A thousand times by night The Syrian hosts have died; A thousand times the vanquished right Hath risen, glorified.
The truth the wise men sought Was spoken by a child; The alabaster box was brought In trembling hands defiled.
Not from my torch, the gleam, But from the stars above: Not from my heart, life"s crystal stream, But from the depths of Love.
October, 1903.
GREETINGS AND INSCRIPTIONS
KATRINA"S SUN-DIAL
Hours fly, Flowers die: New days, New ways: Pa.s.s by!
Love stays.
Time is Too Slow for those who Wait, Too Swift for those who Fear, Too Long for those who Grieve, Too Short for those who Rejoice; But for those who Love, Time is not.
TO JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
On his "Book of Joyous Children"
Yours is a garden of old-fashioned flowers; Joyous children delight to play there; Weary men find rest in its bowers, Watching the lingering light of day there.
Old-time tunes and young love"s laughter Ripple and run among the roses; Memory"s echoes, murmuring after, Fill the dusk when the long day closes.
Simple songs with a cadence olden-- These you learned in the Forest of Arden: Friendly flowers with hearts all golden-- These you borrowed from Eden"s garden.
This is the reason why all men love you; Truth to life is the charm of art: Other poets may soar above you-- You keep close to the human heart.
December, 1903.
A HEALTH TO MARK TWAIN
At his Birthday Feast
With memories old and wishes new We crown our cups again, And here"s to you, and here"s to you With love that ne"er shall wane!
And may you keep, at sixty-seven, The joy of earth, the hope of heaven, And fame well-earned, and friendship true, And peace that comforts every pain, And faith that fights the battle through, And all your heart"s unbounded wealth, And all your wit, and all your health,-- Yes, here"s a hearty health to you, And here"s to you, and here"s to you, Long life to you, Mark Twain.
A RONDEAU OF COLLEGE RHYMES
Our college rhymes,--how light they seem, Like little ghosts of love"s young dream That led our boyish hearts away From lectures and from books, to stray By flowery mead and flowing stream!
There"s nothing here, in form or theme, Of thought sublime or art supreme: We would not have the critic weigh Our college rhymes.
Yet if, perchance, a slender beam Of feeling"s glow or fancy"s gleam Still lingers in the lines we lay At Alma Mater"s feet today, The touch of Nature may redeem Our college rhymes.
May, 1904.
THE MOCKING-BIRD
In mirth he mocks the other birds at noon, Catching the lilt of every easy tune; But when the day departs he sings of love,-- His own wild song beneath the listening moon.
March, 1904.
THE EMPTY QUATRAIN
A flawless cup: how delicate and fine The flowing curve of every jewelled line!
Look, turn it up or down, "t is perfect still,-- But holds no drop of life"s heart-warming wine.
April, 1904.
INSCRIPTIONS FOR A FRIEND"S HOUSE
THE HOUSE
The cornerstone in Truth is laid, The guardian walls of Honour made, The roof of Faith is built above, The fire upon the hearth is Love: Though rains descend and loud winds call, This happy house shall never fall.
THE DOORSTEAD
The lintel low enough to keep out pomp and pride: The threshold high enough to turn deceit aside: The doorband strong enough from robbers to defend: This door will open at a touch to welcome every friend.