id="h2H_4_0022"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + EVACUATION DAY +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> What is it that today we celebrate </p> +<p class="i6"> With school recital, banquet and parade </p> +<p class="i6"> Of our achievements, pageanting each trade? </p> +<p class="i2"> The ousting of the English—train and trait— </p> +<p class="i2"> And posting, then, sharp-eyed, eternal hate </p> +<p class="i6"> To watch with Josuah's son above his head, </p> +<p class="i6"> That night come not to help them re-invade, </p> +<p class="i2"> However wide, we swing our ocean gate. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> If not un-Englishing America in mind </p> +<p class="i6"> And heart forever, vain the shrieks </p> +<p class="i6"> Of Freedom, eagling back to dawn's first streaks. </p> +<p class="i2"> Oh, yea, the sun stands, and the night afar </p> +<p class="i6"> Holds Thrall, whose craft would swamp our noblest peaks </p> +<p class="i6"> And leave but bubbling mud show where they are! </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page29" name="page29"></a>[29]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0023" id="h2H_4_0023"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + MANHATTA +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Manhatta! Glory flings his arms round thee </p> +<p class="i6"> And proudly holds thee in his high caress. </p> +<p class="i6"> What charms him, Mother, is thy nobleness </p> +<p class="i2"> Of spirit. How his features beam to see </p> +<p class="i2"> Thy scorn dash in the bay the tyrant's tea, </p> +<p class="i6"> And hear thee call to Boston: "Do no less; </p> +<p class="i6"> Else on sunlight, heart, soul—all we possess— </p> +<p class="i2"> Will tyrant's next exact their deadly fee." </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> In thee I glory. Can the world else boast </p> +<p class="i6"> A harbor, like thy heart, for every sail </p> +<p class="i6"> In flight from sea-toss, white with horror's gale, </p> +<p class="i2"> Or icebergs from despondence Polar coast? </p> +<p class="i6"> Oh, fleets whose throngs, glad Freedom well may hail; </p> +<p class="i6"> For, landing, they became her staunchest host. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0024" id="h2H_4_0024"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE BURNING OF WASHINGTON CITY BY THE BRITISH +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> With what wild glee, the British set on fire </p> +<p class="i6"> Yon Capital, beholding in its flames, </p> +<p class="i6"> America, robed in her deeds and fames, </p> +<p class="i2"> In death throes at the stake of England's ire? </p> +<p class="i2"> Though that was long ago and, then no pyre, </p> +<p class="i6"> The stake still stands; 'tis Anglo-Saxon claims, </p> +<p class="i6"> And Arnolds, bearing infamy's last names, </p> +<p class="i2"> Tilt schools to raise the stake flames high and higher. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Oh, sight to strike the coming ages dead, </p> +<p class="i6"> My country, were a cloud, thy mocking crown, </p> +<p class="i6"> And schools, ignited by Truth's lamps hurled down, </p> +<p class="i2"> To feed that cloud, like craters, inly red! </p> +<p class="i2"> What! mock with cloud, Thy land and sea renown </p> +<p class="i6"> And Washington, God's Holy Spirit—known </p> +<p class="i6"> By the unerring World Light, that it shed? </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page30" name="page30"></a>[30]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0025" id="h2H_4_0025"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Behold Ye Here the Happy Hunting Grounds, </p> +<p class="i6"> Where the Great Spirit, called Democracy, </p> +<p class="i6"> Sets every heart and soul forever free, </p> +<p class="i2"> An Equity, not royal grant, sets bounds. </p> +<p class="i2"> No Phaeton attempting Phoebus rounds </p> +<p class="i6"> And burning up earth's grass and forestry, </p> +<p class="i6"> Is lust for power; 'tis love for liberty, </p> +<p class="i2"> With bloom and birds for wheel-sparks, here resounds. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> It is the land of Spirit. "Ye who enter, </p> +<p class="i6"> Abandon first all fratricidal hate," </p> +<p class="i6"> Proclaims the edict, blazoned o'er each gate. </p> +<p class="i2"> There see all tribes chase truth to joy—the center </p> +<p class="i2"> Convexing broad and broader, as more great </p> +<p class="i6"> Their numbers from where prejudice is mentor. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0026" id="h2H_4_0026"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE BLIGHT TO SPRING +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Hark, 'tis the sea! How leonine its roar! </p> +<p class="i6"> But, oh, how more the lion on a height, </p> +<p class="i6"> As there he glares and listens for the night, </p> +<p class="i2"> Having devoured day's clouds from shore to shore! </p> +<p class="i2"> Now grows his mane of billows, high and hoar. </p> +<p class="i6"> What scents he? Potencies escaping sight, </p> +<p class="i6"> Till, like the cold, they icily alight </p> +<p class="i2"> Upon a land where all was spring before. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> The sun darts under earth and east again, </p> +<p class="i6"> What sees he? First the lion at earth's brink </p> +<p class="i6"> With head down to the stream of stars to drink; </p> +<p class="i2"> And then, arising to his zenith ken, </p> +<p class="i2"> Sees that which makes his high, warm spirit sink— </p> +<p class="i6"> The blight to spring, blown here from England's fen. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page31" name="page31"></a>[31]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0027" id="h2H_4_0027"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE SCORN OF HUMAN RIGHTS +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> What is the blight to spring that kills the seed </p> +<p class="i6"> And raises spectres, so that stars cry "See!" </p> +<p class="i6"> Aghast at forests, white or shadowy? </p> +<p class="i2"> The scorn of human rights, that can but lead </p> +<p class="i2"> The world from doom to doom! and for what mead? </p> +<p class="i6"> A bronze for rain and rust, or effigy </p> +<p class="i6"> For nibbling minutes—ah, not hours!—these flee </p> +<p class="i2"> To life's progression—truth and kindly deed. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Look! How this scorn holds freemen in the dark, </p> +<p class="i6"> Except for a flare at will that, then, the throng, </p> +<p class="i6"> Reduced to dust, may rise and whirl along </p> +<p class="i2"> The lift and drop of glitter, without spark </p> +<p class="i2"> To set the spring a-crackling with bird song, </p> +<p class="i6"> Till bud and angel both come out to hark! </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0028" id="h2H_4_0028"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + NOT THIS OUR COUNTRY'S GLORY +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> O Country of the Sun's warm plenteous hand </p> +<p class="i6"> To every germ of virtue, how below </p> +<p class="i6"> Thy progress, mope Gold Mongers to and fro, </p> +<p class="i2"> Who think they're vaulting from sunlight so grand, </p> +<p class="i2"> It forms thy chiefest glory. Closely scanned, </p> +<p class="i6"> They are gross worms, each with the thought to grow </p> +<p class="i6"> "The Conqueror," as staged by Edgar Poe </p> +<p class="i2"> For darking planets and a world, Last Manned. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Those worms that, moving, think they move the earth, </p> +<p class="i6"> Or, under Growth's equestrian statue, think </p> +<p class="i6"> They hold the horse and hero from the brink, </p> +<p class="i2"> Are pitifully not a glance's worth, </p> +<p class="i2"> As of thy glory; they but foul the chink, </p> +<p class="i6"> If not of thee in warming Good to birth. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page32" name="page32"></a>[32]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0029" id="h2H_4_0029"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + AMERICA'S GLORY NO FUGITIVE +</h2> +<h4> +I +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> How weird a whisper! 'tis from Wallabout. </p> +<p class="i6"> 'Tis glory hoarse with calling: "Raise those hulks </p> +<p class="i6"> Where writhe my faithful." See! the tory skulks </p> +<p class="i2"> Behind the sun who, stooping to fill out </p> +<p class="i2"> Their throats with his god-breath, to swell the shout </p> +<p class="i6"> Of a free people, finds the brave in bulks, </p> +<p class="i6"> Strewn and held fast where Darkness, beaten, sulks </p> +<p class="i2"> That thrall has been forever put to rout. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Those mangled thousands are not dead; they live, </p> +<p class="i6"> Refashioned men by freedom. Is the tory </p> +<p class="i6"> Behind the sun, to mock me, who am Glory, </p> +<p class="i2"> Being the lifted life those martyrs give? </p> +<p class="i2"> He creeps beneath the sun and, ghastly gory, </p> +<p class="i6"> Crys out: "Thou yet shall be the fugitive". </p> +</div> +</div> + +<h4> +II +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Oh, weirder grows the whisper into word, </p> +<p class="i6"> As sharp as lightening, and as broad of reach, </p> +<p class="i6"> As seas, flung down by God to every beach </p> +<p class="i2"> Where thirsts a sparrow, or a bleating herd! </p> +<p class="i2"> There is no soul through out the land, not stirred; </p> +<p class="i6"> For, oh, to glory God gives his own speech </p> +<p class="i6"> When darkness, raised by Gold, declares that each, </p> +<p class="i2"> Hulk-held, is good but for the wolf and bird. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Is Gold grown conscious, now the Country's King </p> +<p class="i6"> That, at his beck, the blood for Freedom spilt </p> +<p class="i6"> Shall be accursed, and I, then, for the guilt </p> +<p class="i2"> Of dropping not with thud, as he with ring </p> +<p class="i2"> At Darkness' feet, be shut in mud and silt </p> +<p class="i6"> Forever and with stars, cease, beaconing? </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page33" name="page33"></a>[33]</span> +</p> +<h4> +III +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Oh, as the earth in discord and in dark, </p> +<p class="i6"> When struck by Love on high with will for mace, </p> +<p class="i6"> Keeps rattling till each mote finds its true place, </p> +<p class="i2"> And mountain, fledged with groves, vies with the lark </p> +<p class="i2"> To reach the sunrise; so the madness stark </p> +<p class="i6"> Of gold, dethroning blood as God's best grace, </p> +<p class="i6"> When struck by Glory's voice drops Nadir-base, </p> +<p class="i2"> And blood for Freedom spilt, forms heaven's blue arc. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> The shouts of millions shake Oblivion's mire </p> +<p class="i6"> And raise Thrall's Hulks. Look! Justice's stooping sun, </p> +<p class="i6"> Seeing in agony's each, a Washington, </p> +<p class="i2"> Breaths life in them, and, over Brooklyn's spire </p> +<p class="i2"> And New York's Babel Tower, they, one by one, </p> +<p class="i6"> Hold Liberty's broading Torch of quenchless fire. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0030" id="h2H_4_0030"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + HATE THOU NOT ANY MAN +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Hate thou not any man, for at the worst, </p> +<p class="i6"> He still is brother. Will a glance not find </p> +<p class="i6"> Whole peoples alchemied from heart and mind </p> +<p class="i2"> To steal projectiles by a craft, accursed </p> +<p class="i2"> By Human Nature? Aye, for, as they burst </p> +<p class="i6"> At dusk, or midnight, slamming Heaven behind </p> +<p class="i6"> And crashing Hell wide open, 'tis mankind </p> +<p class="i2"> Is shattered and quick-gulping grave slake thirst. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Hate thou no man, but scorn all crafts, that smelt </p> +<p class="i6"> The heart and mind for huge projectiles, shattered </p> +<p class="i6"> When bursting grandly that some pride be flattered. </p> +<p class="i2"> Nature beholds not Saxon, Slav, nor Celt; </p> +<p class="i2"> She only sees the Human fragments scattered, </p> +<p class="i6"> And, covering them, her eyes to rivers melt. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page34" name="page34"></a>[34]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0031" id="h2H_4_0031"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE CELTIC SOUL CRY +</h2> +<h4> +I +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> O Freedom! Have I ever been untrue? </p> +<p class="i6"> When, to thy moan of hunger anywhere, </p> +<p class="i6"> Have I been deaf? Was I not quick to share </p> +<p class="i2"> My little, nay, give all! for oh! I knew </p> +<p class="i2"> Thy beauty, and my love such passion grew </p> +<p class="i6"> At thy distresses,—What would I not dare! </p> +<p class="i6"> So, though the bellow, like a grizzly bear, </p> +<p class="i2"> Reared up before me, on to thee I flew. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> O Freedom! Is thy beauty without heart, </p> +<p class="i6"> Or sense of justice? Unto whom art thou </p> +<p class="i6"> Indebted for thine arm, encircling now </p> +<p class="i2"> The world, sun-like, more than to me? My part </p> +<p class="i2"> I glory in, for I have kept my vow. </p> +<p class="i6"> I hold thee now to thine, if true thou art. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<h4> +II +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Speak Freedom! When a haggard fugitive, </p> +<p class="i6"> Thy dwelling was a swamp, who first to trace </p> +<p class="i6"> Thy crimson footprints to thy hiding place? </p> +<p class="i2"> With signs thou hadst not many days to live, </p> +<p class="i2"> I found thee. Had the sun more heart to give </p> +<p class="i6"> To warm thee, than I gave? Ah, then and there </p> +<p class="i6"> Thy heart said to my heart; "Ill would I fare </p> +<p class="i2"> Without thee. I give love for love, believe". </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Thy silence, when in glory, troubles me. </p> +<p class="i6"> Oh! warm blood dashed back cold, chills to the bone! </p> +<p class="i6"> What do I ask for? Only Erin's own, </p> +<p class="i2"> That which God gave her, and, if true it be, </p> +<p class="i2"> Thou art the minister of justice grown, </p> +<p class="i6"> Thy gratitude should thunder God's decree. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page35" name="page35"></a>[35]</span> +</p> +<h4> +III +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> What! Why bemoan one island in the sea, </p> +<p class="i6"> When I can range like mountains, or, the sun, </p> +<p class="i6"> Above all clouds, and, rosy from my run </p> +<p class="i2"> To God, like morn, chant praise, since flesh of thee? </p> +<p class="i2"> Oh, yea, my pride and transport, verily, </p> +<p class="i6"> Is, thou and I eternally are one; </p> +<p class="i6"> And this god-passion which no power can stun, </p> +<p class="i2"> I owe to her, who gave her soul to me. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Oh, when I see her golden hair, adrift </p> +<p class="i6"> On sorrow's sea, like weeds rent from their reef, </p> +<p class="i6"> And know she breathes with her sublime belief, </p> +<p class="i2"> It crazes me that thou, when thou mightst lift </p> +<p class="i2"> Her saintly features, and dry them of grief, </p> +<p class="i6"> Wads't not, but waitest for the tide to shift. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<h4> +IV +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> America! 'Tis not thy mines of gold, </p> +<p class="i6"> Nor streams from mounts to meadows, like God's hand </p> +<p class="i6"> From out the heavens, a-flash across the land </p> +<p class="i2"> In long, deep sweeps to quicken winter's mould </p> +<p class="i2"> To reaps of ripeness,—that mine eyes behold, </p> +<p class="i6"> Invoking thee; for these are mere shore-sand </p> +<p class="i6"> To the broad ocean of thy spirit grand, </p> +<p class="i2"> Forming for man a new world for the old. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> 'Tis Liberty, to whose most blessed birth </p> +<p class="i6"> The stars all lead, rejoicing, which souls thee </p> +<p class="i6"> With God's compassion for humanity,— </p> +<p class="i2"> That I invoke; and, now, when all the earth </p> +<p class="i2"> Bears palms and chants hosannas—what! shall she, </p> +<p class="i6"> The most devout, be shut from Freedom's mirth? </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page36" name="page36"></a>[36]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0032" id="h2H_4_0032"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + BRITISH GLORY IN KIPLING'S "BOOTS" +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> All English glory is in "Kipling's Boots." </p> +<p class="i6"> O English People! read that poem true, </p> +<p class="i6"> And answer,—are those maddening men not you? </p> +<p class="i2"> Oh, not yea few, who gather all the loots, </p> +<p class="i2"> But yea vast legions, lured to be recruits </p> +<p class="i6"> To march, march, march and march with naught in view </p> +<p class="i6"> But boots, boots, boots with blood and mud soaked through,— </p> +<p class="i2"> And, after ages, with out rest, or fruits! </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> "Boots, boots, boots, and no discharge from war,"— </p> +<p class="i6"> That is the Empire's anthem. Brass it out, </p> +<p class="i6"> Ye Orchestras! But oh, leave not in doubt </p> +<p class="i2"> Its import, Kipling,—that 'tis maelstrom roar— </p> +<p class="i2"> 'Tis England's streams of home-life, world about </p> +<p class="i6"> And down a gulf, for Greed and Pride on shore! </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0033" id="h2H_4_0033"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + TO THE ENGLISH PEOPLE +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> If deaf to Shelley's loudest sky-lark strain, </p> +<p class="i6"> His rage at tyrants, and to Byron's thong, </p> +<p class="i6"> Nerve-proof, how wake the English to the wrong </p> +<p class="i2"> Done their true selves, no less than to the slain, </p> +<p class="i2"> When willing weapons for Ambition's gain? </p> +<p class="i6"> Aye, weapons only; for, to whom belong </p> +<p class="i6"> The minds of England, and treed fields of song— </p> +<p class="i2"> Nay, all but grave-ground, grudged by hill and plain? </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> O English People, whom the crafty class </p> +<p class="i6"> Has huddled into graves from sight and sound </p> +<p class="i6"> Of what God hands you, and, with pence, or pound, </p> +<p class="i2"> Lids down your wild dead stare,—wake! why so crass? </p> +<p class="i2"> See in the Celts spring-burst from underground, </p> +<p class="i6"> The Human Resurrection come to pass. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page37" name="page37"></a>[37]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0034" id="h2H_4_0034"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + SHAKESPEARE +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Oh, what are England's lines of lords and kings, </p> +<p class="i6"> Shakespeare, to thine, a-throb with thought and feeling? </p> +<p class="i6"> In thine, imagination shines, revealing </p> +<p class="i2"> The soul's convictions, swift on dawn-ward wings </p> +<p class="i2"> From beastly life and such Hell-smelling things, </p> +<p class="i6"> As wealth and pomp from church and abbey stealing,— </p> +<p class="i6"> And hearts in hopes high Belfries, Heavenward pealing, </p> +<p class="i2"> As Time, his Sun and Starry censor, swings. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Would thou wert England's Nature, Bard Supreme, </p> +<p class="i6"> To fashion kings and lordlings fit to rule; </p> +<p class="i6"> They would be flesh and blood, not fiend and ghoul; </p> +<p class="i2"> And would thou wert her Sun, that every beam </p> +<p class="i2"> Might not, for tally, show a youth's blood-pool, </p> +<p class="i6"> Choking blithe Spring, as, now, to earth's extreme. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0035" id="h2H_4_0035"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + ENGLAND'S RIGHTEOUSNESS +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> The righteousness of England! "Tis to kneel </p> +<p class="i6"> Full weight on weaker nations, and entone </p> +<p class="i6"> Hosannas louder than the victims groan; </p> +<p class="i2"> Then, stooping, drink their blood with gulps of zeal." </p> +<p class="i2"> What right have wounds, though wide, to throb, or feel? </p> +<p class="i6"> 'Tis blasphemy to England's crimson throne. </p> +<p class="i6"> Knee-deep in Erin's blood, she mocks Christ's moan: </p> +<p class="i2"> Forgive them, Lord! they know not their true weal. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> "Whose is the fault? Tis not my arrogance, </p> +<p class="i6"> But candor, Lord, that puts the blame on Thee. </p> +<p class="i6"> What right hadst Thou to make these people free </p> +<p class="i2"> And let all nature prompt them to advance?— </p> +<p class="i2"> Oh, no such blunder, Lord, hadst Thou called me, </p> +<p class="i6"> Instead of Wisdom, to approve Thy plans!" </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page38" name="page38"></a>[38]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0036" id="h2H_4_0036"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE MASSACRE OF THE WELSH MINERS +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> The Bard's curse: "Ruin seize thee Ruthless King," </p> +<p class="i6"> Took bat-like form for hollow echo-flight. </p> +<p class="i6"> Though stoned and lanced at, when, at fall of night, </p> +<p class="i2"> It darted forth with ghastly—spreading wing, </p> +<p class="i2"> It found in fresh, wide, royal ravishing, </p> +<p class="i6"> New hollows, dark with horror and sad plight, </p> +<p class="i6"> To dash in and live on. Oh, to my sight, </p> +<p class="i2"> How grows its grimness, while eternaling! </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Deep are the minds of Wales, but far more deep </p> +<p class="i6"> The horror, gulfed out by McCreedy, firing </p> +<p class="i6"> On men defenseless and, through want, expiring. </p> +<p class="i2"> Oh, from that gulf the Bard's curse makes a sweep </p> +<p class="i2"> Up to the Sun and, from its long desiring, </p> +<p class="i6"> Grown eagle, shrieks to heaven from steep to step! </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0037" id="h2H_4_0037"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + A DIRTY WORK +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> "A dirty work," said Dyer, rebuked for spilling </p> +<p class="i6"> Hundreds of lives to irrigate new lands. </p> +<p class="i6"> A dirty work, but not for British hands, </p> +<p class="i2"> Dabbling in blood to earn each day their shilling. </p> +<p class="i2"> Hark! Mohawk Valley and Wyoming, chilling </p> +<p class="i6"> With thought of Tarleton's King-serving bands, </p> +<p class="i6"> And Canada red-clayed, though high snow stands, </p> +<p class="i2"> Cry: Work for which the British are too willing! </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Invaded lands need terror irrigation </p> +<p class="i6"> To make them fruitful. Better flood the field, </p> +<p class="i6"> Then let the native bloom become the yield; </p> +<p class="i2"> And, so, this Dyer submerged a small whole nation </p> +<p class="i2"> With crimson death, that England might, deep-keeled, </p> +<p class="i6"> Have for display, new seas of desolation. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page39" name="page39"></a>[39]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0038" id="h2H_4_0038"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + HUMAN NATURE +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> The ocean, holding pure the azure's blue, </p> +<p class="i6"> Laughs at the tempests, with one empire's dust </p> +<p class="i6"> After an other, to round out Earth's crust. </p> +<p class="i2"> Ah, so does Human Nature hold the hue </p> +<p class="i2"> It takes from heaven, its conscience, and laughs, too, </p> +<p class="i6"> At madness, wrecking life and with its gust </p> +<p class="i6"> Forming new islands, where Pride, Greed, or Lust, </p> +<p class="i2"> Welcomes the crater's glare, in sun-light's lieu. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Look in the sea and deep, what scattered rock, </p> +<p class="i6"> The islands which at dusk, the tempest piled! </p> +<p class="i6"> Ere rose a star, they sank with crews, beguiled. </p> +<p class="i2"> O Tempests that with world formations, mock </p> +<p class="i2"> The good Creator, how, as ye grow wild, </p> +<p class="i6"> Earth quakes and no live thing survives the shock. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0039" id="h2H_4_0039"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + OUR COUNTRY—SOUL AND CHARACTER +</h2> +<h4> +I +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Our country is not rock and wood and stream, </p> +<p class="i6"> But soul transfusing them. What is the soul? </p> +<p class="i6"> The substance, born of God, above control </p> +<p class="i2"> And, when one, with God's love, called "Will," supreme; </p> +<p class="i2"> And Freedom is the soul in thought, and dream </p> +<p class="i6"> That Nature's beauty and harmonious whole— </p> +<p class="i6"> God's foot-steps—followed, life attains its Goal; </p> +<p class="i2"> And soul is purpose to achieve God's scheme. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> The soul, then,—our true country,—is the brave </p> +<p class="i6"> Who fought and bled for Freedom, or will fight </p> +<p class="i6"> To their last pulse, last breath, for Human Right.—— </p> +<p class="i2"> Great soul! oh, how like bubbles in the wave, </p> +<p class="i2"> Are the Sierras in cerulean flight, </p> +<p class="i6"> To thy true grandeur, letting nought enslave! </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page40" name="page40"></a>[40]</span> +</p> +<h4> +II +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> O thou art Character—art only those </p> +<p class="i6"> Who formed the good and great by thought, or deed. </p> +<p class="i6"> All others are not worth a moment's heed,— </p> +<p class="i2"> Mere prairie dogs, who raise gold hills in rows— </p> +<p class="i2"> When gazing at thy glory; for that grows </p> +<p class="i6"> With Freedom from all foul untruths; with lead </p> +<p class="i6"> In art for weal; with science for all woes; </p> +<p class="i2"> With hate of thrall and help for all unfreed. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> No mere foot-shadow, on time's wall, art thou, </p> +<p class="i6"> Without eye-sparkle, swing of arm, warm flow </p> +<p class="i6"> From heart to vain, and cheeks with health of glow. </p> +<p class="i2"> Oh, 'tis eternal heights reflect thy brow </p> +<p class="i2"> And shoulders, that avert man's overthrow, </p> +<p class="i6"> Threatened all times, and never more than now. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<h4> +III +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Oh, what if lone and long thy lofty flight, </p> +<p class="i6"> My country? Is thy vision not as clear </p> +<p class="i6"> As that of Vesper, dauntless pioneer </p> +<p class="i2"> On Twilight's altitude? As from that height, </p> +<p class="i2"> He sees plain through the thick black walls of night, </p> +<p class="i6"> The stars all massing; so dost thou, his peer, </p> +<p class="i6"> Behold all peoples gathering, year by year, </p> +<p class="i2"> To scale the clouds to thy White Range of Right. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> How thy lone loftness, aloof from wrong, </p> +<p class="i6"> Refracting man-ward, God's enrapturing smile </p> +<p class="i6"> Of fruitful fields, leads legions! On they file </p> +<p class="i2"> And phalanx, and the vision makes thee strong: </p> +<p class="i2"> What, though God's searchlight flares the sky the while? </p> +<p class="i6"> It nears not thee, ear-close to heaven's high song. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page41" name="page41"></a>[41]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0040" id="h2H_4_0040"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + JUDAH AND ERIN +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> From out a desert where the trails run red, </p> +<p class="i6"> Judah and Erin speed their camel pace, </p> +<p class="i6"> Sighting green palms. The flush on either face </p> +<p class="i2"> Is from the fissure where each wedged her head </p> +<p class="i2"> From sandstorms, that hurled heavens down, as they sped; </p> +<p class="i6"> It is no blush for thought, or conduct, base </p> +<p class="i6"> To the high trust to bring the Human Race, </p> +<p class="i2"> Truths, without which Time's offspring are born dead. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> In spirit, they are sisters; for, beyond </p> +<p class="i6"> The desert, where the vision, like a dove, </p> +<p class="i6"> Soars round the palace of Almighty Love, </p> +<p class="i2"> God hails them as "My Daughters, true and fond, </p> +<p class="i2"> Who show man, through Noon blaze, my star above, </p> +<p class="i6"> And to my will, fail never to respond." </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0041" id="h2H_4_0041"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE EASTER RISING IN IRELAND +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Who, in descent from Heaven's ecstatic throng, </p> +<p class="i6"> Was twin to light, and ranged from source to sea, </p> +<p class="i6"> And shore to peak, and God, drew up to thee </p> +<p class="i2"> The generations happy, pure and strong? </p> +<p class="i2"> Freedom, as Erin's was, ere ruthless wrong </p> +<p class="i6"> Caught, scourged and hanged it on the out-law's tree; </p> +<p class="i6"> And is; for lo! it proves Divinity, </p> +<p class="i2"> Transfiguring from anguish, ages long. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> True, they have strangled Freedom on the cross </p> +<p class="i6"> Of every Right's suppression—nay, have barred </p> +<p class="i6"> His body's tomb, and placed a host on guard! </p> +<p class="i2"> Still, He is risen; His faithful mourn no loss. </p> +<p class="i2"> He shines forth in their midst. No bolts retard </p> +<p class="i6"> His entrance, where grand aims for life engross. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page42" name="page42"></a>[42]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0042" id="h2H_4_0042"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE FIGHT IN IRELAND +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> The fight in Ireland is 'twixt Man and Brute. </p> +<p class="i6"> A lion with the sea-surge for his mane, </p> +<p class="i6"> Is there hurled back by Man with proud disdain, </p> +<p class="i2"> Although heart-drained with gash from head to foot. </p> +<p class="i2"> Oh, in that Eden of Forbidden Fruit, </p> +<p class="i6"> How Satan, searching for a snake in vain, </p> +<p class="i6"> Fumed forth a monster from his heart and brain— </p> +<p class="i2"> The Lion—as the serpent's substitute! </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Oh, all ye peoples of the World draw nigh! </p> +<p class="i6"> Stand on the bodies of eight centuries, </p> +<p class="i6"> Struck dead with horror; for, raised thus, one sees </p> +<p class="i2"> In Erin, torn, a soul that cannot die, </p> +<p class="i2"> And that its struggle is Humanity's </p> +<p class="i6"> Against the fiend, who would give God the lie. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0043" id="h2H_4_0043"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + TO ERIN +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> How help take pride in thee, whose golden hair </p> +<p class="i6"> Of culture trailed the earth for centuries; </p> +<p class="i6"> Whose throne was freedom and whose realm was peace; </p> +<p class="i2"> And, in strange lands, whose joy and only care </p> +<p class="i2"> Were to spread light, and who, not anywhere </p> +<p class="i6"> Thy charm made headway, planting liberties, </p> +<p class="i6"> Didst, then, by stealthy step, or creep on knees, </p> +<p class="i2"> Sow with the lilies, faster-growing tare! </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> How help love thee, whose hand, raised to the sun, </p> +<p class="i6"> Glows rosy, and not red with murder's stain? </p> +<p class="i6"> The angels kiss it. Force can forge no chain </p> +<p class="i2"> To drag thee false-ward. Like a holy Nun, </p> +<p class="i2"> Stigmated, how thy faith grows with thy pain— </p> +<p class="i6"> Aye, till thy Cross, like Constantine's has won. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page43" name="page43"></a>[43]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0044" id="h2H_4_0044"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE QUEEN OF BEAUTY +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> In rapt, roused Erin, who does not behold </p> +<p class="i6"> A Venus, rising from the sea of tears, </p> +<p class="i6"> Up to her native, Earth-illuming spheres? </p> +<p class="i2"> Her hair, long matted, is a flow of gold </p> +<p class="i2"> Which even the Sun might wear and feel not cold; </p> +<p class="i6"> And, oh, her heavenly smile at doubts and fears, </p> +<p class="i6"> As when she, at all depths, raised to her ears, </p> +<p class="i2"> Shells of her Glory, murmuring, "Be bold!" </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Lo! where the green and orange morn unfurls, </p> +<p class="i6"> See Erin rise. How shine her golden tresses! </p> +<p class="i6"> They form her crown, for trailing rocks down whirls, </p> +<p class="i2"> And reaching all the under-sea recesses, </p> +<p class="i2"> They draw about her brow, the rarest pearls— </p> +<p class="i6"> Love for what frees and hate for what oppresses! </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0045" id="h2H_4_0045"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + LIBERTY, THE LIGHT TO PEACE +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> All hail to those who, through the stormy night, </p> +<p class="i6"> Make Liberty the light on Erin's coast; </p> +<p class="i6"> Who, ceaseless, send up sparks; who hold their post </p> +<p class="i2"> On each and every ledge of Human Right, </p> +<p class="i2"> Forming a beacon blaze from base to height </p> +<p class="i6"> Where Erin's hope may steer and land its host. </p> +<p class="i6"> Look, Human Nature! Where else canst thou boast </p> +<p class="i2"> To the eternal stars, so grand a sight? </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Look! How men there ennoble human kind </p> +<p class="i6"> By making Liberty the light to Peace! </p> +<p class="i6"> All other lights are false. Oh! who but sees </p> +<p class="i2"> In the unconquerable Celtic mind </p> +<p class="i2"> That, even in Time, there are Eternities— </p> +<p class="i6"> Love, true to Right, and Will no wrong can bind! </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page44" name="page44"></a>[44]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0046" id="h2H_4_0046"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + WHY PLAY WITH WORDS, ENGLAND? +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Why play with words? There never can be peace </p> +<p class="i6"> Till Ireland is set free. One might as well </p> +<p class="i6"> Expect the great Arch-angel rest in Hell </p> +<p class="i2"> And genuflect to Satan's blasphemies, </p> +<p class="i2"> As Erin's spirit that, for centuries, </p> +<p class="i6"> Has been aloft with God in virtue, sell, </p> +<p class="i6"> Like Esaw, her birthright, and not rebel, </p> +<p class="i2"> But to her home's invaders, bend her knees. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Her spirit is no norbury Banshee— </p> +<p class="i6"> To wail and, then, to vanish. She will stand </p> +<p class="i6"> With lifted flambeau, lighted by the hand </p> +<p class="i2"> That lights the stars, till she again is free, </p> +<p class="i2"> Inspiring normal man in every land </p> +<p class="i6"> With love of Freedom, by her scorn of thee. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0047" id="h2H_4_0047"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + FREEDOM'S WARDENS +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Look! British fury that, barraging, lights </p> +<p class="i6"> Up Irish skies, like pathways down to hell, </p> +<p class="i6"> Doubles its fire to reach our land as well, </p> +<p class="i2"> Where Freedom's Wardens cry from justice' heights: </p> +<p class="i2"> "'Tis Deicide to murder Human Rights. </p> +<p class="i6"> Stop foul God-slaughter where to not rebel, </p> +<p class="i6"> In order to develop and excel, </p> +<p class="i2"> Were God in man, succumbed to age-longed blights." </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Where Heavenward rose the God in man of old, </p> +<p class="i6"> Staunch stand these Wardens. Sleepless, they behold </p> +<p class="i6"> Each turn of England's Evil Eye. They call, </p> +<p class="i2"> When she would form the fulminate of gold, </p> +<p class="i2"> A thumb and finger-pinch of which, let fall, </p> +<p class="i6"> Might blast Columbia's peaks to slit of thrall. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page45" name="page45"></a>[45]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0048" id="h2H_4_0048"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + LIST TO DEMOSTHENES, IF NOT TO HEARST +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Of all the fulminates, gold is the worst, </p> +<p class="i6"> Which England, aeroplaning, now, lets drop </p> +<p class="i6"> By day and night, in bank, press, church and shop, </p> +<p class="i2"> Timed to the minute that it is to burst. </p> +<p class="i2"> List to Demosthenes, if not to Hearst, </p> +<p class="i6"> Sublime Republic! Lest thy great heart stop, </p> +<p class="i6"> Shocked by the blast of Freedom's every prop, </p> +<p class="i2"> And bats and owls in dwellings, Human's erst. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> "Watch Macedon. She drops her gold, in creeping </p> +<p class="i6"> Beneath free Athens' sky-ascending stair. </p> +<p class="i6"> Watch her with glance of sword. Oh, watch, for where </p> +<p class="i2"> She sows her gold, she comes with scythes for reaping! </p> +<p class="i2"> Is Athens in ascent with sun-light flare, </p> +<p class="i6"> To come down ashes, not worth history's keeping?" </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0049" id="h2H_4_0049"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + CALEDONIA +</h2> +<h4> +I +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> In only Wallace and Paul Jones and Burns, </p> +<p class="i6"> Does Caledonia, child of Erin, show </p> +<p class="i6"> His mother's features, lit by soul to know </p> +<p class="i2"> The Right Divine of freedom, when it yearns </p> +<p class="i2"> For what exalts the human, or, it spurns </p> +<p class="i6"> What bars its flight to truth—all stars aglow, </p> +<p class="i6"> That form God's trail to joy for man below?— </p> +<p class="i2"> Sole trail, as time, who peers through grief, discerns. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> O Caledonia, by thy Burn's brave song, </p> +<p class="i6"> And deeds of Wallace and Paul Jones for Right, </p> +<p class="i6"> Thy mother knows thee in the dark of night, </p> +<p class="i2"> And claps thee heart-close. She cries out: "Be strong, </p> +<p class="i2"> Soul of my soul! though not a Boswell quite, </p> +<p class="i6"> Still, be whole man! remember Glencoe's wrong." </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page46" name="page46"></a>[46]</span> +</p> +<h4> +II +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Wake, Caledonia! though Macauley, Whigging, </p> +<p class="i6"> Would ward the flames from scarring William's face, </p> +<p class="i6"> So that, then, Cain might shriek,—here, take my place, </p> +<p class="i2"> A fugitive and outcast, with no digging </p> +<p class="i2"> To hide in, nor a rest for my fatiguing; </p> +<p class="i6"> The mark on me, is but God's finger trace; </p> +<p class="i6"> On you, 'tis God's whole hand!—Still, there's the blaze! </p> +<p class="i2"> There's England's soul of merciless intriguing! </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> List! 'tis the bagpipes welcoming the guest. </p> +<p class="i6"> See the assembly, dance and feast. Oh, watch </p> +<p class="i6"> The open heart and flow of good old Scotch; </p> +<p class="i2"> The English come, as friends, must have the best. </p> +<p class="i2"> There, hospitality is at top notch,— </p> +<p class="i6"> And so is treachery in Britain's breast. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<h4> +III +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> The cock crows.—Is he dreaming? 'Tis dark still. </p> +<p class="i6"> He crows again and now, from farm to farm, </p> +<p class="i6"> His fellows echo far his dazed alarm </p> +<p class="i2"> And flap of wings on fences. He is shrill </p> +<p class="i2"> Because it is not dawn above the hill, </p> +<p class="i6"> That wakes him, but the English, as they arm, </p> +<p class="i6"> And murder sleep, that has no dream of harm, </p> +<p class="i2"> In couch and crib,—to further England's will. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> O Caledonia! with such lamp in hand </p> +<p class="i6"> As Glencoe's horror, thou hast England true. </p> +<p class="i6"> Why let Froude fiction haze thy vivid view? </p> +<p class="i2"> Put not thy light out for sound sleep, but stand </p> +<p class="i2"> And answer, when the mother, whom thou drew </p> +<p class="i6"> Thy soul from, cries "Glencoe"! when Black and Taned. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page47" name="page47"></a>[47]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0050" id="h2H_4_0050"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + CANADA +</h2> +<h4> +I +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> O Canada, Long red with cottage flame </p> +<p class="i6"> From Britain's torch! thy blasts milk not the cloud </p> +<p class="i6"> To nourish hope; instead, they spread the shroud </p> +<p class="i2"> On Human Spirit answering Freedom's claim. </p> +<p class="i2"> Whence comes the cold which icicles with shame, </p> +<p class="i6"> Thy heart's Niagara, that should thunder loud </p> +<p class="i6"> Unto thy far off soul in sorrow, bowed </p> +<p class="i2"> O'er Papineau, whom Thraldom could not tame? </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Now following the Friends, who grandly led </p> +<p class="i6"> The slave through tunnels to the Northern Star, </p> +<p class="i6"> To find, in freedom, richer bloomage far, </p> +<p class="i2"> Than the Magnolia o'er the cattle shed,— </p> +<p class="i2"> I reach thy soul,—where now the Crawfords are, </p> +<p class="i6"> And learn the cold is not from manhood dead. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<h4> +II +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Whence comes this cold to Freedom's claim? we know </p> +<p class="i6"> Only too well,—from creatures of the King, </p> +<p class="i6"> Who had dragged Hell of every poisonous thing </p> +<p class="i2"> And, through our country, had spread waste and woe. </p> +<p class="i2"> Beaten at last, they flocked like carion crow, </p> +<p class="i6"> On the dead body of their will to sting, </p> +<p class="i6"> Which drifting Northward, and enlargening, </p> +<p class="i2"> Loomed Dante's Nimrod, 'mid the Arctic snow. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> There, with the reptile's hate of Man Upright, </p> +<p class="i6"> As God created him, and reptiles veins, </p> +<p class="i6"> Aflow with deaths cold blood—for that sustains </p> +<p class="i2"> The life of tyrant and of parasite— </p> +<p class="i2"> This monster, though half sunk in Hell, remains </p> +<p class="i6"> High, still, above the Arctic's shuddering night. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page48" name="page48"></a>[48]</span> +</p> +<h4> +III +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> The monster's inhalations empty Hell </p> +<p class="i6"> Of all deterents to Life's flow and flower; </p> +<p class="i6"> Then, its outbreathings icily devour </p> +<p class="i2"> The cataract in flight and, down the dell, </p> +<p class="i2"> The streamlets to delight, and buds, as well, </p> +<p class="i6"> Of virtue, forming bloom for Freedom's bower;— </p> +<p class="i6"> Nay, its out breathings,—through Creed hatred's power— </p> +<p class="i2"> Grow Boreus and face where freeman dwell. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Lo! with Sun-warmth for Truth and Human Right, </p> +<p class="i6"> Is Boreus met. Who hurles him down the deep? </p> +<p class="i6"> Look close;—'tis Gladden who, on Freedom's steep, </p> +<p class="i2"> Is as inspiring, as, on Andes' height, </p> +<p class="i2"> The great Christ Statue, bidding Rancor sleep </p> +<p class="i6"> And Life's diverging rays in love, beam Light. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<h4> +IV +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> The cataracts wild leap, turned glittering ice </p> +<p class="i6"> In shame's suspension, and crow souls afeeding </p> +<p class="i6"> Upon a huge dead body and fast breeding,— </p> +<p class="i2"> Is, as a scene, not worth the railroad's price; </p> +<p class="i2"> But, oh, if, with "Excelsior" for device, </p> +<p class="i6"> Thou climb thy Alpine way, each day exceeding </p> +<p class="i6"> The other's height, what throngs would watch thy speeding </p> +<p class="i2"> And, for the thrill thou woulds't give them, come twice! </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> O Canada! why all this sleigh-bell rhyming? </p> +<p class="i6"> 'Tis on the reindeer, hope, in speed with me </p> +<p class="i6"> To the grand morning, when thou shalt breathe free </p> +<p class="i2"> Upon the apex of thine Alpine climbing, </p> +<p class="i2"> From foulsome, choaking smells of tyranny, </p> +<p class="i6"> Thick from the Great Sea Serpent's inland sliming. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page49" name="page49"></a>[49]</span> +</p> +<h4> +V +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> God said to Wrong: "No further shalt thou go." </p> +<p class="i6"> This, Monroe heard and held, then, in his heart. </p> +<p class="i6"> It was this he repeated, when on chart </p> +<p class="i2"> He made his markings, checking Freedom's foe. </p> +<p class="i2"> God never grants to Wrong the right to grow; </p> +<p class="i6"> Because He sets its bounds, does not impart </p> +<p class="i6"> His blessing on its growth, more than its start; </p> +<p class="i2"> His blessing goes to Right, to overthrow. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Oh, let thine eyes for migratory flight </p> +<p class="i6"> Speed southward! Passing Prejudice's Lake, </p> +<p class="i6"> Green-crusted with stagnation which some take </p> +<p class="i2"> For verdure, they will see from Andes' height, </p> +<p class="i2"> How Freedom's battle forms the red day-break, </p> +<p class="i6"> And tides are swells from thrall, hurled deep from sight. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<h4> +VI +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Thine eyes returning from the Southern Cross, </p> +<p class="i6"> Will, when like Perry, they have reached the Pole, </p> +<p class="i6"> Search under it to find thy banished soul, </p> +<p class="i2"> O Canada, and tell it of thy loss </p> +<p class="i2"> In letting a foul dead body, which the moss </p> +<p class="i6"> Of the deep sea should hide, loom as thy whole </p> +<p class="i6"> And rule, as dead things rule, with death for toll, </p> +<p class="i2"> As pierced by Papineau through Glamor's gloss. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> From South to North, no sky is black but thine. </p> +<p class="i6"> Thy fecund brain, the Borealis, shows </p> +<p class="i6"> A swaying disc with shades of dark for glows, </p> +<p class="i2"> With but a faint salt smell of Color's brine, </p> +<p class="i2"> The pent-up billows in the disc's dark close, </p> +<p class="i6"> Which might flood midnight with rare, world-wide shine. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page50" name="page50"></a>[50]</span> +</p> +<h4> +VII +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> We seek no annexation, but of Mind, </p> +<p class="i6"> Heart, Spirit. True, thy clear, sonorous voice </p> +<p class="i6"> At Freedom's class-call, would make us rejoice, </p> +<p class="i2"> For, then, close-coasting thrall would fail to find </p> +<p class="i2"> In the new world, one truant to mankind, </p> +<p class="i6"> Swimming out to the foreigners' decoys, </p> +<p class="i6"> Or fast asleep amid his infant toys, </p> +<p class="i2"> Instead of at the task, which God assigned. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Oh, let thy spirit come, but it must be </p> +<p class="i6"> Along the star-way to the rising sun— </p> +<p class="i6"> The way of love; not down creed hates that run, </p> +<p class="i2"> Like broken stone-steps, to a roaring sea— </p> +<p class="i2"> The way thou oft, hast come. Rise, and be one </p> +<p class="i6"> On the new world's Star-top of Liberty. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<h4> +VIII +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> "The Angels come in dreams," says Holy Writ; </p> +<p class="i6"> And Science says, "No sleep so deep, but dreams." </p> +<p class="i6"> Devine appearances with brightening gleams </p> +<p class="i2"> Toward Paradise up from the demon's pit, </p> +<p class="i2"> Ever rouse virtue; aye, for God redeems </p> +<p class="i6"> His fire, wherever hid; the tempest teems, </p> +<p class="i6"> But still his sparks fly, quick as flint is hit. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Wake, Canada! and let thy Papineaus </p> +<p class="i6"> Be dreams remembered; yea, let them inspire </p> +<p class="i6"> Thy life to follow Freedom high and higher </p> +<p class="i2"> Through Rights' whole range of summits, crowned with snows </p> +<p class="i2"> Sparkling from star-moulds of the Soul's desire, </p> +<p class="i6"> On earth from Heaven where, clouds from flames, they rose. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page51" name="page51"></a>[51]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0051" id="h2H_4_0051"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + DRAGON INCURSIONS +</h2> +<h4> +I +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> O Freedom! whose pure soul and heart embrace </p> +<p class="i6"> Translates me into heaven, I draw for breath </p> +<p class="i6"> The joy of angels who have not known death. </p> +<p class="i2"> Child-like, I look up in thy loving face, </p> +<p class="i2"> Else gaze around and point, and curious place </p> +<p class="i6"> My hand on Mottoes, hung on high. One saith: </p> +<p class="i6"> "Beware, for he not with me scatterith." </p> +<p class="i2"> Its meaning comes to me with growth, like grace. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Ah, as a youngster, on its mother's arm, </p> +<p class="i6"> Seeing a hideous thing approaching night, </p> +<p class="i6"> Will not lay down its head and shut its eye, </p> +<p class="i2"> But will with look and lung express alarm— </p> +<p class="i2"> My mind cries out in dread—when sea and sky </p> +<p class="i6"> Show dragons, tendencies that work thee harm. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<h4> +II +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> O Freedom! Up to whose raised hand the seas </p> +<p class="i6"> Leap, playful lions, or with head and main </p> +<p class="i6"> Across their paws lie couchant—it is pain </p> +<p class="i2"> To see thee whose heart beats are God's decrees, </p> +<p class="i2"> And vital breathings are infinities, </p> +<p class="i6"> Now check thy heart and hold thy breath to gain </p> +<p class="i6"> The smile and plaudit of a depths with bane </p> +<p class="i2"> In finger tips, while fawning on their knees. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> What! Think the tyrant, whose great soul is trade, </p> +<p class="i6"> Whose history, a crater, belching black </p> +<p class="i6"> And lurid, keeps glad Easter morning back </p> +<p class="i2"> From half the world—loves thee save to invade, </p> +<p class="i6"> As blackward planned? loves thee, along whose track </p> +<p class="i6"> March Human rights up to the stars parade? </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page52" name="page52"></a>[52]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0052" id="h2H_4_0052"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + NEMESIS +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> There where the Tyrant long has loomed, wreck-crowned, </p> +<p class="i6"> Are young and old hurled to the coast and blast. </p> +<p class="i6"> Frail are their ships; still, Sun, why glare aghast, </p> +<p class="i2"> Watching the billows monstering around? </p> +<p class="i2"> The soul of man was not born to be drowned. </p> +<p class="i6"> It mounts and mounts, till, at God's throne, at last, </p> +<p class="i6"> And freedom welcomes it with arms, sky-vast, </p> +<p class="i2"> As down it comes to meet Thrall and confound. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> O, deathless spirit, born of hosts sea-hurled, </p> +<p class="i6"> Who hast out soared night's stars with agony's cry </p> +<p class="i6"> For justice! Thou hast come down from the sky, </p> +<p class="i2"> Heralding doom to Thrall, whose flag unfurled </p> +<p class="i2"> By steel, or craft, shows, as 'tis hoisted high, </p> +<p class="i6"> The blood of man and ruin of the world. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0053" id="h2H_4_0053"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + ALL STARS MERGED IN ONE +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> What is the Truth? The thought, the act, or cry, </p> +<p class="i6"> Recasting the Supreme Intelligence; </p> +<p class="i6"> All else is false. Look! where are stars so dense, </p> +<p class="i2"> That each has not the freedom of the sky? </p> +<p class="i2"> And, still, what peace, what glory, reigns on high! </p> +<p class="i6"> What! with the wisdom of the heavens, dispense? </p> +<p class="i6"> The Peace, for which our longings grow intense, </p> +<p class="i2"> Comes through the stars to earth, and but thereby. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> What splits dark mid-night and gives earth a thrill? </p> +<p class="i6"> All stars merged into one—our Country's aim. </p> +<p class="i6"> It is a lightening, formed by God, to flame </p> +<p class="i2"> Across the ages and flash bolts to kill </p> +<p class="i2"> The stranglers, who the heart or spirit, main, </p> +<p class="i6"> Or choke black in the face, a People's Will. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page53" name="page53"></a>[53]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0054" id="h2H_4_0054"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + LINCOLN'S LIGHTENING IN WILSON'S HANDS +</h2> +<h4> +I +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Who is to rise and hurl God's flame world-wide, </p> +<p class="i6"> As Lincoln hurled it, setting free a race </p> +<p class="i6"> From Sphinx-shaped wrong—a beast with human face? </p> +<p class="i2"> That shattered, how our land rose glorified </p> +<p class="i2"> And, from the stars last laggard, soared, their guide! </p> +<p class="i6"> Oh, who can take Promethean Lincoln's place, </p> +<p class="i6"> To bring light where-so-ever he can trace </p> +<p class="i2"> A Human, with his rights to soul denied? </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> He must be one, not only to illume </p> +<p class="i6"> All ages, and not leave one region dim, </p> +<p class="i6"> But at no height, allow his senses swim, </p> +<p class="i2"> Or let mirages lure him with false bloom. </p> +<p class="i2"> Lo! Here one comes with all the virtues prim </p> +<p class="i6"> To hurl God's fire and end all human gloom. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<h4> +II +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> 'Tis Wilson takes God's flame from Lincoln's hand. </p> +<p class="i6"> This Princeton man,—who has outgrown the prince, </p> +<p class="i6"> A hundred years, and, in the ocean since, </p> +<p class="i2"> Seen with delight, Eternity expand </p> +<p class="i2"> And loom in glory from the despot's strand,— </p> +<p class="i6"> Shapes fourteen dazzling bolts without a wince. </p> +<p class="i6"> He pauses. Why not hurl them and convince </p> +<p class="i2"> The world that, hence-forth, not one thrall shall stand? </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> What! Wilson's arm lacks strength to hurl the flame, </p> +<p class="i6"> God gave to Lincoln for the Human race? </p> +<p class="i6"> Look! Look! it falls. What! Gone? Quenched by dark space? </p> +<p class="i2"> No; it describes an orbit there, the same </p> +<p class="i2"> As comets, and regains its heavenly place </p> +<p class="i6"> For one to hurl it true, and doom Earth's Shame. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page54" name="page54"></a>[54]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0055" id="h2H_4_0055"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE CATACLYSM +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> In Wilson we beheld and proudly hailed </p> +<p class="i6"> The World's Deliverer. In him, we saw </p> +<p class="i6"> A luminous being rise from earth and draw </p> +<p class="i2"> All lands above the clouds. We were regaled </p> +<p class="i2"> With justice cascades flow, long ice impaled </p> +<p class="i6"> Upon high mountains. Was not Nature's thaw </p> +<p class="i6"> From his heart heat for truth, Eternal Law? </p> +<p class="i2"> His was the heat of all the stars, he scaled. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Though his ascension was like Christ's, sublime </p> +<p class="i6"> With lift of continents and every isle, </p> +<p class="i6"> He, less than Christ, succumbed to Demon Guile. </p> +<p class="i2"> Oh, God, that he should drop his mountain climb </p> +<p class="i2"> Below sea-level, and let earth the while, </p> +<p class="i6"> Fall back and settle in Primeval Slime! </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0056" id="h2H_4_0056"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + AN EPOCH'S ANGEL FALL +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Judging from Wilson's virile virtue-voice, </p> +<p class="i6"> Whose whisper hushed Earth's Hum, were we not proud </p> +<p class="i6"> To have him cross the sea to speak aloud </p> +<p class="i2"> And, with a finger raised, hush battle noise, </p> +<p class="i2"> And lift all lands to Justice's equipoise? </p> +<p class="i6"> Oh, such his truth to God,—so oft avowed,— </p> +<p class="i6"> A spirit thund'red from a luminous cloud: </p> +<p class="i2"> "This man crowns Lincoln's work. All Men! Rejoice." </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Oh, had he read his bible where St. Paul, </p> +<p class="i6"> Grown man, put off child things—or, had not smiled, </p> +<p class="i6"> When told, strong Ego oft, is man grown child! </p> +<p class="i2"> Look! Who sees not an Epoch's Angel Fall </p> +<p class="i2"> From hope for earth, in Wilson's truth, beguiled </p> +<p class="i6"> By second childhood's toys to play with thrall? </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page55" name="page55"></a>[55]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0057" id="h2H_4_0057"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE AMERICA OF THE FUTURE +</h2> +<h4> +I +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Our Country still is in the womb, dark Time. </p> +<p class="i6"> It shows life by its brisk and robust turns, </p> +<p class="i6"> Which thrill the Mother, Liberty, who yearns </p> +<p class="i2"> To see her man-child born. Oh, how sublime </p> +<p class="i2"> With genius, not of one, but every climb </p> +<p class="i6"> Where art forms beauty, or the spirit spurns </p> +<p class="i6"> The foul and spurious,—her desire, that burns </p> +<p class="i2"> Prenatally in him, to form him prime! </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Oh People, all—Italian, Spanish, French, </p> +<p class="i6"> Dutch, English, Irish, German, Jew, and Greek— </p> +<p class="i6"> What see you, as you climb the Future's Peak? </p> +<p class="i2"> Oh! no illusion. What looms there, shall wrench </p> +<p class="i2"> From life, all monsters out from Hell, to seek </p> +<p class="i6"> Dead consciences and plague earth with their stench. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<h4> +II +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Ascend, O Land of every Creed and Race! </p> +<p class="i6"> Not thy full image, in New England's brook, </p> +<p class="i6"> Nor in the South's lagoon; though there, a look </p> +<p class="i2"> Delights us with thy chubby, infant face. </p> +<p class="i2"> 'Tis seas of joy, that shorelessly replace </p> +<p class="i6"> The Ocean which, in time of old, forsook </p> +<p class="i6"> The prairies for the cloud, or spring in nook,— </p> +<p class="i2"> That show thee, Grown, through God's abundant grace. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> From East to West, how joy's high seas expand, </p> +<p class="i6"> Reflecting, not a foolish, mundane pride </p> +<p class="i6"> That, thinking it does all, sets God aside— </p> +<p class="i2"> But Virtue which, with heart and head and hand, </p> +<p class="i2"> Works out God's purpose, with dear Christ for guide, </p> +<p class="i6"> And holy spirits Light to understand! </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page56" name="page56"></a>[56]</span> +</p> +<h4> +III +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> All Virtues from the longing of the soul; </p> +<p class="i6"> From wisdom, gained by sorrow through long ages; </p> +<p class="i6"> From inspiration of the bards, in rages </p> +<p class="i2"> That inter-marrying maniacs control </p> +<p class="i2"> A people's life, and drain its sea to shoal, </p> +<p class="i2"> And from the vision of sky-topping sages, </p> +<p class="i6"> Gasping for breath from rot in all its stages,— </p> +<p class="i2"> Aye, these and new-born Genius loom there Whole. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Look, People! Little less than God's own size, </p> +<p class="i6"> Your virtues merge and, with speed God-ward, burn, </p> +<p class="i6"> An unconsuming sun, that at no turn </p> +<p class="i2"> In spiral flight, for still a grander rise, </p> +<p class="i2"> Lets night advance where human Rights still yearn, </p> +<p class="i6"> Except with great, new stars and dawning skys! </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0058" id="h2H_4_0058"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE INEVITABLE +</h2> +<h4> +I +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Behold two fleets, the one with woe for trail, </p> +<p class="i6"> The other, rapture. As they sight the strait, </p> +<p class="i6"> Through which but one can pass, Greed, urged by Hate, </p> +<p class="i2"> Drives Thraldom's crafts with help of steam and gale. </p> +<p class="i2"> They feel their way. The guns, with which they hale, </p> +<p class="i6"> Raise jets, that look tall elms from Hope, the gate, </p> +<p class="i6"> To Peace, the Palace; then, their speed is great, </p> +<p class="i2"> Manoeuvering fast to head off, or assail. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Drawing the sea up for his driving steam, </p> +<p class="i6"> Greed breaks all mirrors in his grand state room, </p> +<p class="i6"> That show him dark inevitable doom, </p> +<p class="i2"> Close hovering, and exults: "I am Supreme. </p> +<p class="i2"> When seas lack water for my funnel fume, </p> +<p class="i6"> I bid life send its every crimson stream." </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page57" name="page57"></a>[57]</span> +</p> +<h4> +II +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> What! in the darkness lowers boat after boat </p> +<p class="i6"> From Freedom's fleet, and each with lightening oars? </p> +<p class="i6"> Treasons to God and country are the rowers. </p> +<p class="i2"> They are the Gold and Hireling Brain, that gloat </p> +<p class="i2"> On conscience body with face down, afloat. </p> +<p class="i6"> Why hail they Greed, to run on menial chores </p> +<p class="i6"> From deck to deck, or to and from all shores? </p> +<p class="i2"> Why? To ensure the payment of a note. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Meanwhile, brisk Freedom's fleets with justice manned, </p> +<p class="i6"> And cosmic full momentum for their speed, </p> +<p class="i6"> Confront the crafts, fired up by fiendish Greed. </p> +<p class="i2"> A clash and—lo! they pass the strait and land, </p> +<p class="i2"> Leaving in smoldering heaps, like autumn's weed, </p> +<p class="i6"> The hulks of thrall along time's vultured strand. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0059" id="h2H_4_0059"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + REPTILES WITH WINGS +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Are lust for Gold and Power not hideous spawn </p> +<p class="i6"> Of prehistoric reptiles, that had wings? </p> +<p class="i6"> Where e'er those crawled, they chawed all greening things </p> +<p class="i2"> And, when they mounted, how their lengths, full drawn, </p> +<p class="i2"> Basked barren in the sun before the dawn, </p> +<p class="i6"> Absorbing all its rays from budding Springs? </p> +<p class="i6"> These drain life's dawn and by impoverishings, </p> +<p class="i2"> Draw and reduce to pulp, frail Consciences. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Oh, yea, bewinged with legislative crime, </p> +<p class="i6"> They bask in sunlight e'er the east sky greys, </p> +<p class="i6"> And drag the soul of man from God's embrace </p> +<p class="i2"> Of rights and freedom. Oh, how long a time </p> +<p class="i2"> Shall reptiles, deadly to the Human race, </p> +<p class="i6"> Be let grow wings and heavenward trail their slime? </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page58" name="page58"></a>[58]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0060" id="h2H_4_0060"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE OUTLAWS OF OUR COUNTRY +</h2> +<h4> +I +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> The outlaws in our country are the wretches, </p> +<p class="i6"> Who wreck the legislatures with their gold, </p> +<p class="i6"> And with the ruins, form a high stronghold </p> +<p class="i2"> To sally from, to what good nature fetches </p> +<p class="i2"> From God to man. What though fine graphic sketches </p> +<p class="i6"> In magazines show them with shoulders bold </p> +<p class="i6"> Against the nights flood-gates of dark and cold? </p> +<p class="i2"> All effort is but life in death-throw stretches. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> They are the outlaws, who stop Nature's train </p> +<p class="i6"> And take its corn and coal for selfish use; </p> +<p class="i6"> Then, put their shoulders to Night's gate, to loose </p> +<p class="i2"> Its hinges for a forty-day dark rain, </p> +<p class="i2"> To drown all life, that they, like Noah, may cruise </p> +<p class="i6"> Through thick drifts of the dead in heart and brain. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<h4> +II +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> O heart and brain, who see the father load </p> +<p class="i6"> His train with food, not for the few, but all, </p> +<p class="i6"> And hear train-whistlings in March winds, jay call </p> +<p class="i2"> And ground-hog sniffs! Haste out, for from the road </p> +<p class="i2"> That leads to every Industry's abode, </p> +<p class="i6"> The trust that, bat-eyed, comes out at night-fall, </p> +<p class="i6"> Now moves the tracks inside his private wall, </p> +<p class="i2"> Claiming all trains from God a debt long owed. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> O heart and brain, it rest with you, how long </p> +<p class="i6"> The legislative wreckers shall prevail. </p> +<p class="i6"> Ye have the power to balk them. Why then, fail? </p> +<p class="i2"> Regain your legislatures. Man them strong </p> +<p class="i2"> And drive thence all sleek hounds, trust-trained to trail </p> +<p class="i6"> Safe outlaws' paths to fastnesses of wrong. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page59" name="page59"></a>[59]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0061" id="h2H_4_0061"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE PRESS +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Was ever such unblushing harlotry, </p> +<p class="i6"> Such sale of virtue in the Market place, </p> +<p class="i6"> As by the Press? The red paint on her face </p> +<p class="i2"> Is Degradation's mark. Alas, that she, </p> +<p class="i2"> Born to bring forth the truth, still, is so base, </p> +<p class="i6"> She kills her child and, then, to hide all trace, </p> +<p class="i6"> Cracks bone by bone to dust, too fine to see. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> O Press, poor harlot of the tyrant, Gold, </p> +<p class="i6"> What freedom, but from truth, hast thou to boast? </p> +<p class="i6"> Hark, who now speaks is murdered Truth's pale ghost: </p> +<p class="i2"> "Conceiving life—oh, bring it forth! aye, hold </p> +<p class="i2"> Thy child on high with love, as priest, the Host! </p> +<p class="i6"> Crush not its bones, with smile and eyes set cold." </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0062" id="h2H_4_0062"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE TRUTH +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> What is the truth? The focus of all rays </p> +<p class="i6"> Passing through Nature and the soul and mind. </p> +<p class="i6"> It is the Sun of Suns, around which wind </p> +<p class="i2"> The Heavens and all the worlds. Such is its blaze, </p> +<p class="i2"> That had it not, at intervals, a haze, </p> +<p class="i6"> Grading both Angel and the Human-kind, </p> +<p class="i6"> The bright Arch-angel would be stricken blind, </p> +<p class="i2"> To grope in Heaven, a Homer, sighing lays. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> What less could fitly crown Omnipotence </p> +<p class="i6"> Than Truth, the focus of all rays in Good? </p> +<p class="i6"> Lo! there it shines upon the Holy Rood, </p> +<p class="i2"> Breaking through clouds, a-massing dark and dense </p> +<p class="i2"> From countless ages, Cains to Brotherhood— </p> +<p class="i6"> With rays of pardon for the World's offense. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page60" name="page60"></a>[60]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0063" id="h2H_4_0063"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + OUR LORD'S LAST PRAYER +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> "Forgive them, Sire! They know not what they do."— </p> +<p class="i6"> Ah, Christ! how at that face to face God-plea, </p> +<p class="i6"> The Demon and his legions, mocking thee </p> +<p class="i2"> With every generation, brought to view, </p> +<p class="i2"> Flashed with dismay, and, boltless lightening through </p> +<p class="i6"> The ages, thunder down Eternity, </p> +<p class="i6"> 'Till faint as the sound in shells, far from the sea; </p> +<p class="i2"> For that thy prayer would be vouchsafed, they knew. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> All grandeurs, gathered as a dazzling crown </p> +<p class="i6"> For thee, in barter for thy knee's least bend, </p> +<p class="i6"> The Demon dashed to fragments to Time's end. </p> +<p class="i2"> There, born anew in spirit, we look down </p> +<p class="i2"> And, in the ocean of thy prayer, Amen'd, </p> +<p class="i6"> See but earth's monsters, with the demons drown. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0064" id="h2H_4_0064"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THOUGHT IS TRUTH'S ECHO +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Thought is truth's echo—not her glorious eyes </p> +<p class="i6"> Beholding God, nor her white arms of light, </p> +<p class="i6"> Lifted in worship. Following truth, our flight </p> +<p class="i2"> At highest range is where our echo dies. </p> +<p class="i2"> Oh all your power and beauty, earth and skys! </p> +<p class="i6"> And, Soul and Mind! your Beauty and your Might— </p> +<p class="i6"> Truth gathers in one flash and, catching sight </p> +<p class="i2"> Of God, lifts high in love's full sacrifice. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Twixt Truth and Thought, what Truth is oft is space </p> +<p class="i6"> Wherein, with intuition for her wing, </p> +<p class="i6"> The soul mounts. It is there I hear her sing: </p> +<p class="i2"> "Lo, Truth, so swift aloft, Thought dies in chase, </p> +<p class="i2"> Turns earthward, and the gifts her white arms bring, </p> +<p class="i6"> Are outshone by God's glory in her face!" </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page61" name="page61"></a>[61]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0065" id="h2H_4_0065"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + HEAVEN +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Ah, what is Heaven? Such Glory that Sun-light </p> +<p class="i6"> Seems darkness, and Mass Music, shell-shut sound. </p> +<p class="i6"> What we call senses here, there so abound, </p> +<p class="i2"> The soul appears a broadening heaven in flight, </p> +<p class="i2"> Feathered and downed with all the stars, whose white </p> +<p class="i6"> Is all hues mingled. Oh, the awe profound! </p> +<p class="i6"> For every moment there, new Heavens astound </p> +<p class="i2"> The myriad senses, with God's Love and Might. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> If "Holy, Holy, Holy, Evermore?" </p> +<p class="i6"> Be the one chant of angel and of Saint </p> +<p class="i6"> Before the Throne, it is their gaspings faint </p> +<p class="i2"> Between their transports to high Heavens from lower; </p> +<p class="i2"> For, what is love's eternal Firmament </p> +<p class="i6"> But Heaven on Heaven, that we may ceaseless soar? </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0066" id="h2H_4_0066"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + HUMILITY +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Was not humility the Earthward stair </p> +<p class="i6"> From highest Heaven, by which God came to men, </p> +<p class="i6"> To show the way aloft to human ken? </p> +<p class="i2"> Ah, by what other pass, are men to fare </p> +<p class="i2"> Through mist and cloud, except the path, aflare </p> +<p class="i6"> With his blest steps from Heaven, and up again? </p> +<p class="i6"> Steps, not from star to star, but fen to fen, </p> +<p class="i2"> That all might follow and not one despair! </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Oh, steps of Love! Could we reach with our eyes </p> +<p class="i6"> Their fulgence, we would shrink back with dismay; </p> +<p class="i6"> For, though 'tis through the world's contempt move they— </p> +<p class="i2"> Hark! How the hidden choirs of countless skies </p> +<p class="i2"> Chant at all heights: "Lo, God comes by this way, </p> +<p class="i6"> And makes world-wide, His stair to Paradise!" </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page62" name="page62"></a>[62]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0067" id="h2H_4_0067"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE NIGHT OF MYSTERIES +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> A cataract of stars, which, with each fall </p> +<p class="i6"> Broadens and brightens, rapturing the sight </p> +<p class="i6"> Of angel hosts, that view it from the height </p> +<p class="i2"> Of knowledge of God's love for one and all </p> +<p class="i2"> His creatures—and not darkness to appal </p> +<p class="i6"> The spirit by the quench of every light, </p> +<p class="i6"> For which God grants it vision—is the night </p> +<p class="i2"> Of Life's strange mysteries, both great and small. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Oh cataracts, beyond the angels' count, </p> +<p class="i6"> Pause and shine pendant over every deep </p> +<p class="i6"> Of heart, mind, spirit! Lo! how down they sweep </p> +<p class="i2"> To basic Good where, massing, they remount, </p> +<p class="i2"> Till, mid God's "Many Mansions," high they leap, </p> +<p class="i6"> Forming forever, joy's most splendent fount! </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0068" id="h2H_4_0068"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + WHAT THE POETS SHOW +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> When, at God's fiat, Light flashed forth, the beam </p> +<p class="i6"> Evolved a million pigments, as it sped </p> +<p class="i6"> To every nature. Now, of all its spread, </p> +<p class="i2"> What shaft so glorious as the poet's dream </p> +<p class="i2"> Which, mote and mass, reflects the Will Supreme </p> +<p class="i6"> That life is progress, and by flight, or tread, </p> +<p class="i6"> It circles God-ward up, till perfected! </p> +<p class="i2"> For, harboring meaner thought were to blaspheme. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> What, if the world be chaos where it sins, </p> +<p class="i6"> Race feuds, Creed hatreds, falsehoods gross, deceit, </p> +<p class="i6"> Intrigue and greed, form swirling, blinding sleet? </p> +<p class="i2"> Honor and Truth, though buried to their chins, </p> +<p class="i2"> Look up and smile; for, though the storms still beat, </p> +<p class="i6"> The poets show 'tis Spring, not Winter, wins. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page63" name="page63"></a>[63]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0069" id="h2H_4_0069"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE SOUL'S ASCENSION +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Not mine the night that creeps beneath Life's sea, </p> +<p class="i6"> Or lurks within Hope's ruins, sunk below </p> +<p class="i6"> The desert, or the stagnant pool—oh, no! </p> +<p class="i2"> But night that mounts the heavens, till it is free </p> +<p class="i2"> Where stars, prefiguring all things that be </p> +<p class="i6"> Obscure on earth, catch sight of God and glow, </p> +<p class="i6"> And golden shadows large and larger grow, </p> +<p class="i2"> Cast by Gift-bearers to Humanity. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Oh, once the cold of all the unsunn'd space </p> +<p class="i6"> Was in my reptile life of soul, wing-bound; </p> +<p class="i6"> But now, soul-free, what warmth from stars all round! </p> +<p class="i2"> 'Tis not by strength of mine, Lord, but thy grace, </p> +<p class="i2"> My soul soars from the depths of sea, or ground, </p> +<p class="i6"> Till, at star-heights, it meets Thee, face to face! </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0070" id="h2H_4_0070"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + LYRIC TRANSPORT +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> What but the spirit's ladder to God's throne </p> +<p class="i6"> Is beauty? Oh, from rung to rung to climb, </p> +<p class="i6"> Till faint becomes the azure's anthem chime </p> +<p class="i2"> Of planets, multitudinous, or lone, </p> +<p class="i2"> And Inspiration, drunk with fragrance, blown </p> +<p class="i6"> From God's rare, inmost garden, wall'd from Time, </p> +<p class="i6"> Sets free the Sonnet with is wings of rhyme </p> +<p class="i2"> To carry down the transport, upward known! </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Mine is no swaying ladder, like he sea's, </p> +<p class="i6"> Whose rounds of rollers, raised above Sun-rise, </p> +<p class="i6"> Lean not on Heaven, hence shattered lie at noon; </p> +<p class="i2"> For 'tis set firmly on the verities, </p> +<p class="i2"> Which form God's throne. Ah, there, what joy, my prize! </p> +<p class="i6"> Would that I had a dove for every boon! </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page64" name="page64"></a>[64]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0071" id="h2H_4_0071"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE SUNRISE +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> The Sun is God's great joy to Human sight. </p> +<p class="i6"> Oh, up and off in chariots, Sea! and ride, </p> +<p class="i6"> All generations, up, till mountain-eyed, </p> +<p class="i2"> To welcome earth-ward, God's Supreme delight. </p> +<p class="i2"> Imagination swirls in swallow flight, </p> +<p class="i6"> Giddy with Beauty, deepening—Oh, how glide </p> +<p class="i6"> From star to star, to the haloes, season-dyed </p> +<p class="i2"> And countless! Its wings shrivel up like night. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Oh, yea, the Sun in one subliming rise </p> +<p class="i6"> From Wisdom's infinite mind! This Reason knows. </p> +<p class="i6"> It has no set. There, Sense, with weals or woes </p> +<p class="i2"> For beads, or fingers, count our shuts of eyes, </p> +<p class="i2"> Excluding Knowledge. What! God's joy to close </p> +<p class="i6"> And all its goodness break and drift cloud-wise? </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0072" id="h2H_4_0072"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + TWO DARKNESSES +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> There are two darknesses; one where the Lord </p> +<p class="i6"> Hides beauty—that by which men know His face. </p> +<p class="i6"> All, in that darkness, feel His fingers trace </p> +<p class="i2"> Their features gently, and their hearts record </p> +<p class="i2"> The feeling, as of one, whose eyes, restored, </p> +<p class="i6"> Would see, but for the Father's close embrace. </p> +<p class="i6"> The other is the outer dark—a place </p> +<p class="i2"> Where hate turns black the light upon it poured. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> O God! the only darkness that I dread, </p> +<p class="i6"> Is where Thou art not—that where Hate's black fire </p> +<p class="i6"> Surmounts the heavens, to burst with thunder dire </p> +<p class="i2"> And, in its fall forever, drag the dead </p> +<p class="i2"> Of heart and spirit—those whom Thy desire </p> +<p class="i6"> Would fain have made the halo round Thy head. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page65" name="page65"></a>[65]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0073" id="h2H_4_0073"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE DOOM OF HATE +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> A spirit passed the Sun, the Moon and Star, </p> +<p class="i6"> And dwelled and dreamed in darkness all its own. </p> +<p class="i6"> The music of the spheres, though thither blown, </p> +<p class="i2"> As faint as fragrance from a flower afar, </p> +<p class="i2"> Disturbed this spirit's ear, attuned to jar </p> +<p class="i6"> Of orb with orb; for hate of light, truth known, </p> +<p class="i6"> Fashions hot worlds which, cooled to clay and stone, </p> +<p class="i2"> Clash, rising toward calm Heaven, which they would mar. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Ah, if where love was not, he smiled elate, </p> +<p class="i6"> His smile at God returned, a lightening flash </p> +<p class="i6"> That shattered him. He saw his planets clash, </p> +<p class="i2"> Burst and, then, by the downward law of hate, </p> +<p class="i2"> Sink and leave not a single spark, nor ash, </p> +<p class="i6"> For the new firmament he would create. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0074" id="h2H_4_0074"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE EVIL IN THE WORLD +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> There are two Gods—one, Good, the other, Ill. </p> +<p class="i6"> They clash in Nature—so the Persian taught, </p> +<p class="i6"> And long a sect in Europe spread the thought. </p> +<p class="i2"> Why there is evil is a problem still </p> +<p class="i2"> To many, who see not in Human Will, </p> +<p class="i6"> A being that with beauty could have caught </p> +<p class="i6"> Up to his Maker, had he gladly wrought </p> +<p class="i2"> With light and warmth, instead of dark and chill. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> God said, "Let there be Light," and light was made. </p> +<p class="i6"> God made not darkness—that is light's exclusion, </p> +<p class="i6"> Forming a region where, in wild confusion, </p> +<p class="i2"> Men, Nations, each a ferret, blood-eyed shade, </p> +<p class="i2"> Worry each other, till, with disillusion </p> +<p class="i6"> For lamp, comes conscience, crying, "God Betrayed!" </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page66" name="page66"></a>[66]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0075" id="h2H_4_0075"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE EARTH RENEWED BY MEMORY +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Ah, in the angel-fall from Heaven, is hope? </p> +<p class="i6"> The wing-whir discord of the legion's fall </p> +<p class="i6"> From God forever, mocks my heart's loud call. </p> +<p class="i2"> Empty of beauty from its base to cope, </p> +<p class="i2"> The Earth is hollow. Where, then, can I grope </p> +<p class="i6"> And not be met by echoes that appal? </p> +<p class="i6"> What! shouts my mind, in wonder that I crawl </p> +<p class="i2"> And, having skyey wings, in hollows mope. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Does scent from bloom, or warble from the wood, </p> +<p class="i6"> Not atmosphere the un-aerial void </p> +<p class="i6"> Twixt thee and beauty, which thy youth enjoyed? </p> +<p class="i2"> Fly back to earth, by memory renewed; </p> +<p class="i2"> She fills the hollow, echoing hosts destroyed,— </p> +<p class="i6"> With Spring, reflecting Heaven's Triumphant Good. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0076" id="h2H_4_0076"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + IN THE DIMPLE OF BEAUTY'S CHEEK +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> O beauty! in the dimple of thy cheek, </p> +<p class="i6"> My love could live forever and be blest. </p> +<p class="i6"> There, with the sun, a rose-bud on thy breast, </p> +<p class="i2"> How thou rejoicest, hastening to speak </p> +<p class="i2"> To thy fond Father! Oh, how vain to seek </p> +<p class="i6"> A sweeter refuge for the Spirit's rest, </p> +<p class="i6"> Than mid thy blushes, when thou marvelest </p> +<p class="i2"> At His great love, for, oh! thy heart is meek. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Oh beauty! in thy Father's arms, thou art. </p> +<p class="i6"> Enclose me in thy dimple; for, though this </p> +<p class="i6"> Were but a bud, or molded seed, what bliss </p> +<p class="i2"> To watch bloom gather scent, or new life start, </p> +<p class="i2"> And hear our Father, bending for a kiss, </p> +<p class="i6"> Whisper to thee, the secrets of His heart! </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page67" name="page67"></a>[67]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0077" id="h2H_4_0077"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE CAMP FIRE +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Beauty is love and, hence is heightening fire, </p> +<p class="i6"> Consuming Nature. All the dark can bring </p> +<p class="i6"> To quench it, feeds it. Look! how everything </p> +<p class="i2"> Is caught in the blaze, which mounts up high and higher! </p> +<p class="i2"> Oh! truly, 'tis a vision to inspire </p> +<p class="i6"> The soul with transport, more than joy can sing; </p> +<p class="i6"> For, if not for the blaze, what cold would sting </p> +<p class="i2"> Poor mortals, who crowd round it, nigh and nigher! </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Is beauty not the camp-fire, which one host </p> +<p class="i6"> Leaves burning for another, close behind? </p> +<p class="i6"> Yea, yea, the Powers Divine, O Human Kind! </p> +<p class="i2"> Have left their camp-fire burning on the coast, </p> +<p class="i2"> Where they embarked from glimpse of Human mind, </p> +<p class="i6"> To give you warmth and light to hold your post. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0078" id="h2H_4_0078"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + MOTHER +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> All beings, legioning celestial light, </p> +<p class="i6"> Moved in procession toward a vacant throne. </p> +<p class="i6"> Their chant was faith and hope, as, now, our own. </p> +<p class="i2"> At last, it came to pass, their faith grew sight. </p> +<p class="i2"> They saw One Star in night's down-fall, stay white </p> +<p class="i6"> And, by the Holy Spirit brighter blown, </p> +<p class="i6"> Ascend in Heaven, till there, as high and lone, </p> +<p class="i2"> As over Nature's marveling zenith height. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Reaching the throne, its queen, this star became. </p> +<p class="i6"> Awed by the Triune's Honor as her crown, </p> +<p class="i6"> The legions, circling, soared with eyes cast down; </p> +<p class="i2"> But, when their wonder heard the strange, new name </p> +<p class="i2"> In Heaven, from Christ's lips, "Mother," how they shone, </p> +<p class="i6"> Reflecting Christ's child-eyes, with love aflame! </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page68" name="page68"></a>[68]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0079" id="h2H_4_0079"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + IN HEAVEN NO HEART STILL HEAVES +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Lo! God lets drop blue doves which ground the mind </p> +<p class="i6"> Like clover; then, with drawing to the skies, </p> +<p class="i6"> His pleasure is to watch the flocks arise. </p> +<p class="i2"> Here, there, they mount; they show no cloud, no wind, </p> +<p class="i2"> Can hinder homing; and the angels find </p> +<p class="i6"> No transport, like the sight, for, to their eyes, </p> +<p class="i6"> 'Tis more souls for the joy, which glorifies </p> +<p class="i2"> The Father, traced to love by pigeon-kind. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Oh, to his love, how great our spirit's worth! </p> +<p class="i6"> Each is as all. In heaven, no heart still heaves. </p> +<p class="i6"> The sun sinks with its last of lingering eves, </p> +<p class="i2"> And, then, if dearest doves of azure birth, </p> +<p class="i2"> Wife, parent, child, be missed, off mercy leaves </p> +<p class="i6"> With stars for eyes, to search the darks of earth. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0080" id="h2H_4_0080"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + ST. PETER'S CATHEDRAL IN ROME +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> This temple is soul-startling. 'Tis to me </p> +<p class="i6"> A thunder storm in stone, with Sinai flare </p> +<p class="i6"> Across the Ages. 'Tis the Fiend's despair </p> +<p class="i2"> And the Arch-angel's Triumph. It sets free </p> +<p class="i2"> The mind and soul with certitude, Christ's key </p> +<p class="i6"> Which, like the Sun, opes Heaven—the Good and Fair. </p> +<p class="i6"> Still, oft, what darkness drowns the sun's noon glare </p> +<p class="i2"> Within the Temple! 'Tis from Calvary. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Oh, 'tis from Calvary's grief. 'Tis Christ's emotion, </p> +<p class="i6"> On from the Cross, that from His glory known, </p> +<p class="i6"> The German should have fled and, frantic, thrown </p> +<p class="i2"> Away his soul to Strauss or Kant's vague notion, </p> +<p class="i2"> Unhumaning, till, in the Kaiser, grown </p> +<p class="i6"> A Neitche whirl-wind in a crimson ocean. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page69" name="page69"></a>[69]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0081" id="h2H_4_0081"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + MY BUGLER BOY +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> With heart pain and with quiver of the lip, </p> +<p class="i6"> I bid my boy "good bye," with words of cheer. </p> +<p class="i6"> I hug him to my heart to hide a tear, </p> +<p class="i2"> And hold him close so long, that no tongue-slip </p> +<p class="i2"> Could more betray my bodings for his ship, </p> +<p class="i6"> Or troop, when landed. It is when I hear </p> +<p class="i6"> My daughters' voices, that I shame off fear </p> +<p class="i2"> And take my boy's both hands with firmest grip. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Go, son, and, though with thy young life 'tis blown, </p> +<p class="i6"> Blare thou the Bugle, rousing man to sweep </p> +<p class="i6"> The monsters back to Hell's profoundest deep, </p> +<p class="i2"> Where, mocking Spring and Sun-rise, they have grown </p> +<p class="i2"> On longings for the sea, the world must weep </p> +<p class="i6"> When, from its heart, the hope of Peace has flown. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0082" id="h2H_4_0082"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + KAISER, BEWARE +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Dost thou, mad Kaiser, for historic name, </p> +<p class="i6"> Set fire to Europe? Is it joy to gaze </p> +<p class="i6"> At blacker smoke than Etna's, and a blaze </p> +<p class="i2"> That wakes up Chaos, wild to come and claim </p> +<p class="i2"> The World, since Light, God-bidden though it came, </p> +<p class="i6"> Has failed to dawn upon our human ways? </p> +<p class="i6"> O Twin of Chaos! peer thou through the haze! </p> +<p class="i2"> 'Tis Human Beings feed the crackling flame. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Beware, the smoke, like Etna's, is the curse </p> +<p class="i6"> Of widows on thy people-dooming throne, </p> +<p class="i6"> And in no country, more than in thine own, </p> +<p class="i2"> Cry out all mothers: "Wherefore bear and nurse? </p> +<p class="i2"> To feed war with our sons, our flesh and bone, </p> +<p class="i6"> That chaos may reclaim the Universe?" </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page70" name="page70"></a>[70]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0083" id="h2H_4_0083"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + WOMAN, IN GERMANY +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> The German mother has too long been what </p> +<p class="i6"> A Chancellor once called the "Kingdom's Cow." </p> +<p class="i6"> Ah, as she bears the droves for slaughter, how </p> +<p class="i2"> Her dumb-beast eyes crave pity for her lot! </p> +<p class="i2"> See, there she smiles, like loving God forgot— </p> +<p class="i6"> All His supernal patience on her brow. </p> +<p class="i6"> How long must her grand arch of brain, as now, </p> +<p class="i2"> Bear up a universe "of what should not"? </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> There, lies she, crushed by troops in hot pursuit </p> +<p class="i6"> Of mocking shadows; for be Gain complete, </p> +<p class="i6"> What is it but twin brother to defeat? </p> +<p class="i2"> Stand up the dead on any bloody route. </p> +<p class="i2"> Stoop for no kiss from orphans, at thy feet, </p> +<p class="i6"> O Triumph! for ash-cord is all thy fruit. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0084" id="h2H_4_0084"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + O THOU PALE MOON +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> O fair, full moon! I look close at thy face. </p> +<p class="i6"> Thou must be happy, being in the skys; </p> +<p class="i6"> And, yet, thy flush grows pallor to mine eyes. </p> +<p class="i2"> Thou art as one, who breathless after chase, </p> +<p class="i2"> Would rest, but dreads to check her onward pace. </p> +<p class="i6"> O fugitive from where no fledgling flies, </p> +<p class="i6"> No bee finds bud, and where red billows rise, </p> +<p class="i2"> Engulfing down dark years, the Human Race! </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> O thou pale moon, who hast companioned Man </p> +<p class="i6"> Through every darkness since the night's first fall! </p> +<p class="i6"> Hast thou, along thy foot-worn, azure wall, </p> +<p class="i2"> Ever seen seas so hard for hope to span, </p> +<p class="i2"> As this red surge, that in a spring so small, </p> +<p class="i6"> A bird could beak it up, its flood began? </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page71" name="page71"></a>[71]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0085" id="h2H_4_0085"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE TIGER +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> How glares the tiger in his desert lair— </p> +<p class="i6"> Now half the world! Beholding with dismay </p> +<p class="i6"> That Human Freedom is the tiger's prey, </p> +<p class="i2"> A giant, down whose shoulders, broad and bare, </p> +<p class="i2"> The long, thick, crimson flow is Sampson's hair, </p> +<p class="i6"> Makes haste to clutch the beast. </p> +<p class="i6"> Oh, how the clay beneath their struggle, reddens, night and day, </p> +<p class="i2"> Till lies the beast, a shapeless carcass there! </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Oh! never from the long, thick crimson flow </p> +<p class="i6"> A down thy shoulders from thy noble brow, </p> +<p class="i6"> America, came such God's-strength as now, </p> +<p class="i2"> Comes to thine arm against the world's grim foe— </p> +<p class="i2"> The beast that, sighting man, devours him, how </p> +<p class="i6"> The world may end, a wilderness of woe. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0086" id="h2H_4_0086"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + TO OUR BOYS "OVER THERE" +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Where flies our flag is Freedom's holy ground; </p> +<p class="i6"> There, it unfurls all benisons to Man. </p> +<p class="i6"> The twin of Spring, its spread unfolds God's plan </p> +<p class="i2"> Of human happiness, by setting bound </p> +<p class="i2"> To greed, lust, powers,—all colds,—that Right be crowned. </p> +<p class="i6"> Lo! where it leads, ye youth form valor's van, </p> +<p class="i6"> Mirrored and echoed by the azure's span </p> +<p class="i2"> For ages, for Man's gain in yours is wound. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Oh, justice's Hot Gulf Stream are ye, who open </p> +<p class="i6"> The sea, which fiendish craft has frozen hard! </p> +<p class="i6"> Oh, may your warmth for righteousness transform </p> +<p class="i2"> The tyrant's artic region, with no hope in, </p> +<p class="i2"> To Freedom's Temperate Zone, which they, who guard </p> +<p class="i6"> The planets, save from wreck by quake or storm. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page72" name="page72"></a>[72]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0087" id="h2H_4_0087"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE PROFITEERS +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Now and in life—not Virgil—breaks a storm </p> +<p class="i6"> Of Harpies, harsh to ear and foul to smell. </p> +<p class="i6"> It sweeps War's lengthening coast, where each sea-swell </p> +<p class="i2"> Is Humans, gasping. Hope drags each cold form </p> +<p class="i2"> From hearth to hearth, to find no ember warm; </p> +<p class="i6"> Then, their eyes glitter frost, who hear hope yell </p> +<p class="i6"> As up she climbs the rocks and falls pell-mell </p> +<p class="i2"> Back from small herbs, where monsters swoop and swarm. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Oh, could the bestial birds, in Virgil's verse, </p> +<p class="i6"> See Hope's hands redden, as she rends her hair, </p> +<p class="i6"> They would grow human—would not glut, but share; </p> +<p class="i2"> Nor, then, shed human semblance for man's curse— </p> +<p class="i2"> As ye do, who from want, hold warmth and fair, </p> +<p class="i6"> And gorge your bulks to sleep, as want writhes worse! </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0088" id="h2H_4_0088"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + WHY THE STARS LAUGH +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Hark! 'tis the laughter of the stars at Earth, </p> +<p class="i6"> And Nature's, too, with every pitch of voice. </p> +<p class="i6"> Earth's carnival of sheer grotesque and noise, </p> +<p class="i2"> Where, gagged and manacled, walk Peace and Mirth, </p> +<p class="i2"> Shows Britain now, a beast of broadening girth, </p> +<p class="i6"> Set out to crush World Freedom. He destroys, </p> +<p class="i6"> And thinks his bear-like rearing, planet poise </p> +<p class="i2"> That is to influence the world's new birth. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> The stars are kind, as all the ages know; </p> +<p class="i6"> The sense of humor twinkles in their eyes, </p> +<p class="i6"> At Earth's strange follies; but this beast would try </p> +<p class="i2"> To thrust aside the planets, and make woe, </p> +<p class="i2"> The fortune of World Freedom! That is why </p> +<p class="i6"> The stars laugh, and all nature jeers the show. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page73" name="page73"></a>[73]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0089" id="h2H_4_0089"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + PRAYER FOR WORLD PEACE +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Lord, not Thy work, the World's calamities, </p> +<p class="i6"> But Man's. If Human Will revolt from Thine, </p> +<p class="i6"> It flees Thy region, where the stars all shine </p> +<p class="i2"> With longing to let down the Azure's Peace— </p> +<p class="i2"> To dash its hosts from summits into seas, </p> +<p class="i6"> Where Empires are the breakers. There the brine </p> +<p class="i6"> Is anguish, and there Triumph leaves no sign, </p> +<p class="i2"> Save wreck on rock, and Plague, adrift on breeze. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> When Nations turn from Light, in thought, or life, </p> +<p class="i6"> Their speed is brink-ward, save Thy Mercy stay; </p> +<p class="i6"> For all is precipice, except Thy way. </p> +<p class="i2"> Help, Lord, for here is heightening surge of strife; </p> +<p class="i2"> Here, clouds turn floods, coasts are wind-whirled, like spray, </p> +<p class="i6"> And lightenings, hurling back thy light, are rife. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0090" id="h2H_4_0090"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + RELIGION +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Religion is Ascension. 'Tis the flights </p> +<p class="i6"> Of souls to summits of the true and wise. </p> +<p class="i6"> One, witnessing the generations rise, </p> +<p class="i2"> Sees them a shine at countless, different heights, </p> +<p class="i2"> Where they, responding to their inner lights, </p> +<p class="i6"> Glow, like the clouds at morn, with graded dyes. </p> +<p class="i6"> If summits, there are depths; if virtue, vice; </p> +<p class="i2"> Hence, 'tis life's rise from falls, that judgment sights. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Witnessed, or not, there is no age, nor climb, </p> +<p class="i6"> But souls arise as bloom, where earth is treed; </p> +<p class="i6"> As warm, red rays, where cold from mountaining need; </p> +<p class="i2"> As burst and spread of planets, where dark crime; </p> +<p class="i2"> Nay, rise to poise above the star's top speed </p> +<p class="i6"> To God, like larks, in praise for life and time. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page74" name="page74"></a>[74]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0091" id="h2H_4_0091"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE GOLDEN JUBILEE OF SISTERS OF CHARITY +</h2> +<h4> +I +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> How thy Half Century shines over head! </p> +<p class="i6"> 'Tis an unfading rain-bow, one whose dyes </p> +<p class="i6"> Are richer and more numerous to the eyes </p> +<p class="i2"> Of Angels, than to ours. Its rays, if spread </p> +<p class="i2"> Above a flood of sin and world of dead, </p> +<p class="i6"> Give to the drowned, new life, new earth, new skies. </p> +<p class="i6"> Night counts her stars, but falters, when souls rise </p> +<p class="i2"> Bright with the Grace which God's annointed shed. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Belov'd Irene, how great our joy to see </p> +<p class="i6"> Thine arch, aglow with virtue's every hue! </p> +<p class="i6"> Oh, how much more must they rejoice, who view </p> +<p class="i2"> From inner Heaven, the arch that is for thee, </p> +<p class="i2"> Triumphal! for than vows like thine, lived true, </p> +<p class="i6"> No grander arch from earth to heaven could be. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<h4> +II +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> The "Church Triumphant" shines in lives like thine, </p> +<p class="i6"> Calista! 'Tis the Saints' procession, shown </p> +<p class="i6"> In Dante's vision, near Lord Jesus' throne, </p> +<p class="i2"> In greatening splendor, never to decline. </p> +<p class="i2"> Ah, if our minds grow dark, our hearts repine, </p> +<p class="i6"> How, from sweet lives, dear Sister, like thine own, </p> +<p class="i6"> Be-Mothering with mercy all who moan, </p> +<p class="i2"> A light comes, and a warmth is in its shine. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> We shade our eyes, as when we face the Sun </p> +<p class="i6"> On level with the earth, at lives all love— </p> +<p class="i6"> The Church Triumphant, as in Heaven above! </p> +<p class="i2"> Aye, lives all love for Christ, in every one </p> +<p class="i2"> Who suffers wrong, or any pain thereof, </p> +<p class="i6"> As on His Throne—such lives as thine, dear Nun. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page75" name="page75"></a>[75]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0092" id="h2H_4_0092"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + WINIFRED HOLT, THE LIFESAVER OF THE BLIND +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Once, blindness was a burning ship at sea, </p> +<p class="i6"> With panic-stricken souls on every deck. </p> +<p class="i6"> The flame blew inward on that awful wreck, </p> +<p class="i2"> Burning the hopes that make life glad and free. </p> +<p class="i2"> Ah! then, through thee, it was, Philanthropy, </p> +<p class="i6"> Who trains her searchlight on the smallest speck </p> +<p class="i6"> And Speed out boats, like horses, neck to neck, </p> +<p class="i2"> Reached the dark hulk and thrilled its crew with glee. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> The flame is quenched, that burned out heart and brain. </p> +<p class="i6"> The ship where woe was mute, is loud with joy. </p> +<p class="i6"> Hark! hear the cheer on board, and cry, "Ahoy!" </p> +<p class="i2"> As fast the sails are hoisted, and the main </p> +<p class="i2"> Tides back toward hope for every girl and boy, </p> +<p class="i6"> Who, else, might reach no star of night's whole train. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0093" id="h2H_4_0093"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + A CHOICE +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Above and under life, eternally, </p> +<p class="i6"> A subtle light and dark run parallel. </p> +<p class="i6"> One prompts men to build Beauty, cell by cell, </p> +<p class="i2"> In Home, Religion, State, Society; </p> +<p class="i2"> The other, to destroy the fair they see. </p> +<p class="i6"> Like Spring, wilt thou roof Earth with bloom and dwell </p> +<p class="i6"> Thereunder? or, with Scalping Winter's yell, </p> +<p class="i2"> Scour grove and bush? Choose—how else art thou free? </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> If Freedom is the gift of the all-wise, </p> +<p class="i6"> It is because he will not have a slave </p> +<p class="i6"> To serve Him. Which wilt thou be, base or brave? </p> +<p class="i2"> With Morn, climb, or, with Night, skulk down the skies </p> +<p class="i2"> To grope in caverns, or beneath the wave, </p> +<p class="i6"> Creep, till aghast at monsters that arise? </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page76" name="page76"></a>[76]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0094" id="h2H_4_0094"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + ALL LUMINARIES HAVE ONE TREND +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> All luminaries have one source, one trend. </p> +<p class="i6"> The stars that calm the sailor, long sea-swirled, </p> +<p class="i6"> And canopy fond lovers from the World, </p> +<p class="i2"> And those that lead the heart and spirit, blend. </p> +<p class="i2"> Lo, only in the things and thoughts that tend </p> +<p class="i6"> Toward Love's High Harmony, is truth unfurled; </p> +<p class="i6"> All else are lies, whence heart, soul, mind are hurled </p> +<p class="i2"> Back to the Right—to Progress without end. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> The stars all chant as one. My soaring song </p> +<p class="i6"> Catches their flame and these few sparks reach earth: </p> +<p class="i6"> "As soon the shells forget their Ocean birth, </p> +<p class="i2"> As men forget the Right, where they belong </p> +<p class="i2"> By reason and by soul of deathless worth; </p> +<p class="i6"> Address the God in man, wouldst thou grow strong." </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0095" id="h2H_4_0095"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + LIFE TAKES MORNING HUES WITH THE ARTS OF PEACE +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> America! from out the depths thy coast </p> +<p class="i6"> Was lifted skyward for Humanity. </p> +<p class="i6"> Thy Life, once finny circlings in the sea, </p> +<p class="i2"> Is now the orbits of the starry host, </p> +<p class="i2"> Encircling God with trust. Be this thy boast, </p> +<p class="i6"> When the long line of Ages, passing thee, </p> +<p class="i6"> Lifts each his heart and soul, and shouts with glee, </p> +<p class="i2"> "That Trust in Him was Sentinel on post." </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Night, that once boa-like hung from thy trees, </p> +<p class="i6"> Gorged with crushed tribes—with pottery, or mound, </p> +<p class="i6"> Or print of foot for trace—slinks underground; </p> +<p class="i2"> For lo, the forests, like the mist on seas, </p> +<p class="i2"> Clears, ere the Sun, at earth's edge, glows half-round, </p> +<p class="i6"> And life takes cloud-hues with the arts of Peace. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page77" name="page77"></a>[77]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0096" id="h2H_4_0096"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + U. S. SENATOR JAMES A. O'GORMAN AND THE STALWARTS +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> On toward the Senate scuds a thunder-rack— </p> +<p class="i6"> Nay, cyclone—and the columns—all star-straight— </p> +<p class="i6"> Of Freedom's Temple sway with the roof's flood-weight. </p> +<p class="i2"> Ye Stalwarts who scorn off a fate, pitch-black, </p> +<p class="i2"> Holding the columns, let no sinew slack. </p> +<p class="i6"> A crash and through the roof, what floods of hate! </p> +<p class="i6"> Still, ye budge not, for "Freedom," your teeth grate, </p> +<p class="i2"> "Shall lie no wreck along the cyclone's track." </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Oh, not for you was dark the time to slumber, </p> +<p class="i6"> But to hold Freedom's columns all star-plumb! </p> +<p class="i6"> Yours was a watery grave, but Martyrdom </p> +<p class="i2"> And, hence, your resurrection with the number, </p> +<p class="i2"> Whose greatness greatens, as the Ages come </p> +<p class="i6"> To know why their pathway, no wrecks encumber. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0097" id="h2H_4_0097"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + MINISTER OF JUSTICE PALMER, A BASTILE BUILDER +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> O Bastile Builder! Nature, when she shaped </p> +<p class="i6"> Thy soul, was stricken, with a long attack </p> +<p class="i6"> Of sleeping sickness; nor till wheel and rack </p> +<p class="i2"> Had rusted, and man spirit had escaped </p> +<p class="i2"> The bolsted, loathesome tomb where right was raped, </p> +<p class="i6"> Did she awaken and, alack! alack! </p> +<p class="i6"> Deliver thee, who, put on Freedom's back, </p> +<p class="i2"> Would'st grab all things, at which thy Past-eyes gaped. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Freedom would humor thee; so, down he flopped </p> +<p class="i6"> On Justice's floor to watch thee build with blocks. </p> +<p class="i6"> Great was thy skill with walls and dungeon locks, </p> +<p class="i2"> And with the trap, down which poor Freedom dropped </p> +<p class="i2"> To be steel-masked, or, else, put in the stocks, </p> +<p class="i6"> To writhe, then, with his tongue and ears, both lopped. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page78" name="page78"></a>[78]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0098" id="h2H_4_0098"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + A SPECK, BUT NOT A STAIN, HARVARD +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> O Harvard of the Norton wreath of gold </p> +<p class="i6"> And pearled, Longfellow purple! wherefore frown? </p> +<p class="i6"> If Eliott is a speck upon your gown, </p> +<p class="i2"> It will wash off; it is no stain to hold, </p> +<p class="i2"> For you had let him go for being old. </p> +<p class="i6"> Your wisdom was confirmed when to the crown, </p> +<p class="i6"> A'gainst good folks who, like Elisha Brown, </p> +<p class="i2"> Fought for their homes, he gave his name's renown. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Come, Agassiz! for, from the smallest bone, </p> +<p class="i6"> You reconstruct the creature, tongue to tail. </p> +<p class="i6"> Tell us what Eliott is. Phew! What! a Whale? </p> +<p class="i2"> No; tis the prehistoric monster, known </p> +<p class="i2"> As Tory, that devoured young Nathan Hale </p> +<p class="i6"> And, where it crawled, spread horror's crimson zone. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0099" id="h2H_4_0099"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + SUPREME COURT JUSTICE CHARLES L. GUY +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Your heart is not a traitor to your mind. </p> +<p class="i6"> Who, knowing innocence in danger, dares </p> +<p class="i6"> Not turn his eye, for fear of smirk, or stares, </p> +<p class="i2"> By other courts, is Justice's statue blind, </p> +<p class="i2"> That to the wall, not Bench, should be assigned. </p> +<p class="i6"> Oft, Precedent is Folly with gray hairs; </p> +<p class="i6"> So you, recalling Junius, heard the prayers </p> +<p class="i2"> Of friendless Stilow; then, what did you find? </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> A fellow man doomed wrongfully to die </p> +<p class="i6"> A felon's death. If such was Stilow's fate, </p> +<p class="i6"> You saw, the felon would have been the State; </p> +<p class="i2"> Hence, turned from Precedent, demanding "Why?" </p> +<p class="i2"> Justice, asleep in marble, woke and straight </p> +<p class="i6"> Unroofed the courthouse to let down the sky. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page79" name="page79"></a>[79]</span> +</p> +<a name="h2H_4_0100" id="h2H_4_0100"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + REAR ADMIRAL SIMS +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> A Dukedom, and not one the worse for wear, </p> +<p class="i6"> Has Sims well earned by service to the King. </p> +<p class="i6"> 'Tis said at court, Howe's spirit following </p> +<p class="i2"> The ocean still, found Sims his natural heir </p> +<p class="i2"> And said: "Swap souls; and, that the swap be fair, </p> +<p class="i6"> Give me to boot, the bone of Freedom's wing, </p> +<p class="i6"> To make the skyey bird a hobbling thing </p> +<p class="i2"> In marshes, where the ignisfatus flare." </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> The Eagle with his eye and pinion, trained </p> +<p class="i6"> For mateship with the sun, twitched at a sting. </p> +<p class="i6"> Amazed to find a "cootie" on his wing, </p> +<p class="i2"> And that the insect dreamed, it was ordained </p> +<p class="i2"> By race heredity to serve the King— </p> +<p class="i6"> He shook his plume and azured, unprofained. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0101" id="h2H_4_0101"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + SAINT GEORGE AND THE DRAGON +</h2> +<h4> +I +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> In English nature, did Saint George prevail </p> +<p class="i6"> Over the Dragon? Maybe in the time </p> +<p class="i6"> When England knew not poverty, nor crime, </p> +<p class="i2"> Described by Cobbett, who would not go bail </p> +<p class="i2"> For falsehood, nor let truth remain in jail. </p> +<p class="i6"> It must, then, have renewed life from its slime, </p> +<p class="i6"> For, oh! through deeds, that turn the blood to chyme </p> +<p class="i2"> And eyes white inward, see him ride the gale. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> In English nature—oh, where now the saint— </p> +<p class="i6"> The spirit, to sublime conceptions, true? </p> +<p class="i6"> Has good Saint George, too woundful to renew </p> +<p class="i2"> His conflict with the dragon of base taint, </p> +<p class="i2"> Been caught up by Elias from earth's view? </p> +<p class="i6"> How, else, the dragon's rage in irrestraint? </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page80" name="page80"></a>[80]</span> +</p> +<h4> +II +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> The dragon is grim greed. The Saint's long spear, </p> +<p class="i6"> That once transfixed it, can no longer touch. </p> +<p class="i6"> No land is safe from its sting, blood-drain, or clutch— </p> +<p class="i2"> For it takes Protean shapes; 'tis, therefore, clear, </p> +<p class="i2"> Since good Saint George has failed to re-appear </p> +<p class="i6"> To mortal sight, save in the King's escutch— </p> +<p class="i6"> Worn off at edge and blurred with Tudor smudge— </p> +<p class="i2"> Freedom must drive the Dragon off this sphere. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> The Dragon's soarings cause the sun's eclypse.— </p> +<p class="i6"> Hark! is that thunder, God's collapsing skys? </p> +<p class="i6"> No; 'tis the Eagle, with un-hooded eyes </p> +<p class="i2"> And lightening flash from beak to pinion tips, </p> +<p class="i2"> Seizing the Dragon that, despite its slips </p> +<p class="i6"> From form to form—craft, gold and false sunrise— </p> +<p class="i6"> Can not elude his eye and talon grips. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<h4> +III +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> A conflict, this, refracted, cloud to cloud! </p> +<p class="i6"> Where a white summit? Under crimson seas, </p> +<p class="i6"> And these still hightening. Through far azure, Peace </p> +<p class="i2"> Listens and, eager, peeps; then, turns headbowed. </p> +<p class="i2"> The conflict circling earth, all plains are ploughed </p> +<p class="i6"> New rows of gulches. God! can aught appease </p> +<p class="i6"> The Dragon with fiend thirst's eternities </p> +<p class="i2"> For tongue! The sun might, if it were well sloughed. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> The Dragon, mounting, draws aloft earth's slime </p> +<p class="i6"> With which to dim the all-producing Sun </p> +<p class="i6"> From broadening light and warmth for every one; </p> +<p class="i2"> But, look! The Eagle, with the thirst sublime </p> +<p class="i2"> Of Justice, that the right on earth be done— </p> +<p class="i6"> Flashes and—hark! 'Tis earth's Te-Deum chime! </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page81" name="page81"></a>[81]</span> +</p> +<h4> +IV +</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Oh, yea, the Earth's Te Deums, visibling </p> +<p class="i6"> As well as voicing forth the joy of Nations, </p> +<p class="i6"> Fill up the vastest Heaven—that of God's Patience </p> +<p class="i2"> With Human Will most grossly reptiling </p> +<p class="i2"> In insincerities, worse than negations; </p> +<p class="i6"> And for what blessing are the earth's laudations? </p> +<p class="i6"> The grace to soul to scorn to be mere thing. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Oh, of this grace was born the Eagle's vim </p> +<p class="i6"> To dash the Dragon down in hell so deep, </p> +<p class="i6"> It is a maggot there, which can but creep; </p> +<p class="i2"> And draw Elias' chariot to Earth's rim, </p> +<p class="i2"> Wherein Saint George stands with his heart a-leap— </p> +<p class="i6"> As, now, in labor, we catch glimpse of him. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="figure"> +<img src="images/ill-081.png" width="200" height="130" +alt="" /> +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FREEDOM, TRUTH AND BEAUTY ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cdbf471 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #20174 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/20174) diff --git a/old/20174.txt b/old/20174.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..869b836 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/20174.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3759 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Freedom, Truth and Beauty, by Edward Doyle + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Freedom, Truth and Beauty + +Author: Edward Doyle + +Release Date: December 23, 2006 [EBook #20174] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FREEDOM, TRUTH AND BEAUTY *** + + + + +Produced by Sigal Alon, Brett Fishburne, David Garcia and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + + +FREEDOM, TRUTH AND BEAUTY + +SONNETS BY EDWARD DOYLE + +Author of Cagliostro, Moody Moments, the American Soldier, the Haunted +Temple and other poems; The Comet, a play of our times and Genevra, a +play of Mediaeval Florence. + + + "He owns only his mental vision. But this is clear and broad of + range--as broad, indeed, as that of Dante, Milton and Goethe, + sweeping beyond the horizon of eschatology and mounting, like + Francis Thompson's, even to the Throne of Grace itself when the + theme demands reverential daring." + + --STANDARD AND TIMES, PHILADELPHIA. + + + MANHATTAN AND BRONX ADVOCATE + 1712 Amsterdam Avenue, New York. + + THE SECOND REVISED EDITION + + + + _Copyright, 1921_ + BY + EDWARD DOYLE + + + + +CONTENTS + + + + PAGE NO. + + The Quality of Edward Doyle's Work, by Ella Wheeler Wilcox 7 + True Nationalism, by David Klein, Ph.D. 9 + Genevra, Review In the Independent 12 + Dedication to the Daughters of the American Revolution 13 + The Proem 19 + The Atlantic 20 + Human Freedom 20 + The Stars 21 + The Genesis of Freedom 21 + The Pilgrim Fathers 23 + Plymouth Rock 23 + The Catholics in Maryland 24 + A Forest for the King's Hawks 24 + To Arms Shouts Freedom 25 + British Soldiery 25 + Amphibious Barry 26 + Freedom's Triumph 26 + Washington's Army and Barry's Navy 27 + The Sunken Continent 27 + Elisha Brown 28 + Evacuation Day 28 + Manhatta 29 + The Burning of Washington City by the British 29 + The Land of the Great Spirit 30 + The Blight to Spring 30 + The Scorn of Human Rights 31 + Not This Our Country's Glory 31 + America's Glory No Fugitive 32 + Hate Thou Not Any Man 33 + The Celtic Soul Cry 34 + British Glory in Kipling's Boots 36 + To the English People 36 + Shakespeare 37 + England's Righteousness 37 + The Massacre of the Welsh Miners 38 + A Dirty Work 38 + Human Nature 39 + Our Country--Soul and Character 39 + Juda and Erin 41 + The Easter Rising in Ireland 41 + The Fight in Ireland 42 + To Erin 42 + The Queen of Beauty 43 + Liberty the Light to Peace 43 + Why Play with Words, England 44 + Freedom's Wardens 44 + List to Demosthenes, If Not to Hearst 45 + Caledonia 45 + Canada 47 + Dragon Incursions 51 + All Stars Merged in One 52 + Nemesis 52 + Lincoln's Lightening in Wilson's Hands 53 + The Cataclysm 54 + An Epoch's Angel Fall 54 + The America of the Future 55 + The Inevitable 56 + Reptiles with Wings 57 + The Outlaws in Our Country 58 + The Press 59 + The Truth 59 + Our Lord's Last Prayer 60 + Thought Is Truth's Echo 60 + Heaven 61 + Humility 61 + The Night of Mysteries 62 + What the Poets Show 62 + The Soul's Ascension 63 + Lyric Transport 63 + The Sunrise 64 + Two Darknesses 64 + The Doom of Hate 65 + The Evil in the World 65 + The Earth Renewed by Memory 66 + In the Dimple of Beauty's Cheek 66 + The Camp Fire 67 + Mother 67 + In Heaven No Heart Still Heaves 68 + Saint Peter's Cathedral in Rome 68 + My Bugler Boy 69 + Kaiser, Beware 69 + Woman in Germany 70 + O Thou Pale Moon 70 + The Tiger 71 + To Our Boys "Over There" 71 + The Profiteers 72 + Why the Stars Laugh 72 + Prayer for the World Peace 73 + Religion 73 + The Golden Jubilee of Sisters of Charity 74 + Winifred Holt, the Lifesaver of the Blind 75 + A Choice 75 + All Luminaires Have One Trend 76 + Life Takes Morning Hues with the Arts of Peace 76 + U. S. Senator James A. O. Gorman and the Stalwarts 77 + Minister of Justice Palmer, A Bastile Builder 77 + A Speck, But Not a Stain, Harvard 78 + Supreme Court Justice Charles L. Guy 78 + Rear Admiral Sims 79 + Saint George and the Dragon 79 + +[Illustration] + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE QUALITY OF THE WORKS OF EDWARD DOYLE + + +The quality of Edward Doyle's work was appraised by Ella Wheeler Wilcox +in the following article by Mrs. Wilcox which appeared in the New York +Evening Journal and the San Francisco _Examiner_, in 1905: + + +Shut your eyes and bind them with a black cloth and try for one hour to +see how cheerful you can be. Then imagine yourself deprived for life of +the light of day. + +Perhaps this experiment will make you less rebellious with your present +lot. + +Then take the little book called "The Haunted Temple and Other Poems," +by Edward Doyle, the blind poet of Harlem, and read and wonder and feel +ashamed of any mood of distrust of God and discontent with life you have +ever indulged. + +Mr. Doyle has been blind for the last thirty-seven years; he has lived +a half century. + +Therefore he still remembers the privilege of seeing God's world when +a lad, and this must augment rather than ameliorate his sorrow. + +He who has never known the use of eyes cannot fully understand the +immensity of the loss of sight. + +I hear people in possession of all their senses, and with many +blessings, bewail the fact that they were ever born. + +They have missed some aim, failed of some cherished ambition, lost some +special joy or been defeated in some purpose. + + +A GREAT SOUL + +And so they sit in spiritual darkness and curse life and doubt God. But +here is a great soul who has found his divine self in the darkness and +who sends out this wonderful song of joy and gratitude. + +Read it, oh, ye weak repiners, and read it again and again. It is +beautiful in thought, perfect in expression and glorious with truth. + + +CHIME, DARK BELL + + + My life is in deep darkness; still, I cry, + With joy to my Creator, "It is well!" + Were worlds my words, what firmaments would tell + My transport at the consciousness that I + Who was not, Am! To be--oh, that is why + The awful convex dark in which I dwell + Is tongued with joy, and chimes a temple bell. + Antiphonally to the choirs on high! + Chime cheerily, dark bell! for were no more + Than consciousness my gift, this were to know + The Giver Good--which sums up all the lore + Eternity can possibly bestow. + Chime! for thy metal is the molten ore + Of the great stars, and marks no wreck below. + + +I know a gifted and brilliant man in New York who is full of charm and +wit in conversation, but the moment he touches a pen he becomes, as a +rule, a melancholy pessimist, crying out at the injustice of the world +and the uselessness of high endeavor in the field of art. + +When urged to take a different mental attitude for the sake of the +reading world, which needs strong tonics of hope and courage, rather +than the slow poison of pessimism, however subtly sweet the brew, my +friend responds that "The song and dance of literature is not my special +gift." And he is obliged to "speak of the world as I find it." + +He is an able-bodied man, in the prime of life, with splendid years +waiting on his threshold to lead him to any height he may wish to climb. +But to his mental vision, nothing is really "worth while." + +What a rebuke this wonderful poem of Edward Doyle's should be to all +such men and women. What an inspiration it should be to every mortal who +reads it, to look within, and find the =Kingdom of God= as this blind +poet has found it. + +Mr. Doyle was in St. Francis Xavier's College when his great affliction +fell upon him. He started a local paper, The Advocate, in Harlem +twenty-three years ago and has in the darkness of his physical vision +developed his poetical talent and given the world some great lines. + + +AN INSPIRATION + +Here is a poem which throbs with the keen anguish which must have been +his guest through many silent hours of these thirty-seven years: + + +TO A CHILD READING + + + My darling, spell the words out. You may creep + Across the syllables on hands and knees, + And stumble often, yet pass me with ease + And reach the spring upon the summit steep. + Oh, I could lay me down, dear child, and weep + These charr'd orbs out, but that you then might cease + Your upward effort, and with inquiries + Stoop down and probe my heart too deep, too deep! + I thirst for Knowledge. Oh, for an endless drink + Your goblet leaks the whole way from the spring-- + No matter, to its rim a few drops cling, + And these refresh me with the joy to think + That you, my darling, have the morning's wing + To cross the mountain at whose base I sink. + + +But Edward Doyle has not sunk "at the mountain's base." He is far up its +summit, and he will go higher. He has found God, and nothing can hinder +his flight. He is an inspiration to all struggling, toiling souls on +earth. + +As I read his book, with its strong clarion cry of faith and joy and +courage, and ponder over the carefully finished thoughts and beautifully +polished lines, I feel ashamed of my own small achievements, and am +inspired to new efforts. + +Glory and success to you, Edward Doyle. + + ELLA WHEELER WILCOX. + +[Illustration] + + + + +TRUE NATIONALISM + +(_From the "Maccabaein", June, 1920._) + + +THE JEWS IN RUSSIA + + + From town and village to a wood, stript bare, + As they of their possessions, see them throng. + Above them grows a cloud; it moves along, + As flee they from the circling wolf pack's glare. + Is it their Brocken-Shadow of despair, + The looming of their life of cruel wrong + For countless ages? No; their faith is strong + In their Jehovah; that huge cloud is prayer. + + A flash of light, and black the despot lies. + What thunder round the world! 'Tis transport's strain + Proclaiming loud: "No righteous prayer is vain + No God-imploring tears are lost; they rise + Into a cloud, and in the sky remain + Till they draw lightening from Jehovah's eyes." + + +The author of this superb little gem, like Homer, is blind; but, like +Homer, his mental vision is clear, and broad, and deep. President +Schurman, of Cornell University, commenting on Doyle once said: "It +is as true today as of yore that the genuine poet, even though blind, +is the Seer and Prophet of his generation." The poem here printed +illustrates the point. Did we not know that it was published some +fifteen years ago in a volume entitled "The Haunted Temple," we should +assume that it was written on the occasion of the fall of the Czar. In +fact, however, it merely foretells this event by some dozen years. And +how terribly applicable are the lines to the facts of today! The +prophecy is one capable of repeated fulfillment. + +But it is as a prophet of nationalism that this man compels our +particular attention. The prophecy is embodied in a play entitled "The +Comet, a Play of Our Times," brought out as far back as 1908. The play +is a microcosm of American life. The chief character is a college +president, and he it is that is chosen to expound the true nature of +nationalism and to give voice and utterance to the principle of +self-determination. (Is it merely a coincidence that at that time +Woodrow Wilson was President of Princeton, or is it a case of poetic +vision. Wilson, be it remembered, was already a national figure, and +there were already glimmerings that he was destined to usher in a new +era in politics.) According to the protagonist, America is not "a +boiling cauldron in which the elements seethe, but never settle," but +rather a college where every class is taught to translate-- + + "Into the common speech of daily life + The country's loftiest ideals--" + + +and any body of citizens form a part of our republic only in so far-- + + "As they contribute to its character + As leader of the nations unto Right + By thought or deed, in service for mankind." + + +We must lead the peoples of the world to freedom. And what is freedom? + + "'Tis intelligence + Aloof from harm and hamper, grandly circling + Its native sun-lit peaks, the highest hopes + Heaved from the heart of man upon the earth, + In ranges long as time and soul endure." + + +What, then, is America's duty to the oppressed race or the small nation? +It is to "wake and disabuse it of false hope"-- + + "and urge it on + To the development of its own powers, + The culmination of its own ideals, + The star seed sown by God,--the only means + By which a tribe can thrive to its perfection." + + +To make this possible, civilization must be given a more human content. +It is therefore necessary to awake human intelligence, "the godlike +genius," to a realization of the fact-- + + "--that, on having brought + This world from out the chaos dark + Of waters and of woody wilderness, + And shaped it into hills of hope for man, + Must providence its beautiful creation + With altruistic love and tenderness; + So that all tribes of man, what'er their hue, + Have each a hill where it can touch the star + That it has followed with its mental growth." + + +Such a program is rendered imperative by the inexorability of the law +of race, which nullifies any attempts to force assimilation: + + "It is a foolish, futile thing + To try to shape society by codes, + Vetoed by Nature. Nature trumpets forth + No edict, through the instinct of a race, + Proclaiming certain territory hers + And warning all encroaching powers therefrom, + Without the ordering out of her reserves + To see to it the edict is enforced. + Let politics keep off forbidden shores." + + +If any powers preserve in a policy of oppression, our duty is plain: + + "To teach the barbarous tribes throughout the globe, + Christian or Turk, that all humanity + Is territory sheltered by our flag; + That butchery must cease throughout the world; + That, having ended human slavery, + Old glory has a mission from on high + To stop the slaughter of the smiling babe, + The pale, crazed mother, weak, defenseless sire, + All places on the habitable globe." + + +Finally to render feasible the ideal development of all peoples, and +put an end to war, America must bring about a league of all nations. +It develops on us-- + + "To get the races by degrees together + To talk their grievance over, in a voice + As gentle as a woman's.... + There is no education in the world + Like human contact for mankind's advance; + All differences, then, adjust themselves; + But when two races are estranged by hate, + They grow so deaf to one another's rights, + That it soon comes to pass that either has + To use the trumpet of artillery + In order to be heard at all." + + +Recently, Doyle wrote the following lines. Their application is obvious: + + "Vault Godward, Poet. What though few may climb + The mountain and the star on trail of thee? + Thy wing-flash beams toward man, and if it be + True inspiration--whether thought sublime, + Or fervor for the truth, or liberty-- + Thy light will reach the earth in goodly time." + + +What wonder that from so lofty an outlook his searching eye should +pierce the tragedy of "The Jews in Russia"--or elsewhere--should pierce +even the revenges that Time would ring in, and rest on a vision of +righteous peace! + + DAVID KLEIN, Ph.D. + +_AUTHOR OF LITERARY CRITICISM, from the Elizabethian Dramatist._ + + + + +GENEVRA + +(_From the "Independent," May 30, 1912._) + + +The scene of Mr. Edward Doyle's new play is the Florence of 1400; +the atmosphere that of a plague stricken city in a time when man was +helpless, authorities hopeless, social life in shreds and patches. The +plot of the play founded on this state of affairs is rich in incident, +varied and sufficiently complex in color, passion and character to +furnish material for an exciting spectacular representation. The +tragic element is strong, but supported and shaded by the company of +roysterers, a jester, whose foolery is a compound of bluff of that +period and bluff of modern politics and athletics. The jester, the black +company and the penitents, together with the roysterers, form now the +foreground, now the background, of action, which in itself is never +without the dolorous sound of the death bell. The doomed city is under +a spell comparable to that set forth so vividly in Manzoni's "I Promessi +Sposi." Says the villain of the plot as he listens from his seat at the +festive board: + + "It bodes ill for the black Cowled company + To make a visit to a festive house. + 'Tis like death looking in and whispering 'Next.' + Fool, call the servants. Bid them fetch the wine-- + A cask of it--the best varnaccio! + Here come my friends to help me drown the Plague." + + +Pictures like this as sharply defined are frequent and throw in shadowed +blackening on shadow. The author defends the use of a meteorological +phenomenon translated in the spirit of the time as supernatural by +quoting Dante as recognizing it, but the authority of Dante was not +necessary to justify the dramatist in introducing the "Crimson Cross." +It was a part of the pyrotechnics of the church propaganda. Though the +advance of scientific discovery has laid a heavy hand on thaumaturgy +of the sort, it would no doubt, have its use when properly handled +on a modern stage. The action of the drama is rapid and natural, the +characters well drawn and individualized, the dialogue spicy, forceful +and varied. + +Price $1.00. + +[Illustration] + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +DEDICATION + +TO THE DAUGHTERS OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION + + +I + + What lineage so noble as from Sires, + Laureled by Freedom? For, who, but the brave + Have glory to transmit? The Hero's grave + Blooms ever. It is there the spring retires + To dream to flowers, her heart and soul desires, + When winter's whitening wind, like wash of wave, + Sweeps mauseleums of the skulk and knave + From mounts of glare off to Oblivion's mires. + + The bloom, for which mere wealth lacks length of arm, + And fainting Time takes for reviving scent, + Fame, with bright eyes from heart and soul content, + Forms wreaths for Valor's Daughters--crowns that charm + Not with death-smells from Human welfare rent + But breath of Country's rescue from dire harm. + + +II + + Those crowns, not cold from death sweat on the brow, + At sight of apparitions with fixed stare, + But warm with summer, conjuring beauties rare-- + Wilt not. They are dewed daily by your vow, + Daughters of sires who, to no thrall, would bow! + Which, at the alter with raised hands, ye swear, + Cheering the blessed spirits, gathered there, + That, like their Mothers, are their daughters now. + + True women--and therefore, craft foilers clever-- + With sons for your hearts utterance, ye sue + Not, but like Barry to the British crew, + Ye cry out: "What! we strike our colors? Never! + Fie, shot! fie, Gold! these colors, since they drew + Their first star-breath, are God's, and God's forever." + + + Ye know the Leopard changes not his spots. + The Prince of Peace, who spake eternal truth, + Confirmed this fact of Nature. He, with ruth + Omniscient, saw afar, the scarlet clots + Of English nature, in profidious plots + For conquest, mangling not alone brave youth + With teeth set, but old age without a tooth, + And Mothers, clutching up their bleeding tots. + + Oh, yea, this beast makes his own desert, still; + And Ireland, India and Egypt show + His spots so spread, he is one ghastly glow; + Aye, as your sires saw him from Bunker Hill. + Oh, vain, gold rubs the skin and press shouts, "Lo! + It has not now one spot of threatening ill." + + +IV + + O Daughters of the brave, well ye abjure + The fiend and all his works. Ye know his smiles + Are fire-fly flare at gloaming, lighting miles + Of snake-boughed forests down to swamps, impure + From mind and soul decay; hence are heart-sure + That creed and racial hatreds are his wiles, + For God is Love, and Love draws, reconsiles, + And is the strength that makes our land endure. + + O Mothers, as you lift your babes and gaze + Into their eyes, your love runs through their vains + In crimson flushes--oh, your love that pains + At any of God's creatures hurt! that stays; + The heavens may pass away, but that remains, + Being of Christ, who walks earth Mother-ways. + + +V + + Oh, like your sires, you, too, know Freedom's worth + To Human Spirit. For its liberation, + A God unrealmed himself by tribulation, + And was an out-cast on a scornful earth. + Christ is no myth and, since with Human birth + He forms new Heavens for blissful habitation-- + There unto is the Freedom of the Nation; + All other trend is down to dark and dearth. + + When from the darkness rainbowed birth comes pouring, + Your virtue heeds the voice, Eternity-- + Re-echos: "Let them come." 'Tis Nature's plea + For broadening progress; Nay, 'tis God imploring + The Human to take strength for Liberty, + Truth, Honor, to catch up to the stars, a-soaring. + + +VI + + O Daughters of brave sires, what is true glory? + No marsh-ward falling star, however bright. + 'Tis inspirational; its upward flight + Lifts generations--such your Father's story, + And also yours, for is not that, too, gory? + You pour out your hearts blood in sons to fight + For honor, and cease not till every right + Has been set down in Triumph's inventory. + + Oh, into daughters, too, old noble Mothers! + You pour out your hearts blood that, in your place, + They may fill up the ranks and, as in case + Of Molly Pitcher, man guns for their brothers, + And hearten firm, the trembling human race + To know, though brave men fall, there still comes others. + + +VII + + If Christ's foreshadowing in Juda's haze + Was of his grief, 'tis of His triumph, here, + For, is not His celestrial glory clear + In Freedom for all men? First, gaseous rays + In Maryland, then rounded firm full blaze + In the Republic, it draws every sphere + Of Human welfare, whether far or near, + From depths occult to nights with dawns and days. + + The Freedom of the Generation's longing + Reflects Lord Christ in glory, hour by hour, + With more distinctness, as you, with His power, + Free heart and brain from every brother-wronging, + And give your offspring, these, as flesh and dower, + To live and lead the millions, hither thronging. + + +VIII + + Oh, ever Mothers--shaping robust youth + No less than infant, and as perfectly! + There's life blood to their veins from when on knee + To when thy battle, from your broadening ruth + For Human kind and fervent love of truth. + If, like their fathers, they have come to be + The wonder of the world, for liberty, + Your virtue, 'tis, that in their valor greweth. + + Oh, as the Roman Mother, when she showed + For jewels, her two sons, saw each of them + In Time's Tiara, glittering there a gem; + So, see your offspring shine. The light, bestowed + Your Fathers, in your sons is diamond flame, + Encircling Freedom's ocean-walled abode. + + +IX + + Is it Apocalyptic Vision, when + White-winged Columbus swoops from Spain's palmed shore + And, from dark depths, lifts at San Salvador, + A continent, adrip with streams which, then, + Become the fountain of the Psalmist's ken, + Where Right the heart, from hoof to horn foam-hoar + From craggy speed, slakes thirst, and, evermore, + Comes Hope's whole clattering herd?--you chant, "Amen." + + Aye, for your sires made earth this new creation + Where, from San Salvadore and Plymouth Reef + To Westward Mission Trails, ascends belief + In God and, therefore, in the Soul's Salvation + Through Freedom, in white, spiral spray which grief + Sees, spite earth-mists, or solar obscuration. + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +SONNETS + +FREEDOM, TRUTH AND BEAUTY + + + + +THE PROEM + + + Soar thou aloft, though thou ascend alone, + O Human Spirit! Thou canst not be lost. + What though yon stars, the azure's nightly frost + Melt dark, or mount round thee an arctic zone! + Thou hast sun-warmth and star-source of thine own. + If thou mount not, how bitter is the cost! + What anguish, when whirled down, or tempest tossed, + To know how high toward God thou mightst have flown! + + Vault Godward, Poet. What though few may climb + The mountain and the star on trail of thee? + Thy wing-flash beams toward Man, and, if it be + True inspiration--whether thought sublime, + Or fervor for the Truth, or Liberty-- + Thy light will reach the earth in goodly time. + + + + +THE ATLANTIC + + + Forming the great Atlantic, see God take + The mist from woe's white mountain, spring and stream, + The breath of man in frost, the spiral lean + From roof-cracked caves where, though the heart may break, + The soul will not lie torpid, like the snake,-- + And battle smoke. On them He breathes with dream + And, Lo! an Angel with a sword agleam + 'Twix the Old World and New for Justice's sake. + + What sea so broad, as that from Human weeping? + Or Sun so flaming, as the Angel's sword + Of Human and Devine Wills in accord? + There, with sword-flash of myriad waves, joy-leaping, + Shall loom forever, Freedom's watch and ward, + With the New World in his Seraphic keeping. + + + + +HUMAN FREEDOM + + + This is thy glory, Man, that thou art free. + 'Tis in thy freedom, thy resemblance lies + To thy Creator. Nature, which, tide-wise, + Is flood and ebb, bounds not sky flight for thee. + Lo! as the sun arises from the sea, + Startling all beauty God-ward, thou dost rise + With mind to God in heaven, from finite ties, + And there, in freedom, thou art great as He. + + Meeting thy God with mind, 'tis thine to choose, + Wheather to follow him with love and soar, + Or dream Him myth and, rather than adore, + Plunge headlong into Nature's whirl and ooze. + Thine is full freedom. Ah! could God do more + To liken thee to Him, and love, infuse? + + + + +THE STARS + + + God loves the stars; else why star-shape the dew + For the unbreathing, shy, heart-hiding rose? + And when earth darkens, and the North wind blows, + Why into stars, flake every cloud's black brew? + What fitter forms for longings high and true, + Man's hopes, ideals, than bright orbs like those + Asbine from Nature's dawn to Nature's close, + In clusters, prisming every dazzling hue? + + Nor is the Sun with harvests in its heat, + And that, sky-hidden, makes the moon at night, + An earth-ward cascade for its leaps of light, + More real, or a world force more complete, + Than Faith and Hope, that brake through clouds with sight + Of evil's foil and ultimate defeat. + + + + +THE GENESIS OF FREEDOM + + +I + + O Freedom! Born amid resplendent spheres, + And, with God-like creative power, endowed, + Hast thou, to human life's blue depths, not vowed + A splendor, not alone like that which 'pears + At present, where the upper asure clears, + But that the Nebulae will yet unshroud? + I hear thy far off cry where thou art lone, + A John the Baptist: "Lo! one greater nears." + + What is this Greater--this which is to meet + The planets and ascend high, high and higher? + The right of human spirit to aspire + And mount, unhampered--and by act, complete + Creations harmony, as by desire, + Proclaimed by brain with throb, by heart with beat. + + +II + + In thy descent through azures, all aglow + With circling spheres, the beauty of each blaze, + And grandeur, then, of all, entrance thy gaze. + Thou thinkest, why not thus all life below? + Perceiving, then that all the breezes blow + Upward and onward, in the skyey maze, + Thou wouldst go back and start with them, to raise + A new creation from chaotic throe. + + Thou seest plainly that without that breeze, + The breath of God, all that thou couldst create, + Were lifeless, save to turn on thee with hate, + And chase an age with grim atrocities; + But with that breath, thou couldst raise life to mate + The Planet's splendor, in the azures Peace. + + +III + + O Freedom! as thy sister spirit, Spring, + Pausing above the earth, sees every hue + Of her prismatic crown, reflected true + In forests and in fields, and fledgling's wing, + So thou dost see thy spirit glorying + With faith, that man is more than Nature's spew-- + In human spirit that, from beauty drew + First breath to know that soul is more than thing. + + O Freedom! fain we follow thee in flight + From chaos to God's glory round and round, + Aloft! how like an elk pursued by hound, + To brinks thou springest toward the distant height + And, on bent knees, then speedest without sound, + Like Faith through Death, till, lo! thou dost alight. + + + + +THE PILGRIM FATHERS + + + "Ye Wreaches, who would lay proud England's head + Upon the block, and raise her features, then, + Bloodless and ghastly, for the scorn of men! + Begone forever. Go where terrors spread + Their sea and forest mouths to crush you dead. + Oh, how the clouds shall crimson from each glen, + A roar with blaze, and flame search out each fen, + If back to us, yea e'er are vomited." + + To this Parental blessing and God-speed, + The Pilgrim Fathers gladly made reply: + "These waves are Conscience's wings along the sky; + They carry us to God, whose call we heed. + The further from thy coast of hate and lie, + The nearer God. On! On!--that is our creed." + + + + +PLYMOUTH ROCK + + + O Sun and Stars! bear ye Earth's thanks to God; + For Oh! what waters, slaking every thirst + Of heart, mind, spirit, in long cascades burst + From Plymouth Rock, when struck by Freedom's rod! + No wanderer in the burning sand, unshod, + Plods man with lolling tongue, dog-like, as erst; + For lo! this fountain, deepening from the first, + Floods Earth's old wells and greens Life's sand to sod. + + Oh, more those waters than the Font of Youth, + For which, through field and swamp, the Spaniard ran! + For they are clear with God's eternal truth + Of fatherhood, hence brotherhood of man, + And are no dream. They quench all human drouth + And cleanse man's desert dust of sect and clan. + + + + +THE CATHOLICS IN MARYLAND + + + Of Expeditions in the Arctic Past, + All honor to the one that reached the pole + And formed a settlement where every soul + Enjoyed full freedom. There above the blast, + How musical the bell, by Justice cast! + It welcomed all to come. It ceased to toll + After a while, but why? Those, welcomed, stole + And dragged it where the ice formed thick and fast. + + Of Arctic Expeditions there is none + So profitable to the human race + As that toward Freedom's pole, and hence men face + All storms to reach it. If they fail, the sun + Has but one joy--to thaw out wrecks, and trace + Man's progress where alone it can be done. + + + + +A FOREST FOR THE KING'S HAWKS + + + Say, what is Ma-jest-y without externals? + Is Burke's analysis not right--"A Jest"? + Ah, but a jest, at which the poor, oft pressed + To their last heart-drop, laugh not, like court journals. + The King needs coin, and, where he sowed no kernels, + Wants the whole forest for his hawks to nest + And breed in, and became an annual pest; + In this the farmers show that they discern ills. + + Hark! blares the tyrant's horn and, in a thrice, + The Tories gather. Eagerly they band, + For is the King not greater than the land? + And rows with royalty, a rabble's vice? + Besides, what creeping tribes at his command, + And Spies and Hessians at a ferret's price! + + + + +TO ARMS SHOUTS FREEDOM + + + To Arms! shouts Freedom to her sons. Behold! + How, like Job's war-horse, they gulp down the ground + To battle! What care they how foes surround? + Oh, joy to Celts, nigh half the true and bold! + There, with the roar of all their wrongs uprolled + From ancient depths, they dash with billow-bound + Up rock and summit, and through cave and mound, + Spurning both Tyrants' steel and Treason's gold. + + No tide are they to ebb in heart and spirit. + If dashed back, they return with all the force + Of six dark sea's momentum on its course + For vengeance on the vile, who disinherit + The human-being--shut off every source + Of happiness, or let but Serf's draw near it! + + + + +BRITISH SOLDIERY + + + The wounded Sidney, who despite his thirst, + Gave water to his comrade, shines, a lamp + In the Cimerian dark of Britain's camp. + Even the Raleigh, who so finely versed, + Preferred to such a light, the flame accursed + Of sword and torch, to please a royal vamp. + Is British triumph in its world-wide tramp + The Hell, still "lower than lowest"--Milton's worst? + + Lord Christ! is British soldiery the swine, + In whose gross forms the fiends, exercised, flew? + Oh! watch them through the ages, they pursue + The noble and devour all things Divine. + Look! they illustrate horrors, which prove true + The Hell, which Milton's glimpse could not outline. + + + + +AMPHIBIOUS BARRY + + + Look! Freedom glares and pallid as a ghost, + Except for gashes on her brow and breast, + And faint from hunger, sits awhile to rest. + Amphibious Barry, bold on sea or coast, + Mounts and spurs darkness to the Tory Host, + And, like an Indian rider with head prest + Down to his steed's hot neck in prowess test, + Plucks from the ground, a prize he well may boast. + + Oh, as the sun's smile passing through the rain, + Shines forth a double arch, so, Barry's deed, + Refleshing Freedom's bones made gaunt by need, + Shines through the Ages; aye, and shines forth twain-- + Both for America, from Britain Freed, + And Erin, still choked black in Britain's chain! + + + + +FREEDOM'S TRIUMPH + + + With France and Erin heartening Washington, + Prone Freedom rose, with head above the cloud. + Beholding her transfigured, Thrall is cowed. + His minions are bewildered. How they run! + Some follow him against the rising sun; + Others plod north. The Torries' vaster crowd + Hide in dark places, and like Satan, proud, + They hate the glory, that the true have won. + + O Milton! Thou beheldest them. Thine ear + Caught their defiance and thy lightening pen, + In shattering the dark in evil's den, + Caught hope amphibious from leer to leer + Of those grim shadows, plotting to regain + Lost Paradise, or bane its atmosphere. + + + + +WASHINGTON'S ARMY AND BARRY'S NAVY + + + Who loosed our land from Britain's numbing hold? + "They who had naught to loose," the Tories say; + That is--not menials in the King's sure pay, + Nor mongrels, chained to guard their master's gold. + They were True Men. Their spirit, young and bold, + With dreams played follow-master, climbing day + From deepest night, to catch the Sun and stay + His glory for the World, then whiteing cold. + + Though darkness be far vaster than the lamp, + It is the beams that lead to progress, count. + "To manhood, with the virtues to surmount + Such darknesses as Valley Forge's camp, + And seas, deep hell's sky-reaching, broadening fount, + Honor!" The ages shout on Triumph's tramp. + + + + +THE SUNKEN CONTINENT + + + When hurled from heaven, 'tis thought, the fiends of pride + Caught Earth to brake their fall. The regions gave + And sank with all the hosts beneath the wave! + 'Tis in those sunken regions which divide + The new world of the resolute and brave, + From the old world of king and abject slave, + Where Torries, counterfeiting Satan, hide. + + Clinging, like lava, to a lifeless limb, + They think the phosphorescence of the bark + Is morning, which the long-belated lark + Is hastening to welcome with his hymn; + Else, they form poisons and breathe from the dark, + Miasma mist to make the sun-rise dim. + + + + +ELISHA BROWN + + + Old Guard of Boston! Halt; Right Face; Attention! + Order One: quell the weeds in rankest riot + Where lies Elisha Brown, in conscience, quiet. + This Brown was John's precursor. Ye, on pension + For ancient glory, now do duty. Mention + Elisha's name for countersign--and why, it? + Because with him, wrong, seen, was to defy it, + And act, else, was beyond his comprehension. + + Against his home's invasion this man held + A red-coat regiment for seventeen days, + Which was a spark to help start freedom's blaze + And, therefore, Order Two: the weeds all quelled, + Stand sentries till a statue takes your place + And throngs shout, "Bravo, Brown!" as 'tis unveiled! + + + + +EVACUATION DAY + + + What is it that today we celebrate + With school recital, banquet and parade + Of our achievements, pageanting each trade? + The ousting of the English--train and trait-- + And posting, then, sharp-eyed, eternal hate + To watch with Josuah's son above his head, + That night come not to help them re-invade, + However wide, we swing our ocean gate. + + If not un-Englishing America in mind + And heart forever, vain the shrieks + Of Freedom, eagling back to dawn's first streaks. + Oh, yea, the sun stands, and the night afar + Holds Thrall, whose craft would swamp our noblest peaks + And leave but bubbling mud show where they are! + + + + +MANHATTA + + + Manhatta! Glory flings his arms round thee + And proudly holds thee in his high caress. + What charms him, Mother, is thy nobleness + Of spirit. How his features beam to see + Thy scorn dash in the bay the tyrant's tea, + And hear thee call to Boston: "Do no less; + Else on sunlight, heart, soul--all we possess-- + Will tyrant's next exact their deadly fee." + + In thee I glory. Can the world else boast + A harbor, like thy heart, for every sail + In flight from sea-toss, white with horror's gale, + Or icebergs from despondence Polar coast? + Oh, fleets whose throngs, glad Freedom well may hail; + For, landing, they became her staunchest host. + + + + +THE BURNING OF WASHINGTON CITY BY THE BRITISH + + + With what wild glee, the British set on fire + Yon Capital, beholding in its flames, + America, robed in her deeds and fames, + In death throes at the stake of England's ire? + Though that was long ago and, then no pyre, + The stake still stands; 'tis Anglo-Saxon claims, + And Arnolds, bearing infamy's last names, + Tilt schools to raise the stake flames high and higher. + + Oh, sight to strike the coming ages dead, + My country, were a cloud, thy mocking crown, + And schools, ignited by Truth's lamps hurled down, + To feed that cloud, like craters, inly red! + What! mock with cloud, Thy land and sea renown + And Washington, God's Holy Spirit--known + By the unerring World Light, that it shed? + + + + +THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT + + + Behold Ye Here the Happy Hunting Grounds, + Where the Great Spirit, called Democracy, + Sets every heart and soul forever free, + An Equity, not royal grant, sets bounds. + No Phaeton attempting Phoebus rounds + And burning up earth's grass and forestry, + Is lust for power; 'tis love for liberty, + With bloom and birds for wheel-sparks, here resounds. + + It is the land of Spirit. "Ye who enter, + Abandon first all fratricidal hate," + Proclaims the edict, blazoned o'er each gate. + There see all tribes chase truth to joy--the center + Convexing broad and broader, as more great + Their numbers from where prejudice is mentor. + + + + +THE BLIGHT TO SPRING + + + Hark, 'tis the sea! How leonine its roar! + But, oh, how more the lion on a height, + As there he glares and listens for the night, + Having devoured day's clouds from shore to shore! + Now grows his mane of billows, high and hoar. + What scents he? Potencies escaping sight, + Till, like the cold, they icily alight + Upon a land where all was spring before. + + The sun darts under earth and east again, + What sees he? First the lion at earth's brink + With head down to the stream of stars to drink; + And then, arising to his zenith ken, + Sees that which makes his high, warm spirit sink-- + The blight to spring, blown here from England's fen. + + + + +THE SCORN OF HUMAN RIGHTS + + + What is the blight to spring that kills the seed + And raises spectres, so that stars cry "See!" + Aghast at forests, white or shadowy? + The scorn of human rights, that can but lead + The world from doom to doom! and for what mead? + A bronze for rain and rust, or effigy + For nibbling minutes--ah, not hours!--these flee + To life's progression--truth and kindly deed. + + Look! How this scorn holds freemen in the dark, + Except for a flare at will that, then, the throng, + Reduced to dust, may rise and whirl along + The lift and drop of glitter, without spark + To set the spring a-crackling with bird song, + Till bud and angel both come out to hark! + + + + +NOT THIS OUR COUNTRY'S GLORY + + + O Country of the Sun's warm plenteous hand + To every germ of virtue, how below + Thy progress, mope Gold Mongers to and fro, + Who think they're vaulting from sunlight so grand, + It forms thy chiefest glory. Closely scanned, + They are gross worms, each with the thought to grow + "The Conqueror," as staged by Edgar Poe + For darking planets and a world, Last Manned. + + Those worms that, moving, think they move the earth, + Or, under Growth's equestrian statue, think + They hold the horse and hero from the brink, + Are pitifully not a glance's worth, + As of thy glory; they but foul the chink, + If not of thee in warming Good to birth. + + + + +AMERICA'S GLORY NO FUGITIVE + + +I + + How weird a whisper! 'tis from Wallabout. + 'Tis glory hoarse with calling: "Raise those hulks + Where writhe my faithful." See! the tory skulks + Behind the sun who, stooping to fill out + Their throats with his god-breath, to swell the shout + Of a free people, finds the brave in bulks, + Strewn and held fast where Darkness, beaten, sulks + That thrall has been forever put to rout. + + Those mangled thousands are not dead; they live, + Refashioned men by freedom. Is the tory + Behind the sun, to mock me, who am Glory, + Being the lifted life those martyrs give? + He creeps beneath the sun and, ghastly gory, + Crys out: "Thou yet shall be the fugitive". + + +II + + Oh, weirder grows the whisper into word, + As sharp as lightening, and as broad of reach, + As seas, flung down by God to every beach + Where thirsts a sparrow, or a bleating herd! + There is no soul through out the land, not stirred; + For, oh, to glory God gives his own speech + When darkness, raised by Gold, declares that each, + Hulk-held, is good but for the wolf and bird. + + Is Gold grown conscious, now the Country's King + That, at his beck, the blood for Freedom spilt + Shall be accursed, and I, then, for the guilt + Of dropping not with thud, as he with ring + At Darkness' feet, be shut in mud and silt + Forever and with stars, cease, beaconing? + + +III + + Oh, as the earth in discord and in dark, + When struck by Love on high with will for mace, + Keeps rattling till each mote finds its true place, + And mountain, fledged with groves, vies with the lark + To reach the sunrise; so the madness stark + Of gold, dethroning blood as God's best grace, + When struck by Glory's voice drops Nadir-base, + And blood for Freedom spilt, forms heaven's blue arc. + + The shouts of millions shake Oblivion's mire + And raise Thrall's Hulks. Look! Justice's stooping sun, + Seeing in agony's each, a Washington, + Breaths life in them, and, over Brooklyn's spire + And New York's Babel Tower, they, one by one, + Hold Liberty's broading Torch of quenchless fire. + + + + +HATE THOU NOT ANY MAN + + + Hate thou not any man, for at the worst, + He still is brother. Will a glance not find + Whole peoples alchemied from heart and mind + To steal projectiles by a craft, accursed + By Human Nature? Aye, for, as they burst + At dusk, or midnight, slamming Heaven behind + And crashing Hell wide open, 'tis mankind + Is shattered and quick-gulping grave slake thirst. + + Hate thou no man, but scorn all crafts, that smelt + The heart and mind for huge projectiles, shattered + When bursting grandly that some pride be flattered. + Nature beholds not Saxon, Slav, nor Celt; + She only sees the Human fragments scattered, + And, covering them, her eyes to rivers melt. + + + + +THE CELTIC SOUL CRY + + +I + + O Freedom! Have I ever been untrue? + When, to thy moan of hunger anywhere, + Have I been deaf? Was I not quick to share + My little, nay, give all! for oh! I knew + Thy beauty, and my love such passion grew + At thy distresses,--What would I not dare! + So, though the bellow, like a grizzly bear, + Reared up before me, on to thee I flew. + + O Freedom! Is thy beauty without heart, + Or sense of justice? Unto whom art thou + Indebted for thine arm, encircling now + The world, sun-like, more than to me? My part + I glory in, for I have kept my vow. + I hold thee now to thine, if true thou art. + + +II + + Speak Freedom! When a haggard fugitive, + Thy dwelling was a swamp, who first to trace + Thy crimson footprints to thy hiding place? + With signs thou hadst not many days to live, + I found thee. Had the sun more heart to give + To warm thee, than I gave? Ah, then and there + Thy heart said to my heart; "Ill would I fare + Without thee. I give love for love, believe". + + Thy silence, when in glory, troubles me. + Oh! warm blood dashed back cold, chills to the bone! + What do I ask for? Only Erin's own, + That which God gave her, and, if true it be, + Thou art the minister of justice grown, + Thy gratitude should thunder God's decree. + + +III + + What! Why bemoan one island in the sea, + When I can range like mountains, or, the sun, + Above all clouds, and, rosy from my run + To God, like morn, chant praise, since flesh of thee? + Oh, yea, my pride and transport, verily, + Is, thou and I eternally are one; + And this god-passion which no power can stun, + I owe to her, who gave her soul to me. + + Oh, when I see her golden hair, adrift + On sorrow's sea, like weeds rent from their reef, + And know she breathes with her sublime belief, + It crazes me that thou, when thou mightst lift + Her saintly features, and dry them of grief, + Wads't not, but waitest for the tide to shift. + + +IV + + America! 'Tis not thy mines of gold, + Nor streams from mounts to meadows, like God's hand + From out the heavens, a-flash across the land + In long, deep sweeps to quicken winter's mould + To reaps of ripeness,--that mine eyes behold, + Invoking thee; for these are mere shore-sand + To the broad ocean of thy spirit grand, + Forming for man a new world for the old. + + 'Tis Liberty, to whose most blessed birth + The stars all lead, rejoicing, which souls thee + With God's compassion for humanity,-- + That I invoke; and, now, when all the earth + Bears palms and chants hosannas--what! shall she, + The most devout, be shut from Freedom's mirth? + + + + +BRITISH GLORY IN KIPLING'S "BOOTS" + + + All English glory is in "Kipling's Boots." + O English People! read that poem true, + And answer,--are those maddening men not you? + Oh, not yea few, who gather all the loots, + But yea vast legions, lured to be recruits + To march, march, march and march with naught in view + But boots, boots, boots with blood and mud soaked through,-- + And, after ages, with out rest, or fruits! + + "Boots, boots, boots, and no discharge from war,"-- + That is the Empire's anthem. Brass it out, + Ye Orchestras! But oh, leave not in doubt + Its import, Kipling,--that 'tis maelstrom roar-- + 'Tis England's streams of home-life, world about + And down a gulf, for Greed and Pride on shore! + + + + +TO THE ENGLISH PEOPLE + + + If deaf to Shelley's loudest sky-lark strain, + His rage at tyrants, and to Byron's thong, + Nerve-proof, how wake the English to the wrong + Done their true selves, no less than to the slain, + When willing weapons for Ambition's gain? + Aye, weapons only; for, to whom belong + The minds of England, and treed fields of song-- + Nay, all but grave-ground, grudged by hill and plain? + + O English People, whom the crafty class + Has huddled into graves from sight and sound + Of what God hands you, and, with pence, or pound, + Lids down your wild dead stare,--wake! why so crass? + See in the Celts spring-burst from underground, + The Human Resurrection come to pass. + + + + +SHAKESPEARE + + + Oh, what are England's lines of lords and kings, + Shakespeare, to thine, a-throb with thought and feeling? + In thine, imagination shines, revealing + The soul's convictions, swift on dawn-ward wings + From beastly life and such Hell-smelling things, + As wealth and pomp from church and abbey stealing,-- + And hearts in hopes high Belfries, Heavenward pealing, + As Time, his Sun and Starry censor, swings. + + Would thou wert England's Nature, Bard Supreme, + To fashion kings and lordlings fit to rule; + They would be flesh and blood, not fiend and ghoul; + And would thou wert her Sun, that every beam + Might not, for tally, show a youth's blood-pool, + Choking blithe Spring, as, now, to earth's extreme. + + + + +ENGLAND'S RIGHTEOUSNESS + + + The righteousness of England! "Tis to kneel + Full weight on weaker nations, and entone + Hosannas louder than the victims groan; + Then, stooping, drink their blood with gulps of zeal." + What right have wounds, though wide, to throb, or feel? + 'Tis blasphemy to England's crimson throne. + Knee-deep in Erin's blood, she mocks Christ's moan: + Forgive them, Lord! they know not their true weal. + + "Whose is the fault? Tis not my arrogance, + But candor, Lord, that puts the blame on Thee. + What right hadst Thou to make these people free + And let all nature prompt them to advance?-- + Oh, no such blunder, Lord, hadst Thou called me, + Instead of Wisdom, to approve Thy plans!" + + + + +THE MASSACRE OF THE WELSH MINERS + + + The Bard's curse: "Ruin seize thee Ruthless King," + Took bat-like form for hollow echo-flight. + Though stoned and lanced at, when, at fall of night, + It darted forth with ghastly--spreading wing, + It found in fresh, wide, royal ravishing, + New hollows, dark with horror and sad plight, + To dash in and live on. Oh, to my sight, + How grows its grimness, while eternaling! + + Deep are the minds of Wales, but far more deep + The horror, gulfed out by McCreedy, firing + On men defenseless and, through want, expiring. + Oh, from that gulf the Bard's curse makes a sweep + Up to the Sun and, from its long desiring, + Grown eagle, shrieks to heaven from steep to step! + + + + +A DIRTY WORK + + + "A dirty work," said Dyer, rebuked for spilling + Hundreds of lives to irrigate new lands. + A dirty work, but not for British hands, + Dabbling in blood to earn each day their shilling. + Hark! Mohawk Valley and Wyoming, chilling + With thought of Tarleton's King-serving bands, + And Canada red-clayed, though high snow stands, + Cry: Work for which the British are too willing! + + Invaded lands need terror irrigation + To make them fruitful. Better flood the field, + Then let the native bloom become the yield; + And, so, this Dyer submerged a small whole nation + With crimson death, that England might, deep-keeled, + Have for display, new seas of desolation. + + + + +HUMAN NATURE + + + The ocean, holding pure the azure's blue, + Laughs at the tempests, with one empire's dust + After an other, to round out Earth's crust. + Ah, so does Human Nature hold the hue + It takes from heaven, its conscience, and laughs, too, + At madness, wrecking life and with its gust + Forming new islands, where Pride, Greed, or Lust, + Welcomes the crater's glare, in sun-light's lieu. + + Look in the sea and deep, what scattered rock, + The islands which at dusk, the tempest piled! + Ere rose a star, they sank with crews, beguiled. + O Tempests that with world formations, mock + The good Creator, how, as ye grow wild, + Earth quakes and no live thing survives the shock. + + + + +OUR COUNTRY--SOUL AND CHARACTER + + +I + + Our country is not rock and wood and stream, + But soul transfusing them. What is the soul? + The substance, born of God, above control + And, when one, with God's love, called "Will," supreme; + And Freedom is the soul in thought, and dream + That Nature's beauty and harmonious whole-- + God's foot-steps--followed, life attains its Goal; + And soul is purpose to achieve God's scheme. + + The soul, then,--our true country,--is the brave + Who fought and bled for Freedom, or will fight + To their last pulse, last breath, for Human Right.---- + Great soul! oh, how like bubbles in the wave, + Are the Sierras in cerulean flight, + To thy true grandeur, letting nought enslave! + + +II + + O thou art Character--art only those + Who formed the good and great by thought, or deed. + All others are not worth a moment's heed,-- + Mere prairie dogs, who raise gold hills in rows-- + When gazing at thy glory; for that grows + With Freedom from all foul untruths; with lead + In art for weal; with science for all woes; + With hate of thrall and help for all unfreed. + + No mere foot-shadow, on time's wall, art thou, + Without eye-sparkle, swing of arm, warm flow + From heart to vain, and cheeks with health of glow. + Oh, 'tis eternal heights reflect thy brow + And shoulders, that avert man's overthrow, + Threatened all times, and never more than now. + + +III + + Oh, what if lone and long thy lofty flight, + My country? Is thy vision not as clear + As that of Vesper, dauntless pioneer + On Twilight's altitude? As from that height, + He sees plain through the thick black walls of night, + The stars all massing; so dost thou, his peer, + Behold all peoples gathering, year by year, + To scale the clouds to thy White Range of Right. + + How thy lone loftness, aloof from wrong, + Refracting man-ward, God's enrapturing smile + Of fruitful fields, leads legions! On they file + And phalanx, and the vision makes thee strong: + What, though God's searchlight flares the sky the while? + It nears not thee, ear-close to heaven's high song. + + + + +JUDAH AND ERIN + + + From out a desert where the trails run red, + Judah and Erin speed their camel pace, + Sighting green palms. The flush on either face + Is from the fissure where each wedged her head + From sandstorms, that hurled heavens down, as they sped; + It is no blush for thought, or conduct, base + To the high trust to bring the Human Race, + Truths, without which Time's offspring are born dead. + + In spirit, they are sisters; for, beyond + The desert, where the vision, like a dove, + Soars round the palace of Almighty Love, + God hails them as "My Daughters, true and fond, + Who show man, through Noon blaze, my star above, + And to my will, fail never to respond." + + + + +THE EASTER RISING IN IRELAND + + + Who, in descent from Heaven's ecstatic throng, + Was twin to light, and ranged from source to sea, + And shore to peak, and God, drew up to thee + The generations happy, pure and strong? + Freedom, as Erin's was, ere ruthless wrong + Caught, scourged and hanged it on the out-law's tree; + And is; for lo! it proves Divinity, + Transfiguring from anguish, ages long. + + True, they have strangled Freedom on the cross + Of every Right's suppression--nay, have barred + His body's tomb, and placed a host on guard! + Still, He is risen; His faithful mourn no loss. + He shines forth in their midst. No bolts retard + His entrance, where grand aims for life engross. + + + + +THE FIGHT IN IRELAND + + + The fight in Ireland is 'twixt Man and Brute. + A lion with the sea-surge for his mane, + Is there hurled back by Man with proud disdain, + Although heart-drained with gash from head to foot. + Oh, in that Eden of Forbidden Fruit, + How Satan, searching for a snake in vain, + Fumed forth a monster from his heart and brain-- + The Lion--as the serpent's substitute! + + Oh, all ye peoples of the World draw nigh! + Stand on the bodies of eight centuries, + Struck dead with horror; for, raised thus, one sees + In Erin, torn, a soul that cannot die, + And that its struggle is Humanity's + Against the fiend, who would give God the lie. + + + + +TO ERIN + + + How help take pride in thee, whose golden hair + Of culture trailed the earth for centuries; + Whose throne was freedom and whose realm was peace; + And, in strange lands, whose joy and only care + Were to spread light, and who, not anywhere + Thy charm made headway, planting liberties, + Didst, then, by stealthy step, or creep on knees, + Sow with the lilies, faster-growing tare! + + How help love thee, whose hand, raised to the sun, + Glows rosy, and not red with murder's stain? + The angels kiss it. Force can forge no chain + To drag thee false-ward. Like a holy Nun, + Stigmated, how thy faith grows with thy pain-- + Aye, till thy Cross, like Constantine's has won. + + + + +THE QUEEN OF BEAUTY + + + In rapt, roused Erin, who does not behold + A Venus, rising from the sea of tears, + Up to her native, Earth-illuming spheres? + Her hair, long matted, is a flow of gold + Which even the Sun might wear and feel not cold; + And, oh, her heavenly smile at doubts and fears, + As when she, at all depths, raised to her ears, + Shells of her Glory, murmuring, "Be bold!" + + Lo! where the green and orange morn unfurls, + See Erin rise. How shine her golden tresses! + They form her crown, for trailing rocks down whirls, + And reaching all the under-sea recesses, + They draw about her brow, the rarest pearls-- + Love for what frees and hate for what oppresses! + + + + +LIBERTY, THE LIGHT TO PEACE + + + All hail to those who, through the stormy night, + Make Liberty the light on Erin's coast; + Who, ceaseless, send up sparks; who hold their post + On each and every ledge of Human Right, + Forming a beacon blaze from base to height + Where Erin's hope may steer and land its host. + Look, Human Nature! Where else canst thou boast + To the eternal stars, so grand a sight? + + Look! How men there ennoble human kind + By making Liberty the light to Peace! + All other lights are false. Oh! who but sees + In the unconquerable Celtic mind + That, even in Time, there are Eternities-- + Love, true to Right, and Will no wrong can bind! + + + + +WHY PLAY WITH WORDS, ENGLAND? + + + Why play with words? There never can be peace + Till Ireland is set free. One might as well + Expect the great Arch-angel rest in Hell + And genuflect to Satan's blasphemies, + As Erin's spirit that, for centuries, + Has been aloft with God in virtue, sell, + Like Esaw, her birthright, and not rebel, + But to her home's invaders, bend her knees. + + Her spirit is no norbury Banshee-- + To wail and, then, to vanish. She will stand + With lifted flambeau, lighted by the hand + That lights the stars, till she again is free, + Inspiring normal man in every land + With love of Freedom, by her scorn of thee. + + + + +FREEDOM'S WARDENS + + + Look! British fury that, barraging, lights + Up Irish skies, like pathways down to hell, + Doubles its fire to reach our land as well, + Where Freedom's Wardens cry from justice' heights: + "'Tis Deicide to murder Human Rights. + Stop foul God-slaughter where to not rebel, + In order to develop and excel, + Were God in man, succumbed to age-longed blights." + + Where Heavenward rose the God in man of old, + Staunch stand these Wardens. Sleepless, they behold + Each turn of England's Evil Eye. They call, + When she would form the fulminate of gold, + A thumb and finger-pinch of which, let fall, + Might blast Columbia's peaks to slit of thrall. + + + + +LIST TO DEMOSTHENES, IF NOT TO HEARST + + + Of all the fulminates, gold is the worst, + Which England, aeroplaning, now, lets drop + By day and night, in bank, press, church and shop, + Timed to the minute that it is to burst. + List to Demosthenes, if not to Hearst, + Sublime Republic! Lest thy great heart stop, + Shocked by the blast of Freedom's every prop, + And bats and owls in dwellings, Human's erst. + + "Watch Macedon. She drops her gold, in creeping + Beneath free Athens' sky-ascending stair. + Watch her with glance of sword. Oh, watch, for where + She sows her gold, she comes with scythes for reaping! + Is Athens in ascent with sun-light flare, + To come down ashes, not worth history's keeping?" + + + + +CALEDONIA + + +I + + In only Wallace and Paul Jones and Burns, + Does Caledonia, child of Erin, show + His mother's features, lit by soul to know + The Right Divine of freedom, when it yearns + For what exalts the human, or, it spurns + What bars its flight to truth--all stars aglow, + That form God's trail to joy for man below?-- + Sole trail, as time, who peers through grief, discerns. + + O Caledonia, by thy Burn's brave song, + And deeds of Wallace and Paul Jones for Right, + Thy mother knows thee in the dark of night, + And claps thee heart-close. She cries out: "Be strong, + Soul of my soul! though not a Boswell quite, + Still, be whole man! remember Glencoe's wrong." + + +II + + Wake, Caledonia! though Macauley, Whigging, + Would ward the flames from scarring William's face, + So that, then, Cain might shriek,--here, take my place, + A fugitive and outcast, with no digging + To hide in, nor a rest for my fatiguing; + The mark on me, is but God's finger trace; + On you, 'tis God's whole hand!--Still, there's the blaze! + There's England's soul of merciless intriguing! + + List! 'tis the bagpipes welcoming the guest. + See the assembly, dance and feast. Oh, watch + The open heart and flow of good old Scotch; + The English come, as friends, must have the best. + There, hospitality is at top notch,-- + And so is treachery in Britain's breast. + + +III + + The cock crows.--Is he dreaming? 'Tis dark still. + He crows again and now, from farm to farm, + His fellows echo far his dazed alarm + And flap of wings on fences. He is shrill + Because it is not dawn above the hill, + That wakes him, but the English, as they arm, + And murder sleep, that has no dream of harm, + In couch and crib,--to further England's will. + + O Caledonia! with such lamp in hand + As Glencoe's horror, thou hast England true. + Why let Froude fiction haze thy vivid view? + Put not thy light out for sound sleep, but stand + And answer, when the mother, whom thou drew + Thy soul from, cries "Glencoe"! when Black and Taned. + + + + +CANADA + + +I + + O Canada, Long red with cottage flame + From Britain's torch! thy blasts milk not the cloud + To nourish hope; instead, they spread the shroud + On Human Spirit answering Freedom's claim. + Whence comes the cold which icicles with shame, + Thy heart's Niagara, that should thunder loud + Unto thy far off soul in sorrow, bowed + O'er Papineau, whom Thraldom could not tame? + + Now following the Friends, who grandly led + The slave through tunnels to the Northern Star, + To find, in freedom, richer bloomage far, + Than the Magnolia o'er the cattle shed,-- + I reach thy soul,--where now the Crawfords are, + And learn the cold is not from manhood dead. + + +II + + Whence comes this cold to Freedom's claim? we know + Only too well,--from creatures of the King, + Who had dragged Hell of every poisonous thing + And, through our country, had spread waste and woe. + Beaten at last, they flocked like carion crow, + On the dead body of their will to sting, + Which drifting Northward, and enlargening, + Loomed Dante's Nimrod, 'mid the Arctic snow. + + There, with the reptile's hate of Man Upright, + As God created him, and reptiles veins, + Aflow with deaths cold blood--for that sustains + The life of tyrant and of parasite-- + This monster, though half sunk in Hell, remains + High, still, above the Arctic's shuddering night. + + +III + + The monster's inhalations empty Hell + Of all deterents to Life's flow and flower; + Then, its outbreathings icily devour + The cataract in flight and, down the dell, + The streamlets to delight, and buds, as well, + Of virtue, forming bloom for Freedom's bower;-- + Nay, its out breathings,--through Creed hatred's power-- + Grow Boreus and face where freeman dwell. + + Lo! with Sun-warmth for Truth and Human Right, + Is Boreus met. Who hurles him down the deep? + Look close;--'tis Gladden who, on Freedom's steep, + Is as inspiring, as, on Andes' height, + The great Christ Statue, bidding Rancor sleep + And Life's diverging rays in love, beam Light. + + +IV + + The cataracts wild leap, turned glittering ice + In shame's suspension, and crow souls afeeding + Upon a huge dead body and fast breeding,-- + Is, as a scene, not worth the railroad's price; + But, oh, if, with "Excelsior" for device, + Thou climb thy Alpine way, each day exceeding + The other's height, what throngs would watch thy speeding + And, for the thrill thou woulds't give them, come twice! + + O Canada! why all this sleigh-bell rhyming? + 'Tis on the reindeer, hope, in speed with me + To the grand morning, when thou shalt breathe free + Upon the apex of thine Alpine climbing, + From foulsome, choaking smells of tyranny, + Thick from the Great Sea Serpent's inland sliming. + + +V + + God said to Wrong: "No further shalt thou go." + This, Monroe heard and held, then, in his heart. + It was this he repeated, when on chart + He made his markings, checking Freedom's foe. + God never grants to Wrong the right to grow; + Because He sets its bounds, does not impart + His blessing on its growth, more than its start; + His blessing goes to Right, to overthrow. + + Oh, let thine eyes for migratory flight + Speed southward! Passing Prejudice's Lake, + Green-crusted with stagnation which some take + For verdure, they will see from Andes' height, + How Freedom's battle forms the red day-break, + And tides are swells from thrall, hurled deep from sight. + + +VI + + Thine eyes returning from the Southern Cross, + Will, when like Perry, they have reached the Pole, + Search under it to find thy banished soul, + O Canada, and tell it of thy loss + In letting a foul dead body, which the moss + Of the deep sea should hide, loom as thy whole + And rule, as dead things rule, with death for toll, + As pierced by Papineau through Glamor's gloss. + + From South to North, no sky is black but thine. + Thy fecund brain, the Borealis, shows + A swaying disc with shades of dark for glows, + With but a faint salt smell of Color's brine, + The pent-up billows in the disc's dark close, + Which might flood midnight with rare, world-wide shine. + + +VII + + We seek no annexation, but of Mind, + Heart, Spirit. True, thy clear, sonorous voice + At Freedom's class-call, would make us rejoice, + For, then, close-coasting thrall would fail to find + In the new world, one truant to mankind, + Swimming out to the foreigners' decoys, + Or fast asleep amid his infant toys, + Instead of at the task, which God assigned. + + Oh, let thy spirit come, but it must be + Along the star-way to the rising sun-- + The way of love; not down creed hates that run, + Like broken stone-steps, to a roaring sea-- + The way thou oft, hast come. Rise, and be one + On the new world's Star-top of Liberty. + + +VIII + + "The Angels come in dreams," says Holy Writ; + And Science says, "No sleep so deep, but dreams." + Devine appearances with brightening gleams + Toward Paradise up from the demon's pit, + Ever rouse virtue; aye, for God redeems + His fire, wherever hid; the tempest teems, + But still his sparks fly, quick as flint is hit. + + Wake, Canada! and let thy Papineaus + Be dreams remembered; yea, let them inspire + Thy life to follow Freedom high and higher + Through Rights' whole range of summits, crowned with snows + Sparkling from star-moulds of the Soul's desire, + On earth from Heaven where, clouds from flames, they rose. + + + + +DRAGON INCURSIONS + + +I + + O Freedom! whose pure soul and heart embrace + Translates me into heaven, I draw for breath + The joy of angels who have not known death. + Child-like, I look up in thy loving face, + Else gaze around and point, and curious place + My hand on Mottoes, hung on high. One saith: + "Beware, for he not with me scatterith." + Its meaning comes to me with growth, like grace. + + Ah, as a youngster, on its mother's arm, + Seeing a hideous thing approaching night, + Will not lay down its head and shut its eye, + But will with look and lung express alarm-- + My mind cries out in dread--when sea and sky + Show dragons, tendencies that work thee harm. + + +II + + O Freedom! Up to whose raised hand the seas + Leap, playful lions, or with head and main + Across their paws lie couchant--it is pain + To see thee whose heart beats are God's decrees, + And vital breathings are infinities, + Now check thy heart and hold thy breath to gain + The smile and plaudit of a depths with bane + In finger tips, while fawning on their knees. + + What! Think the tyrant, whose great soul is trade, + Whose history, a crater, belching black + And lurid, keeps glad Easter morning back + From half the world--loves thee save to invade, + As blackward planned? loves thee, along whose track + March Human rights up to the stars parade? + + + + +NEMESIS + + + There where the Tyrant long has loomed, wreck-crowned, + Are young and old hurled to the coast and blast. + Frail are their ships; still, Sun, why glare aghast, + Watching the billows monstering around? + The soul of man was not born to be drowned. + It mounts and mounts, till, at God's throne, at last, + And freedom welcomes it with arms, sky-vast, + As down it comes to meet Thrall and confound. + + O, deathless spirit, born of hosts sea-hurled, + Who hast out soared night's stars with agony's cry + For justice! Thou hast come down from the sky, + Heralding doom to Thrall, whose flag unfurled + By steel, or craft, shows, as 'tis hoisted high, + The blood of man and ruin of the world. + + + + +ALL STARS MERGED IN ONE + + + What is the Truth? The thought, the act, or cry, + Recasting the Supreme Intelligence; + All else is false. Look! where are stars so dense, + That each has not the freedom of the sky? + And, still, what peace, what glory, reigns on high! + What! with the wisdom of the heavens, dispense? + The Peace, for which our longings grow intense, + Comes through the stars to earth, and but thereby. + + What splits dark mid-night and gives earth a thrill? + All stars merged into one--our Country's aim. + It is a lightening, formed by God, to flame + Across the ages and flash bolts to kill + The stranglers, who the heart or spirit, main, + Or choke black in the face, a People's Will. + + + + +LINCOLN'S LIGHTENING IN WILSON'S HANDS + + +I + + Who is to rise and hurl God's flame world-wide, + As Lincoln hurled it, setting free a race + From Sphinx-shaped wrong--a beast with human face? + That shattered, how our land rose glorified + And, from the stars last laggard, soared, their guide! + Oh, who can take Promethean Lincoln's place, + To bring light where-so-ever he can trace + A Human, with his rights to soul denied? + + He must be one, not only to illume + All ages, and not leave one region dim, + But at no height, allow his senses swim, + Or let mirages lure him with false bloom. + Lo! Here one comes with all the virtues prim + To hurl God's fire and end all human gloom. + + +II + + 'Tis Wilson takes God's flame from Lincoln's hand. + This Princeton man,--who has outgrown the prince, + A hundred years, and, in the ocean since, + Seen with delight, Eternity expand + And loom in glory from the despot's strand,-- + Shapes fourteen dazzling bolts without a wince. + He pauses. Why not hurl them and convince + The world that, hence-forth, not one thrall shall stand? + + What! Wilson's arm lacks strength to hurl the flame, + God gave to Lincoln for the Human race? + Look! Look! it falls. What! Gone? Quenched by dark space? + No; it describes an orbit there, the same + As comets, and regains its heavenly place + For one to hurl it true, and doom Earth's Shame. + + + + +THE CATACLYSM + + + In Wilson we beheld and proudly hailed + The World's Deliverer. In him, we saw + A luminous being rise from earth and draw + All lands above the clouds. We were regaled + With justice cascades flow, long ice impaled + Upon high mountains. Was not Nature's thaw + From his heart heat for truth, Eternal Law? + His was the heat of all the stars, he scaled. + + Though his ascension was like Christ's, sublime + With lift of continents and every isle, + He, less than Christ, succumbed to Demon Guile. + Oh, God, that he should drop his mountain climb + Below sea-level, and let earth the while, + Fall back and settle in Primeval Slime! + + + + +AN EPOCH'S ANGEL FALL + + + Judging from Wilson's virile virtue-voice, + Whose whisper hushed Earth's Hum, were we not proud + To have him cross the sea to speak aloud + And, with a finger raised, hush battle noise, + And lift all lands to Justice's equipoise? + Oh, such his truth to God,--so oft avowed,-- + A spirit thund'red from a luminous cloud: + "This man crowns Lincoln's work. All Men! Rejoice." + + Oh, had he read his bible where St. Paul, + Grown man, put off child things--or, had not smiled, + When told, strong Ego oft, is man grown child! + Look! Who sees not an Epoch's Angel Fall + From hope for earth, in Wilson's truth, beguiled + By second childhood's toys to play with thrall? + + + + +THE AMERICA OF THE FUTURE + + +I + + Our Country still is in the womb, dark Time. + It shows life by its brisk and robust turns, + Which thrill the Mother, Liberty, who yearns + To see her man-child born. Oh, how sublime + With genius, not of one, but every climb + Where art forms beauty, or the spirit spurns + The foul and spurious,--her desire, that burns + Prenatally in him, to form him prime! + + Oh People, all--Italian, Spanish, French, + Dutch, English, Irish, German, Jew, and Greek-- + What see you, as you climb the Future's Peak? + Oh! no illusion. What looms there, shall wrench + From life, all monsters out from Hell, to seek + Dead consciences and plague earth with their stench. + + +II + + Ascend, O Land of every Creed and Race! + Not thy full image, in New England's brook, + Nor in the South's lagoon; though there, a look + Delights us with thy chubby, infant face. + 'Tis seas of joy, that shorelessly replace + The Ocean which, in time of old, forsook + The prairies for the cloud, or spring in nook,-- + That show thee, Grown, through God's abundant grace. + + From East to West, how joy's high seas expand, + Reflecting, not a foolish, mundane pride + That, thinking it does all, sets God aside-- + But Virtue which, with heart and head and hand, + Works out God's purpose, with dear Christ for guide, + And holy spirits Light to understand! + + +III + + All Virtues from the longing of the soul; + From wisdom, gained by sorrow through long ages; + From inspiration of the bards, in rages + That inter-marrying maniacs control + A people's life, and drain its sea to shoal, + And from the vision of sky-topping sages, + Gasping for breath from rot in all its stages,-- + Aye, these and new-born Genius loom there Whole. + + Look, People! Little less than God's own size, + Your virtues merge and, with speed God-ward, burn, + An unconsuming sun, that at no turn + In spiral flight, for still a grander rise, + Lets night advance where human Rights still yearn, + Except with great, new stars and dawning skys! + + + + +THE INEVITABLE + + +I + + Behold two fleets, the one with woe for trail, + The other, rapture. As they sight the strait, + Through which but one can pass, Greed, urged by Hate, + Drives Thraldom's crafts with help of steam and gale. + They feel their way. The guns, with which they hale, + Raise jets, that look tall elms from Hope, the gate, + To Peace, the Palace; then, their speed is great, + Manoeuvering fast to head off, or assail. + + Drawing the sea up for his driving steam, + Greed breaks all mirrors in his grand state room, + That show him dark inevitable doom, + Close hovering, and exults: "I am Supreme. + When seas lack water for my funnel fume, + I bid life send its every crimson stream." + + +II + + What! in the darkness lowers boat after boat + From Freedom's fleet, and each with lightening oars? + Treasons to God and country are the rowers. + They are the Gold and Hireling Brain, that gloat + On conscience body with face down, afloat. + Why hail they Greed, to run on menial chores + From deck to deck, or to and from all shores? + Why? To ensure the payment of a note. + + Meanwhile, brisk Freedom's fleets with justice manned, + And cosmic full momentum for their speed, + Confront the crafts, fired up by fiendish Greed. + A clash and--lo! they pass the strait and land, + Leaving in smoldering heaps, like autumn's weed, + The hulks of thrall along time's vultured strand. + + + + +REPTILES WITH WINGS + + + Are lust for Gold and Power not hideous spawn + Of prehistoric reptiles, that had wings? + Where e'er those crawled, they chawed all greening things + And, when they mounted, how their lengths, full drawn, + Basked barren in the sun before the dawn, + Absorbing all its rays from budding Springs? + These drain life's dawn and by impoverishings, + Draw and reduce to pulp, frail Consciences. + + Oh, yea, bewinged with legislative crime, + They bask in sunlight e'er the east sky greys, + And drag the soul of man from God's embrace + Of rights and freedom. Oh, how long a time + Shall reptiles, deadly to the Human race, + Be let grow wings and heavenward trail their slime? + + + + +THE OUTLAWS OF OUR COUNTRY + + +I + + The outlaws in our country are the wretches, + Who wreck the legislatures with their gold, + And with the ruins, form a high stronghold + To sally from, to what good nature fetches + From God to man. What though fine graphic sketches + In magazines show them with shoulders bold + Against the nights flood-gates of dark and cold? + All effort is but life in death-throw stretches. + + They are the outlaws, who stop Nature's train + And take its corn and coal for selfish use; + Then, put their shoulders to Night's gate, to loose + Its hinges for a forty-day dark rain, + To drown all life, that they, like Noah, may cruise + Through thick drifts of the dead in heart and brain. + + +II + + O heart and brain, who see the father load + His train with food, not for the few, but all, + And hear train-whistlings in March winds, jay call + And ground-hog sniffs! Haste out, for from the road + That leads to every Industry's abode, + The trust that, bat-eyed, comes out at night-fall, + Now moves the tracks inside his private wall, + Claiming all trains from God a debt long owed. + + O heart and brain, it rest with you, how long + The legislative wreckers shall prevail. + Ye have the power to balk them. Why then, fail? + Regain your legislatures. Man them strong + And drive thence all sleek hounds, trust-trained to trail + Safe outlaws' paths to fastnesses of wrong. + + + + +THE PRESS + + + Was ever such unblushing harlotry, + Such sale of virtue in the Market place, + As by the Press? The red paint on her face + Is Degradation's mark. Alas, that she, + Born to bring forth the truth, still, is so base, + She kills her child and, then, to hide all trace, + Cracks bone by bone to dust, too fine to see. + + O Press, poor harlot of the tyrant, Gold, + What freedom, but from truth, hast thou to boast? + Hark, who now speaks is murdered Truth's pale ghost: + "Conceiving life--oh, bring it forth! aye, hold + Thy child on high with love, as priest, the Host! + Crush not its bones, with smile and eyes set cold." + + + + +THE TRUTH + + + What is the truth? The focus of all rays + Passing through Nature and the soul and mind. + It is the Sun of Suns, around which wind + The Heavens and all the worlds. Such is its blaze, + That had it not, at intervals, a haze, + Grading both Angel and the Human-kind, + The bright Arch-angel would be stricken blind, + To grope in Heaven, a Homer, sighing lays. + + What less could fitly crown Omnipotence + Than Truth, the focus of all rays in Good? + Lo! there it shines upon the Holy Rood, + Breaking through clouds, a-massing dark and dense + From countless ages, Cains to Brotherhood-- + With rays of pardon for the World's offense. + + + + +OUR LORD'S LAST PRAYER + + + "Forgive them, Sire! They know not what they do."-- + Ah, Christ! how at that face to face God-plea, + The Demon and his legions, mocking thee + With every generation, brought to view, + Flashed with dismay, and, boltless lightening through + The ages, thunder down Eternity, + 'Till faint as the sound in shells, far from the sea; + For that thy prayer would be vouchsafed, they knew. + + All grandeurs, gathered as a dazzling crown + For thee, in barter for thy knee's least bend, + The Demon dashed to fragments to Time's end. + There, born anew in spirit, we look down + And, in the ocean of thy prayer, Amen'd, + See but earth's monsters, with the demons drown. + + + + +THOUGHT IS TRUTH'S ECHO + + + Thought is truth's echo--not her glorious eyes + Beholding God, nor her white arms of light, + Lifted in worship. Following truth, our flight + At highest range is where our echo dies. + Oh all your power and beauty, earth and skys! + And, Soul and Mind! your Beauty and your Might-- + Truth gathers in one flash and, catching sight + Of God, lifts high in love's full sacrifice. + + Twixt Truth and Thought, what Truth is oft is space + Wherein, with intuition for her wing, + The soul mounts. It is there I hear her sing: + "Lo, Truth, so swift aloft, Thought dies in chase, + Turns earthward, and the gifts her white arms bring, + Are outshone by God's glory in her face!" + + + + +HEAVEN + + + Ah, what is Heaven? Such Glory that Sun-light + Seems darkness, and Mass Music, shell-shut sound. + What we call senses here, there so abound, + The soul appears a broadening heaven in flight, + Feathered and downed with all the stars, whose white + Is all hues mingled. Oh, the awe profound! + For every moment there, new Heavens astound + The myriad senses, with God's Love and Might. + + If "Holy, Holy, Holy, Evermore?" + Be the one chant of angel and of Saint + Before the Throne, it is their gaspings faint + Between their transports to high Heavens from lower; + For, what is love's eternal Firmament + But Heaven on Heaven, that we may ceaseless soar? + + + + +HUMILITY + + + Was not humility the Earthward stair + From highest Heaven, by which God came to men, + To show the way aloft to human ken? + Ah, by what other pass, are men to fare + Through mist and cloud, except the path, aflare + With his blest steps from Heaven, and up again? + Steps, not from star to star, but fen to fen, + That all might follow and not one despair! + + Oh, steps of Love! Could we reach with our eyes + Their fulgence, we would shrink back with dismay; + For, though 'tis through the world's contempt move they-- + Hark! How the hidden choirs of countless skies + Chant at all heights: "Lo, God comes by this way, + And makes world-wide, His stair to Paradise!" + + + + +THE NIGHT OF MYSTERIES + + + A cataract of stars, which, with each fall + Broadens and brightens, rapturing the sight + Of angel hosts, that view it from the height + Of knowledge of God's love for one and all + His creatures--and not darkness to appal + The spirit by the quench of every light, + For which God grants it vision--is the night + Of Life's strange mysteries, both great and small. + + Oh cataracts, beyond the angels' count, + Pause and shine pendant over every deep + Of heart, mind, spirit! Lo! how down they sweep + To basic Good where, massing, they remount, + Till, mid God's "Many Mansions," high they leap, + Forming forever, joy's most splendent fount! + + + + +WHAT THE POETS SHOW + + + When, at God's fiat, Light flashed forth, the beam + Evolved a million pigments, as it sped + To every nature. Now, of all its spread, + What shaft so glorious as the poet's dream + Which, mote and mass, reflects the Will Supreme + That life is progress, and by flight, or tread, + It circles God-ward up, till perfected! + For, harboring meaner thought were to blaspheme. + + What, if the world be chaos where it sins, + Race feuds, Creed hatreds, falsehoods gross, deceit, + Intrigue and greed, form swirling, blinding sleet? + Honor and Truth, though buried to their chins, + Look up and smile; for, though the storms still beat, + The poets show 'tis Spring, not Winter, wins. + + + + +THE SOUL'S ASCENSION + + + Not mine the night that creeps beneath Life's sea, + Or lurks within Hope's ruins, sunk below + The desert, or the stagnant pool--oh, no! + But night that mounts the heavens, till it is free + Where stars, prefiguring all things that be + Obscure on earth, catch sight of God and glow, + And golden shadows large and larger grow, + Cast by Gift-bearers to Humanity. + + Oh, once the cold of all the unsunn'd space + Was in my reptile life of soul, wing-bound; + But now, soul-free, what warmth from stars all round! + 'Tis not by strength of mine, Lord, but thy grace, + My soul soars from the depths of sea, or ground, + Till, at star-heights, it meets Thee, face to face! + + + + +LYRIC TRANSPORT + + + What but the spirit's ladder to God's throne + Is beauty? Oh, from rung to rung to climb, + Till faint becomes the azure's anthem chime + Of planets, multitudinous, or lone, + And Inspiration, drunk with fragrance, blown + From God's rare, inmost garden, wall'd from Time, + Sets free the Sonnet with is wings of rhyme + To carry down the transport, upward known! + + Mine is no swaying ladder, like he sea's, + Whose rounds of rollers, raised above Sun-rise, + Lean not on Heaven, hence shattered lie at noon; + For 'tis set firmly on the verities, + Which form God's throne. Ah, there, what joy, my prize! + Would that I had a dove for every boon! + + + + +THE SUNRISE + + + The Sun is God's great joy to Human sight. + Oh, up and off in chariots, Sea! and ride, + All generations, up, till mountain-eyed, + To welcome earth-ward, God's Supreme delight. + Imagination swirls in swallow flight, + Giddy with Beauty, deepening--Oh, how glide + From star to star, to the haloes, season-dyed + And countless! Its wings shrivel up like night. + + Oh, yea, the Sun in one subliming rise + From Wisdom's infinite mind! This Reason knows. + It has no set. There, Sense, with weals or woes + For beads, or fingers, count our shuts of eyes, + Excluding Knowledge. What! God's joy to close + And all its goodness break and drift cloud-wise? + + + + +TWO DARKNESSES + + + There are two darknesses; one where the Lord + Hides beauty--that by which men know His face. + All, in that darkness, feel His fingers trace + Their features gently, and their hearts record + The feeling, as of one, whose eyes, restored, + Would see, but for the Father's close embrace. + The other is the outer dark--a place + Where hate turns black the light upon it poured. + + O God! the only darkness that I dread, + Is where Thou art not--that where Hate's black fire + Surmounts the heavens, to burst with thunder dire + And, in its fall forever, drag the dead + Of heart and spirit--those whom Thy desire + Would fain have made the halo round Thy head. + + + + +THE DOOM OF HATE + + + A spirit passed the Sun, the Moon and Star, + And dwelled and dreamed in darkness all its own. + The music of the spheres, though thither blown, + As faint as fragrance from a flower afar, + Disturbed this spirit's ear, attuned to jar + Of orb with orb; for hate of light, truth known, + Fashions hot worlds which, cooled to clay and stone, + Clash, rising toward calm Heaven, which they would mar. + + Ah, if where love was not, he smiled elate, + His smile at God returned, a lightening flash + That shattered him. He saw his planets clash, + Burst and, then, by the downward law of hate, + Sink and leave not a single spark, nor ash, + For the new firmament he would create. + + + + +THE EVIL IN THE WORLD + + + There are two Gods--one, Good, the other, Ill. + They clash in Nature--so the Persian taught, + And long a sect in Europe spread the thought. + Why there is evil is a problem still + To many, who see not in Human Will, + A being that with beauty could have caught + Up to his Maker, had he gladly wrought + With light and warmth, instead of dark and chill. + + God said, "Let there be Light," and light was made. + God made not darkness--that is light's exclusion, + Forming a region where, in wild confusion, + Men, Nations, each a ferret, blood-eyed shade, + Worry each other, till, with disillusion + For lamp, comes conscience, crying, "God Betrayed!" + + + + +THE EARTH RENEWED BY MEMORY + + + Ah, in the angel-fall from Heaven, is hope? + The wing-whir discord of the legion's fall + From God forever, mocks my heart's loud call. + Empty of beauty from its base to cope, + The Earth is hollow. Where, then, can I grope + And not be met by echoes that appal? + What! shouts my mind, in wonder that I crawl + And, having skyey wings, in hollows mope. + + Does scent from bloom, or warble from the wood, + Not atmosphere the un-aerial void + Twixt thee and beauty, which thy youth enjoyed? + Fly back to earth, by memory renewed; + She fills the hollow, echoing hosts destroyed,-- + With Spring, reflecting Heaven's Triumphant Good. + + + + +IN THE DIMPLE OF BEAUTY'S CHEEK + + + O beauty! in the dimple of thy cheek, + My love could live forever and be blest. + There, with the sun, a rose-bud on thy breast, + How thou rejoicest, hastening to speak + To thy fond Father! Oh, how vain to seek + A sweeter refuge for the Spirit's rest, + Than mid thy blushes, when thou marvelest + At His great love, for, oh! thy heart is meek. + + Oh beauty! in thy Father's arms, thou art. + Enclose me in thy dimple; for, though this + Were but a bud, or molded seed, what bliss + To watch bloom gather scent, or new life start, + And hear our Father, bending for a kiss, + Whisper to thee, the secrets of His heart! + + + + +THE CAMP FIRE + + + Beauty is love and, hence is heightening fire, + Consuming Nature. All the dark can bring + To quench it, feeds it. Look! how everything + Is caught in the blaze, which mounts up high and higher! + Oh! truly, 'tis a vision to inspire + The soul with transport, more than joy can sing; + For, if not for the blaze, what cold would sting + Poor mortals, who crowd round it, nigh and nigher! + + Is beauty not the camp-fire, which one host + Leaves burning for another, close behind? + Yea, yea, the Powers Divine, O Human Kind! + Have left their camp-fire burning on the coast, + Where they embarked from glimpse of Human mind, + To give you warmth and light to hold your post. + + + + +MOTHER + + + All beings, legioning celestial light, + Moved in procession toward a vacant throne. + Their chant was faith and hope, as, now, our own. + At last, it came to pass, their faith grew sight. + They saw One Star in night's down-fall, stay white + And, by the Holy Spirit brighter blown, + Ascend in Heaven, till there, as high and lone, + As over Nature's marveling zenith height. + + Reaching the throne, its queen, this star became. + Awed by the Triune's Honor as her crown, + The legions, circling, soared with eyes cast down; + But, when their wonder heard the strange, new name + In Heaven, from Christ's lips, "Mother," how they shone, + Reflecting Christ's child-eyes, with love aflame! + + + + +IN HEAVEN NO HEART STILL HEAVES + + + Lo! God lets drop blue doves which ground the mind + Like clover; then, with drawing to the skies, + His pleasure is to watch the flocks arise. + Here, there, they mount; they show no cloud, no wind, + Can hinder homing; and the angels find + No transport, like the sight, for, to their eyes, + 'Tis more souls for the joy, which glorifies + The Father, traced to love by pigeon-kind. + + Oh, to his love, how great our spirit's worth! + Each is as all. In heaven, no heart still heaves. + The sun sinks with its last of lingering eves, + And, then, if dearest doves of azure birth, + Wife, parent, child, be missed, off mercy leaves + With stars for eyes, to search the darks of earth. + + + + +ST. PETER'S CATHEDRAL IN ROME + + + This temple is soul-startling. 'Tis to me + A thunder storm in stone, with Sinai flare + Across the Ages. 'Tis the Fiend's despair + And the Arch-angel's Triumph. It sets free + The mind and soul with certitude, Christ's key + Which, like the Sun, opes Heaven--the Good and Fair. + Still, oft, what darkness drowns the sun's noon glare + Within the Temple! 'Tis from Calvary. + + Oh, 'tis from Calvary's grief. 'Tis Christ's emotion, + On from the Cross, that from His glory known, + The German should have fled and, frantic, thrown + Away his soul to Strauss or Kant's vague notion, + Unhumaning, till, in the Kaiser, grown + A Neitche whirl-wind in a crimson ocean. + + + + +MY BUGLER BOY + + + With heart pain and with quiver of the lip, + I bid my boy "good bye," with words of cheer. + I hug him to my heart to hide a tear, + And hold him close so long, that no tongue-slip + Could more betray my bodings for his ship, + Or troop, when landed. It is when I hear + My daughters' voices, that I shame off fear + And take my boy's both hands with firmest grip. + + Go, son, and, though with thy young life 'tis blown, + Blare thou the Bugle, rousing man to sweep + The monsters back to Hell's profoundest deep, + Where, mocking Spring and Sun-rise, they have grown + On longings for the sea, the world must weep + When, from its heart, the hope of Peace has flown. + + + + +KAISER, BEWARE + + + Dost thou, mad Kaiser, for historic name, + Set fire to Europe? Is it joy to gaze + At blacker smoke than Etna's, and a blaze + That wakes up Chaos, wild to come and claim + The World, since Light, God-bidden though it came, + Has failed to dawn upon our human ways? + O Twin of Chaos! peer thou through the haze! + 'Tis Human Beings feed the crackling flame. + + Beware, the smoke, like Etna's, is the curse + Of widows on thy people-dooming throne, + And in no country, more than in thine own, + Cry out all mothers: "Wherefore bear and nurse? + To feed war with our sons, our flesh and bone, + That chaos may reclaim the Universe?" + + + + +WOMAN, IN GERMANY + + + The German mother has too long been what + A Chancellor once called the "Kingdom's Cow." + Ah, as she bears the droves for slaughter, how + Her dumb-beast eyes crave pity for her lot! + See, there she smiles, like loving God forgot-- + All His supernal patience on her brow. + How long must her grand arch of brain, as now, + Bear up a universe "of what should not"? + + There, lies she, crushed by troops in hot pursuit + Of mocking shadows; for be Gain complete, + What is it but twin brother to defeat? + Stand up the dead on any bloody route. + Stoop for no kiss from orphans, at thy feet, + O Triumph! for ash-cord is all thy fruit. + + + + +O THOU PALE MOON + + + O fair, full moon! I look close at thy face. + Thou must be happy, being in the skys; + And, yet, thy flush grows pallor to mine eyes. + Thou art as one, who breathless after chase, + Would rest, but dreads to check her onward pace. + O fugitive from where no fledgling flies, + No bee finds bud, and where red billows rise, + Engulfing down dark years, the Human Race! + + O thou pale moon, who hast companioned Man + Through every darkness since the night's first fall! + Hast thou, along thy foot-worn, azure wall, + Ever seen seas so hard for hope to span, + As this red surge, that in a spring so small, + A bird could beak it up, its flood began? + + + + +THE TIGER + + + How glares the tiger in his desert lair-- + Now half the world! Beholding with dismay + That Human Freedom is the tiger's prey, + A giant, down whose shoulders, broad and bare, + The long, thick, crimson flow is Sampson's hair, + Makes haste to clutch the beast. + Oh, how the clay beneath their struggle, reddens, night and day, + Till lies the beast, a shapeless carcass there! + + Oh! never from the long, thick crimson flow + A down thy shoulders from thy noble brow, + America, came such God's-strength as now, + Comes to thine arm against the world's grim foe-- + The beast that, sighting man, devours him, how + The world may end, a wilderness of woe. + + + + +TO OUR BOYS "OVER THERE" + + + Where flies our flag is Freedom's holy ground; + There, it unfurls all benisons to Man. + The twin of Spring, its spread unfolds God's plan + Of human happiness, by setting bound + To greed, lust, powers,--all colds,--that Right be crowned. + Lo! where it leads, ye youth form valor's van, + Mirrored and echoed by the azure's span + For ages, for Man's gain in yours is wound. + + Oh, justice's Hot Gulf Stream are ye, who open + The sea, which fiendish craft has frozen hard! + Oh, may your warmth for righteousness transform + The tyrant's artic region, with no hope in, + To Freedom's Temperate Zone, which they, who guard + The planets, save from wreck by quake or storm. + + + + +THE PROFITEERS + + + Now and in life--not Virgil--breaks a storm + Of Harpies, harsh to ear and foul to smell. + It sweeps War's lengthening coast, where each sea-swell + Is Humans, gasping. Hope drags each cold form + From hearth to hearth, to find no ember warm; + Then, their eyes glitter frost, who hear hope yell + As up she climbs the rocks and falls pell-mell + Back from small herbs, where monsters swoop and swarm. + + Oh, could the bestial birds, in Virgil's verse, + See Hope's hands redden, as she rends her hair, + They would grow human--would not glut, but share; + Nor, then, shed human semblance for man's curse-- + As ye do, who from want, hold warmth and fair, + And gorge your bulks to sleep, as want writhes worse! + + + + +WHY THE STARS LAUGH + + + Hark! 'tis the laughter of the stars at Earth, + And Nature's, too, with every pitch of voice. + Earth's carnival of sheer grotesque and noise, + Where, gagged and manacled, walk Peace and Mirth, + Shows Britain now, a beast of broadening girth, + Set out to crush World Freedom. He destroys, + And thinks his bear-like rearing, planet poise + That is to influence the world's new birth. + + The stars are kind, as all the ages know; + The sense of humor twinkles in their eyes, + At Earth's strange follies; but this beast would try + To thrust aside the planets, and make woe, + The fortune of World Freedom! That is why + The stars laugh, and all nature jeers the show. + + + + +PRAYER FOR WORLD PEACE + + + Lord, not Thy work, the World's calamities, + But Man's. If Human Will revolt from Thine, + It flees Thy region, where the stars all shine + With longing to let down the Azure's Peace-- + To dash its hosts from summits into seas, + Where Empires are the breakers. There the brine + Is anguish, and there Triumph leaves no sign, + Save wreck on rock, and Plague, adrift on breeze. + + When Nations turn from Light, in thought, or life, + Their speed is brink-ward, save Thy Mercy stay; + For all is precipice, except Thy way. + Help, Lord, for here is heightening surge of strife; + Here, clouds turn floods, coasts are wind-whirled, like spray, + And lightenings, hurling back thy light, are rife. + + + + +RELIGION + + + Religion is Ascension. 'Tis the flights + Of souls to summits of the true and wise. + One, witnessing the generations rise, + Sees them a shine at countless, different heights, + Where they, responding to their inner lights, + Glow, like the clouds at morn, with graded dyes. + If summits, there are depths; if virtue, vice; + Hence, 'tis life's rise from falls, that judgment sights. + + Witnessed, or not, there is no age, nor climb, + But souls arise as bloom, where earth is treed; + As warm, red rays, where cold from mountaining need; + As burst and spread of planets, where dark crime; + Nay, rise to poise above the star's top speed + To God, like larks, in praise for life and time. + + + + +THE GOLDEN JUBILEE OF SISTERS OF CHARITY + + +I + + How thy Half Century shines over head! + 'Tis an unfading rain-bow, one whose dyes + Are richer and more numerous to the eyes + Of Angels, than to ours. Its rays, if spread + Above a flood of sin and world of dead, + Give to the drowned, new life, new earth, new skies. + Night counts her stars, but falters, when souls rise + Bright with the Grace which God's annointed shed. + + Belov'd Irene, how great our joy to see + Thine arch, aglow with virtue's every hue! + Oh, how much more must they rejoice, who view + From inner Heaven, the arch that is for thee, + Triumphal! for than vows like thine, lived true, + No grander arch from earth to heaven could be. + + +II + + The "Church Triumphant" shines in lives like thine, + Calista! 'Tis the Saints' procession, shown + In Dante's vision, near Lord Jesus' throne, + In greatening splendor, never to decline. + Ah, if our minds grow dark, our hearts repine, + How, from sweet lives, dear Sister, like thine own, + Be-Mothering with mercy all who moan, + A light comes, and a warmth is in its shine. + + We shade our eyes, as when we face the Sun + On level with the earth, at lives all love-- + The Church Triumphant, as in Heaven above! + Aye, lives all love for Christ, in every one + Who suffers wrong, or any pain thereof, + As on His Throne--such lives as thine, dear Nun. + + + + +WINIFRED HOLT, THE LIFESAVER OF THE BLIND + + + Once, blindness was a burning ship at sea, + With panic-stricken souls on every deck. + The flame blew inward on that awful wreck, + Burning the hopes that make life glad and free. + Ah! then, through thee, it was, Philanthropy, + Who trains her searchlight on the smallest speck + And Speed out boats, like horses, neck to neck, + Reached the dark hulk and thrilled its crew with glee. + + The flame is quenched, that burned out heart and brain. + The ship where woe was mute, is loud with joy. + Hark! hear the cheer on board, and cry, "Ahoy!" + As fast the sails are hoisted, and the main + Tides back toward hope for every girl and boy, + Who, else, might reach no star of night's whole train. + + + + +A CHOICE + + + Above and under life, eternally, + A subtle light and dark run parallel. + One prompts men to build Beauty, cell by cell, + In Home, Religion, State, Society; + The other, to destroy the fair they see. + Like Spring, wilt thou roof Earth with bloom and dwell + Thereunder? or, with Scalping Winter's yell, + Scour grove and bush? Choose--how else art thou free? + + If Freedom is the gift of the all-wise, + It is because he will not have a slave + To serve Him. Which wilt thou be, base or brave? + With Morn, climb, or, with Night, skulk down the skies + To grope in caverns, or beneath the wave, + Creep, till aghast at monsters that arise? + + + + +ALL LUMINARIES HAVE ONE TREND + + + All luminaries have one source, one trend. + The stars that calm the sailor, long sea-swirled, + And canopy fond lovers from the World, + And those that lead the heart and spirit, blend. + Lo, only in the things and thoughts that tend + Toward Love's High Harmony, is truth unfurled; + All else are lies, whence heart, soul, mind are hurled + Back to the Right--to Progress without end. + + The stars all chant as one. My soaring song + Catches their flame and these few sparks reach earth: + "As soon the shells forget their Ocean birth, + As men forget the Right, where they belong + By reason and by soul of deathless worth; + Address the God in man, wouldst thou grow strong." + + + + +LIFE TAKES MORNING HUES WITH THE ARTS OF PEACE + + + America! from out the depths thy coast + Was lifted skyward for Humanity. + Thy Life, once finny circlings in the sea, + Is now the orbits of the starry host, + Encircling God with trust. Be this thy boast, + When the long line of Ages, passing thee, + Lifts each his heart and soul, and shouts with glee, + "That Trust in Him was Sentinel on post." + + Night, that once boa-like hung from thy trees, + Gorged with crushed tribes--with pottery, or mound, + Or print of foot for trace--slinks underground; + For lo, the forests, like the mist on seas, + Clears, ere the Sun, at earth's edge, glows half-round, + And life takes cloud-hues with the arts of Peace. + + + + +U. S. SENATOR JAMES A. O'GORMAN AND THE STALWARTS + + + On toward the Senate scuds a thunder-rack-- + Nay, cyclone--and the columns--all star-straight-- + Of Freedom's Temple sway with the roof's flood-weight. + Ye Stalwarts who scorn off a fate, pitch-black, + Holding the columns, let no sinew slack. + A crash and through the roof, what floods of hate! + Still, ye budge not, for "Freedom," your teeth grate, + "Shall lie no wreck along the cyclone's track." + + Oh, not for you was dark the time to slumber, + But to hold Freedom's columns all star-plumb! + Yours was a watery grave, but Martyrdom + And, hence, your resurrection with the number, + Whose greatness greatens, as the Ages come + To know why their pathway, no wrecks encumber. + + + + +MINISTER OF JUSTICE PALMER, A BASTILE BUILDER + + + O Bastile Builder! Nature, when she shaped + Thy soul, was stricken, with a long attack + Of sleeping sickness; nor till wheel and rack + Had rusted, and man spirit had escaped + The bolsted, loathesome tomb where right was raped, + Did she awaken and, alack! alack! + Deliver thee, who, put on Freedom's back, + Would'st grab all things, at which thy Past-eyes gaped. + + Freedom would humor thee; so, down he flopped + On Justice's floor to watch thee build with blocks. + Great was thy skill with walls and dungeon locks, + And with the trap, down which poor Freedom dropped + To be steel-masked, or, else, put in the stocks, + To writhe, then, with his tongue and ears, both lopped. + + + + +A SPECK, BUT NOT A STAIN, HARVARD + + + O Harvard of the Norton wreath of gold + And pearled, Longfellow purple! wherefore frown? + If Eliott is a speck upon your gown, + It will wash off; it is no stain to hold, + For you had let him go for being old. + Your wisdom was confirmed when to the crown, + A'gainst good folks who, like Elisha Brown, + Fought for their homes, he gave his name's renown. + + Come, Agassiz! for, from the smallest bone, + You reconstruct the creature, tongue to tail. + Tell us what Eliott is. Phew! What! a Whale? + No; tis the prehistoric monster, known + As Tory, that devoured young Nathan Hale + And, where it crawled, spread horror's crimson zone. + + + + +SUPREME COURT JUSTICE CHARLES L. GUY + + + Your heart is not a traitor to your mind. + Who, knowing innocence in danger, dares + Not turn his eye, for fear of smirk, or stares, + By other courts, is Justice's statue blind, + That to the wall, not Bench, should be assigned. + Oft, Precedent is Folly with gray hairs; + So you, recalling Junius, heard the prayers + Of friendless Stilow; then, what did you find? + + A fellow man doomed wrongfully to die + A felon's death. If such was Stilow's fate, + You saw, the felon would have been the State; + Hence, turned from Precedent, demanding "Why?" + Justice, asleep in marble, woke and straight + Unroofed the courthouse to let down the sky. + + + + +REAR ADMIRAL SIMS + + + A Dukedom, and not one the worse for wear, + Has Sims well earned by service to the King. + 'Tis said at court, Howe's spirit following + The ocean still, found Sims his natural heir + And said: "Swap souls; and, that the swap be fair, + Give me to boot, the bone of Freedom's wing, + To make the skyey bird a hobbling thing + In marshes, where the ignisfatus flare." + + The Eagle with his eye and pinion, trained + For mateship with the sun, twitched at a sting. + Amazed to find a "cootie" on his wing, + And that the insect dreamed, it was ordained + By race heredity to serve the King-- + He shook his plume and azured, unprofained. + + + + +SAINT GEORGE AND THE DRAGON + + +I + + In English nature, did Saint George prevail + Over the Dragon? Maybe in the time + When England knew not poverty, nor crime, + Described by Cobbett, who would not go bail + For falsehood, nor let truth remain in jail. + It must, then, have renewed life from its slime, + For, oh! through deeds, that turn the blood to chyme + And eyes white inward, see him ride the gale. + + In English nature--oh, where now the saint-- + The spirit, to sublime conceptions, true? + Has good Saint George, too woundful to renew + His conflict with the dragon of base taint, + Been caught up by Elias from earth's view? + How, else, the dragon's rage in irrestraint? + + +II + + The dragon is grim greed. The Saint's long spear, + That once transfixed it, can no longer touch. + No land is safe from its sting, blood-drain, or clutch-- + For it takes Protean shapes; 'tis, therefore, clear, + Since good Saint George has failed to re-appear + To mortal sight, save in the King's escutch-- + Worn off at edge and blurred with Tudor smudge-- + Freedom must drive the Dragon off this sphere. + + The Dragon's soarings cause the sun's eclypse.-- + Hark! is that thunder, God's collapsing skys? + No; 'tis the Eagle, with un-hooded eyes + And lightening flash from beak to pinion tips, + Seizing the Dragon that, despite its slips + From form to form--craft, gold and false sunrise-- + Can not elude his eye and talon grips. + + +III + + A conflict, this, refracted, cloud to cloud! + Where a white summit? Under crimson seas, + And these still hightening. Through far azure, Peace + Listens and, eager, peeps; then, turns headbowed. + The conflict circling earth, all plains are ploughed + New rows of gulches. God! can aught appease + The Dragon with fiend thirst's eternities + For tongue! The sun might, if it were well sloughed. + + The Dragon, mounting, draws aloft earth's slime + With which to dim the all-producing Sun + From broadening light and warmth for every one; + But, look! The Eagle, with the thirst sublime + Of Justice, that the right on earth be done-- + Flashes and--hark! 'Tis earth's Te-Deum chime! + + +IV + + Oh, yea, the Earth's Te Deums, visibling + As well as voicing forth the joy of Nations, + Fill up the vastest Heaven--that of God's Patience + With Human Will most grossly reptiling + In insincerities, worse than negations; + And for what blessing are the earth's laudations? + The grace to soul to scorn to be mere thing. + + Oh, of this grace was born the Eagle's vim + To dash the Dragon down in hell so deep, + It is a maggot there, which can but creep; + And draw Elias' chariot to Earth's rim, + Wherein Saint George stands with his heart a-leap-- + As, now, in labor, we catch glimpse of him. + +[Illustration] + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Freedom, Truth and Beauty, by Edward Doyle + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FREEDOM, TRUTH AND BEAUTY *** + +***** This file should be named 20174.txt or 20174.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/1/7/20174/ + +Produced by Sigal Alon, Brett Fishburne, David Garcia and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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