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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12093 ***
+
+THE SONG OF
+THE STONE WALL
+
+
+BY
+HELEN KELLER
+
+
+
+
+1910
+Copyright, 1909, 1910.
+_Published October, 1910_.
+
+
+
+
+DEDICATION
+
+
+When I began “The Song of the Stone Wall,” Dr. Edward Everett Hale
+was still among us, and it was my intention to dedicate the poem
+to him if it should be deemed worthy of publication. I fancied that
+he would like it; for he loved the old walls and the traditions that
+cling about them.
+
+As I tried to image the men who had built the walls long ago, it
+seemed to me that Dr. Hale was the living embodiment of whatever was
+heroic in the founders of New England. He was a great American. He
+was also a great Puritan. Was not the zeal of his ancestors upon his
+lips, and their courage in his heart? Had they not bequeathed to him
+their torch-like faith, their patient fervor of toil and their creed
+of equality?
+
+But his bright spirit had inherited no trace of their harshness and
+gloom. The windows of his soul opened to the sunlight of a joyous
+faith. His optimism and genial humor inspired gladness and good
+sense in others. With an old story he prepared their minds to
+receive new ideas, and with a parable he opened their hearts to
+generous feelings. All men loved him because he loved them. They
+knew that his heart was in their happiness, and that his humanity
+embraced their sorrows. In him the weak found a friend, the
+unprotected, a champion. Though a herald and proclaimer of peace, he
+could fight stubbornly and passionately on the side of justice. His
+was a lovable, uplifting greatness which drew all men near and ever
+nearer to God and to each other. Like his ancestors, he dreamed of a
+land of freedom founded on the love of God and the brotherhood of
+man, a land where each man shall achieve his share of happiness and
+learn the work of manhood—to rule himself and “lend a hand.”
+
+Thoughts like these were often in my mind as the poem grew and took
+form. It is fitting, therefore, that I should dedicate it to him,
+and in so doing I give expression to the love and reverence which I
+have felt for him ever since he called me his little cousin, more
+than twenty years ago.
+
+HELEN KELLER
+
+Wrentham, Massachusetts,
+January, 1910.
+
+
+
+
+
+THE SONG OF
+THE STONE WALL
+
+
+Come walk with me, and I will tell
+What I have read in this scroll of stone;
+I will spell out this writing on hill and meadow.
+It is a chronicle wrought by praying workmen,
+The forefathers of our nation--
+Leagues upon leagues of sealed history awaiting an interpreter.
+This is New England's tapestry of stone
+Alive with memories that throb and quiver
+At the core of the ages
+As the prophecies of old at the heart of God’s Word.
+
+The walls have many things to tell me,
+And the days are long. I come and listen:
+My hand is upon the stones, and the tale I fain would hear
+Is of the men who built the walls,
+And of the God who made the stones and the workers.
+
+With searching feet I walk beside the wall;
+I plunge and stumble over the fallen stones;
+I follow the windings of the wall
+Over the heaving hill, down by the meadow-brook,
+Beyond the scented fields, by the marsh where rushes grow.
+On I trudge through pine woods fragrant and cool
+And emerge amid clustered pools and by rolling acres of rye.
+The wall is builded of field-stones great and small,
+Tumbled about by frost and storm,
+Shaped and polished by ice and rain and sun;
+Some flattened, grooved, and chiseled
+By the inscrutable sculpture of the weather;
+Some with clefts and rough edges harsh to the touch.
+Gracious Time has glorified the wall
+And covered the historian stones with a mantle of green.
+Sunbeams flit and waver in the rifts,
+Vanish and reappear, linger and sleep,
+Conquer with radiance the obdurate angles,
+Filter between the naked rents and wind-bleached jags.
+
+I understand the triumph and the truth
+Wrought into these walls of rugged stone.
+They are a miracle of patient hands,
+They are a victory of suffering, a paean of pain;
+All pangs of death, all cries of birth,
+Are in the mute, moss-covered stones;
+They are eloquent to my hands.
+O beautiful, blind stones, inarticulate and dumb!
+In the deep gloom of their hearts there is a gleam
+Of the primeval sun which looked upon them
+When they were begotten.
+So in the heart of man shines forever
+A beam from the everlasting sun of God.
+Rude and unresponsive are the stones;
+Yet in them divine things lie concealed;
+I hear their imprisoned chant:--
+
+"We are fragments of the universe,
+Chips of the rock whereon God laid the foundation of the world:
+Out of immemorial chaos He wrought us.
+Out of the sun, out of the tempest, out of the travail of the earth
+ we grew.
+We are wonderfully mingled of life and death;
+We serve as crypts for innumerable, unnoticed, tiny forms.
+We are manifestations of the Might
+That rears the granite hills unto the clouds
+And sows the tropic seas with coral isles.
+We are shot through and through with hidden color;
+A thousand hues are blended in our gray substance.
+Sapphire, turquoise, ruby, opal,
+Emerald, diamond, amethyst, are our sisters from the beginning,
+And our brothers are iron, lead, zinc,
+Copper and silver and gold.
+We are the dust of continents past and to come,
+We are a deathless frieze carved with man's destiny;
+In us is the record sibylline of far events.
+We are as old as the world, our birth was before the hills.
+We are the cup that holds the sea
+And the framework of the peak that parts the sky.
+When Chaos shall again return,
+And endless Night shall spread her wings upon a rained world,
+We alone shall stand up from the shattered earth,
+Indestructible, invincible witnesses of God’s eternal purpose.”
+
+In reflective mood by the wall I wander;
+The hoary stones have set my heart astir;
+My thoughts take shape and move beside me in the guise
+Of the stern men who built the wall in early olden days.
+One by one the melancholy phantoms go stepping from me,
+And I follow them in and out among the stones.
+I think of the days long gone,
+Flown like birds beyond the ramparts of the world.
+The patient, sturdy men who piled the stones
+Have vanished, like the days, beyond the bounds
+Of earth and mortal things.
+From their humble, steadfast lives has sprung the greatness of my
+ nation.
+I am bone of their bone, breath of their breath,
+Their courage is in my soul.
+The wall is an Iliad of granite: it chants to me
+Of pilgrims of the perilous deep,
+Of fearless journeyings and old forgotten things.
+The blood of grim ancestors warms the fingers
+That trace the letters of their story;
+My pulses beat in unison with pulses that are stilled;
+The fire of their zeal inspires me
+In my struggle with darkness and pain.
+These embossed books, unobliterated by the tears and laughter
+ of Time,
+Are signed with the vital hands of undaunted men.
+I love these monoliths, so crudely imprinted
+With their stalwart, cleanly, frugal lives.
+
+From my seat among the stones I stretch my hand and touch
+My friend the elm, urnlike, lithesome, tall.
+Far above the reach of my exploring fingers
+Birds are singing and winging joyously
+Through leafy billows of green.
+The elm-tree’s song is wondrous sweet;
+The words are the ancientest language of trees--
+They tell of how earth and air and light
+Are wrought anew to beauty and to fruitfulness.
+I feel the glad stirrings under her rough bark;
+Her living sap mounts up to bring forth leaves;
+Her great limbs thrill beneath the wand of spring.
+
+This wall was builded in our fathers’ days--
+Valorous days when life was lusty and the land was new.
+Resemble the walls the builders, buffeted, stern, and worn.
+To us they left the law,
+Order, simplicity, obedience,
+And the wall is the bond they gave the nation
+At its birth of courage and unflinching faith.
+Before the epic here inscribed began,
+They wrote their course upon a trackless sea.
+O, tiny craft, bearing a nation’s seed!
+Frail shallop, quick with unborn states!
+Autumn was mellow in the fatherland when they set sail,
+And winter deepened as they neared the West.
+Out of the desert sea they came at last,
+And their hearts warmed to see that frozen land.
+O, first gray dawn that filtered through the dark!
+Bleak, glorious birth-hour of our northern states!
+They stood upon the shore like new created men;
+On barren solitudes of sand they stood,
+The conquered sea behind, the unconquered wilderness before.
+Some died that year beneath the cruel cold,
+And some for heartsick longing and the pang
+Of homes remembered and souls torn asunder.
+That spring the new-plowed field for bread of life
+Bordered the new-dug acre marked for death;
+Beside the springing corn they laid in the sweet, dark earth
+The young man, strong and free, the maiden fair and trustful,
+The little child, and the uncomplaining mother.
+
+Across the meadow, by the ancient pines,
+Where I, the child of life that lived that spring,
+Drink in the fragrances of the young year,
+The field-wall meets one grimly squared and straight.
+Beyond it rise the old tombs, gray and restful,
+And the upright slates record the generations.
+Stiffly aslant before the northern blasts,
+Like the steadfast, angular beliefs
+Of those whom they commemorate, the headstones stand,
+Cemented deep with moss and invisible roots.
+The rude inscriptions charged with faith and love,
+Graceless as Death himself, yet sweet as Death,
+Are half erased by the impartial storms.
+As children lisping words which move to laughter
+Are themselves poems of unconscious melody,
+So the old gravestones with their crabbed muse
+Are beautiful for their halting words of faith,
+Their groping love that had no gift of song.
+But all the broken tragedy of life
+And all the yearning mystery of death
+Are celebrated in sweet epitaphs of vines and violets.
+Close by the wall a peristyle of pines
+Sings requiem to all the dead that sleep.
+
+Beyond the village churchyard, still and calm,
+Steeped in the sweetness of eternal morn,
+The wall runs down in crumbling cadence
+Beside the brook which plays
+Through the land like a silver harp.
+A wind of ancient romance blows across the field,
+A sweet disturbance thrills the air;
+The silken skirts of Spring go rustling by,
+And the earth is astir with joy.
+Up the hill, romping and shaking their golden heads,
+Come the little children of the wood.
+From ecstasy to ecstasy the year mounts upward.
+Up from the south come the odor-laden winds,
+Angels and ministers of life,
+Dropping seeds of fruitfulness
+Into the bosoms of flowers.
+Elusive, alluring secrets hide in wood and hedge
+Like the first thoughts of love
+In the breast of a maiden;
+The witchery of love is in rock and tree.
+Across the pasture, star-sown with daisies,
+I see a young girl--the spirit of spring she seems,
+Sister of the winds that run through the rippling daisies.
+Sweet and clear her voice calls father and brother,
+And one whose name her shy lips will not utter.
+But a chorus of leaves and grasses speaks her heart
+And tells his name: the birches flutter by the wall;
+The wild cherry-tree shakes its plumy head
+And whispers his name; the maple
+Opens its rosy lips and murmurs his name;
+The marsh-marigold sends the rumor
+Down the winding stream, and the blue flag
+Spread the gossip to the lilies in the lake:
+All Nature’s eyes and tongues conspire
+In the unfolding of the tale
+That Adam and Eve beneath the blossoming rose-tree
+Told each other in the Garden of Eden.
+Once more the wind blows from the walls,
+And I behold a fair young mother;
+She stands at the lilac-shaded door
+With her baby at her breast;
+She looks across the twilit fields and smiles
+And whispers to her child: “Thy father comes!”
+
+Life triumphed over many-weaponed Death.
+Sorrow and toil and the wilderness thwarted their stout invasion;
+But with the ship that sailed again went no retreating soul!
+Stubborn, unvanquished, clinging to the skirts of Hope,
+They kept their narrow foothold on the land,
+And the ship sailed home for more.
+With yearlong striving they fought their way into the forest;
+Their axes echoed where I sit, a score of miles from the sea.
+Slowly, slowly the wilderness yielded
+To smiling grass-plots and clearings of yellow corn;
+And while the logs of their cabins were still moist
+With odorous sap, they set upon the hill
+The shrine of liberty for man’s mind,
+And by it the shrine of liberty for man’s soul,
+The school-house and the church.
+
+The apple-tree by the wall sheds its blossom about me--
+A shower of petals of light upon darkness.
+From Nature’s brimming cup I drink a thousand scents;
+At noon the wizard sun stirs the hot soil under the pines.
+I take the top stone of the wall in my hands
+And the sun in my heart;
+I feel the rippling land extend to right and left,
+Bearing up a receptive surface to my uncertain feet;
+I clamber up the hill and beyond the grassy sweep;
+I encounter a chaos of tumbled rocks.
+Piles of shadow they seem, huddling close to the land.
+Here they are scattered like sheep,
+Or like great birds at rest,
+There a huge block juts from the giant wave of the hill.
+At the foot of the aged pines the maiden’s moccasins
+Track the sod like the noiseless sandals of Spring.
+Out of chinks in the wall delicate grasses wave,
+As beauty grew out of the crannies of these hard souls.
+
+Joyously, gratefully, after their long wrestling
+With the bitter cold and the harsh white winter,
+They heard the step of Spring on the edge of melting snow-drifts;
+Gladly, with courage that flashed from their life-beaten souls,
+As the fire-sparks fly from the hammered stone,
+They hailed the fragrant arbutus;
+Its sweetness trailed beside the path that they cut through the
+ forest,
+And they gave it the name of their ship Mayflower.
+     Beauty was at their feet, and their eyes beheld it;
+The earth cried out for labor, and they gave it.
+But ever as they saw the budding spring,
+Ever as they cleared the stubborn field,
+Ever as they piled the heavy stones,
+In mystic vision they saw, the eternal spring;
+They raised their hardened hands above the earth,
+And beheld the walls that are not built of stone,
+The portals opened by angels whose garments are of light;
+And beyond the radiant walls of living stones
+They dreamed vast meadows and hills of fadeless green.
+
+In the old house across the road
+With weather-beaten front, like the furrowed face of an old man,
+The lights are out forever, the windows are broken,
+And the oaken posts are warped;
+The storms beat into the rooms as the passion of the world
+Racked and buffeted those who once dwelt in them.
+The psalm and the morning prayer are silent.
+But the walls remain visible witnesses of faith
+That knew no wavering or shadow of turning.
+They have withstood sun and northern blast,
+They have outlasted the unceasing strife
+Of forces leagued to tear them down.
+Under the stars and the clouds, under the summer sun,
+Beaten by rain and wind, covered with tender vines,
+The walls stand symbols of a granite race,
+The measure and translation of olden times.
+
+In the rough epic of their life, their toil, their creeds,
+Their psalms, their prayers, what stirring tales
+Of days that were their past had they to tell
+Their children to keep the new faith burning?
+Tales of grandsires in the fatherland
+Whose faith was seven times tried in fiery furnaces,--
+Of Rowland Taylor who kissed the stake,
+And stood with hands folded and eyes steadfastly turned
+To the sky, and smiled upon the flames;
+Of Latimer, and of Cranmer who for cowardice heroically atoned--
+Who thrust his right hand into the fire
+Because it had broken plight with his heart
+And written against the voice of his conviction.
+With such memories they exalted and cherished
+The heroism of their tried souls,
+And ours are wrung with doubt and self-distrust!
+
+I am kneeling on the odorous earth;
+The sweet, shy feet of Spring come tripping o’er the land,
+Winter is fled to the hills, leaving snowy wreaths
+On apple-tree, meadow, and marsh.
+The walls are astir; little waves of blue
+Run through my fingers murmuring:
+“We follow the winds and the snow!”
+Their heart is a cup of gold.
+Soft whispers of showers and flowers
+Are mingled in the spring song of the walls.
+Hark to the songs that go singing like the wind
+Through the chinks of the wall and thrill the heart
+And quicken it with passionate response!
+The walls sing the song of wild bird, the hoof-beat of deer,
+The murmur of pine and cedar, the ripple of many streams;
+Crows are calling from the Druidical wood;
+The morning mist still haunts the meadows
+Like the ghosts of the wall builders.
+
+As I listen, methinks I hear the bitter plaint
+Of the passing of a haughty race,
+The wronged, friendly, childlike, peaceable tribes,
+The swarthy archers of the wilderness,
+The red men to whom Nature opened all her secrets,
+Who knew the haunts of bird and fish,
+The hidden virtue of herb and root;
+All the travail of man and beast they knew--
+Birth and death, heat and cold,
+Hunger and thirst, love and hate;
+For these are the unchanging things writ in the imperishable book of
+ life
+That man suckled at the breast of woman must know.
+
+In the dim sanctuary of the pines
+The winds murmur their mysteries through dusky aisles--
+Secrets of earth’s renewal and the endless cycle of life.
+Living things are afoot among the grasses;
+The closed fingers of the ferns unfold,
+New bees explore new flowers, and the brook
+Pours virgin waters from the rushing founts of May.
+In the old walls there are sinister voices--
+The groans of women charged with witchcraft.
+I see a lone, gray, haggard woman standing at bay,
+Helpless against her grim, sin-darkened judges.
+Terror blanches her lips and makes her confess
+Bonds with demons that her heart knows not.
+Satan sits by the judgment-seat and laughs.
+The gray walls, broken, weatherworn oracles,
+Sing that she was once a girl of love and laughter,
+Then a fair mother with lullabies on her lips,
+Caresses in her eyes, who spent her days
+In weaving warmth to keep her brood against the winter cold.
+And in her tongue was the law of kindness;
+For her God was the Lord Jehovah.
+Enemies uprose and swore her accused,
+Laid at her door the writhing forms of little children,
+And she could but answer: “The Evil One
+Torments them in my shape.”
+She stood amazed before the tribunal of her church
+And heard the gate of God’s house closed against her.
+Oh, shuddering silence of the throng,
+And fearful the words spoken from the judgment-seat!
+She raised her white head and clasped her wrinkled hands:
+“Pity me, Lord, pity my anguish!
+Nor, since Thou art a just and terrible God,
+Forget to visit thy wrath upon these people;
+For they have sworn away the life of Thy servant
+Who hath lived long in the land keeping Thy commandments.
+I am old, Lord, and betrayed;
+By neighbor and kin am I betrayed;
+A Judas kiss hath marked me for a witch.
+Possessed of a devil?  Here be a legion of devils!
+Smite them, O God, yea, utterly destroy them that persecute the innocent.”
+Before this mother in Israel the judges cowered;
+But still they suffered her to die.
+Through the tragic, guilty walls I hear the sighs
+Of desolate women and penitent, remorseful men.
+
+Sing of happier themes, O many-voiced epic,
+Sing how the ages, like thrifty husbandmen, winnow the creeds of
+ men,
+And leave only faith and love and truth.
+Sing of the Puritan’s nobler nature,
+Fathomless as the forests he felled,
+Irresistible as the winds that blow.
+His trenchant conviction was but the somber bulwark
+Which guarded his pure ideal.
+Resolute by the communion board he stood,
+And after solemn prayer solemnly cancelled
+And abolished the divine right of kings
+And declared the holy rights of man.
+Prophet and toiler, yearning for other worlds, yet wise in this;
+Scornful of earthly empire and brooding on death,
+Yet wrestling life out of the wilderness
+And laying stone on stone the foundation of a temporal state!
+I see him standing at his cabin-door at eventide
+With dreaming, fearless eyes gazing at sunset hills;
+In his prophetic sight Liberty, like a bride,
+Hasteth to meet her lord, the westward-going man!
+Even as he saw the citadel of Heaven,
+He beheld an earthly state divinely fair and just.
+Mystic and statesman, maker of homes,
+Strengthened by the primal law of toil,
+And schooled by monarch-made injustices,
+He carried the covenant of liberty with fire and sword,
+And laid a rich state on frugality!
+Many republics have sprung into being,
+Full-grown, equipped with theories forged in reason;
+All, all have fallen in a single night;
+But to the wise, fire-hardened Puritan
+Democracy was not a blaze of glory
+To crackle for an hour and be quenched out
+By the first gust that blows across the world.
+I see him standing at his cabin-door,
+And all his dreams are true as when he dreamed them;
+But only shall they be fulfilled if we
+Are mindful of the toil that gave him power,
+Are brave to dare a wilderness of wrong;
+So long shall Nature nourish us and Spring
+Throw riches in the lap of man
+As we beget no wasteful, weak-handed generations,
+But bend us to the fruitful earth in toil.
+Beyond the wall a new-plowed field lies steaming in the sun,
+And down the road a merry group of children
+Run toward the village school.
+
+Hear, O hear!  In the historian walls
+Rises the beat and the tumult of the struggle for freedom.
+Sacred, blood-stained walls, your peaceful front
+Sheltered the fateful fires of Lexington;
+Builded to fence green fields and keep the herds at pasture,
+Ye became the frowning breastworks of stern battle;
+Lowly boundaries of the freeman’s farm,
+Ye grew the rampart of a land at war;
+And still ye cross the centuries
+Between the ages of monarchs and the age
+When farmers in their fields are kings.
+From the Revolution the young Republic emerged,
+She mounted up as on the wings of the eagle,
+She ran and was not weary, and all the children of the world
+Joined her and followed her shining path.
+But ever as she ran, above her lifted head
+Darkened the monster cloud of slavery.
+Hark!  In the walls, amid voices of prayer and of triumph,
+I hear the clank of manacles and the ominous mutterings of bondsmen!
+At Gettysburg, our Golgotha, the sons of the fathers
+Poured their blood to wash out a nation’s shame.
+Cleansed by tribulation and atonement,
+The broken nation rose from her knees,
+And with hope reborn in her heart set forth again
+Upon the open road to ideal democracy.
+
+Sing, walls, in lightning words that shall cause the world to
+ vibrate,
+Of the democracy to come,
+Of the swift, teeming, confident thing!
+We are part of it--the wonder and the terror and the glory!
+Fearless we rush forward to meet the years,
+The years that come flying towards us
+With wings outspread, agleam on the horizon of time!
+
+O eloquent, sane walls, instinct with a new faith,
+Ye are barbarous, in congruous, but great with the greatness of
+ reality.
+Walls wrought in unfaltering effort,
+Sing of our prosperity, the joyous harvest
+Of the labor of lusty toilers.
+Down through the years comes the ring of their victorious axes:
+“Ye are titans of the forest, but we are stronger;
+Ye are strong with the strength of mighty winds,
+But we are strong with the unconquerable strength of souls!”
+Still the young race, unassailable, inviolate,
+Shakes the solitudes with the strokes of creation;
+Doubly strong we renew the valorous days,
+And like a measureless sea we overflow
+The fresh green, benevolent West,
+The buoyant, fruitful West that dares and sings!
+Pure, dew-dripping walls that guard
+The quiet, lovable, fertile fields,
+Sing praises to Him who from the mossy rocks
+Can bid the fountains leap in thirsty lands.
+I walk beside the stones through the young grain,
+Through waves of wheat that billow about my knees.
+The walls contest the onward march of the wheat;
+But the wheat is charged with the life of the world;
+Its force is irresistible; onward it sweeps,
+An engulfing tide, over all the land,
+Till hill and valley, field and plain
+Are flooded with its green felicity!
+Out of the moist earth it has sprung;
+In the gracious amplitudes of her bosom it was nurtured,
+And in it is wrought the miracle of life.
+
+Sing, prophetic, mystic walls, of the dreams of the builders;
+Sing in thundering tones that shall thrill us
+To try our dull discontent, our barren wisdom
+Against their propagating, unquenchable, questionless visions.
+Sing in renerving refrain of the resolute men,
+Each a Lincoln in his smoldering patience,
+Each a Luther in his fearless faith,
+Who made a breach in the wall of darkness
+And let the hosts of liberty march through.
+
+Calm, eternal walls, tranquil, mature,
+Which old voices, old songs, old kisses cover,
+As mosses and lichens cover your ancient stones,
+Teach me the secret of your serene repose;
+Tell of the greater things to be,
+When love and wisdom are the only creed,
+And law and right are one.
+Sing that the Lord cometh, the Lord cometh,
+The fountain-head and spring of life!
+Sing, steady, exultant walls, in strains hallowed and touched with
+ fire,
+Sing that the Lord shall build us all together.
+As living stones build us, cemented together.
+May He who knoweth every pleasant thing
+That our sires forewent to teach the peoples law and truth,
+Who counted every stone blessed by their consecrated hands,
+Grant that we remain liberty-loving, substantial, elemental,
+And that faith, the rock not fashioned of human hands,
+Be the stability of our triumphant, toiling days.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Song of the Stone Wall, by Helen Keller
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12093 ***
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #12093 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/12093)
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Song of the Stone Wall, by Helen Keller
+
+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: The Song of the Stone Wall
+
+Author: Helen Keller
+
+Release Date: April 20, 2004 [EBook #12093]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SONG OF THE STONE WALL ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Jamie Taylor in memory of Helen Keller.
+
+
+
+
+THE SONG OF
+THE STONE WALL
+
+
+BY
+HELEN KELLER
+
+
+
+
+1910
+Copyright, 1909, 1910.
+_Published October, 1910_.
+
+
+
+
+DEDICATION
+
+
+When I began �The Song of the Stone Wall,� Dr. Edward Everett Hale
+was still among us, and it was my intention to dedicate the poem
+to him if it should be deemed worthy of publication. I fancied that
+he would like it; for he loved the old walls and the traditions that
+cling about them.
+
+As I tried to image the men who had built the walls long ago, it
+seemed to me that Dr. Hale was the living embodiment of whatever was
+heroic in the founders of New England. He was a great American. He
+was also a great Puritan. Was not the zeal of his ancestors upon his
+lips, and their courage in his heart? Had they not bequeathed to him
+their torch-like faith, their patient fervor of toil and their creed
+of equality?
+
+But his bright spirit had inherited no trace of their harshness and
+gloom. The windows of his soul opened to the sunlight of a joyous
+faith. His optimism and genial humor inspired gladness and good
+sense in others. With an old story he prepared their minds to
+receive new ideas, and with a parable he opened their hearts to
+generous feelings. All men loved him because he loved them. They
+knew that his heart was in their happiness, and that his humanity
+embraced their sorrows. In him the weak found a friend, the
+unprotected, a champion. Though a herald and proclaimer of peace, he
+could fight stubbornly and passionately on the side of justice. His
+was a lovable, uplifting greatness which drew all men near and ever
+nearer to God and to each other. Like his ancestors, he dreamed of a
+land of freedom founded on the love of God and the brotherhood of
+man, a land where each man shall achieve his share of happiness and
+learn the work of manhood�to rule himself and �lend a hand.�
+
+Thoughts like these were often in my mind as the poem grew and took
+form. It is fitting, therefore, that I should dedicate it to him,
+and in so doing I give expression to the love and reverence which I
+have felt for him ever since he called me his little cousin, more
+than twenty years ago.
+
+HELEN KELLER
+
+Wrentham, Massachusetts,
+January, 1910.
+
+
+
+
+
+THE SONG OF
+THE STONE WALL
+
+
+Come walk with me, and I will tell
+What I have read in this scroll of stone;
+I will spell out this writing on hill and meadow.
+It is a chronicle wrought by praying workmen,
+The forefathers of our nation--
+Leagues upon leagues of sealed history awaiting an interpreter.
+This is New England's tapestry of stone
+Alive with memories that throb and quiver
+At the core of the ages
+As the prophecies of old at the heart of God�s Word.
+
+The walls have many things to tell me,
+And the days are long. I come and listen:
+My hand is upon the stones, and the tale I fain would hear
+Is of the men who built the walls,
+And of the God who made the stones and the workers.
+
+With searching feet I walk beside the wall;
+I plunge and stumble over the fallen stones;
+I follow the windings of the wall
+Over the heaving hill, down by the meadow-brook,
+Beyond the scented fields, by the marsh where rushes grow.
+On I trudge through pine woods fragrant and cool
+And emerge amid clustered pools and by rolling acres of rye.
+The wall is builded of field-stones great and small,
+Tumbled about by frost and storm,
+Shaped and polished by ice and rain and sun;
+Some flattened, grooved, and chiseled
+By the inscrutable sculpture of the weather;
+Some with clefts and rough edges harsh to the touch.
+Gracious Time has glorified the wall
+And covered the historian stones with a mantle of green.
+Sunbeams flit and waver in the rifts,
+Vanish and reappear, linger and sleep,
+Conquer with radiance the obdurate angles,
+Filter between the naked rents and wind-bleached jags.
+
+I understand the triumph and the truth
+Wrought into these walls of rugged stone.
+They are a miracle of patient hands,
+They are a victory of suffering, a paean of pain;
+All pangs of death, all cries of birth,
+Are in the mute, moss-covered stones;
+They are eloquent to my hands.
+O beautiful, blind stones, inarticulate and dumb!
+In the deep gloom of their hearts there is a gleam
+Of the primeval sun which looked upon them
+When they were begotten.
+So in the heart of man shines forever
+A beam from the everlasting sun of God.
+Rude and unresponsive are the stones;
+Yet in them divine things lie concealed;
+I hear their imprisoned chant:--
+
+"We are fragments of the universe,
+Chips of the rock whereon God laid the foundation of the world:
+Out of immemorial chaos He wrought us.
+Out of the sun, out of the tempest, out of the travail of the earth
+ we grew.
+We are wonderfully mingled of life and death;
+We serve as crypts for innumerable, unnoticed, tiny forms.
+We are manifestations of the Might
+That rears the granite hills unto the clouds
+And sows the tropic seas with coral isles.
+We are shot through and through with hidden color;
+A thousand hues are blended in our gray substance.
+Sapphire, turquoise, ruby, opal,
+Emerald, diamond, amethyst, are our sisters from the beginning,
+And our brothers are iron, lead, zinc,
+Copper and silver and gold.
+We are the dust of continents past and to come,
+We are a deathless frieze carved with man's destiny;
+In us is the record sibylline of far events.
+We are as old as the world, our birth was before the hills.
+We are the cup that holds the sea
+And the framework of the peak that parts the sky.
+When Chaos shall again return,
+And endless Night shall spread her wings upon a rained world,
+We alone shall stand up from the shattered earth,
+Indestructible, invincible witnesses of God�s eternal purpose.�
+
+In reflective mood by the wall I wander;
+The hoary stones have set my heart astir;
+My thoughts take shape and move beside me in the guise
+Of the stern men who built the wall in early olden days.
+One by one the melancholy phantoms go stepping from me,
+And I follow them in and out among the stones.
+I think of the days long gone,
+Flown like birds beyond the ramparts of the world.
+The patient, sturdy men who piled the stones
+Have vanished, like the days, beyond the bounds
+Of earth and mortal things.
+From their humble, steadfast lives has sprung the greatness of my
+ nation.
+I am bone of their bone, breath of their breath,
+Their courage is in my soul.
+The wall is an Iliad of granite: it chants to me
+Of pilgrims of the perilous deep,
+Of fearless journeyings and old forgotten things.
+The blood of grim ancestors warms the fingers
+That trace the letters of their story;
+My pulses beat in unison with pulses that are stilled;
+The fire of their zeal inspires me
+In my struggle with darkness and pain.
+These embossed books, unobliterated by the tears and laughter
+ of Time,
+Are signed with the vital hands of undaunted men.
+I love these monoliths, so crudely imprinted
+With their stalwart, cleanly, frugal lives.
+
+From my seat among the stones I stretch my hand and touch
+My friend the elm, urnlike, lithesome, tall.
+Far above the reach of my exploring fingers
+Birds are singing and winging joyously
+Through leafy billows of green.
+The elm-tree�s song is wondrous sweet;
+The words are the ancientest language of trees--
+They tell of how earth and air and light
+Are wrought anew to beauty and to fruitfulness.
+I feel the glad stirrings under her rough bark;
+Her living sap mounts up to bring forth leaves;
+Her great limbs thrill beneath the wand of spring.
+
+This wall was builded in our fathers� days--
+Valorous days when life was lusty and the land was new.
+Resemble the walls the builders, buffeted, stern, and worn.
+To us they left the law,
+Order, simplicity, obedience,
+And the wall is the bond they gave the nation
+At its birth of courage and unflinching faith.
+Before the epic here inscribed began,
+They wrote their course upon a trackless sea.
+O, tiny craft, bearing a nation�s seed!
+Frail shallop, quick with unborn states!
+Autumn was mellow in the fatherland when they set sail,
+And winter deepened as they neared the West.
+Out of the desert sea they came at last,
+And their hearts warmed to see that frozen land.
+O, first gray dawn that filtered through the dark!
+Bleak, glorious birth-hour of our northern states!
+They stood upon the shore like new created men;
+On barren solitudes of sand they stood,
+The conquered sea behind, the unconquered wilderness before.
+Some died that year beneath the cruel cold,
+And some for heartsick longing and the pang
+Of homes remembered and souls torn asunder.
+That spring the new-plowed field for bread of life
+Bordered the new-dug acre marked for death;
+Beside the springing corn they laid in the sweet, dark earth
+The young man, strong and free, the maiden fair and trustful,
+The little child, and the uncomplaining mother.
+
+Across the meadow, by the ancient pines,
+Where I, the child of life that lived that spring,
+Drink in the fragrances of the young year,
+The field-wall meets one grimly squared and straight.
+Beyond it rise the old tombs, gray and restful,
+And the upright slates record the generations.
+Stiffly aslant before the northern blasts,
+Like the steadfast, angular beliefs
+Of those whom they commemorate, the headstones stand,
+Cemented deep with moss and invisible roots.
+The rude inscriptions charged with faith and love,
+Graceless as Death himself, yet sweet as Death,
+Are half erased by the impartial storms.
+As children lisping words which move to laughter
+Are themselves poems of unconscious melody,
+So the old gravestones with their crabbed muse
+Are beautiful for their halting words of faith,
+Their groping love that had no gift of song.
+But all the broken tragedy of life
+And all the yearning mystery of death
+Are celebrated in sweet epitaphs of vines and violets.
+Close by the wall a peristyle of pines
+Sings requiem to all the dead that sleep.
+
+Beyond the village churchyard, still and calm,
+Steeped in the sweetness of eternal morn,
+The wall runs down in crumbling cadence
+Beside the brook which plays
+Through the land like a silver harp.
+A wind of ancient romance blows across the field,
+A sweet disturbance thrills the air;
+The silken skirts of Spring go rustling by,
+And the earth is astir with joy.
+Up the hill, romping and shaking their golden heads,
+Come the little children of the wood.
+From ecstasy to ecstasy the year mounts upward.
+Up from the south come the odor-laden winds,
+Angels and ministers of life,
+Dropping seeds of fruitfulness
+Into the bosoms of flowers.
+Elusive, alluring secrets hide in wood and hedge
+Like the first thoughts of love
+In the breast of a maiden;
+The witchery of love is in rock and tree.
+Across the pasture, star-sown with daisies,
+I see a young girl--the spirit of spring she seems,
+Sister of the winds that run through the rippling daisies.
+Sweet and clear her voice calls father and brother,
+And one whose name her shy lips will not utter.
+But a chorus of leaves and grasses speaks her heart
+And tells his name: the birches flutter by the wall;
+The wild cherry-tree shakes its plumy head
+And whispers his name; the maple
+Opens its rosy lips and murmurs his name;
+The marsh-marigold sends the rumor
+Down the winding stream, and the blue flag
+Spread the gossip to the lilies in the lake:
+All Nature�s eyes and tongues conspire
+In the unfolding of the tale
+That Adam and Eve beneath the blossoming rose-tree
+Told each other in the Garden of Eden.
+Once more the wind blows from the walls,
+And I behold a fair young mother;
+She stands at the lilac-shaded door
+With her baby at her breast;
+She looks across the twilit fields and smiles
+And whispers to her child: �Thy father comes!�
+
+Life triumphed over many-weaponed Death.
+Sorrow and toil and the wilderness thwarted their stout invasion;
+But with the ship that sailed again went no retreating soul!
+Stubborn, unvanquished, clinging to the skirts of Hope,
+They kept their narrow foothold on the land,
+And the ship sailed home for more.
+With yearlong striving they fought their way into the forest;
+Their axes echoed where I sit, a score of miles from the sea.
+Slowly, slowly the wilderness yielded
+To smiling grass-plots and clearings of yellow corn;
+And while the logs of their cabins were still moist
+With odorous sap, they set upon the hill
+The shrine of liberty for man�s mind,
+And by it the shrine of liberty for man�s soul,
+The school-house and the church.
+
+The apple-tree by the wall sheds its blossom about me--
+A shower of petals of light upon darkness.
+From Nature�s brimming cup I drink a thousand scents;
+At noon the wizard sun stirs the hot soil under the pines.
+I take the top stone of the wall in my hands
+And the sun in my heart;
+I feel the rippling land extend to right and left,
+Bearing up a receptive surface to my uncertain feet;
+I clamber up the hill and beyond the grassy sweep;
+I encounter a chaos of tumbled rocks.
+Piles of shadow they seem, huddling close to the land.
+Here they are scattered like sheep,
+Or like great birds at rest,
+There a huge block juts from the giant wave of the hill.
+At the foot of the aged pines the maiden�s moccasins
+Track the sod like the noiseless sandals of Spring.
+Out of chinks in the wall delicate grasses wave,
+As beauty grew out of the crannies of these hard souls.
+
+Joyously, gratefully, after their long wrestling
+With the bitter cold and the harsh white winter,
+They heard the step of Spring on the edge of melting snow-drifts;
+Gladly, with courage that flashed from their life-beaten souls,
+As the fire-sparks fly from the hammered stone,
+They hailed the fragrant arbutus;
+Its sweetness trailed beside the path that they cut through the
+ forest,
+And they gave it the name of their ship Mayflower.
+     Beauty was at their feet, and their eyes beheld it;
+The earth cried out for labor, and they gave it.
+But ever as they saw the budding spring,
+Ever as they cleared the stubborn field,
+Ever as they piled the heavy stones,
+In mystic vision they saw, the eternal spring;
+They raised their hardened hands above the earth,
+And beheld the walls that are not built of stone,
+The portals opened by angels whose garments are of light;
+And beyond the radiant walls of living stones
+They dreamed vast meadows and hills of fadeless green.
+
+In the old house across the road
+With weather-beaten front, like the furrowed face of an old man,
+The lights are out forever, the windows are broken,
+And the oaken posts are warped;
+The storms beat into the rooms as the passion of the world
+Racked and buffeted those who once dwelt in them.
+The psalm and the morning prayer are silent.
+But the walls remain visible witnesses of faith
+That knew no wavering or shadow of turning.
+They have withstood sun and northern blast,
+They have outlasted the unceasing strife
+Of forces leagued to tear them down.
+Under the stars and the clouds, under the summer sun,
+Beaten by rain and wind, covered with tender vines,
+The walls stand symbols of a granite race,
+The measure and translation of olden times.
+
+In the rough epic of their life, their toil, their creeds,
+Their psalms, their prayers, what stirring tales
+Of days that were their past had they to tell
+Their children to keep the new faith burning?
+Tales of grandsires in the fatherland
+Whose faith was seven times tried in fiery furnaces,--
+Of Rowland Taylor who kissed the stake,
+And stood with hands folded and eyes steadfastly turned
+To the sky, and smiled upon the flames;
+Of Latimer, and of Cranmer who for cowardice heroically atoned--
+Who thrust his right hand into the fire
+Because it had broken plight with his heart
+And written against the voice of his conviction.
+With such memories they exalted and cherished
+The heroism of their tried souls,
+And ours are wrung with doubt and self-distrust!
+
+I am kneeling on the odorous earth;
+The sweet, shy feet of Spring come tripping o�er the land,
+Winter is fled to the hills, leaving snowy wreaths
+On apple-tree, meadow, and marsh.
+The walls are astir; little waves of blue
+Run through my fingers murmuring:
+�We follow the winds and the snow!�
+Their heart is a cup of gold.
+Soft whispers of showers and flowers
+Are mingled in the spring song of the walls.
+Hark to the songs that go singing like the wind
+Through the chinks of the wall and thrill the heart
+And quicken it with passionate response!
+The walls sing the song of wild bird, the hoof-beat of deer,
+The murmur of pine and cedar, the ripple of many streams;
+Crows are calling from the Druidical wood;
+The morning mist still haunts the meadows
+Like the ghosts of the wall builders.
+
+As I listen, methinks I hear the bitter plaint
+Of the passing of a haughty race,
+The wronged, friendly, childlike, peaceable tribes,
+The swarthy archers of the wilderness,
+The red men to whom Nature opened all her secrets,
+Who knew the haunts of bird and fish,
+The hidden virtue of herb and root;
+All the travail of man and beast they knew--
+Birth and death, heat and cold,
+Hunger and thirst, love and hate;
+For these are the unchanging things writ in the imperishable book of
+ life
+That man suckled at the breast of woman must know.
+
+In the dim sanctuary of the pines
+The winds murmur their mysteries through dusky aisles--
+Secrets of earth�s renewal and the endless cycle of life.
+Living things are afoot among the grasses;
+The closed fingers of the ferns unfold,
+New bees explore new flowers, and the brook
+Pours virgin waters from the rushing founts of May.
+In the old walls there are sinister voices--
+The groans of women charged with witchcraft.
+I see a lone, gray, haggard woman standing at bay,
+Helpless against her grim, sin-darkened judges.
+Terror blanches her lips and makes her confess
+Bonds with demons that her heart knows not.
+Satan sits by the judgment-seat and laughs.
+The gray walls, broken, weatherworn oracles,
+Sing that she was once a girl of love and laughter,
+Then a fair mother with lullabies on her lips,
+Caresses in her eyes, who spent her days
+In weaving warmth to keep her brood against the winter cold.
+And in her tongue was the law of kindness;
+For her God was the Lord Jehovah.
+Enemies uprose and swore her accused,
+Laid at her door the writhing forms of little children,
+And she could but answer: �The Evil One
+Torments them in my shape.�
+She stood amazed before the tribunal of her church
+And heard the gate of God�s house closed against her.
+Oh, shuddering silence of the throng,
+And fearful the words spoken from the judgment-seat!
+She raised her white head and clasped her wrinkled hands:
+�Pity me, Lord, pity my anguish!
+Nor, since Thou art a just and terrible God,
+Forget to visit thy wrath upon these people;
+For they have sworn away the life of Thy servant
+Who hath lived long in the land keeping Thy commandments.
+I am old, Lord, and betrayed;
+By neighbor and kin am I betrayed;
+A Judas kiss hath marked me for a witch.
+Possessed of a devil?  Here be a legion of devils!
+Smite them, O God, yea, utterly destroy them that persecute the innocent.�
+Before this mother in Israel the judges cowered;
+But still they suffered her to die.
+Through the tragic, guilty walls I hear the sighs
+Of desolate women and penitent, remorseful men.
+
+Sing of happier themes, O many-voiced epic,
+Sing how the ages, like thrifty husbandmen, winnow the creeds of
+ men,
+And leave only faith and love and truth.
+Sing of the Puritan�s nobler nature,
+Fathomless as the forests he felled,
+Irresistible as the winds that blow.
+His trenchant conviction was but the somber bulwark
+Which guarded his pure ideal.
+Resolute by the communion board he stood,
+And after solemn prayer solemnly cancelled
+And abolished the divine right of kings
+And declared the holy rights of man.
+Prophet and toiler, yearning for other worlds, yet wise in this;
+Scornful of earthly empire and brooding on death,
+Yet wrestling life out of the wilderness
+And laying stone on stone the foundation of a temporal state!
+I see him standing at his cabin-door at eventide
+With dreaming, fearless eyes gazing at sunset hills;
+In his prophetic sight Liberty, like a bride,
+Hasteth to meet her lord, the westward-going man!
+Even as he saw the citadel of Heaven,
+He beheld an earthly state divinely fair and just.
+Mystic and statesman, maker of homes,
+Strengthened by the primal law of toil,
+And schooled by monarch-made injustices,
+He carried the covenant of liberty with fire and sword,
+And laid a rich state on frugality!
+Many republics have sprung into being,
+Full-grown, equipped with theories forged in reason;
+All, all have fallen in a single night;
+But to the wise, fire-hardened Puritan
+Democracy was not a blaze of glory
+To crackle for an hour and be quenched out
+By the first gust that blows across the world.
+I see him standing at his cabin-door,
+And all his dreams are true as when he dreamed them;
+But only shall they be fulfilled if we
+Are mindful of the toil that gave him power,
+Are brave to dare a wilderness of wrong;
+So long shall Nature nourish us and Spring
+Throw riches in the lap of man
+As we beget no wasteful, weak-handed generations,
+But bend us to the fruitful earth in toil.
+Beyond the wall a new-plowed field lies steaming in the sun,
+And down the road a merry group of children
+Run toward the village school.
+
+Hear, O hear!  In the historian walls
+Rises the beat and the tumult of the struggle for freedom.
+Sacred, blood-stained walls, your peaceful front
+Sheltered the fateful fires of Lexington;
+Builded to fence green fields and keep the herds at pasture,
+Ye became the frowning breastworks of stern battle;
+Lowly boundaries of the freeman�s farm,
+Ye grew the rampart of a land at war;
+And still ye cross the centuries
+Between the ages of monarchs and the age
+When farmers in their fields are kings.
+From the Revolution the young Republic emerged,
+She mounted up as on the wings of the eagle,
+She ran and was not weary, and all the children of the world
+Joined her and followed her shining path.
+But ever as she ran, above her lifted head
+Darkened the monster cloud of slavery.
+Hark!  In the walls, amid voices of prayer and of triumph,
+I hear the clank of manacles and the ominous mutterings of bondsmen!
+At Gettysburg, our Golgotha, the sons of the fathers
+Poured their blood to wash out a nation�s shame.
+Cleansed by tribulation and atonement,
+The broken nation rose from her knees,
+And with hope reborn in her heart set forth again
+Upon the open road to ideal democracy.
+
+Sing, walls, in lightning words that shall cause the world to
+ vibrate,
+Of the democracy to come,
+Of the swift, teeming, confident thing!
+We are part of it--the wonder and the terror and the glory!
+Fearless we rush forward to meet the years,
+The years that come flying towards us
+With wings outspread, agleam on the horizon of time!
+
+O eloquent, sane walls, instinct with a new faith,
+Ye are barbarous, in congruous, but great with the greatness of
+ reality.
+Walls wrought in unfaltering effort,
+Sing of our prosperity, the joyous harvest
+Of the labor of lusty toilers.
+Down through the years comes the ring of their victorious axes:
+�Ye are titans of the forest, but we are stronger;
+Ye are strong with the strength of mighty winds,
+But we are strong with the unconquerable strength of souls!�
+Still the young race, unassailable, inviolate,
+Shakes the solitudes with the strokes of creation;
+Doubly strong we renew the valorous days,
+And like a measureless sea we overflow
+The fresh green, benevolent West,
+The buoyant, fruitful West that dares and sings!
+Pure, dew-dripping walls that guard
+The quiet, lovable, fertile fields,
+Sing praises to Him who from the mossy rocks
+Can bid the fountains leap in thirsty lands.
+I walk beside the stones through the young grain,
+Through waves of wheat that billow about my knees.
+The walls contest the onward march of the wheat;
+But the wheat is charged with the life of the world;
+Its force is irresistible; onward it sweeps,
+An engulfing tide, over all the land,
+Till hill and valley, field and plain
+Are flooded with its green felicity!
+Out of the moist earth it has sprung;
+In the gracious amplitudes of her bosom it was nurtured,
+And in it is wrought the miracle of life.
+
+Sing, prophetic, mystic walls, of the dreams of the builders;
+Sing in thundering tones that shall thrill us
+To try our dull discontent, our barren wisdom
+Against their propagating, unquenchable, questionless visions.
+Sing in renerving refrain of the resolute men,
+Each a Lincoln in his smoldering patience,
+Each a Luther in his fearless faith,
+Who made a breach in the wall of darkness
+And let the hosts of liberty march through.
+
+Calm, eternal walls, tranquil, mature,
+Which old voices, old songs, old kisses cover,
+As mosses and lichens cover your ancient stones,
+Teach me the secret of your serene repose;
+Tell of the greater things to be,
+When love and wisdom are the only creed,
+And law and right are one.
+Sing that the Lord cometh, the Lord cometh,
+The fountain-head and spring of life!
+Sing, steady, exultant walls, in strains hallowed and touched with
+ fire,
+Sing that the Lord shall build us all together.
+As living stones build us, cemented together.
+May He who knoweth every pleasant thing
+That our sires forewent to teach the peoples law and truth,
+Who counted every stone blessed by their consecrated hands,
+Grant that we remain liberty-loving, substantial, elemental,
+And that faith, the rock not fashioned of human hands,
+Be the stability of our triumphant, toiling days.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Song of the Stone Wall, by Helen Keller
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Song of the Stone Wall, by Helen Keller
+
+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: The Song of the Stone Wall
+
+Author: Helen Keller
+
+Release Date: April 20, 2004 [EBook #12093]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SONG OF THE STONE WALL ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Jamie Taylor in memory of Helen Keller.
+
+
+
+
+THE SONG OF
+THE STONE WALL
+
+
+BY
+HELEN KELLER
+
+
+
+
+1910
+Copyright, 1909, 1910.
+_Published October, 1910_.
+
+
+
+
+DEDICATION
+
+
+When I began "The Song of the Stone Wall," Dr. Edward Everett Hale
+was still among us, and it was my intention to dedicate the poem
+to him if it should be deemed worthy of publication. I fancied that
+he would like it; for he loved the old walls and the traditions that
+cling about them.
+
+As I tried to image the men who had built the walls long ago, it
+seemed to me that Dr. Hale was the living embodiment of whatever was
+heroic in the founders of New England. He was a great American. He
+was also a great Puritan. Was not the zeal of his ancestors upon his
+lips, and their courage in his heart? Had they not bequeathed to him
+their torch-like faith, their patient fervor of toil and their creed
+of equality?
+
+But his bright spirit had inherited no trace of their harshness and
+gloom. The windows of his soul opened to the sunlight of a joyous
+faith. His optimism and genial humor inspired gladness and good
+sense in others. With an old story he prepared their minds to
+receive new ideas, and with a parable he opened their hearts to
+generous feelings. All men loved him because he loved them. They
+knew that his heart was in their happiness, and that his humanity
+embraced their sorrows. In him the weak found a friend, the
+unprotected, a champion. Though a herald and proclaimer of peace, he
+could fight stubbornly and passionately on the side of justice. His
+was a lovable, uplifting greatness which drew all men near and ever
+nearer to God and to each other. Like his ancestors, he dreamed of a
+land of freedom founded on the love of God and the brotherhood of
+man, a land where each man shall achieve his share of happiness and
+learn the work of manhood--to rule himself and "lend a hand."
+
+Thoughts like these were often in my mind as the poem grew and took
+form. It is fitting, therefore, that I should dedicate it to him,
+and in so doing I give expression to the love and reverence which I
+have felt for him ever since he called me his little cousin, more
+than twenty years ago.
+
+HELEN KELLER
+
+Wrentham, Massachusetts,
+January, 1910.
+
+
+
+
+
+THE SONG OF
+THE STONE WALL
+
+
+Come walk with me, and I will tell
+What I have read in this scroll of stone;
+I will spell out this writing on hill and meadow.
+It is a chronicle wrought by praying workmen,
+The forefathers of our nation--
+Leagues upon leagues of sealed history awaiting an interpreter.
+This is New England's tapestry of stone
+Alive with memories that throb and quiver
+At the core of the ages
+As the prophecies of old at the heart of God's Word.
+
+The walls have many things to tell me,
+And the days are long. I come and listen:
+My hand is upon the stones, and the tale I fain would hear
+Is of the men who built the walls,
+And of the God who made the stones and the workers.
+
+With searching feet I walk beside the wall;
+I plunge and stumble over the fallen stones;
+I follow the windings of the wall
+Over the heaving hill, down by the meadow-brook,
+Beyond the scented fields, by the marsh where rushes grow.
+On I trudge through pine woods fragrant and cool
+And emerge amid clustered pools and by rolling acres of rye.
+The wall is builded of field-stones great and small,
+Tumbled about by frost and storm,
+Shaped and polished by ice and rain and sun;
+Some flattened, grooved, and chiseled
+By the inscrutable sculpture of the weather;
+Some with clefts and rough edges harsh to the touch.
+Gracious Time has glorified the wall
+And covered the historian stones with a mantle of green.
+Sunbeams flit and waver in the rifts,
+Vanish and reappear, linger and sleep,
+Conquer with radiance the obdurate angles,
+Filter between the naked rents and wind-bleached jags.
+
+I understand the triumph and the truth
+Wrought into these walls of rugged stone.
+They are a miracle of patient hands,
+They are a victory of suffering, a paean of pain;
+All pangs of death, all cries of birth,
+Are in the mute, moss-covered stones;
+They are eloquent to my hands.
+O beautiful, blind stones, inarticulate and dumb!
+In the deep gloom of their hearts there is a gleam
+Of the primeval sun which looked upon them
+When they were begotten.
+So in the heart of man shines forever
+A beam from the everlasting sun of God.
+Rude and unresponsive are the stones;
+Yet in them divine things lie concealed;
+I hear their imprisoned chant:--
+
+"We are fragments of the universe,
+Chips of the rock whereon God laid the foundation of the world:
+Out of immemorial chaos He wrought us.
+Out of the sun, out of the tempest, out of the travail of the earth
+ we grew.
+We are wonderfully mingled of life and death;
+We serve as crypts for innumerable, unnoticed, tiny forms.
+We are manifestations of the Might
+That rears the granite hills unto the clouds
+And sows the tropic seas with coral isles.
+We are shot through and through with hidden color;
+A thousand hues are blended in our gray substance.
+Sapphire, turquoise, ruby, opal,
+Emerald, diamond, amethyst, are our sisters from the beginning,
+And our brothers are iron, lead, zinc,
+Copper and silver and gold.
+We are the dust of continents past and to come,
+We are a deathless frieze carved with man's destiny;
+In us is the record sibylline of far events.
+We are as old as the world, our birth was before the hills.
+We are the cup that holds the sea
+And the framework of the peak that parts the sky.
+When Chaos shall again return,
+And endless Night shall spread her wings upon a rained world,
+We alone shall stand up from the shattered earth,
+Indestructible, invincible witnesses of God's eternal purpose."
+
+In reflective mood by the wall I wander;
+The hoary stones have set my heart astir;
+My thoughts take shape and move beside me in the guise
+Of the stern men who built the wall in early olden days.
+One by one the melancholy phantoms go stepping from me,
+And I follow them in and out among the stones.
+I think of the days long gone,
+Flown like birds beyond the ramparts of the world.
+The patient, sturdy men who piled the stones
+Have vanished, like the days, beyond the bounds
+Of earth and mortal things.
+From their humble, steadfast lives has sprung the greatness of my
+ nation.
+I am bone of their bone, breath of their breath,
+Their courage is in my soul.
+The wall is an Iliad of granite: it chants to me
+Of pilgrims of the perilous deep,
+Of fearless journeyings and old forgotten things.
+The blood of grim ancestors warms the fingers
+That trace the letters of their story;
+My pulses beat in unison with pulses that are stilled;
+The fire of their zeal inspires me
+In my struggle with darkness and pain.
+These embossed books, unobliterated by the tears and laughter
+ of Time,
+Are signed with the vital hands of undaunted men.
+I love these monoliths, so crudely imprinted
+With their stalwart, cleanly, frugal lives.
+
+From my seat among the stones I stretch my hand and touch
+My friend the elm, urnlike, lithesome, tall.
+Far above the reach of my exploring fingers
+Birds are singing and winging joyously
+Through leafy billows of green.
+The elm-tree's song is wondrous sweet;
+The words are the ancientest language of trees--
+They tell of how earth and air and light
+Are wrought anew to beauty and to fruitfulness.
+I feel the glad stirrings under her rough bark;
+Her living sap mounts up to bring forth leaves;
+Her great limbs thrill beneath the wand of spring.
+
+This wall was builded in our fathers' days--
+Valorous days when life was lusty and the land was new.
+Resemble the walls the builders, buffeted, stern, and worn.
+To us they left the law,
+Order, simplicity, obedience,
+And the wall is the bond they gave the nation
+At its birth of courage and unflinching faith.
+Before the epic here inscribed began,
+They wrote their course upon a trackless sea.
+O, tiny craft, bearing a nation's seed!
+Frail shallop, quick with unborn states!
+Autumn was mellow in the fatherland when they set sail,
+And winter deepened as they neared the West.
+Out of the desert sea they came at last,
+And their hearts warmed to see that frozen land.
+O, first gray dawn that filtered through the dark!
+Bleak, glorious birth-hour of our northern states!
+They stood upon the shore like new created men;
+On barren solitudes of sand they stood,
+The conquered sea behind, the unconquered wilderness before.
+Some died that year beneath the cruel cold,
+And some for heartsick longing and the pang
+Of homes remembered and souls torn asunder.
+That spring the new-plowed field for bread of life
+Bordered the new-dug acre marked for death;
+Beside the springing corn they laid in the sweet, dark earth
+The young man, strong and free, the maiden fair and trustful,
+The little child, and the uncomplaining mother.
+
+Across the meadow, by the ancient pines,
+Where I, the child of life that lived that spring,
+Drink in the fragrances of the young year,
+The field-wall meets one grimly squared and straight.
+Beyond it rise the old tombs, gray and restful,
+And the upright slates record the generations.
+Stiffly aslant before the northern blasts,
+Like the steadfast, angular beliefs
+Of those whom they commemorate, the headstones stand,
+Cemented deep with moss and invisible roots.
+The rude inscriptions charged with faith and love,
+Graceless as Death himself, yet sweet as Death,
+Are half erased by the impartial storms.
+As children lisping words which move to laughter
+Are themselves poems of unconscious melody,
+So the old gravestones with their crabbed muse
+Are beautiful for their halting words of faith,
+Their groping love that had no gift of song.
+But all the broken tragedy of life
+And all the yearning mystery of death
+Are celebrated in sweet epitaphs of vines and violets.
+Close by the wall a peristyle of pines
+Sings requiem to all the dead that sleep.
+
+Beyond the village churchyard, still and calm,
+Steeped in the sweetness of eternal morn,
+The wall runs down in crumbling cadence
+Beside the brook which plays
+Through the land like a silver harp.
+A wind of ancient romance blows across the field,
+A sweet disturbance thrills the air;
+The silken skirts of Spring go rustling by,
+And the earth is astir with joy.
+Up the hill, romping and shaking their golden heads,
+Come the little children of the wood.
+From ecstasy to ecstasy the year mounts upward.
+Up from the south come the odor-laden winds,
+Angels and ministers of life,
+Dropping seeds of fruitfulness
+Into the bosoms of flowers.
+Elusive, alluring secrets hide in wood and hedge
+Like the first thoughts of love
+In the breast of a maiden;
+The witchery of love is in rock and tree.
+Across the pasture, star-sown with daisies,
+I see a young girl--the spirit of spring she seems,
+Sister of the winds that run through the rippling daisies.
+Sweet and clear her voice calls father and brother,
+And one whose name her shy lips will not utter.
+But a chorus of leaves and grasses speaks her heart
+And tells his name: the birches flutter by the wall;
+The wild cherry-tree shakes its plumy head
+And whispers his name; the maple
+Opens its rosy lips and murmurs his name;
+The marsh-marigold sends the rumor
+Down the winding stream, and the blue flag
+Spread the gossip to the lilies in the lake:
+All Nature's eyes and tongues conspire
+In the unfolding of the tale
+That Adam and Eve beneath the blossoming rose-tree
+Told each other in the Garden of Eden.
+Once more the wind blows from the walls,
+And I behold a fair young mother;
+She stands at the lilac-shaded door
+With her baby at her breast;
+She looks across the twilit fields and smiles
+And whispers to her child: "Thy father comes!"
+
+Life triumphed over many-weaponed Death.
+Sorrow and toil and the wilderness thwarted their stout invasion;
+But with the ship that sailed again went no retreating soul!
+Stubborn, unvanquished, clinging to the skirts of Hope,
+They kept their narrow foothold on the land,
+And the ship sailed home for more.
+With yearlong striving they fought their way into the forest;
+Their axes echoed where I sit, a score of miles from the sea.
+Slowly, slowly the wilderness yielded
+To smiling grass-plots and clearings of yellow corn;
+And while the logs of their cabins were still moist
+With odorous sap, they set upon the hill
+The shrine of liberty for man's mind,
+And by it the shrine of liberty for man's soul,
+The school-house and the church.
+
+The apple-tree by the wall sheds its blossom about me--
+A shower of petals of light upon darkness.
+From Nature's brimming cup I drink a thousand scents;
+At noon the wizard sun stirs the hot soil under the pines.
+I take the top stone of the wall in my hands
+And the sun in my heart;
+I feel the rippling land extend to right and left,
+Bearing up a receptive surface to my uncertain feet;
+I clamber up the hill and beyond the grassy sweep;
+I encounter a chaos of tumbled rocks.
+Piles of shadow they seem, huddling close to the land.
+Here they are scattered like sheep,
+Or like great birds at rest,
+There a huge block juts from the giant wave of the hill.
+At the foot of the aged pines the maiden's moccasins
+Track the sod like the noiseless sandals of Spring.
+Out of chinks in the wall delicate grasses wave,
+As beauty grew out of the crannies of these hard souls.
+
+Joyously, gratefully, after their long wrestling
+With the bitter cold and the harsh white winter,
+They heard the step of Spring on the edge of melting snow-drifts;
+Gladly, with courage that flashed from their life-beaten souls,
+As the fire-sparks fly from the hammered stone,
+They hailed the fragrant arbutus;
+Its sweetness trailed beside the path that they cut through the
+ forest,
+And they gave it the name of their ship Mayflower.
+     Beauty was at their feet, and their eyes beheld it;
+The earth cried out for labor, and they gave it.
+But ever as they saw the budding spring,
+Ever as they cleared the stubborn field,
+Ever as they piled the heavy stones,
+In mystic vision they saw, the eternal spring;
+They raised their hardened hands above the earth,
+And beheld the walls that are not built of stone,
+The portals opened by angels whose garments are of light;
+And beyond the radiant walls of living stones
+They dreamed vast meadows and hills of fadeless green.
+
+In the old house across the road
+With weather-beaten front, like the furrowed face of an old man,
+The lights are out forever, the windows are broken,
+And the oaken posts are warped;
+The storms beat into the rooms as the passion of the world
+Racked and buffeted those who once dwelt in them.
+The psalm and the morning prayer are silent.
+But the walls remain visible witnesses of faith
+That knew no wavering or shadow of turning.
+They have withstood sun and northern blast,
+They have outlasted the unceasing strife
+Of forces leagued to tear them down.
+Under the stars and the clouds, under the summer sun,
+Beaten by rain and wind, covered with tender vines,
+The walls stand symbols of a granite race,
+The measure and translation of olden times.
+
+In the rough epic of their life, their toil, their creeds,
+Their psalms, their prayers, what stirring tales
+Of days that were their past had they to tell
+Their children to keep the new faith burning?
+Tales of grandsires in the fatherland
+Whose faith was seven times tried in fiery furnaces,--
+Of Rowland Taylor who kissed the stake,
+And stood with hands folded and eyes steadfastly turned
+To the sky, and smiled upon the flames;
+Of Latimer, and of Cranmer who for cowardice heroically atoned--
+Who thrust his right hand into the fire
+Because it had broken plight with his heart
+And written against the voice of his conviction.
+With such memories they exalted and cherished
+The heroism of their tried souls,
+And ours are wrung with doubt and self-distrust!
+
+I am kneeling on the odorous earth;
+The sweet, shy feet of Spring come tripping o'er the land,
+Winter is fled to the hills, leaving snowy wreaths
+On apple-tree, meadow, and marsh.
+The walls are astir; little waves of blue
+Run through my fingers murmuring:
+"We follow the winds and the snow!"
+Their heart is a cup of gold.
+Soft whispers of showers and flowers
+Are mingled in the spring song of the walls.
+Hark to the songs that go singing like the wind
+Through the chinks of the wall and thrill the heart
+And quicken it with passionate response!
+The walls sing the song of wild bird, the hoof-beat of deer,
+The murmur of pine and cedar, the ripple of many streams;
+Crows are calling from the Druidical wood;
+The morning mist still haunts the meadows
+Like the ghosts of the wall builders.
+
+As I listen, methinks I hear the bitter plaint
+Of the passing of a haughty race,
+The wronged, friendly, childlike, peaceable tribes,
+The swarthy archers of the wilderness,
+The red men to whom Nature opened all her secrets,
+Who knew the haunts of bird and fish,
+The hidden virtue of herb and root;
+All the travail of man and beast they knew--
+Birth and death, heat and cold,
+Hunger and thirst, love and hate;
+For these are the unchanging things writ in the imperishable book of
+ life
+That man suckled at the breast of woman must know.
+
+In the dim sanctuary of the pines
+The winds murmur their mysteries through dusky aisles--
+Secrets of earth's renewal and the endless cycle of life.
+Living things are afoot among the grasses;
+The closed fingers of the ferns unfold,
+New bees explore new flowers, and the brook
+Pours virgin waters from the rushing founts of May.
+In the old walls there are sinister voices--
+The groans of women charged with witchcraft.
+I see a lone, gray, haggard woman standing at bay,
+Helpless against her grim, sin-darkened judges.
+Terror blanches her lips and makes her confess
+Bonds with demons that her heart knows not.
+Satan sits by the judgment-seat and laughs.
+The gray walls, broken, weatherworn oracles,
+Sing that she was once a girl of love and laughter,
+Then a fair mother with lullabies on her lips,
+Caresses in her eyes, who spent her days
+In weaving warmth to keep her brood against the winter cold.
+And in her tongue was the law of kindness;
+For her God was the Lord Jehovah.
+Enemies uprose and swore her accused,
+Laid at her door the writhing forms of little children,
+And she could but answer: "The Evil One
+Torments them in my shape."
+She stood amazed before the tribunal of her church
+And heard the gate of God's house closed against her.
+Oh, shuddering silence of the throng,
+And fearful the words spoken from the judgment-seat!
+She raised her white head and clasped her wrinkled hands:
+"Pity me, Lord, pity my anguish!
+Nor, since Thou art a just and terrible God,
+Forget to visit thy wrath upon these people;
+For they have sworn away the life of Thy servant
+Who hath lived long in the land keeping Thy commandments.
+I am old, Lord, and betrayed;
+By neighbor and kin am I betrayed;
+A Judas kiss hath marked me for a witch.
+Possessed of a devil?  Here be a legion of devils!
+Smite them, O God, yea, utterly destroy them that persecute the innocent."
+Before this mother in Israel the judges cowered;
+But still they suffered her to die.
+Through the tragic, guilty walls I hear the sighs
+Of desolate women and penitent, remorseful men.
+
+Sing of happier themes, O many-voiced epic,
+Sing how the ages, like thrifty husbandmen, winnow the creeds of
+ men,
+And leave only faith and love and truth.
+Sing of the Puritan's nobler nature,
+Fathomless as the forests he felled,
+Irresistible as the winds that blow.
+His trenchant conviction was but the somber bulwark
+Which guarded his pure ideal.
+Resolute by the communion board he stood,
+And after solemn prayer solemnly cancelled
+And abolished the divine right of kings
+And declared the holy rights of man.
+Prophet and toiler, yearning for other worlds, yet wise in this;
+Scornful of earthly empire and brooding on death,
+Yet wrestling life out of the wilderness
+And laying stone on stone the foundation of a temporal state!
+I see him standing at his cabin-door at eventide
+With dreaming, fearless eyes gazing at sunset hills;
+In his prophetic sight Liberty, like a bride,
+Hasteth to meet her lord, the westward-going man!
+Even as he saw the citadel of Heaven,
+He beheld an earthly state divinely fair and just.
+Mystic and statesman, maker of homes,
+Strengthened by the primal law of toil,
+And schooled by monarch-made injustices,
+He carried the covenant of liberty with fire and sword,
+And laid a rich state on frugality!
+Many republics have sprung into being,
+Full-grown, equipped with theories forged in reason;
+All, all have fallen in a single night;
+But to the wise, fire-hardened Puritan
+Democracy was not a blaze of glory
+To crackle for an hour and be quenched out
+By the first gust that blows across the world.
+I see him standing at his cabin-door,
+And all his dreams are true as when he dreamed them;
+But only shall they be fulfilled if we
+Are mindful of the toil that gave him power,
+Are brave to dare a wilderness of wrong;
+So long shall Nature nourish us and Spring
+Throw riches in the lap of man
+As we beget no wasteful, weak-handed generations,
+But bend us to the fruitful earth in toil.
+Beyond the wall a new-plowed field lies steaming in the sun,
+And down the road a merry group of children
+Run toward the village school.
+
+Hear, O hear!  In the historian walls
+Rises the beat and the tumult of the struggle for freedom.
+Sacred, blood-stained walls, your peaceful front
+Sheltered the fateful fires of Lexington;
+Builded to fence green fields and keep the herds at pasture,
+Ye became the frowning breastworks of stern battle;
+Lowly boundaries of the freeman's farm,
+Ye grew the rampart of a land at war;
+And still ye cross the centuries
+Between the ages of monarchs and the age
+When farmers in their fields are kings.
+From the Revolution the young Republic emerged,
+She mounted up as on the wings of the eagle,
+She ran and was not weary, and all the children of the world
+Joined her and followed her shining path.
+But ever as she ran, above her lifted head
+Darkened the monster cloud of slavery.
+Hark!  In the walls, amid voices of prayer and of triumph,
+I hear the clank of manacles and the ominous mutterings of bondsmen!
+At Gettysburg, our Golgotha, the sons of the fathers
+Poured their blood to wash out a nation's shame.
+Cleansed by tribulation and atonement,
+The broken nation rose from her knees,
+And with hope reborn in her heart set forth again
+Upon the open road to ideal democracy.
+
+Sing, walls, in lightning words that shall cause the world to
+ vibrate,
+Of the democracy to come,
+Of the swift, teeming, confident thing!
+We are part of it--the wonder and the terror and the glory!
+Fearless we rush forward to meet the years,
+The years that come flying towards us
+With wings outspread, agleam on the horizon of time!
+
+O eloquent, sane walls, instinct with a new faith,
+Ye are barbarous, in congruous, but great with the greatness of
+ reality.
+Walls wrought in unfaltering effort,
+Sing of our prosperity, the joyous harvest
+Of the labor of lusty toilers.
+Down through the years comes the ring of their victorious axes:
+"Ye are titans of the forest, but we are stronger;
+Ye are strong with the strength of mighty winds,
+But we are strong with the unconquerable strength of souls!"
+Still the young race, unassailable, inviolate,
+Shakes the solitudes with the strokes of creation;
+Doubly strong we renew the valorous days,
+And like a measureless sea we overflow
+The fresh green, benevolent West,
+The buoyant, fruitful West that dares and sings!
+Pure, dew-dripping walls that guard
+The quiet, lovable, fertile fields,
+Sing praises to Him who from the mossy rocks
+Can bid the fountains leap in thirsty lands.
+I walk beside the stones through the young grain,
+Through waves of wheat that billow about my knees.
+The walls contest the onward march of the wheat;
+But the wheat is charged with the life of the world;
+Its force is irresistible; onward it sweeps,
+An engulfing tide, over all the land,
+Till hill and valley, field and plain
+Are flooded with its green felicity!
+Out of the moist earth it has sprung;
+In the gracious amplitudes of her bosom it was nurtured,
+And in it is wrought the miracle of life.
+
+Sing, prophetic, mystic walls, of the dreams of the builders;
+Sing in thundering tones that shall thrill us
+To try our dull discontent, our barren wisdom
+Against their propagating, unquenchable, questionless visions.
+Sing in renerving refrain of the resolute men,
+Each a Lincoln in his smoldering patience,
+Each a Luther in his fearless faith,
+Who made a breach in the wall of darkness
+And let the hosts of liberty march through.
+
+Calm, eternal walls, tranquil, mature,
+Which old voices, old songs, old kisses cover,
+As mosses and lichens cover your ancient stones,
+Teach me the secret of your serene repose;
+Tell of the greater things to be,
+When love and wisdom are the only creed,
+And law and right are one.
+Sing that the Lord cometh, the Lord cometh,
+The fountain-head and spring of life!
+Sing, steady, exultant walls, in strains hallowed and touched with
+ fire,
+Sing that the Lord shall build us all together.
+As living stones build us, cemented together.
+May He who knoweth every pleasant thing
+That our sires forewent to teach the peoples law and truth,
+Who counted every stone blessed by their consecrated hands,
+Grant that we remain liberty-loving, substantial, elemental,
+And that faith, the rock not fashioned of human hands,
+Be the stability of our triumphant, toiling days.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Song of the Stone Wall, by Helen Keller
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