Kitabı oku: «Home Poems», sayfa 7

DILIGENCE

 
He who cannot do to-morrow
Better than he does to-day
Is a creature of dishonor
And a failure all the way.
 
 
From to-day’s accomplished labor
Comes the morrow near at hand,
Just as yesterday’s completion
Brought to-day’s ambitions grand.
 
 
All the past is antiquated,—
Useful but for present guide,
And if followed makes the future
All that has been hoped and tried.
 
 
He who will not wisely labor
For the Present that is here,
Rather than prefer past pleasures
Or a future’s coming cheer;
 
 
Is, among the world’s great workers,
But a tramp, whom few can trust,
Who destroys the best of morals
Or is held in sheer disgust.
 
 
Happy hearts and willing workers
Make this earth a better place,
And receive the Father’s blessing,
When they see Him face to face.
 

THE BABY

 
Within his little crib the baby lies;
And ’neath the lashes of his closing eyes
I catch a glimpse of summer’s bluest skies.
 
 
His tiny head, upon its pillow white,
Is crowned with curls, like sunshine fair and bright,
Half hidden now from his admirer’s sight.
 
 
His cheek, soon flushed in a refreshing sleep,
Is like the petal of a wild-rose deep,
While in and out the pretty dimples peep.
 
 
His rose-bud mouth, in such an hour as this,
Invites the pleasure of a loving kiss,
Which even strangers could not take amiss.
 
 
His tiny teeth are like the precious pearls
And, when his lip in childish laughter curls,
They shine, as perfect as a baby girl’s.
 
 
His shapely ears, like sea-shells pink and small,
Which soon discern the mother song and call,
Can quickly hear the slightest sound of all.
 
 
His little nose, not yet in proper style,
Which mother models every little while,
Is quite enough to make a critic smile.
 
 
His dimpled hands, unlike the restless feet
Securely pinned within his blanket neat,
Oft find a place outside the snowy sheet.
 
 
When baby sleeps the house is hushed and lone;
His rubber playthings to the floor are thrown,
While patient pussy seeks her peace unknown.
 
 
When baby wakes the house is filled with joy;
His lusty cries no loving heart annoy,
While mother runs to take her darling boy.
 

GOD’S LOVE

 
Like a star, whose beams are brighter
When skies are dark above,
So shines, in night of sorrow,
The light of God’s great love.
 
 
We may not see its lustre,
While heads are bowed in prayer,
But looking just above us
We find its glories there.
 
 
Our tears may dim the vision
And we may question why;
But some day He will answer
Where souls shall never die.
 
 
Above the gathering shadows,
Beyond the gloom of years,
God’s star will shine forever,
Undimmed by Sorrow’s tears.
 
 
Some day, when He shall lead us
To our eternal rest,
We’ll know life’s hidden meaning
And we shall say: “’Twas best.”
 

RELEASE

 
Fear not to die, but rather fear to live,
For death is not so grave a thing as life;
The soul that God to mortal man did give
Shall some day be exempt from earthly strife,
And from its narrow prison cell at last
It shall go forth the glorious light to see,
When chains are loosened, which now hold it fast,
By Death, the warden, who shall set it free;
And it shall live thro’ all the days and years
To know the peace of sunny Paradise,
No more to be the slave of doubts and fears,
Nor suffer failure when escape it tries.
Earth’s blossoms die, but from the falling seeds
Shall live again the pure and treasured flowers;
And thus we die, but loving words and deeds
Shall be immortal like this soul of ours.
 

EASTER

[To M. M. M.]

 
’Twas Easter evening and the church
Was filled with a waiting throng,
To listen to Easter Service
With its flowers, its light and song.
 
 
The organist, by the altar,
Touched the pretty ivory keys
And sent, thro’ the house of worship
The sweetest of melodies.
 
 
Just as the notes were ceasing,
And the people arose for prayer,
A little maid came softly in
And seated herself by the stair.
 
 
The service was just beginning,
She had never entered before;
But while passing had heard the music
And seen bright lights from the door;—
 
 
So she thought: “I’ll look in a moment,
To see what it all is about,—
And perhaps—if I steal in softly
That no one will find it out.”
 
 
She saw all the people standing
With heads bowed down in the light,
And she heard the words: “Our Father,
Bless this service here to-night.”
 
 
When the good man ceased his speaking
And each one had taken seat,
Again the notes from the organ
Thro’ the stillness sounded sweet.
 
 
A little girl came to the altar,—
“No older than I am”—she thought;
She was dressed in snowy whiteness,
In her hands sweet flowers she brought.
 
 
She spoke of the Christ—our Saviour,
In her pretty childish way;
She said: “The Lord is risen
And he walks with men to-day.”
 
 
“He loves us—He died to save us,”
Said the little maid in white—
“He went to the Home above us,
To Heaven where there is no night.”
 
 
And the little girl by the stair-way
In her tattered gown of red,
Listening, heard the story sweet
And treasured the words she said;
 
 
And she wondered, as she listened,
If the Saviour did truly care
For one so small and neglected
As she, sitting down by the stair.
 
 
And while she looked at the flowers
And heard the grand organ play,
And sweet voices of the children
Now telling of Easter day;
 
 
Her little heart grew lighter,
She said: “I’m alone no more
For Christ, who loves the children,
Is my Father now gone before.”
 
 
When the Easter Service was ended
She wended her way alone
Thro’ the streets of the great city
To the garret, her only home.
 
 
As she climbed the narrow stair-way,
Unlighted by cheering ray,
Her little heart kept singing
The songs of glad Easter day;
 
 
And the woman, who kept the lodging,
Heard the little maiden come
And asked, in her gruffest manner,
What kept her so long from home.
 
 
“’Twas the Easter Service, madam,
And the words”—she made reply;
“I’m not an orphan any more
For my Father dwells on high.”
 
 
“See! I’ve brought you an Easter lily
All snowy, and pure, and white,
Which a lady dropped in passing
Ere her coach wheeled out of sight.”
 
 
“I almost know you’ll like it
For ’tis part of the Easter day,
And the children spoke of the lilies
In the verses they had to say.”
 
 
When all was still in the lodging
And the rest were sleeping below,
Unmindful of Christ, the Saviour,
Who died for them long ago;
 
 
Then this loving little maiden,
Away from all human sight,
Knelt down, in the dingy garret,
To thank God for Easter night.
 

EMINENCE

 
Side by side the mountains rise
Toward the blue of distant skies;
But tho’ roots may interlace
And each base is joined to base,
Till the friendly trees incline
And their branches touch and twine,
Yet, while aging day by day,
They part union on their way
Till the welcome sunlight seeks
To crown insulated peaks.
 
 
Side by side the great men rise
Towards the heights of brighter skies;
But tho’ minds together blend
And each friend is joined to friend,
Till their spirits interchange
And their thoughts have fullest range,
Yet while aging day by day,
They diverge upon life’s way
Till Young Genius claims his own
And they choose to soar alone.
 

THE HERE AND THERE

By courtesy of Ladies’ World, New York City

 
The Here and There are not so far apart,
As oft’ they seem to Sorrow’s waiting heart;
The waking love that Here no more shall sleep
Will There the souls in perfect union keep.
God does not mean, tho’ Heaven be bright and fair,
To break the strands between the Here and There.
The heart that loves shall love beyond the skies;
The soul that lives shall live in Paradise.
We know that He in joy and peace will keep
Our own and His until we fall asleep.
The same sweet smile, the loving face so fair,
But glorified, awaits our coming There.
To those who trust and patiently endure,
He gives them back, bright, beautiful and pure.
They are not lost to such as you and me
But still shall love us thro’ Eternity;—
And from temptation and from earthly care
Shall lead us upward to the Heavenly There.
 

AIR CASTLES

 
Sometimes I dwell not here—
But far away,
Where not a breath disturbs
My fondest dream;
Where, loitering at ease,
Myself alone I please
And sing my soul good cheer
Within my castles fair,
That I have built in air,
Above Time’s stream.
 
 
Outside, like haunting ghosts,
The clouds appear,
But noiselessly pass by
Each bolted gate;
Around my castle walls,
The hush of moon-light falls,
While, like the armied hosts,
With torches flashing bright,
The stars come out at night
To celebrate.
 
 
’Tis bliss to dwell like this,
In airy heights,
Above the common crowd
And earthly din;
Where all the livelong day,
With my best self I stay
And naught of glory miss;
Where neither friend nor foe,
To pity or bring woe,
Can enter in.
 
 
Who dares uplift a latch,
Like thief at night,
To scatter treasured hopes
And steal my store?
Who darkens my domain
Where I, an empress, reign,
While subjects wait dispatch?
Away, ye dread Despair!
To castles in the air
Still let me soar.
 

LITTLE JOE

 
He stands in crowded city street,
Poor, tired, little Joe,
And sees the people pass and meet
While moments come and go.
 
 
He holds sweet flowers in his hand,
Poor, patient, little Joe,
And wonders who can understand
His poverty and woe.
 
 
“Please won’t you buy my blossoms bright?”
Cries hopeful, little Joe,
While daylight fades and sunset light
Floods stirring streets below.
 
 
But no one lingers, no one cares
For homeless, little Joe;
When mother breathed his name in prayers
He was too small to know.
 
 
When father took him on his knee,
Dear, little baby Joe,
He used to crow in childish glee
But that was long ago.
 
 
The night grows dark, and no one hears
Poor, heartsick, little Joe;
He puts his flowers away with tears
And turns his foot-steps slow.
 
 
He passes mansions grand and tall,
Poor, homesick, little Joe,
And hopes that men within the hall
Will gifts of love bestow.
 
 
Sometimes he stops to watch the lights,
Poor, lonely, little Joe,
And sees some whirling, dazzling sights
While dancers come and go.
 
 
In homes he hears the child-like noise,
Poor, orphaned, little Joe,
And wonders if their little boys
To great, good men will grow.
 
 
He seeks, at last, a sheltering shed,
Poor, hungry, little Joe,
And makes, of tattered coat, a bed,
While tear-drops freely flow.
 
 
And: “Now I lay me down to sleep,”
Says drowsy, little Joe,
“And pray the Lord my soul to keep,”
He whispers, soft and low.
 
 
“If I should die before I wake,”
Breathes tired, little Joe,
“I pray the Lord my soul to take,”
And it was even so.