The world is fair! The circling swell Of fresh tumultuous sea Holds life within its rhythmic rise And bursts of harmony; And storm-clouds chasing down the sky Empty their hearts as they sweep by.
The world is gay!--Such lilt and song, Such mellowness of tune, Such drifting airs from wave and sh.o.r.e, From rock and sand and dune.
I did not know that clouds of spray Splashed as they fell, a roundelay.
A magic day! A magic hand Has raised a magic mood.
Oh! years ago G.o.d made the world And saw that it was good.
And from His ecstasy divine I borrowed this sweet hour of mine.
Thoughts
So fair, so delicate the thoughts, He marvelled they could be his own; He did not dream that they were birds From heaven flown.
Birds with a message in their throats, Limpid and golden from the sky.
Most wonderful his song. "Twas strange He knew not why.
They fluttered their white wings awhile Then soared again to paradise, Leaving a trail of limpid notes For sacrifice.
The Things Unsaid are the Things that Count!
You told me you had done with love, You showed me why; You said it often, just to prove Inconstancy!
I never heard-- I only marked--the _unsaid_ word.
You told me you had thoughts beyond My own poor love, A wider sphere, ambitions fond!
"Fore G.o.d above In rosy bliss I only felt th" ungiven kiss!
I knew one day that unsaid word would dress In shining letters, spelling happiness!
I knew that love would one day be mine own, A tender suppliant for forgiveness won.
I had no fear, Tho" cold and clear You gave your answer,--sweet, my dear, I never heard--your spoken word!
The Song of the Long Ago
Wraith of the out-lived years, Wandering too and fro, Floating to earth on the hallowed tones Of a song of long ago.
Shadows of those asleep Steal through the simple lay, Lifting the silvery veil aside Of a long lost yesterday.
Beautiful silent days, Raised from the silent past, In the pregnant chords of a once loved song Memory speaks at last.
Of the golden summer eves, Shrined in the mists of years And a world of hopes! Dear G.o.d, what hopes, Born to the soul in tears.
But the youthful hopes creep by, Stealing with solemn chime To a finite grave. They will rise in faith When Eternity conquers Time.
Dream-laden, tender song, Sacred and sweet and old, With the lingering touch of a bygone age, I have scanned again in thy down-turned page, A tale that was long since told.
The Sinner"s Dreaming
When the great sun flung bands of gold (Bands to the number of seven) On the limpid sea, we followed the gold And climbed on our way to Heaven.
There to the portals of cloud and storm, Piled high in the regions of thunder, Till we reached the sky, in its columns of storm, And G.o.d"s gates rolled asunder.
Below, the world like a ball of mist With us, pearl and jacinth and beryl, And it faded away, that pearl-grey mist, And we clung to the gates in peril.
Myrrh and incense, and jacinth and pearl, How we cringed on the floor of Heaven!
And the great sun drew its bands from the pearl.
Bands to the number of seven.
And now, as we gaze from our star-crowned sphere To the shadows, where earth is seeming, We know that that hazy circling sphere Was only a sinner"s dreaming!
Woman
When G.o.d made woman Fair He made her, as the rose; Her face upturned to catch His radiant smile; His sunbeams lurked the while About her lips; with care He chose Her hair and glory, and her round white throat, The pillared keeper of her woman"s note.
G.o.d filled her eyes with innocence and love, And glimpsing lights from out His skies above.
The Father knew that she was beautiful.
And yet, to make her n.o.bly dutiful To Him, within her breast He set a shrine, all holy and possessed In shining mystery. And few who know To enter in. The evading flame aglow That fills the shrine, is white as unshed snow.
And deep within that casket of her breast Are secret joys, to G.o.d alone confessed.
Christmas
White the weather, white the weather!
Stars and ice at one together, Shining frost on cracking branches, Snow in pale smooth avalanches.
White the weather, wintry weather.
Wan the way, where once the heather Bloomed in radiant summer weather, Sparkling icicles moon-l.u.s.tred Droop, where once the green leaves cl.u.s.tered.
Life is sleeping, held in tether.