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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/6618-0.txt b/6618-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d14e3fa --- /dev/null +++ b/6618-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2786 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Poems of Purpose, by Ella Wheeler Wilcox + + +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: Poems of Purpose + + +Author: Ella Wheeler Wilcox + + + +Release Date: August 14, 2014 [eBook #6618] +[This file was first posted on December 31, 2002] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF PURPOSE*** + + +Transcribed from the 1919 Gay and Hancock edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org + + [Picture: Book cover] + + + + + + POEMS OF PURPOSE + + + BY + ELLA WHEELER WILCOX + + [Picture: Decorative graphic] + + GAY AND HANCOCK, LTD. + 54 HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN + LONDON + 1919 + + _All rights reserved_ + + + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE + A Good Sport 1 + A Son Speaks 5 + The Younger Born 9 + Happiness 14 + Seeking for Happiness 18 + The Island of Endless Play 20 + The River of Sleep 23 + The Things that Count 25 + Limitless 27 + What They Saw 28 + The Convention 32 + Protest 35 + A Bachelor to a Married Flirt 37 + The Superwoman 40 + Certitude 43 + Compassion 44 + Love 45 + Three Souls 46 + When Love is Lost 49 + Occupation 50 + The Valley of Fear 53 + What would it be? 55 + America 57 + War Mothers 60 + A Holiday 64 + The Undertone 66 + Gypsying 69 + Song of the Road 71 + The Faith we Need 73 + The Price he Paid 76 + Divorced 79 + The Revealing Angels 83 + The Well-born 87 + Sisters of Mine 89 + Answer 91 + The Graduates 93 + The Silent Tragedy 95 + The Trinity 99 + The Unwed Mother to the Wife 101 + Father and Son 104 + Husks 107 + Meditations 109 + The Traveller 113 + What Have You Done? 115 + + * * * * * + +N.B.—_The only volumes of my Poems issued with my approval in the British +Empire are published by Messrs. Gay & Hancock_. + + _ELLA WHEELER WILCOX_. + + + + +A GOOD SPORT + + + I WAS a little lad, and the older boys called to me from the pier: + They called to me: ‘Be a sport: be a sport! Leap in and swim!’ + I leaped in and swam, though I had never been taught a stroke. + Then I was made a hero, and they all shouted: + ‘Well done! Well done, + Brave boy, you are a sport, a good sport!’ + And I was very glad. + + But now I wish I had learned to swim the right way, + Or had never learned at all. + Now I regret that day, + For it led to my fall. + + I was a youth, and I heard the older men talking of the road to + wealth; + They talked of bulls and bears, of buying on margins, + And they said, ‘Be a sport, my boy, plunge in and win or lose it all! + It is the only way to fortune.’ + So I plunged in and won; and the older men patted me on the back, + And they said, ‘You are a sport, my boy, a good sport!’ + And I was very glad. + + But now I wish I had lost all I ventured on that day— + Yes, wish I had lost it all. + For it was the wrong way, + And pushed me to my fall. + + I was a young man, and the gay world called me to come; + Gay women and gay men called to me, crying: + ‘Be a sport; be a good sport! + Fill our glasses and let us fill yours. + We are young but once; let us dance and sing, + And drive the dull hours of night until they stand at bay + Against the shining bayonets of day.’ + So I filled my glass, and I filled their glasses, over and over again, + And I sang and danced and drank, and drank and danced and sang, + And I heard them cry, ‘He is a sport, a good sport!’ + As they held their glasses out to be filled again. + And I was very glad. + + Oh the madness of youth and song and dance and wine, + Of woman’s eyes and lips, when the night dies in the arms of dawn! + And now I wish I had not gone that way. + Now I wish I had not heard them say, + ‘He is a sport, a good sport!’ + For I am old who should be young. + The splendid vigour of my youth I flung + Under the feet of a mad, unthinking throng. + My strength went out with wine and dance and song; + Unto the winds of earth I tossed like chaff, + With idle jest and laugh, + The pride of splendid manhood, all its wealth + Of unused power and health— + Its dream of looking into some pure girl’s eyes + And finding there its earthly paradise— + Its hope of virile children free from blight— + Its thoughts of climbing to some noble height + Of great achievement—all these gifts divine + I cast away for song and dance and wine. + Oh, I have been a sport, a good sport; + But I am very sad. + + + + +A SON SPEAKS + + + MOTHER, sit down, for I have much to say + Anent this widespread ever-growing theme + Of woman and her virtues and her rights. + + I left you for the large, loud world of men, + When I had lived one little score of years. + I judged all women by you, and my heart + Was filled with high esteem and reverence + For your angelic sex; and for the wives, + The sisters, daughters, mothers of my friends + I held but holy thoughts. To fallen stars + (Of whom you told me in our last sweet talk, + Warning me of the dangers in my path) + I gave wide pity as you bade me to, + Saying their sins harked back to my base sex. + + Now listen, mother mine: Ten years have passed + Since that clean-minded and pure-bodied youth, + Thinking to write his name upon the stars, + Went from your presence. He returns to you + Fallen from his altitude of thought, + Hiding deep scars of sins upon his soul, + His fair illusions shattered and destroyed. + And would you know the story of his fall? + + He sat beside a good man’s honoured wife + At her own table. She was beautiful + As woods in early autumn. Full of soft + And subtle witcheries of voice and look— + His senior, both in knowledge and in years. + + The boyish admiration of his glance + Was white as April sunlight when it falls + Upon a blooming tree, until she leaned + So close her rounded body sent quick thrills + Along his nerves. He thought it accident, + And moved a little; soon she leaned again. + The half-hid beauties of her heaving breast + Rising and falling under scented lace, + The teasing tendrils of her fragrant hair, + With intermittent touches on his cheek, + Changed the boy’s interest to a man’s desire. + She saw that first young madness in his eyes + And smiled and fanned the flame. That was his fall; + And as some mangled fly may crawl away + And leave his wings behind him in the web, + So were his wings of faith in womanhood + Left in the meshes of her sensuous net. + + The youth, forced into sudden manhood, went + Seeking the lost ideal of his dreams. + He met, in churches and in drawing-rooms, + Women who wore the mask of innocence + And basked in public favour, yet who seemed + To find their pleasure playing with men’s hearts, + As children play with loaded guns. He heard + (Until the tale fell dull upon his ears) + The unsolicited complaints of wives + And mothers all unsatisfied with life, + While crowned with every blessing earth can give + Longing for God knows what to bring content, + And openly or with appealing look + Asking for sympathy. (The first blind step + That leads from wifely honour down to shame, + Is ofttimes hid with flowers of sympathy.) + + He saw proud women who would flush and pale + With sense of outraged modesty if one + Spoke of the ancient sin before them, bare + To all men’s sight, or flimsily conceal + By veils that bid adventurous eyes proceed, + Charms meant alone for lover and for child. + He saw chaste virgins tempt and tantalise, + Lure and deny, invite—and then refuse, + And drive men forth half crazed to wantons’ arms. + + Mother, you taught me there were but two kinds + Of women in the world—the good and bad. + But you have been too sheltered in the safe, + Old-fashioned sweetness of your quiet life, + To know how women of these modern days + Make licence of their new-found liberty. + Why, I have been more tempted and more shocked + By belles and beauties in the social whirl, + By trusted wives and mothers in their homes, + Than by the women of the underworld + Who sell their favours. Do you think me mad? + No, mother; I am sane, but very sad. + + I miss my boyhood’s faith in woman’s worth— + Torn from my heart, by ‘good folks’ of the earth. + + + + +THE YOUNGER BORN + + +The modern English-speaking young girl is the astonishment of the world +and the despair of the older generation. Nothing like her has ever been +seen or heard before. Alike in drawing-rooms and the amusement places of +the people, she defies conventions in dress, speech, and conduct. She is +bold, yet not immoral. She is immodest, yet she is chaste. She has no +ideals, yet she is kind and generous. She is an anomaly and a paradox. + + _WE are the little daughters of Time and the World his wife_, + _We are not like the children_, _born in their younger life_, + _We are marred with our mother’s follies and torn with our father’s + strife_. + + We are the little daughters of the modern world, + And Time, her spouse. + She has brought many children to our father’s house + Before we came, when both our parents were content + + With simple pleasures and with quiet homely ways. + Modest and mild + Were the fair daughters born to them in those fair days, + Modest and mild. + + _But Father Time grew restless and longed for a swifter pace_, + _And our mother pushed out beside him at the cost of her tender + grace_, + _And life was no more living but just a headlong race_. + + And we are wild— + Yea, wild are we, the younger born of the World + Into life’s vortex hurled. + With the milk of our mother’s breast + We drank her own unrest, + And we learned our speech from Time + Who scoffs at the things sublime. + Time and the World have hurried so + They could not help their younger born to grow; + We only follow, follow where they go. + + _They left their high ideals behind them as they ran_; + _There was but one goal_, _pleasure_, _for Woman or for Man_, + _And they robbed the nights of slumber to lengthen the days’ brief + span_. + + We are the demi-virgins of the modern day; + All evil on the earth is known to us in thought, + But yet we do it not. + We bare our beauteous bodies to the gaze of men, + We lure them, tempt them, lead them on, and then + Lightly we turn away. + By strong compelling passion we are never stirred; + To us it is a word— + A word much used when tragic tales are told; + We are the younger born, yet we are very old + In understanding, and our knowledge makes us bold. + Boldly we look at life, + Loving its stress and strife, + And hating all conventions that may mean restraint, + Yet shunning sin’s black taint. + + We know wine’s taste; + And the young-maiden bloom and sweetness of our lips + Is often in eclipse + Under the brown weed’s stain. + Yet we are chaste; + We have no large capacity for joy or pain, + But an insatiable appetite for pleasure. + We have no use for leisure + And never learned the meaning of that word ‘repose.’ + Life as it goes + Must spell excitement for us, be the cost what may. + Speeding along the way, + + We ofttimes pause to do some generous little deed, + And fill the cup of need; + For we are kind at heart, + Though with less heart than head, + Unmoral, not immoral, when the worst is said; + We are the product of the modern day. + + _We are the little daughters of Time and the World his wife_, + _We are not like the children_, _born in their younger life_, + _We are marred with our mother’s follies and torn with our father’s + strife_. + + + + +HAPPINESS + + + _THERE are so many little things that make life beautiful_. + I can recall a day in early youth when I was longing for happiness. + Toward the western hills I gazed, watching for its approach. + The hills lay between me and the setting sun, and over them led a + highway. + When some traveller crossed the hill, always a fine grey dust rose + cloudless against the sky. + The traveller I could not distinguish, but the dust-cloud I could see. + + And the dust-cloud seemed formed of hopes and possibilities—each speck + an embryo event. + At sunset, when the skies were fair, the dust-cloud grew radiant and + shone with visions. + The happiness for which I waited came not to me adown that western + slope, + But now I can recall the cloud of golden dust, the sunset, and the + highway leading over the hill, + The wonderful hope and expectancy of my heart, the visions of youth in + my eyes; and I know this was happiness. + + _There are so many little things that make life beautiful_. + I can recall another day when I rebelled at life’s monotony. + Everywhere about me was the commonplace; and nothing seemed to happen. + Each day was like its yesterday, and to-morrow gave no promise of + change. + My young heart rose rebellious in my breast; and I ran aimlessly into + the sunlight—the glowing sunlight of June. + I sent out a dumb cry to Fate, demanding larger joys and more delight. + I ran blindly into a field of blooming clover. + It was breast-high, and billowed about me like rose-red waves of a + fragrant sea. + + The bees were singing above it; and their little brown bodies were + loaded with honey-dew, extracted from the clover blossoms. + The sun reeled in the heavens dizzy with its own splendour. + The day went into night, without bringing any new event to change my + life. + But now I recall the field of blooming clover, and the honey-laden + bees, the glorious June sunlight, and the passion of youth in my + heart; and I know that was happiness. + + _There are so many little things that make life beautiful_. + Yesterday a failure stared me in the face, where I had thought to + welcome proud success. + There was no radiant cloud of dust against the western sky, and no + clover field lying fragrant under mid-June suns, + Neither was youth with me any more. + + But under the vines that clung against my walls, a flock of birds + sought shelter just at twilight; + And, standing at my casement, I could hear the twitter of their voices + and the soft, sweet flutter of their wings. + Then over me there fell a sense of peace and calm, and love for all + created things, and trust illimitable. + + And that I knew was happiness. + + _There are so many little things to make life beautiful_. + + + + +SEEKING FOR HAPPINESS + + + SEEKING for happiness we must go slowly; + The road leads not down avenues of haste; + But often gently winds through by ways lowly, + Whose hidden pleasures are serene and chaste + Seeking for happiness we must take heed + Of simple joys that are not found in speed. + + Eager for noon-time’s large effulgent splendour, + Too oft we miss the beauty of the dawn, + Which tiptoes by us, evanescent, tender, + Its pure delights unrecognised till gone. + Seeking for happiness we needs must care + For all the little things that make life fair. + + Dreaming of future pleasures and achievements + We must not let to-day starve at our door; + Nor wait till after losses and bereavements + Before we count the riches in our store. + Seeking for happiness we must prize this— + Not what will be, or was, but that which _is_. + + In simple pathways hand in hand with duty + (With faith and love, too, ever at her side), + May happiness be met in all her beauty + The while we search for her both far and wide. + Seeking for happiness we find the way + Doing the things we ought to do each day. + + + + +THE ISLAND OF ENDLESS PLAY + + + SAID Willie to Tom, ‘Let us hie away + To the wonderful Island of Endless Play. + + It lies off the border of “No School Land,” + And abounds with pleasure, I understand. + + There boys go swimming whenever they please + In a lovely river right under the trees. + + And marbles are free, so you need not buy; + And kites of all sizes are ready to fly. + + We sail down the Isthmus of Idle Delight— + We sail and we sail for a day and a night. + + And then, if favoured by billows and breeze, + We land in the Harbour of Do-as-You-Please. + + And there lies the Island of Endless Play, + With no one to say to us, Must, or Nay. + + Books are not known in that land so fair, + Teachers are stoned if they set foot there. + + Hurrah for the Island, so glad and free, + That is the country for you and me.’ + + So away went Willie and Tom together + On a pleasure boat, in the lazy weather, + And they sailed in the teeth of a friendly breeze + Right into the harbour of ‘Do-as-You-Please.’ + Where boats and tackle and marbles and kites + Were waiting them there in this Land of Delights. + They dwelt on the Island of Endless Play + For five long years; then one sad day + A strange, dark ship sailed up to the strand, + And ‘Ho! for the voyage to Stupid Land,’ + The captain cried, with a terrible noise, + As he seized the frightened and struggling boys + And threw them into the dark ship’s hold; + And off and away sailed the captain bold. + They vainly begged him to let them out, + He answered only with scoff and shout. + ‘Boys that don’t study or work,’ said he, + ‘Must sail one day down the Ignorant Sea + To Stupid Land by the No-Book Strait, + With Captain Time on the Pitiless Fate.’ + + He let out the sails and away went the three + Over the waters of Ignorant Sea, + Out and away to Stupid Land; + And they live there yet, I understand. + And there’s where every one goes, they say, + Who seeks the Island of Endless Play. + + + + +THE RIVER OF SLEEP + + + THERE are curious isles in the River of Sleep, + Curious isles without number. + We’ll visit them all as we leisurely creep + Down the winding stream whose current is deep, + In our beautiful barge of Slumber. + + The very first isle in this wonderful stream + Quite close to the shore is lying, + And after a supper of cakes and cream + We come to the Night-Mare-Isle with a scream, + And hurry away from it crying. + + And next is the Island-of-Lullaby, + And every one there rejoices. + The winds are only a perfumed sigh, + And the birds that sing in the treetops try + To imitate Mothers’ voices. + + A little beyond is the Isle-of-Dreams; + Oh, that is the place to be straying. + Everything there is just as it seems; + Dolls are real and sunshine gleams, + And no one calls us from playing. + + And then we come to the drollest isle, + And the funniest sounds come pouring + Down from its borderlands once in a while, + And we lean o’er our barge and listen and smile; + For that is the Isle-of-Snoring. + + And the very last isle in the River of Sleep + Is the sunshiny Isle-of-Waking. + We see it first with our eyes a-peep, + And we give a yawn—then away we leap, + The barge of Slumber forsaking. + + + + +THE THINGS THAT COUNT + + + NOW, dear, it isn’t the bold things, + Great deeds of valour and might, + That count the most in the summing up of life at the end of the day. + But it is the doing of old things, + Small acts that are just and right; + And doing them over and over again, no matter what others say; + In smiling at fate, when you want to cry, and in keeping at work when + you want to play— + Dear, those are the things that count. + + And, dear, it isn’t the new ways + Where the wonder-seekers crowd + That lead us into the land of content, or help us to find our own. + But it is keeping to true ways, + Though the music is not so loud, + And there may be many a shadowed spot where we journey along alone; + In flinging a prayer at the face of fear, and in changing into a song + a groan— + Dear, these are the things that count. + + My dear, it isn’t the loud part + Of creeds that are pleasing to God, + Not the chant of a prayer, or the hum of a hymn, or a jubilant shout + or song. + But it is the beautiful proud part + Of walking with feet faith-shod; + And in loving, loving, loving through all, no matter how things go + wrong; + In trusting ever, though dark the day, and in keeping your hope when + the way seems long— + Dear, these are the things that count. + + + + +LIMITLESS + + + WHEN the motive is right and the will is strong + There are no limits to human power; + For that great Force back of us moves along + And takes us with it, in trial’s hour. + + And whatever the height you yearn to climb, + Though it never was trod by the foot of man, + And no matter how steep—I say you _can_, + If you will be patient—and use your time. + + + + +WHAT THEY SAW + + + _Sad man_, _Sad man_, _tell me_, _pray_, + _What did you see to-day_? + + I saw the unloved and unhappy old, waiting for slow delinquent death + to come; + Pale little children toiling for the rich, in rooms where sunlight is + ashamed to go; + The awful almshouse, where the living dead rot slowly in their hideous + open graves. + And there were shameful things. + Soldiers and forts, and industries of death, and devil-ships, and + loud-winged devil-birds, + All bent on slaughter and destruction. These and yet more shameful + things mine eyes beheld: + Old men upon lascivious conquest bent, and young men living with no + thought of God, + And half-clothed women puffing at a weed, aping the vices of the + underworld, + Engrossed in shallow pleasures and intent on being barren wives. + These things I saw. + (How God must loathe His earth!) + + _Glad man_, _Glad man_, _tell me_, _pray_. + _What did you see to-day_? + + I saw an agèd couple, in whose eyes + Shone that deep light of mingled love and faith, + Which makes the earth one room of paradise, + And leaves no sting in death. + + I saw vast regiments of children pour, + Rank after rank, out of the schoolroom door + By Progress mobilised. They seemed to say: + ‘Let ignorance make way. + We are the heralds of a better day.’ + + I saw the college and the church that stood + For all things sane and good. + I saw God’s helpers in the shop and slum + Blazing a path for health and hope to come, + And True Religion, from the grave of creeds, + Springing to meet man’s needs. + + I saw great Science reverently stand + And listen for a sound from Border-land, + No longer arrogant with unbelief— + Holding itself aloof— + But drawing near, and searching high and low + For that complete and all-convincing proof + Which shall permit its voice to comfort grief, + Saying, ‘We know.’ + + I saw fair women in their radiance rise + And trample old traditions in the dust. + Looking in their clear eyes, + I seemed to hear these words as from the skies: + ‘He who would father our sweet children must + Be worthy of the trust.’ + + Against the rosy dawn, I saw unfurled + The banner of the race we usher in, + The supermen and women of the world, + Who make no code of sex to cover sin; + Before they till the soil of parenthood, + They look to it that seed and soil are good. + + And I saw, too, that old, old sight, and best— + Pure mothers, with dear babies at the breast. + These things I saw. + (How God must love His earth!) + + + + +THE CONVENTION + + + FROM the Queen Bee mother, the mother Beast, and the mother Fowl in + the fen, + A call went up to the human world, to Woman, the mother of men. + The call said, ‘Come: for we, the dumb, are given speech for a day, + And the things we have thought for a thousand years we are going at + last to say.’ + + Much they marvelled, these women of earth, at the strange and curious + call, + And some of them laughed, and some of them sneered, but they answered + it one and all, + For they wanted to hear what never before was heard since the world + began— + The spoken word of Beast and Bird, and the message it held for Man. + + ‘A plea for shelter,’ the woman said, ‘or food in the wintry weathers, + Or a foolish request that we be dressed without their furs or + feathers. + We will do what we can for the poor dumb things, but they must be + sensible.’ Then + The meeting was called and a she-bear stood and voiced the thought of + the fen. + + ‘Now this is the message we give to you’ (it was thus the she-bear + spake): + ‘You the creatures of homes and shrines, and we of the wold and brake, + We have no churches, we have no schools, and our minds you question + and doubt, + But we follow the laws which some Great Cause, alike for us all, laid + out. + + ‘We eat and we drink to live; we shun the things that poison and kill, + And we settle the problems of sex and birth by the law of the female + will, + _For never was one of us known by a male_, _or made to mother its + kind_, + _Unless there went from our minds consent_ (_or from what we call the + mind_). + + ‘But you, the highest of all she-things, you gorge yourselves at your + feasts, + And you smoke and drink in a way we think would lower the standard of + beasts; + For a ring, a roof and a rag, you are bought by your males, to have + and to hold, + And you mate and you breed without nature’s need, while your hearts + and your bodies are cold. + + ‘All unwanted your offspring come, or you slay them before they are + born; + And now the wild she-things of the earth have spoken and told their + scorn. + We have no mind and we have no souls, maybe as you think—And still, + Never one of us ate or drank the things that poison and kill, + _And never was one of us known by a male except by our wish and + will_.’ + + + + +PROTEST + + + TO sit in silence when we should protest + Makes cowards out of men. The human race + Has climbed on protest. Had no voice been raised + Against injustice, ignorance and lust + The Inquisition yet would serve the law + And guillotines decide our least disputes. + The few who dare must speak and speak again + To right the wrongs of many. Speech, thank God, + No vested power in this great day and land + Can gag or throttle; Press and voice may cry + Loud disapproval of existing ills, + May criticise oppression and condemn + The lawlessness of wealth-protecting laws + That let the children and child-bearers toil + To purchase ease for idle millionaires. + Therefore do I protest against the boast + Of independence in this mighty land. + Call no chain strong which holds one rusted link, + Call no land free that holds one fettered slave. + Until the manacled, slim wrists of babes + Are loosed to toss in childish sport and glee; + Until the Mother bears no burden save + The precious one beneath her heart; until + God’s soil is rescued from the clutch of greed + And given back to labour, let no man + Call this the Land of Freedom. + + + + +A BACHELOR TO A MARRIED FLIRT + + + ALL that a man can say of woman’s charms, + Mine eyes have spoken and my lips have told + To you a thousand times. Your perfect arms + (A replica from that lost Melos mould), + The fair firm crescents of your bosom (shown + With full intent to make their splendours known), + + Your eyes (that mask with innocence their smile), + The (artful) artlessness of all your ways, + Your kiss-provoking mouth, its lure, its guile— + All these have had my fond and frequent praise. + And something more than praise to you I gave— + Something which made you know me as your slave. + + Yet slaves, at times, grow mutinous and rebel. + Here in this morning hour, from you apart, + The mood is on me to be frank and tell + The thoughts long hidden deep down in my heart. + These thoughts are bitter—thorny plants, that grew + Below the flowers of praise I plucked for you. + + Those flowery praises led you to suppose + You were my benefactor. Well, in truth, + When lovely woman on dull man bestows + Sweet favours of her beauty and her youth, + He is her debtor. I am yours: and yet + _You robbed me while you placed me thus in debt_. + + I owe you for keen moments when you stirred + My senses with your beauty, when your eyes + (Your wanton eyes) belied the prudent word + Your curled lips uttered. You are worldly wise, + And while you like to set men’s hearts on flame, + You take no risks in that old passion-game. + + The carnal, common self of dual me + Found pleasure in this danger play of yours. + (An egotist, man always thinks to be + The victor, if his patience but endures, + And holds in leash the hounds of fierce desire, + Until the silly woman’s heart takes fire.) + + But now it is the Higher Self who speaks— + The Me of me—the inner Man—the real— + Whoever dreams his dream and ever seeks + To bring to earth his beautiful ideal. + That lifelong dream with all its promised joy + Your soft bedevilments have helped destroy. + + Woman, how can I hope for happy life + In days to come at my own nuptial hearth, + When you who bear the honoured name of wife + So lightly hold the dearest gifts of earth? + Descending from your pedestal, alas! + You shake the pedestals of all your class. + + A vain, flirtatious wife is like a thief + Who breaks into the temple of men’s souls, + And steals the golden vessels of belief, + The swinging censers, and the incense bowls. + All women seem less loyal and less true, + Less worthy of men’s faith since I met you. + + + + +THE SUPERWOMAN + + + WHAT will the superwoman be, of whom we sing— + She who is coming over the dim border + Of Far To-morrow, after earth’s disorder + Is tidied up by Time? What will she bring + To make life better on tempestuous earth? + How will her worth + Be greater than her forbears? What new power + Within her being will burst into flower? + + She will bring beauty, not the transient dower + Of adolescence which departs with youth— + But beauty based on knowledge of the truth + Of its eternal message and the source + Of all its potent force. + Her outer being by the inner thought + Shall into lasting loveliness be wrought. + + She will bring virtue; but it will not be + The pale, white blossom of cold chastity + Which hides a barren heart. She will be human— + Not saint or angel, but the superwoman— + Mother and mate and friend of superman. + + She will bring strength to aid the larger Plan, + Wisdom and strength and sweetness all combined, + Drawn from the Cosmic Mind— + Wisdom to act, strength to attain, + And sweetness that finds growth in joy or pain. + + She will bring that large virtue, self-control, + And cherish it as her supremest treasure. + Not at the call of sense or for man’s pleasure + Will she invite from space an embryo soul, + To live on earth again in mortal fashion, + Unless love stirs her with divinest passion. + + To motherhood she will bring common sense— + That most uncommon virtue. She will give + Love that is more than she-wolf violence + (Which slaughters others that its own may live). + + Love that will help each little tendril mind + To grow and climb; + Love that will know the lordliest use of Time + In training human egos to be kind. + + She will be formed to guide, but not to lead— + Leaders are ever lonely—and her sphere + Will be that of the comrade and the mate, + Loved, loving, and with insight fine and clear, + Which casts its searchlight on the course of fate, + And to the leaders says, ‘Proceed’ or ‘Wait.’ + + And best of all, she will bring holy faith + To penetrate the shadowy world of death, + And show the road beyond it, bright and broad, + That leads straight up to God. + + + + +CERTITUDE + + + THERE was a time when I was confident + That God’s stupendous mystery of birth + Was mine to know. The wonder of it lent + New ecstasy and glory to the earth. + I heard no voice that uttered it aloud, + Nor was it written for me on a scroll; + Yet, if alone or in the common crowd, + I felt myself a consecrated soul. + My child leaped in its dark and silent room + And cried, ‘I am,’ though all unheard by men. + So leaps my spirit in the body’s gloom + And cries, ‘I live! I shall be born again.’ + Elate with certitude towards death I go, + Nor doubt, nor argue, since I know, I know! + + + + +COMPASSION + + + HE was a failure, and one day he died. + Across the border of the mapless land + He found himself among a sad-eyed band + Of disappointed souls; they, too, had tried + And missed their purpose. With one voice they cried + Unto the shining Angel in command: + ‘Oh, lead us not before our Lord to stand, + For we are failures, failures! Let us hide.’ + + Yet on the Angel fared, until they stood + Before the Master. (Even His holy place + The hideous noises of the earth assailed.) + Christ reached His arms out to the trembling brood, + With God’s vast sorrow in His listening face. + Come unto Me,’ He said; ‘I, too, have failed.’ + + + + +LOVE + + + DREAMING of love, the ardent mind of youth + Conceives it one with passion’s brief delights, + With keen desire and rapture. But, in truth, + These are but milestones to sublime heights + After the highways, swept by strong emotions, + Where wild winds blow and blazing sun rays beat, + After the billows of tempestuous oceans, + Fair mountain summits wait the lover’s feet. + + The path is narrow, but the view is wide, + And beauteous the outlook towards the west + Happy are they who walk there side by side, + Leaving below the valleys of unrest, + And on the radiant altitudes above + Know the serene intensity of love. + + + + +THREE SOULS + + + THREE Souls there were that reached the Heavenly Gate, + And gained permission of the Guard to wait. + Barred from the bliss of Paradise by sin, + They did not ask or hope to enter in. + ‘We loved one woman (thus their story ran); + We lost her, for she chose another man. + So great our love, it brought us to this door; + We only ask to see her face once more. + Then will we go to realms where we belong, + And pay our penalty for doing wrong.’ + + ‘And wert thou friends on earth?’ (The Guard spake thus.) + ‘Nay, we were foes; but Death made friends of us. + The dominating thought within each Soul + Brought us together, comrades, to this goal, + To see her face, and in its radiance bask + For one great moment—that is all we ask. + And, having seen her, we must journey back + The path we came—a hard and dangerous track.’ + ‘Wait, then,’ the Angel said, ‘beside me here, + But do not strive within God’s Gate to peer + Nor converse hold with Spirits clothed in light + Who pass this way; thou hast not earned the right.’ + + They waited year on year. Then, like a flame, + News of the woman’s death from earth-land came. + The eager lovers scanned with hungry eyes + Each Soul that passed the Gates of Paradise. + The well-beloved face in vain they sought, + Until one day the Guardian Angel brought + A message to them. ‘She has gone,’ he said, + ‘Down to the lower regions of the dead; + Her chosen mate went first; so great her love + She has resigned the joys that wait above + To dwell with him, until perchance some day, + Absolved from sin, he seeks the Better Way.’ + + Silent, the lovers turned. The pitying Guard + Said: ‘Stay (the while his hand the door unbarred), + There waits for thee no darker grief or woe; + Enter the Gates, and all God’s glories know. + But to be ready for so great a bliss, + Pause for a moment and take heed of this: + The dearest treasure by each mortal lost + Lies yonder, when the Threshold has been crossed, + And thou shalt find within that Sacred Place + The shining wonder of her worshipped face. + All that is past is but a troubled dream; + Go forward now and claim the Fact Supreme.’ + + Then clothed like Angels, fitting their estate, + Three Souls went singing, singing through God’s Gate. + + + + +WHEN LOVE IS LOST + + + WHEN love is lost, the day sets towards the night, + Albeit the morning sun may still be bright, + And not one cloud-ship sails across the sky. + Yet from the places where it used to lie + Gone is the lustrous glory of the light. + + No splendour rests in any mountain height, + No scene spreads fair and beauteous to the sight; + All, all seems dull and dreary to the eye + When love is lost. + + Love lends to life its grandeur and its might; + Love goes, and leaves behind it gloom and blight; + Like ghosts of time the pallid hours drag by, + And grief’s one happy thought is that we die. + Ah, what can recompense us for its flight + When love is lost? + + + + +OCCUPATION + + + THERE must in heaven be many industries + And occupations, varied, infinite; + Or heaven could not be heaven. + What gracious tasks + The Mighty Maker of the universe + Can offer souls that have prepared on earth + By holding lovely thoughts and fair desires! + + Art thou a poet to whom words come not? + A dumb composer of unuttered sounds, + Ignored by fame and to the world unknown? + Thine may be, then, the mission to create + Immortal lyrics and immortal strains, + For stars to chant together as they swing + About the holy centre where God dwells. + + Hast thou the artist instinct with no skill + To give it form or colour? Unto thee + It may be given to paint upon the skies + Astounding dawns and sunsets, framed by seas + And mountains; or to fashion and adorn + New faces for sweet pansies and new dyes + To tint their velvet garments. Oftentimes + Methinks behind a beauteous flower I see, + Or in the tender glory of a dawn, + The presence of some spirit who has gone + Into the place of mystery, whose call, + Imperious and compelling, sounds for all + Or soon or late. So many have passed on— + So many with ambitions, hopes, and aims + Unrealised, who could not be content + As idle angels even in paradise. + The unknown Michelangelos who lived + With thoughts on beauty bent while chained to toil + That gave them only bread and burial— + These must find waiting in the world of space + The shining timbers of their splendid dreams, + Ready for shaping temples, shrines, and towers, + Where radiant hosts may congregate to raise + Their glad hosannas to the God Supreme. + And will there not be gardens glorious, + And mansions all embosomed among blooms, + Where heavenly children reach out loving arms + To lonely women who have been denied + On earth the longed-for boon of motherhood? + + Surely God has provided work to do + For souls like these, and for the weary, rest. + + + + +THE VALLEY OF FEAR + + + IN the journey of life, as we travel along + To the mystical goal that is hidden from sight, + You may stumble at times into Roadways of Wrong, + Not seeing the sign-board that points to the right. + Through caverns of sorrow your feet may be led, + Where the noon of the day will like midnight appear. + But no matter whither you wander or tread, + Keep out of the Valley of Fear. + + The Roadways of Wrong will wind out into light + If you sit in the silence and ask for a Guide; + In the caverns of sorrow your soul gains its sight + Of beautiful vistas, ascending and wide. + In by-paths of worry and trouble and strife + Full many a bloom grows bedewed by a tear, + But wretched and arid and void of all life + Is the desolate Valley of Fear. + + The Valley of Fear is a maddening maze + Of paths that wind on without exit or end, + From nowhere to nowhere lead all of its ways, + And shadows with shadows in more shadows blend. + Each guide-post is lettered, ‘This way to Despair,’ + And the River of Death in the darkness flows near, + But there is a beautiful Roadway of Prayer + This side of the Valley of Fear. + + This beautiful Roadway is narrow and steep, + And it runs up the side of the Mountain of Faith. + You may not perceive it at first if you weep, + But it rises high over the River of Death. + Though the Roadway is narrow and dark at the base, + It widens ascending, and ever grows clear, + Till it shines at the top with the Light of God’s face, + Far, far from the Valley of Fear. + + When close to that Valley your footsteps shall fare, + Turn, turn to the Roadway of Prayer— + The beautiful Roadway of Prayer. + + + + +WHAT WOULD IT BE? + + + NOW what were the words of Jesus, + And what would He pause and say, + If we were to meet in home or street, + The Lord of the world to-day? + Oh, I think He would pause and say: + ‘Go on with your chosen labour; + Speak only good of your neighbour; + Widen your farms, and lay down your arms, + Or dig up the soil with each sabre.’ + + Now what were the answer of Jesus + If we should ask for a creed, + To carry us straight to the wonderful gate + When soul from body is freed? + Oh, I think He would give us this creed: + ‘Praise God whatever betide you; + Cast joy on the lives beside you; + Better the earth, by growing in worth, + With love as the law to guide you.’ + + Now what were the answer of Jesus + If we should ask Him to tell + Of the last great goal of the homing soul + Where each of us hopes to dwell? + Oh, I think it is this He would tell: + ‘The soul is the builder—then wake it; + The mind is the kingdom—then take it; + And thought upon thought let Eden be wrought, + For heaven will be what you make it.’ + + + + +AMERICA + + + I AM the refuge of all the oppressed, + I am the boast of the free, + I am the harbour where ships may rest + Safely ’twixt sea and sea. + I hold up a torch to a darkened world, + I lighten the path with its ray. + Let my hand keep steady + And let me be ready + For whatever comes my way— + Let me be ready. + + Oh, better than fortresses, better than guns, + Better than lance or spear, + Are the loyal hearts of my daughters and sons, + Faithful and without fear. + But my daughters and sons must understand + _That Attila did not die_. + And they must be ready, + Their hands must be steady, + If the hosts of hell come nigh— + They must be ready. + + If Jesus were back on the earth with men, + He would not preach to-day + Until He had made Him a scourge, and again + He would drive the defilers away. + He would throw down the tables of lust and greed + And scatter the changers’ gold. + He would be ready, + His hand would be steady, + As it was in that temple of old— + He would be ready. + + I am the cradle of God’s new world, + From me shall the new race rise, + And my glorious banner must float unfurled, + Unsullied against the skies. + My sons and daughters must be my strength, + With courage to do and to dare, + With hearts that are ready, + With hands that are steady, + And their slogan must be, PREPARE!— + They must be ready! + + With a prayer on the lip they must shoulder arms, + For after all has been said, + We must muster guns, + If we master Huns— + _And Attila is not dead_— + We must be ready! + + + + +WAR MOTHERS + + + _There is something in the sound of drum and fife_ + _That stirs all the savage instincts into life_. + + IN the old times of peace we went our ways, + Through proper days + Of little joys and tasks. Lonely at times, + When from the steeple sounded wedding chimes, + Telling to all the world some maid was wife— + But taking patiently our part in life + As it was portioned us by Church and State, + Believing it our fate. + Our thoughts all chaste + Held yet a secret wish to love and mate + Ere youth and virtue should go quite to waste. + But men we criticised for lack of strength, + And kept them at arm’s length. + Then the war came— + The world was all aflame! + The men we had thought dull and void of power + Were heroes in an hour. + He who had seemed a slave to petty greed + Showed masterful in that great time of need. + He who had plotted for his neighbour’s pelf, + Now for his fellows offers up himself. + And we were only women, forced by war + To sacrifice the things worth living for. + + _Something within us broke_, + _Something within us woke_, + _The wild cave-woman spoke_. + + _When we heard the sound of drumming_, + _As our soldiers went to camp_, + _Heard them tramp_, _tramp_, _tramp_; + _As we watched to see them coming_, + _And they looked at us and smiled_ + (_Yes_, _looked back at us and smiled_), + _As they filed along by hillock and by hollow_, + _Then our hearts were so beguiled_ + _That_, _for many and many a day_, + _We dreamed we heard them say_, + ‘_Oh_, _follow_, _follow_, _follow_!’ + _And the distant_, _rolling drum_ + _Called us_ ‘_Come_, _come_, _come_!’ + _Till our virtue seemed a thing to give away_. + + War had swept ten thousand years away from earth. + We were primal once again. + There were males, not modern men; + We were females meant to bring their sons to birth. + And we could not wait for any formal rite, + We could hear them calling to us, ‘Come to-night; + For to-morrow, at the dawn, + We move on!’ + And the drum + Bellowed, ‘Come, come, come!’ + And the fife + Whistled, ‘Life, life, life!’ + + So they moved on and fought and bled and died; + Honoured and mourned, they are the nation’s pride. + We fought our battles, too, but with the tide + Of our red blood, we gave the world new lives. + Because we were not wives + We are dishonoured. Is it noble, then, + To break God’s laws only by killing men + To save one’s country from destruction? + We took no man’s life but gave our chastity, + And sinned the ancient sin + To plant young trees and fill felled forests in. + + Oh, clergy of the land, + Bible in hand, + All reverently you stand, + On holy thoughts intent + While barren wives receive the sacrament! + Had you the open visions you could see + Phantoms of infants murdered in the womb, + Who never knew a cradle or a tomb, + Hovering about these wives accusingly. + + Bestow the sacrament! Their sins are not well known— + Ours to the four winds of the earth are blown. + + + + +A HOLIDAY + + +Berlin, Germany, gave the school children a half holiday to celebrate the +sinking of the _Lusitania_. + + WAR declares a holiday; + Little children, run and play. + Ring-a-rosy round the earth + With the garland of your mirth. + + Shrill a song brim full of glee + Of a great ship sunk at sea. + Tell with pleasure and with pride + How a hundred children died. + + Sing of orphan babes, whose cries + Beat against unanswering skies; + Let a mother’s mad despair + Lend staccato to your air. + + Sing of babes who drowned alone; + Sing of headstones, marked ‘Unknown’; + Sing of homes made desolate + Where the stricken mourners wait. + + Sing of battered corpses tossed + By the heedless waves, and lost. + Run, sweet children, sing and play; + War declares a holiday. + + + + +THE UNDERTONE + + + WHEN I was very young I used to feel the dark despairs of youth; + Out of my little griefs I would invent great tragedies and woes; + Not only for myself, but for all those I held most dear + I would invent vast sorrows in my melancholy moods of thought. + Yet down deep, deep in my heart there was an undertone of rapture. + It was like a voice from some other world calling softly to me, + Saying things joyful. + + As I grew older, and Life offered bitter gall for me to drink, + Forcing it through clenched teeth when I refused to take it willingly; + When Pain prepared some special anguish for my heart to bear, + And all the things I longed for seemed to be wholly beyond my reach— + Yet down deep, deep in my heart there was an undertone of rapture. + It was like a Voice, a Voice from some other world calling to me, + Bringing glad tidings. + + Now when I look about me, and see the great injustices of men, + See Idleness and Greed waited upon by luxury and mirth, + See prosperous Vice ride by in state, while footsore Virtue walks; + Now when I hear the cry of need rise up from lands of shameful wealth— + Yet down deep, deep in my heart there is an undertone of rapture. + It is like a Voice—it is a Voice—calling to me and saying: + ‘Love rules triumphant.’ + + Now when each mile-post on the path of life seems marked by + headstones, + And one by one dear faces that I loved are hid away from sight; + Now when in each familiar home I see a vacant chair, + And in the throngs once formed of friends I meet unrecognising eyes— + Yet down deep, deep in my heart there is an undertone of rapture. + It is the Voice, it is the Voice for ever saying unto me: + ‘Life is Eternal.’ + + + + +GYPSYING + + + GYPSYING, gypsying, through the world together, + Never mind the way we go, never mind what port. + Follow trails, or fashion sails, start in any weather: + While we journey hand in hand, everything is sport. + + Gypsying, gypsying, leaving care and worry: + Never mind the ‘if’ and ‘but’ (words for coward lips). + Put them out with ‘fear’ and ‘doubt,’ in the pack with ‘hurry,’ + While we stroll like vagabonds forth to trails, or ships. + + Gypsying, gypsying, just where fancy calls us; + Never mind what others say, or what others do. + Everywhere or foul or fair, liking what befalls us: + While you have me at your side, and while I have you. + + Gypsying, gypsying, camp by hill or hollow; + Never mind the why of it, since it suits our mood. + Go or stay, and pay our way, and let those who follow + Find, upspringing from the soil, some small seed of good. + + Gypsying, gypsying, through the world we wander: + Never mind the rushing years, that have come and gone. + There must be for you and me, lying over Yonder, + Other lands, where side by side we can gypsy on. + + + + +SONG OF THE ROAD + + + I AM a Road; a good road, fair and smooth and broad; + And I link with my beautiful tether + Town and Country together, + Like a ribbon rolled on the earth, from the reel of God. + Oh, great the life of a Road! + + I am a Road; a long road, leading on and on; + And I cry to the world to follow, + Past meadow and hill and hollow, + Through desolate night, to the open gates of dawn. + Oh, bold the life of a Road! + + I am a Road; a kind road, shaped by strong hands. + I make strange cities neighbours; + The poor grow rich with my labours, + And beauty and comfort follow me through the lands. + Oh, glad the life of a Road! + + I am a Road; a wise road, knowing all men’s ways; + And I know how each heart reaches + For the things dear Nature teaches; + And I am the path that leads into green young Mays. + Oh, sweet the life of a Road! + + I am a Road; and I speed away from the slums, + Away from desolate places, + Away from unused spaces; + Wherever I go, there order from chaos comes. + Oh, brave the life of a Road! + + I am a Road; and I would make the whole world one. + I would give hope to duty, + And cover the earth with beauty. + Do you not see, O men! how all this might be done? + So vast the power of the Road! + + + + +THE FAITH WE NEED + + + TOO tall our structures, and too swift our pace; + Not so we mount, not so we gain the race. + Too loud the voice of commerce in the land; + Not so truth speaks, not so we understand. + Too vast our conquests, and too large our gains; + Not so comes peace, not so the soul attains. + + But the need of the world is a faith that will live anywhere; + In the still dark depths of the woods, or out in the sun’s full glare. + A faith that can hear God’s voice, alike in the quiet glen, + Or in the roar of the street, and over the noises of men. + + And the need of the world is a creed that is founded on joy; + A creed with the turrets of hope and trust, no winds can destroy; + A creed where the soul finds rest, whatever this life bestows, + And dwells undoubting and unafraid, because it knows, it knows. + + And the need of the world is love that burns in the heart like flame; + A love for the Giver of Life, in sorrow or joy the same; + A love that blazes a trail to Go through the dark and the cold, + Or keeps the pathway that leads to Him clean, through glory and gold. + + For the faith that can only thrive or grow in the solitude, + And droops and dies in the marts of men, where sights and sounds are + rude; + That is not a faith at all, but a dream of a mystic’s heart; + Our faith should point as the compass points, whatever be the chart. + + Our faith must find its centre of peace in a babel of noise; + In the changing ways of the world of men it must keep its poise; + And over the sorrowing sounds of earth it must hear God’s call; + And the faith that cannot do all this, that is not faith at all. + + + + +THE PRICE HE PAID + + + I SAID I would have my fling, + And do what a young man may; + And I didn’t believe a thing + That the parsons have to say. + I didn’t believe in a God + That gives us blood like fire, + Then flings us into hell because + We answer the call of desire. + + And I said: ‘Religion is rot, + And the laws of the world are nil; + For the bad man is he who is caught + And cannot foot his bill. + And there is no place called hell; + And heaven is only a truth + When a man has his way with a maid, + In the fresh keen hour of youth. + + ‘And money can buy us grace, + If it rings on the plate of the church: + And money can neatly erase + Each sign of a sinful smirch.’ + For I saw men everywhere, + Hotfooting the road of vice; + And women and preachers smiled on them + As long as they paid the price. + + So I had my joy of life: + I went the pace of the town; + And then I took me a wife, + And started to settle down. + I had gold enough and to spare + For all of the simple joys + That belong with a house and a home + And a brood of girls and boys. + + I married a girl with health + And virtue and spotless fame. + I gave in exchange my wealth + And a proud old family name. + And I gave her the love of a heart + Grown sated and sick of sin! + My deal with the devil was all cleaned up, + And the last bill handed in. + + She was going to bring me a child, + And when in labour she cried + With love and fear I was wild— + But now I wish she had died. + For the son she bore me was blind + And crippled and weak and sore! + And his mother was left a wreck. + It was so she settled my score. + + I said I must have my fling, + And they knew the path I would go; + Yet no one told me a thing + Of what I needed to know. + Folks talk too much of a soul + From heavenly joys debarred— + And not enough of the babes unborn, + By the sins of their fathers scarred. + + + + +DIVORCED + + + THINKING of one thing all day long, at night + I fall asleep, brain weary and heart sore; + But only for a little while. At three, + Sometimes at two o’clock, I wake and lie, + Staring out into darkness; while my thoughts + Begin the weary treadmill-toil again, + From that white marriage morning of our youth + Down to this dreadful hour. + + I see your face + Lit with the lovelight of the honeymoon; + I hear your voice, that lingered on my name + As if it loved each letter; and I feel + The clinging of your arms about my form, + Your kisses on my cheek—and long to break + The anguish of such memories with tears, + But cannot weep; the fountain has run dry. + + We were so young, so happy, and so full + Of keen sweet joy of life. I had no wish + Outside your pleasure; and you loved me so + That when I sometimes felt a woman’s need + For more serene expression of man’s love + (The need to rest in calm affection’s bay + And not sail ever on the stormy main), + Yet would I rouse myself to your desire; + Meet ardent kiss with kisses just as warm; + So nothing I could give should be denied. + + And then our children came. Deep in my soul, + From the first hour of conscious motherhood, + I knew I should conserve myself for this + Most holy office; knew God meant it so. + Yet even then, I held your wishes first; + And by my double duties lost the bloom + And freshness of my beauty; and beheld + A look of disapproval in your eyes. + But with the coming of our precious child, + The lover’s smile, tinged with the father’s pride, + Returned again; and helped to make me strong; + And life was very sweet for both of us. + + Another, and another birth, and twice + The little white hearse paused beside our door + And took away some portion of my youth + With my sweet babies. At the first you seemed + To suffer with me, standing very near; + But when I wept too long, you turned away. + And I was hurt, not realising then + My grief was selfish. I could see the change + Which motherhood and sorrow made in me; + And when I saw the change that came to you, + Saw how your eyes looked past me when you talked, + And when I missed the love tone from your voice, + I did that foolish thing weak women do, + Complained and cried, accused you of neglect, + And made myself obnoxious in your sight. + + And often, after you had left my side, + Alone I stood before my mirror, mad + With anger at my pallid cheeks, my dull + Unlighted eyes, my shrunken mother-breasts, + And wept, and wept, and faded more and more. + How could I hope to win back wandering love, + And make new flames in dying embers leap, + By such ungracious means? + + And then She came, + Firm-bosomed, round of cheek, with such young eyes, + And all the ways of youth. I who had died + A thousand deaths, in waiting the return + Of that old love-look to your face once more, + Died yet again and went straight into hell + When I beheld it come at her approach. + + My God, my God, how have I borne it all! + Yet since she had the power to wake that look— + The power to sweep the ashes from your heart + Of burned-out love of me, and light new fires, + One thing remained for me—to let you go. + I had no wish to keep the empty frame + From which the priceless picture had been wrenched. + Nor do I blame you; it was not your fault: + You gave me all that most men can give—love + Of youth, of beauty, and of passion; and + I gave you full return; my womanhood + Matched well your manhood. Yet had you grown ill, + Or old, and unattractive from some cause + (Less close than was my service unto you), + I should have clung the tighter to you, dear; + And loved you, loved you, loved you more and more. + + I grow so weary thinking of these things; + Day in, day out; and half the awful nights. + + + + +THE REVEALING ANGELS + + + SUDDENLY and without warning they came— + The Revealing Angels came. + Suddenly and simultaneously, through city streets, + Through quiet lanes and country roads they walked. + They walked crying: ‘God has sent us to find + The vilest sinners of earth. + We are to bring them before Him, before the Lord of Life.’ + + Their voices were like bugles; + And then all war, all strife, + And all the noises of the world grew still; + And no one talked; + And no one toiled, but many strove to flee away. + Robbers and thieves, and those sunk in drunkenness and crime, + Men and women of evil repute, + And mothers with fatherless children in their arms, all strove to + hide. + But the Revealing Angels passed them by, + Saying: ‘Not you, not you. + Another day, when we shall come again + Unto the haunts of men, + Then we will call your names; + But God has asked us first to bring to him + Those guilty of greater shames + Than lust, or theft, or drunkenness, or vice— + Yea, greater than murder done in passion, + Or self-destruction done in dark despair. + Now in His Holy Name we call: + Come one and all + Come forth; reveal your faces.’ + + Then through the awful silence of the world, + Where noise had ceased, they came— + The sinful hosts. + They came from lowly and from lofty places, + Some poorly clad, but many clothed like queens; + They came from scenes of revel and from toil; + From haunts of sin, from palaces, from homes, + From boudoirs, and from churches. + They came like ghosts— + _The vast brigades of women who had slain_ + _Their helpless_, _unborn children_. With them trailed + Lovers and husbands who had said, ‘Do this,’ + And those who helped for hire. + They stood before the Angels—before the Revealing + Angels they stood. + And they heard the Angels say, + And all the listening world heard the Angels say: + ‘These are the vilest sinners of all; + For the Lord of Life made sex that birth might come; + Made sex and its keen compelling desire + To fashion bodies wherein souls might go + From lower planes to higher, + Until the end is reached (which is Beginning). + They have stolen the costly pleasures of the senses + And refused to pay God’s price. + They have come together, these men and these women, + As male and female they have come together + In the great creative act. + They have invited souls, and then flung them out into space; + They have made a jest of God’s design. + All other sins look white beside this sinning; + All other sins may be condoned, forgiven; + All other sinners may be cleansed and shriven; + Not these, not these. + Pass on, and meet God’s eyes.’ + + The vast brigade moved forward, and behind then walked the Angels, + Walked the sorrowful Revealing Angels. + + + + +THE WELL-BORN + + + SO many people—people—in the world; + So few great souls, love ordered, well begun, + In answer to the fertile mother need! + So few who seem + The image of the Maker’s mortal dream; + So many born of mere propinquity— + Of lustful habit, or of accident. + Their mothers felt + No mighty, all-compelling wish to see + Their bosoms garden-places + Abloom with flower faces; + No tidal wave swept o’er them with its flood; + No thrill of flesh or heart; no leap of blood; + No glowing fire, flaming to white desire + For mating and for motherhood: + Yet they bore children. + God! how mankind misuses Thy command, + To populate the earth! + How low is brought high birth! + How low the woman; when, inert as spawn + Left on the sands to fertilise, + She is the means through which the race goes on! + Not so the first intent. + Birth, as the Supreme Mind conceived it, meant + The clear imperious call of mate to mate + And the clear answer. Only thus and then + Are fine, well-ordered, and potential lives + Brought into being. Not by Church or State + Can birth be made legitimate, + Unless + Love in its fulness bless. + Creation so ordains its lofty laws + That man, while greater in all other things, + Is lesser in the generative cause. + The father may be merely man, the male; + Yet more than female must the mother be. + The woman who would fashion + Souls, for the use of earth and angels meet, + Must entertain a high and holy passion. + Not rank, or wealth, or influence of kings + Can give a soul its dower + Of majesty and power, + Unless the mother brings + Great love to that great hour. + + + + +SISTERS OF MINE + + + SISTERS, sisters of mine, have we done what we could + In all the old ways, through all the new days, + To better the race and to make life sweet and good? + Have we played the full part that was ours in the start, + Sisters of mine? + + Sisters, sisters of mine, as we hurry along + To a larger world, with our banners unfurled, + The battle-cry on lips where once was Love’s old song, + Are we leaving behind better things than we find, + Sisters of mine? + + Sisters, sisters of mine, through the march in the street, + Through turmoil and din, without, and within, + As we gain something big do we lose something sweet? + In the growth of our might is our grace lost to sight? + As new powers unfold do we _love_ as of old, + Sisters of mine? + + + + +ANSWER + + + O WELL have we done the old tasks! in the old, old ways of earth. + We have kept the house in order, we have given the children birth; + And our sons went out with their fathers, and left us alone at the + hearth! + + We have cooked the meats for their table; we have woven their cloth at + the loom; + We have pulled the weeds from their gardens, and kept the flowers in + bloom; + And then we have sat and waited, alone in a silent room. + + We have borne all the pains of travail in giving life to the race; + We have toiled and saved, for the masters, and helped them to power + and place; + And when we asked for a pittance, they gave it with grudging grace. + + On the bold, bright face of the dollar all the evils of earth are + shown. + We are weary of love that is barter, and of virtue that pines alone; + We are out in the world with the masters: we are finding and claiming + our own! + + + + +THE GRADUATES + + + I SAW them beautiful, in fair array upon Commencement Day; + Lissome and lovely, radiant and sweet + As cultured roses, brought to their estate + By careful training. Finished and complete + (As teachers calculate). + + They passed in maiden grace along the aisle, + Leaving the chaste white sunlight of a smile + Upon the gazing throng. + Musing I thought upon their place as mothers of the race. + + Oh there are many actors who can play + Greatly, great parts; but rare indeed the soul + Who can be great when cast for some small rôle; + Yet that is what the world most needs; big hearts + That will shine forth and glorify poor parts + In this strange drama, Life! Do they, + Who in full dress-rehearsal pass to-day + Before admiring eyes, hold in their store + Those fine high principles which keep old Earth + From being only earth; and make men more + Than just mere men? How will they prove their worth + Of years of study? Will they walk abroad + Decked with the plumage of dead bards of God, + The glorious birds? And shall the lamb unborn + Be slain on altars of their vanity? + To some frail sister who has missed the way + Will they give Christ’s compassion, or man’s scorn; + And will clean manhood, linked with honest love, + The victor prove, + When riches, gained by greed, dispute the claim? + Will they guard well a husband’s home and name. + Or lean down from their altitudes to hear + The voice of flattery speak in the ear + Those lying platitudes which men repeat + To listening Self-Conceit? + Musing I thought upon their place as mothers of the race, + As beautiful they passed in maiden grace. + + + + +THE SILENT TRAGEDY + + + THE deepest tragedies of life are not + Put into books, or acted on the stage. + Nay, they are lived in silence, by tense hearts + In homes, among dull unperceiving kin, + And thoughtless friends, who make a whip of words + Wherewith to lash these hearts, and call it wit. + + There is a tragedy lived everywhere + In Christian lands, by an increasing horde + Of women martyrs to our social laws. + Women whose hearts cry out for motherhood; + Women whose bosoms ache for little heads; + Women God meant for mothers, but whose lives + Have been restrained, restricted, and denied + Their natural channels, till at last they stand + Unmated and alone, by that sad sea + Whose slow receding tide returns no more. + Men meet great sorrows; but no man can grasp + The depth, and height, of such a grief as this. + + The call of Fatherhood is from man’s brain. + Man cannot know the answer to that call + Save as a woman tells him. But to her + The call of Motherhood is from the soul, + The brain, the body. She is like a plant + Which buds and blossoms only to bear fruit. + Man is the pollen, carried by the wind + Of accident, or impulse, or desire; + And then his rôle of fatherhood is played. + Her threefold knowledge of maternity, + Through three times three great months, is hers alone. + + Man as an egotist is wounded when + He is not father. Woman when denied + The all-embracing rôle of motherhood + Rebels with her whole being. Oftentimes + Rebellion finds its only utterance + In shattered nerves, and lack of self-control; + Which gives the merry world its chance to cry + ‘Old maids are queer.’ + In far off Eastern lands + + They think of God as Mother to the race; + Father and Mother of the Universe. + And mayhap this is why they make their girls + Wives prematurely, mothers over young, + Hoping to please their Mother God this way. + Since everywhere in Nature sex is shown + For procreative uses, they contend + Sterility is sinful. (Save when one + Chooses a life of Saintship here on earth, + And so conserves all forces to that end.) + + Here in the West, our God is Masculine; + And while we say He bade a Virgin bring + His Son to birth, we think of Him as One + Placing false values on forced continence— + Preparing heavens for those who live that life— + And hells for those who stray by thought or act + From the unnatural path our laws have made. + + Mother of Christ, thou being woman, thou + Knowing all depths within the woman heart, + All joy, all pain, oh send the world more light. + Enlarge our sympathies; and let our minds + Turn from achievements of material things + To contemplation of Eternal truths. + Space throbs with egos, waiting for rebirth; + And mother-hearted women fill the earth. + Mother of Christ, show us the way to thin + The ranks of childless women, without sin. + + + + +THE TRINITY + + + MUCH may be done with the world we are in, + Much with the race to better it; + We can unfetter it, + Free it from chains of the old traditions; + Broaden its viewpoint of virtue and sin; + Change its conditions + Of labour and wealth; + And open new roadways to knowledge and health. + _Yet some things ever must stay as they are_ + _While the sea has its tide and the sky has its star_. + A man and a woman with love between, + Loyal and tender and true and clean, + Nothing better has been or can be + Than just those three. + + Woman may alter the first great plan. + Daughters and sisters and mothers + May stalk with their brothers + Forth from their homes into noisy places + Fit (and fit only) for masculine man. + Marring their graces + With conflict and strife + To widen the outlook of all human life. + _Yet some things ever must stay as they are_ + _While the sea has its tide and the sky has its star_. + A man and a woman with love that strengthens + And gathers new force as its earth way lengthens; + Nothing better by God is given + This side of heaven. + + Science may show us a wonderful vast + Secret of life and of breeding it; + Man by the heeding it + Out of earth’s chaos may bring a new order. + Off with old systems, old laws may be cast. + What now seems the border + Of licence in creeds, + May then be the centre of thoughts and of deeds. + _Yet some things ever must stay as they are_ + _While the sea has its tide and the sky has its star_. + A man and a woman and love undefiled + And the look of the two in the face of a child,— + Oh, the joys of this world have their changing ways, + But this joy stays. + Nothing better on earth can be + Than just those three. + + + + +THE UNWED MOTHER TO THE WIFE + + + I HAD been almost happy for an hour, + Lost to the world that knew me in the park + Among strange faces; while my little girl + Leaped with the squirrels, chirruped with the birds + And with the sunlight glowed. She was so dear, + So beautiful, so sweet; and for the time + The rose of love, shorn of its thorn of shame, + Bloomed in my heart. Then suddenly you passed. + I sat alone upon the public bench; + You, with your lawful husband, rode in state; + And when your eyes fell on me and my child, + They were not eyes, but daggers, poison tipped. + + God! how good women slaughter with a look! + And, like cold steel, your glance cut through my heart, + Struck every petal from the rose of love + And left the ragged stalk alive with thorns. + + My little one came running to my side + And called me Mother. It was like a blow + Between the eyes; and made me sick with pain. + And then it seemed as if each bird and breeze + Took up the word, and changed its syllables + From Mother into Magdalene; and cried + My shame to all the world. + + It was your eyes + Which did all this. But listen now to me + (Not you alone, but all the barren wives + Who, like you, flaunt their virtue in the face + Of fallen women): I do chance to know + The crimes you think are hidden from all men + (Save one who took your gold and sold his skill + And jeopardized his name for your base ends). + + I know how you have sunk your soul in sense + Like any wanton; and refused to bear + The harvest of your pleasure-planted seed; + I know how you have crushed the tender bud + Which held a soul; how you have blighted it; + And made the holy miracle of birth + A wicked travesty of God’s design; + Yea, many buds, which might be blossoms now + And beautify your selfish, arid life, + Have been destroyed, because you chose to keep + The aimless freedom, and the purposeless, + Self-seeking liberty of childless wives. + + I was an untaught girl. By nature led, + By love and passion blinded, I became + An unwed mother. You, an honoured wife, + Refuse the crown of motherhood, defy + The laws of nature, and fling baby souls + Back in the face of God. And yet you dare + Call me a sinner, and yourself a saint; + And all the world smiles on you, and its doors + Swing wide at your approach. + I stand outside. + + Surely there must be higher courts than earth, + Where you and I will some day meet and be + Weighed by a larger justice. + + + + +FATHER AND SON + + + MY grand-dame, vigorous at eighty-one, + Delights in talking of her only son, + My gallant father, long since dead and gone. + ‘Ah, but he was the lad!’ + She says, and sighs, and looks at me askance. + How well I read the meaning of that glance— + ‘Poor son of such a dad; + Poor weakling, dull and sad.’ + I could, but would not tell her bitter truth + About my father’s youth. + + She says: ‘Your father laughed his way through earth: + He laughed right in the doctor’s face at birth, + Such joy of life he had, such founts of mirth. + Ah, what a lad was he!’ + And then she sighs. I feel her silent blame, + Because I brought her nothing but his name. + Because she does not see + Her worshipped son in me. + I could, but would not, speak in my defence, + Anent the difference. + + She says: ‘He won all prizes in his time: + He overworked, and died before his prime. + At high ambition’s door I lay the crime. + Ah, what a lad he was!’ + Well, let her rest in that deceiving thought, + Of what avail to say, ‘His death was brought + By broken sexual laws, + The ancient sinful cause.’ + I could, but would not, tell the good old dame + The story of his shame. + + I could say: ‘I am crippled, weak, and pale, + Because my father was an unleashed male. + Because he ran so fast, I halt and fail + (Ah, yes, he was the lad), + Because he drained each cup of sense-delight + I must go thirsting, thirsting, day and night. + Because he was joy-mad, + I must be always sad. + + Because he learned no law of self-control, + I am a blighted soul.’ + Of what avail to speak and spoil her joy. + Better to see her disapproving eyes, + And silent, hear her say, between her sighs, + ‘Ah, but he was the boy!’ + + + + +HUSKS + + + SHE looked at her neighbour’s house in the light of the waning day— + A shower of rice on the steps, and the shreds of a bride’s bouquet. + And then she drew the shade, to shut out the growing gloom, + But she shut it into her heart instead. (Was that a voice in the + room?) + + ‘My neighbour is sad,’ she sighed, ‘like the mother bird who sees + The last of her brood fly out of the nest to make its home in the + trees’— + And then in a passion of tears—‘But, oh, to be sad like her: + Sad for a joy that has come and gone!’ (Did some one speak, or stir?) + + She looked at her faded hands, all burdened with costly rings; + She looked on her widowed home, all burdened with priceless things. + She thought of the dead years gone, of the empty years ahead— + (Yes, something stirred and something spake, and this was what it + said:) + + ‘_The voice of the Might Have Been speaks here through the lonely + dusk_; + _Life offered the fruits of love_; _you gathered only the husk_. + _There are jewels ablaze on your breast where never a child has + slept_.’ + She covered her face with her ringed old hands, and wept and wept and + wept. + + + + +MEDITATIONS + + +HIS + + + I WAS so proud of you last night, dear girl, + While man with man was striving for your smile. + You never lost your head, nor once dropped down + From your high place + As queen in that gay whirl. + + (It takes more poise to wear a little crown + With modesty and grace + Than to adorn the lordlier thrones of earth.) + + You seem so free from artifice and wile: + And in your eyes I read + Encouragement to my unspoken thought. + My heart is eloquent with words to plead + Its cause of passion; but my questioning mind, + Knowing how love is blind, + Dwells on the pros and cons, and God knows what. + + My heart cries with each beat, + ‘She is so beautiful, so pure, so sweet, + So more than dear.’ + And then I hear + The voice of Reason, asking: ‘Would she meet + Life’s common duties with good common sense? + Could she bear quiet evenings at your hearth, + And not be sighing for gay scenes of mirth? + If, some great day, love’s mighty recompense + For chastity surrendered came to her, + If she felt stir + Beneath her heart a little pulse of life, + Would she rejoice with holy pride and wonder, + And find new glory in the name of wife? + Or would she plot with sin, and seek to plunder + Love’s sanctuary, and cast away its treasure, + That she might keep her freedom and her pleasure? + Could she be loyal mate and mother dutiful? + Or is she only some bright hothouse bloom, + Seedless and beautiful, + Meant just for decoration, and for show?’ + Alone here in my room, + I hear this voice of Reason. My poor heart + Has ever but one answer to impart, + ‘I love her so.’ + + + +HERS + + + After the ball last night, when I came home + I stood before my mirror, and took note + Of all that men call beautiful. Delight, + Keen sweet delight, possessed me, when I saw + My own reflection smiling on me there, + Because your eyes, through all the swirling hours, + And in your slow good-night, had made a fact + Of what before I fancied might be so; + Yet knowing how men lie, by look and act, + I still had doubted. But I doubt no more, + I know you love me, love me. And I feel + Your satisfaction in my comeliness. + + Beauty and youth, good health and willing mind, + A spotless reputation, and a heart + Longing for mating and for motherhood, + And lips unsullied by another’s kiss— + These are the riches I can bring to you. + + But as I sit here, thinking of it all + In the clear light of morning, sudden fear + Has seized upon me. What has been your past? + From out the jungle of old reckless years, + May serpents crawl across our path some day + And pierce us with their fangs? Oh, I am not + A prude or bigot; and I have not lived + A score and three full years in ignorance + Of human nature. Much I can condone; + For well I know our kinship to the earth + And all created things. Why, even I + Have felt the burden of virginity, + When flowers and birds and golden butterflies + In early spring were mating; and I know + How loud that call of sex must sound to man + Above the feeble protest of the world. + But I can hear from depths within my soul + The voices of my unborn children cry + For rightful heritage. (May God attune + The souls of men, that they may hear and heed + That plaintive voice above the call of sex; + And may the world’s weak protest swell into + A thunderous diapason—a demand + For cleaner fatherhood.) + Oh, love, come near; + Look in my eyes, and say I need not fear. + + + + +THE TRAVELLER + + + BRISTLING with steeples, high against the hill, + Like some great thistle in the rosy dawn + It stood; the Town-of-Christian-Churches, stood. + The Traveller surveyed it with a smile. + ‘Surely,’ He said, ‘here is the home of peace; + Here neighbour lives with neighbour in accord; + God in the heart of all. Else why these spires?’ + (Christmas season, and every bell ringing.) + + The sudden shriek of whistles changed the sound + From mellow music into jarring noise. + Then down the street pale hurrying children came, + And vanished in the yawning Factory door. + He called to them: ‘Come back, come unto Me.’ + The Foreman cursed, and caned Him from the place. + (Christmas season, and every bell ringing.) + + Forth from two churches came two men, and met, + Disputing loudly over boundary lines, + Hate in their eyes, and murder in their hearts. + A haughty woman drew her skirts aside + Because her fallen sister passed that way. + The Traveller rebuked them all. Amazed, + They asked in indignation, ‘Who are you, + Daring to interfere in private lives?’ + The Traveller replied, ‘My name is CHRIST.’ + (Christmas season, and every bell ringing.) + + + + +WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? + + +I + + + WHAT have you done, and what are you doing with life, O Man! + O Average Man of the world— + Average Man of the Christian world we call civilised? + What have you done to pay for the labour pains of the mother who bore + you? + On earth you occupy space; you consume oxygen from the air: + And what do you give in return for these things? + Who is better that you live, and strive, and toil? + Or that you live through the toiling and striving of others? + As you pass down the street does any one look on you and say, + ‘There goes a good son, a true husband, a wise father, a fine citizen? + A man whose strong hand is ready to help a neighbour, + A man to trust’? And what do women say of you? + Unto their own souls what do women say? + Do they say: ‘He helped to make the road easier for tired feet? + To broaden the narrow horizon for aching eyes? + He helped us to higher ideals of womanhood’? + Look into your own heart and answer, O Average Man of the world, + Of the Christian world we call civilised. + + + +II + + + What do men think of you, what do they think and say of you, + O Average Woman of the world? + Do they say: ‘There is a woman with a great heart, + Loyal to her sex, and above envy and evil speaking? + There is a daughter, wife, mother, with a purpose in life: + She can be trusted to mould the minds of little children. + She knows how to be good without being dull; + How to be glad and to make others glad without descending to folly; + She is one who illuminates the path wherein she walks; + One who awakens the best in every human being she meets’? + Look into your heart, O Woman! and answer this: + What are you doing with the beautiful years? + Is your to-day a better thing than was your yesterday? + Have you grown in knowledge, grace, and usefulness? + Or are you ravelling out the wonderful fabric knit by Time, + And throwing away the threads? + Make answer, O Woman! Average Woman of the Christian world. + + * * * * * + + * * * * * + + Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to His Majesty + at the Edinburgh University Press + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF PURPOSE*** + + +******* This file should be named 6618-0.txt or 6618-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/6/6/1/6618 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Poems of Purpose + + +Author: Ella Wheeler Wilcox + + + +Release Date: August 14, 2014 [eBook #6618] +[This file was first posted on December 31, 2002] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF PURPOSE*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1919 Gay and Hancock edition by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/coverb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Book cover" +title= +"Book cover" +src="images/covers.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h1>POEMS OF PURPOSE</h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">BY</span><br +/> +ELLA WHEELER WILCOX</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/tpb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Decorative graphic" +title= +"Decorative graphic" +src="images/tps.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center">GAY AND HANCOCK, LTD.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">54 HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT +GARDEN</span><br /> +LONDON<br /> +1919</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>All rights reserved</i></p> +<h2><a name="pagev"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +v</span>CONTENTS</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">A Good Sport</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page1">1</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">A Son Speaks</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page5">5</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">The Younger Born</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page9">9</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">Happiness</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page14">14</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">Seeking for Happiness</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page18">18</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">The Island of Endless Play</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page20">20</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">The River of Sleep</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page23">23</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">The Things that Count</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page25">25</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">Limitless</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page27">27</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">What They Saw</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page28">28</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">The Convention</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page32">32</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">Protest</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page35">35</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">A Bachelor to a Married Flirt</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page37">37</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">The Superwoman</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page40">40</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">Certitude</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page43">43</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">Compassion</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page44">44</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">Love</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page45">45</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">Three Souls</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page46">46</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">When Love is Lost</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page49">49</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">Occupation</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page50">50</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">The Valley of Fear</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page53">53</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">What would it be?</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page55">55</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><a name="pagevi"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. vi</span>America</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page57">57</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">War Mothers</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page60">60</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">A Holiday</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page64">64</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">The Undertone</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page66">66</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">Gypsying</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page69">69</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">Song of the Road</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page71">71</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">The Faith we Need</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page73">73</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">The Price he Paid</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page76">76</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">Divorced</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page79">79</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">The Revealing Angels</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page83">83</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">The Well-born</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page87">87</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">Sisters of Mine</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page89">89</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">Answer</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page91">91</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">The Graduates</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page93">93</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">The Silent Tragedy</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page95">95</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">The Trinity</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page99">99</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">The Unwed Mother to the Wife</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page101">101</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">Father and Son</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page104">104</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">Husks</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page107">107</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">Meditations</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page109">109</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">The Traveller</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page113">113</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">What Have You Done?</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page115">115</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><a name="pagevii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +vii</span>N.B.—<i>The only volumes of my Poems issued with +my approval in the British Empire are published by Messrs. Gay +& Hancock</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>ELLA WHEELER WILCOX</i>.</p> +<h2><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 1</span>A GOOD +SPORT</h2> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">was</span> a little lad, +and the older boys called to me from the pier:<br /> +They called to me: ‘Be a sport: be a sport! Leap in +and swim!’<br /> +I leaped in and swam, though I had never been taught a stroke.<br +/> +Then I was made a hero, and they all shouted:<br /> + ‘Well done! Well done,<br /> +Brave boy, you are a sport, a good sport!’<br /> +And I was very glad.</p> +<p class="poetry">But now I wish I had learned to swim the right +way,<br /> + Or had never learned at all.<br /> +Now I regret that day,<br /> + For it led to my fall.</p> +<p class="poetry">I was a youth, and I heard the older men +talking of the road to wealth;<br /> +They talked of bulls and bears, of buying on margins,<br /> +<a name="page2"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 2</span>And they +said, ‘Be a sport, my boy, plunge in and win or lose it +all!<br /> +It is the only way to fortune.’<br /> +So I plunged in and won; and the older men patted me on the +back,<br /> +And they said, ‘You are a sport, my boy, a good +sport!’<br /> +And I was very glad.</p> +<p class="poetry">But now I wish I had lost all I ventured on +that day—<br /> + Yes, wish I had lost it all.<br /> +For it was the wrong way,<br /> + And pushed me to my fall.</p> +<p class="poetry">I was a young man, and the gay world called me +to come;<br /> +Gay women and gay men called to me, crying:<br /> + ‘Be a sport; be a good sport!<br /> +Fill our glasses and let us fill yours.<br /> +We are young but once; let us dance and sing,<br /> +And drive the dull hours of night until they stand at bay<br /> +Against the shining bayonets of day.’<br /> +So I filled my glass, and I filled their glasses, over and over +again,<br /> +<a name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 3</span>And I sang +and danced and drank, and drank and danced and sang,<br /> +And I heard them cry, ‘He is a sport, a good +sport!’<br /> +As they held their glasses out to be filled again.<br /> +And I was very glad.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh the madness of youth and song and dance and +wine,<br /> +Of woman’s eyes and lips, when the night dies in the arms +of dawn!<br /> +And now I wish I had not gone that way.<br /> +Now I wish I had not heard them say,<br /> +‘He is a sport, a good sport!’<br /> +For I am old who should be young.<br /> +The splendid vigour of my youth I flung<br /> +Under the feet of a mad, unthinking throng.<br /> +My strength went out with wine and dance and song;<br /> +Unto the winds of earth I tossed like chaff,<br /> +With idle jest and laugh,<br /> +The pride of splendid manhood, all its wealth<br /> +Of unused power and health—<br /> +Its dream of looking into some pure girl’s eyes<br /> +And finding there its earthly paradise—<br /> +<a name="page4"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 4</span>Its hope of +virile children free from blight—<br /> +Its thoughts of climbing to some noble height<br /> +Of great achievement—all these gifts divine<br /> +I cast away for song and dance and wine.<br /> +Oh, I have been a sport, a good sport;<br /> +But I am very sad.</p> +<h2><a name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 5</span>A SON +SPEAKS</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Mother</span>, sit down, +for I have much to say<br /> +Anent this widespread ever-growing theme<br /> +Of woman and her virtues and her rights.</p> +<p class="poetry">I left you for the large, loud world of men,<br +/> +When I had lived one little score of years.<br /> +I judged all women by you, and my heart<br /> +Was filled with high esteem and reverence<br /> +For your angelic sex; and for the wives,<br /> +The sisters, daughters, mothers of my friends<br /> +I held but holy thoughts. To fallen stars<br /> +(Of whom you told me in our last sweet talk,<br /> +Warning me of the dangers in my path)<br /> +I gave wide pity as you bade me to,<br /> +Saying their sins harked back to my base sex.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +6</span>Now listen, mother mine: Ten years have passed<br /> +Since that clean-minded and pure-bodied youth,<br /> +Thinking to write his name upon the stars,<br /> +Went from your presence. He returns to you<br /> +Fallen from his altitude of thought,<br /> +Hiding deep scars of sins upon his soul,<br /> +His fair illusions shattered and destroyed.<br /> +And would you know the story of his fall?</p> +<p class="poetry">He sat beside a good man’s honoured +wife<br /> +At her own table. She was beautiful<br /> +As woods in early autumn. Full of soft<br /> +And subtle witcheries of voice and look—<br /> +His senior, both in knowledge and in years.</p> +<p class="poetry">The boyish admiration of his glance<br /> +Was white as April sunlight when it falls<br /> +Upon a blooming tree, until she leaned<br /> +So close her rounded body sent quick thrills<br /> +Along his nerves. He thought it accident,<br /> +And moved a little; soon she leaned again.<br /> +The half-hid beauties of her heaving breast<br /> +Rising and falling under scented lace,<br /> +The teasing tendrils of her fragrant hair,<br /> +With intermittent touches on his cheek,<br /> +<a name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 7</span>Changed the +boy’s interest to a man’s desire.<br /> +She saw that first young madness in his eyes<br /> +And smiled and fanned the flame. That was his fall;<br /> +And as some mangled fly may crawl away<br /> +And leave his wings behind him in the web,<br /> +So were his wings of faith in womanhood<br /> +Left in the meshes of her sensuous net.</p> +<p class="poetry">The youth, forced into sudden manhood, went<br +/> +Seeking the lost ideal of his dreams.<br /> +He met, in churches and in drawing-rooms,<br /> +Women who wore the mask of innocence<br /> +And basked in public favour, yet who seemed<br /> +To find their pleasure playing with men’s hearts,<br /> +As children play with loaded guns. He heard<br /> +(Until the tale fell dull upon his ears)<br /> +The unsolicited complaints of wives<br /> +And mothers all unsatisfied with life,<br /> +While crowned with every blessing earth can give<br /> +Longing for God knows what to bring content,<br /> +And openly or with appealing look<br /> +Asking for sympathy. (The first blind step<br /> +That leads from wifely honour down to shame,<br /> +Is ofttimes hid with flowers of sympathy.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +8</span>He saw proud women who would flush and pale<br /> +With sense of outraged modesty if one<br /> +Spoke of the ancient sin before them, bare<br /> +To all men’s sight, or flimsily conceal<br /> +By veils that bid adventurous eyes proceed,<br /> +Charms meant alone for lover and for child.<br /> +He saw chaste virgins tempt and tantalise,<br /> +Lure and deny, invite—and then refuse,<br /> +And drive men forth half crazed to wantons’ arms.</p> +<p class="poetry">Mother, you taught me there were but two +kinds<br /> +Of women in the world—the good and bad.<br /> +But you have been too sheltered in the safe,<br /> +Old-fashioned sweetness of your quiet life,<br /> +To know how women of these modern days<br /> +Make licence of their new-found liberty.<br /> +Why, I have been more tempted and more shocked<br /> +By belles and beauties in the social whirl,<br /> +By trusted wives and mothers in their homes,<br /> +Than by the women of the underworld<br /> +Who sell their favours. Do you think me mad?<br /> +No, mother; I am sane, but very sad.</p> +<p class="poetry">I miss my boyhood’s faith in +woman’s worth—<br /> +Torn from my heart, by ‘good folks’ of the earth.</p> +<h2><a name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 9</span>THE +YOUNGER BORN</h2> +<p>The modern English-speaking young girl is the astonishment of +the world and the despair of the older generation. Nothing +like her has ever been seen or heard before. Alike in +drawing-rooms and the amusement places of the people, she defies +conventions in dress, speech, and conduct. She is bold, yet +not immoral. She is immodest, yet she is chaste. She +has no ideals, yet she is kind and generous. She is an +anomaly and a paradox.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap"><i>We</i></span><i> are the +little daughters of Time and the World his wife</i>,<br /> +<i>We are not like the children</i>, <i>born in their younger +life</i>,<br /> +<i>We are marred with our mother’s follies and torn with +our father’s strife</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">We are the little daughters of the modern +world,<br /> +And Time, her spouse.<br /> +She has brought many children to our father’s house<br /> +Before we came, when both our parents were content</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +10</span>With simple pleasures and with quiet homely ways.<br /> + Modest and mild<br /> +Were the fair daughters born to them in those fair days,<br /> + Modest and mild.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>But Father Time grew restless and longed for +a swifter pace</i>,<br /> +<i>And our mother pushed out beside him at the cost of her tender +grace</i>,<br /> +<i>And life was no more living but just a headlong race</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">And we are wild—<br /> +Yea, wild are we, the younger born of the World<br /> + Into life’s vortex hurled.<br /> +With the milk of our mother’s breast<br /> +We drank her own unrest,<br /> + And we learned our speech from Time<br /> + Who scoffs at the things sublime.<br /> +Time and the World have hurried so<br /> +They could not help their younger born to grow;<br /> +We only follow, follow where they go.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +11</span><i>They left their high ideals behind them as they +ran</i>;<br /> +<i>There was but one goal</i>, <i>pleasure</i>, <i>for Woman or +for Man</i>,<br /> +<i>And they robbed the nights of slumber to lengthen the +days’ brief span</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">We are the demi-virgins of the modern day;<br +/> + All evil on the earth is known to us in thought,<br +/> + But yet we do it not.<br /> + We bare our beauteous bodies to the gaze of men,<br +/> + We lure them, tempt them, lead them on, and then<br +/> +Lightly we turn away.<br /> +By strong compelling passion we are never stirred;<br /> +To us it is a word—<br /> +A word much used when tragic tales are told;<br /> +We are the younger born, yet we are very old<br /> +In understanding, and our knowledge makes us bold.<br /> +Boldly we look at life,<br /> +Loving its stress and strife,<br /> +And hating all conventions that may mean restraint,<br /> +Yet shunning sin’s black taint.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +12</span>We know wine’s taste;<br /> + And the young-maiden bloom and sweetness of our +lips<br /> + Is often in eclipse<br /> + Under the brown weed’s stain.<br /> +Yet we are chaste;<br /> + We have no large capacity for joy or pain,<br /> +But an insatiable appetite for pleasure.<br /> +We have no use for leisure<br /> +And never learned the meaning of that word +‘repose.’<br /> +Life as it goes<br /> +Must spell excitement for us, be the cost what may.<br /> +Speeding along the way,</p> +<p class="poetry">We ofttimes pause to do some generous little +deed,<br /> +And fill the cup of need;<br /> +For we are kind at heart,<br /> + Though with less heart than head,<br /> + Unmoral, not immoral, when the worst is said;<br /> +We are the product of the modern day.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +13</span><i>We are the little daughters of Time and the World his +wife</i>,<br /> +<i>We are not like the children</i>, <i>born in their younger +life</i>,<br /> +<i>We are marred with our mother’s follies and torn with +our father’s strife</i>.</p> +<h2><a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +14</span>HAPPINESS</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap"><i>There</i></span><i> are +so many little things that make life beautiful</i>.<br /> +I can recall a day in early youth when I was longing for +happiness.<br /> +Toward the western hills I gazed, watching for its approach.<br +/> +The hills lay between me and the setting sun, and over them led a +highway.<br /> +When some traveller crossed the hill, always a fine grey dust +rose cloudless against the sky.<br /> +The traveller I could not distinguish, but the dust-cloud I could +see.</p> +<p class="poetry">And the dust-cloud seemed formed of hopes and +possibilities—each speck an embryo event.<br /> +At sunset, when the skies were fair, the dust-cloud grew radiant +and shone with visions.<br /> +<a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 15</span>The +happiness for which I waited came not to me adown that western +slope,<br /> +But now I can recall the cloud of golden dust, the sunset, and +the highway leading over the hill,<br /> +The wonderful hope and expectancy of my heart, the visions of +youth in my eyes; and I know this was happiness.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>There are so many little things that make +life beautiful</i>.<br /> +I can recall another day when I rebelled at life’s +monotony.<br /> +Everywhere about me was the commonplace; and nothing seemed to +happen.<br /> +Each day was like its yesterday, and to-morrow gave no promise of +change.<br /> +My young heart rose rebellious in my breast; and I ran aimlessly +into the sunlight—the glowing sunlight of June.<br /> +I sent out a dumb cry to Fate, demanding larger joys and more +delight.<br /> +I ran blindly into a field of blooming clover.<br /> +It was breast-high, and billowed about me like rose-red waves of +a fragrant sea.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +16</span>The bees were singing above it; and their little brown +bodies were loaded with honey-dew, extracted from the clover +blossoms.<br /> +The sun reeled in the heavens dizzy with its own splendour.<br /> +The day went into night, without bringing any new event to change +my life.<br /> +But now I recall the field of blooming clover, and the +honey-laden bees, the glorious June sunlight, and the passion of +youth in my heart; and I know that was happiness.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>There are so many little things that make +life beautiful</i>.<br /> +Yesterday a failure stared me in the face, where I had thought to +welcome proud success.<br /> +There was no radiant cloud of dust against the western sky, and +no clover field lying fragrant under mid-June suns,<br /> +Neither was youth with me any more.</p> +<p class="poetry">But under the vines that clung against my +walls, a flock of birds sought shelter just at twilight;<br /> +<a name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 17</span>And, +standing at my casement, I could hear the twitter of their voices +and the soft, sweet flutter of their wings.<br /> +Then over me there fell a sense of peace and calm, and love for +all created things, and trust illimitable.</p> +<p class="poetry">And that I knew was happiness.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>There are so many little things to make life +beautiful</i>.</p> +<h2><a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +18</span>SEEKING FOR HAPPINESS</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Seeking</span> for +happiness we must go slowly;<br /> + The road leads not down avenues of haste;<br /> +But often gently winds through by ways lowly,<br /> + Whose hidden pleasures are serene and chaste<br /> +Seeking for happiness we must take heed<br /> +Of simple joys that are not found in speed.</p> +<p class="poetry">Eager for noon-time’s large effulgent +splendour,<br /> + Too oft we miss the beauty of the dawn,<br /> +Which tiptoes by us, evanescent, tender,<br /> + Its pure delights unrecognised till gone.<br /> +Seeking for happiness we needs must care<br /> +For all the little things that make life fair.</p> +<p class="poetry">Dreaming of future pleasures and +achievements<br /> + We must not let to-day starve at our door;<br /> +Nor wait till after losses and bereavements<br /> + Before we count the riches in our store.<br /> +<a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 19</span>Seeking +for happiness we must prize this—<br /> +Not what will be, or was, but that which <i>is</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">In simple pathways hand in hand with duty<br /> + (With faith and love, too, ever at her side),<br /> +May happiness be met in all her beauty<br /> + The while we search for her both far and wide.<br /> +Seeking for happiness we find the way<br /> +Doing the things we ought to do each day.</p> +<h2><a name="page20"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 20</span>THE +ISLAND OF ENDLESS PLAY</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Said</span> Willie to Tom, +‘Let us hie away<br /> +To the wonderful Island of Endless Play.</p> +<p class="poetry">It lies off the border of “No School +Land,”<br /> +And abounds with pleasure, I understand.</p> +<p class="poetry">There boys go swimming whenever they please<br +/> +In a lovely river right under the trees.</p> +<p class="poetry">And marbles are free, so you need not buy;<br +/> +And kites of all sizes are ready to fly.</p> +<p class="poetry">We sail down the Isthmus of Idle +Delight—<br /> +We sail and we sail for a day and a night.</p> +<p class="poetry">And then, if favoured by billows and breeze,<br +/> +We land in the Harbour of Do-as-You-Please.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +21</span>And there lies the Island of Endless Play,<br /> +With no one to say to us, Must, or Nay.</p> +<p class="poetry">Books are not known in that land so fair,<br /> +Teachers are stoned if they set foot there.</p> +<p class="poetry">Hurrah for the Island, so glad and free,<br /> +That is the country for you and me.’</p> +<p class="poetry">So away went Willie and Tom together<br /> +On a pleasure boat, in the lazy weather,<br /> +And they sailed in the teeth of a friendly breeze<br /> +Right into the harbour of ‘Do-as-You-Please.’<br /> +Where boats and tackle and marbles and kites<br /> +Were waiting them there in this Land of Delights.<br /> +They dwelt on the Island of Endless Play<br /> +For five long years; then one sad day<br /> +A strange, dark ship sailed up to the strand,<br /> +And ‘Ho! for the voyage to Stupid Land,’<br /> +The captain cried, with a terrible noise,<br /> +As he seized the frightened and struggling boys<br /> +And threw them into the dark ship’s hold;<br /> +And off and away sailed the captain bold.<br /> +They vainly begged him to let them out,<br /> +He answered only with scoff and shout.<br /> +<a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +22</span>‘Boys that don’t study or work,’ said +he,<br /> +‘Must sail one day down the Ignorant Sea<br /> +To Stupid Land by the No-Book Strait,<br /> +With Captain Time on the Pitiless Fate.’</p> +<p class="poetry">He let out the sails and away went the three<br +/> +Over the waters of Ignorant Sea,<br /> +Out and away to Stupid Land;<br /> +And they live there yet, I understand.<br /> +And there’s where every one goes, they say,<br /> +Who seeks the Island of Endless Play.</p> +<h2><a name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 23</span>THE +RIVER OF SLEEP</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There</span> are curious +isles in the River of Sleep,<br /> + Curious isles without number.<br /> +We’ll visit them all as we leisurely creep<br /> +Down the winding stream whose current is deep,<br /> + In our beautiful barge of Slumber.</p> +<p class="poetry">The very first isle in this wonderful stream<br +/> + Quite close to the shore is lying,<br /> +And after a supper of cakes and cream<br /> +We come to the Night-Mare-Isle with a scream,<br /> + And hurry away from it crying.</p> +<p class="poetry">And next is the Island-of-Lullaby,<br /> + And every one there rejoices.<br /> +The winds are only a perfumed sigh,<br /> +And the birds that sing in the treetops try<br /> + To imitate Mothers’ voices.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +24</span>A little beyond is the Isle-of-Dreams;<br /> + Oh, that is the place to be straying.<br /> +Everything there is just as it seems;<br /> +Dolls are real and sunshine gleams,<br /> + And no one calls us from playing.</p> +<p class="poetry">And then we come to the drollest isle,<br /> + And the funniest sounds come pouring<br /> +Down from its borderlands once in a while,<br /> +And we lean o’er our barge and listen and smile;<br /> + For that is the Isle-of-Snoring.</p> +<p class="poetry">And the very last isle in the River of Sleep<br +/> + Is the sunshiny Isle-of-Waking.<br /> +We see it first with our eyes a-peep,<br /> +And we give a yawn—then away we leap,<br /> + The barge of Slumber forsaking.</p> +<h2><a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 25</span>THE +THINGS THAT COUNT</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Now</span>, dear, it +isn’t the bold things,<br /> +Great deeds of valour and might,<br /> +That count the most in the summing up of life at the end of the +day.<br /> +But it is the doing of old things,<br /> +Small acts that are just and right;<br /> +And doing them over and over again, no matter what others say;<br +/> +In smiling at fate, when you want to cry, and in keeping at work +when you want to play—<br /> +Dear, those are the things that count.</p> +<p class="poetry">And, dear, it isn’t the new ways<br /> +Where the wonder-seekers crowd<br /> +That lead us into the land of content, or help us to find our +own.<br /> +But it is keeping to true ways,<br /> +Though the music is not so loud,<br /> +<a name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 26</span>And there +may be many a shadowed spot where we journey along alone;<br /> +In flinging a prayer at the face of fear, and in changing into a +song a groan—<br /> +Dear, these are the things that count.</p> +<p class="poetry">My dear, it isn’t the loud part<br /> +Of creeds that are pleasing to God,<br /> +Not the chant of a prayer, or the hum of a hymn, or a jubilant +shout or song.<br /> +But it is the beautiful proud part<br /> +Of walking with feet faith-shod;<br /> +And in loving, loving, loving through all, no matter how things +go wrong;<br /> +In trusting ever, though dark the day, and in keeping your hope +when the way seems long—<br /> +Dear, these are the things that count.</p> +<h2><a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +27</span>LIMITLESS</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> the motive is +right and the will is strong<br /> + There are no limits to human power;<br /> + For that great Force back of us moves along<br /> +And takes us with it, in trial’s hour.</p> +<p class="poetry">And whatever the height you yearn to climb,<br +/> + Though it never was trod by the foot of man,<br /> + And no matter how steep—I say you +<i>can</i>,<br /> +If you will be patient—and use your time.</p> +<h2><a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 28</span>WHAT +THEY SAW</h2> +<p class="poetry"><i>Sad man</i>, <i>Sad man</i>, <i>tell me</i>, +<i>pray</i>,<br /> +<i>What did you see to-day</i>?</p> +<p class="poetry">I saw the unloved and unhappy old, waiting for +slow delinquent death to come;<br /> +Pale little children toiling for the rich, in rooms where +sunlight is ashamed to go;<br /> +The awful almshouse, where the living dead rot slowly in their +hideous open graves.<br /> +And there were shameful things.<br /> +Soldiers and forts, and industries of death, and devil-ships, and +loud-winged devil-birds,<br /> +All bent on slaughter and destruction. These and yet more +shameful things mine eyes beheld:<br /> +Old men upon lascivious conquest bent, and young men living with +no thought of God,<br /> +And half-clothed women puffing at a weed, aping the vices of the +underworld,<br /> +<a name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 29</span>Engrossed +in shallow pleasures and intent on being barren wives.<br /> +These things I saw.<br /> +(How God must loathe His earth!)</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Glad man</i>, <i>Glad man</i>, <i>tell +me</i>, <i>pray</i>.<br /> +<i>What did you see to-day</i>?</p> +<p class="poetry">I saw an agèd couple, in whose eyes<br +/> + Shone that deep light of mingled love and faith,<br +/> +Which makes the earth one room of paradise,<br /> + And leaves no sting in death.</p> +<p class="poetry">I saw vast regiments of children pour,<br /> +Rank after rank, out of the schoolroom door<br /> +By Progress mobilised. They seemed to say:<br /> +‘Let ignorance make way.<br /> +We are the heralds of a better day.’</p> +<p class="poetry">I saw the college and the church that stood<br +/> +For all things sane and good.<br /> +I saw God’s helpers in the shop and slum<br /> +Blazing a path for health and hope to come,<br /> +<a name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 30</span>And True +Religion, from the grave of creeds,<br /> +Springing to meet man’s needs.</p> +<p class="poetry">I saw great Science reverently stand<br /> +And listen for a sound from Border-land,<br /> + No longer arrogant with unbelief—<br /> + Holding itself aloof—<br /> +But drawing near, and searching high and low<br /> + For that complete and all-convincing proof<br /> + Which shall permit its voice to comfort grief,<br /> +Saying, ‘We know.’</p> +<p class="poetry">I saw fair women in their radiance rise<br /> + And trample old traditions in the dust.<br /> +Looking in their clear eyes,<br /> +I seemed to hear these words as from the skies:<br /> + ‘He who would father our sweet children +must<br /> + Be worthy of the trust.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Against the rosy dawn, I saw unfurled<br /> + The banner of the race we usher in,<br /> +The supermen and women of the world,<br /> + Who make no code of sex to cover sin;<br /> +Before they till the soil of parenthood,<br /> +They look to it that seed and soil are good.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +31</span>And I saw, too, that old, old sight, and best—<br +/> +Pure mothers, with dear babies at the breast.<br /> +These things I saw.<br /> +(How God must love His earth!)</p> +<h2><a name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 32</span>THE +CONVENTION</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">From</span> the Queen Bee +mother, the mother Beast, and the mother Fowl in the fen,<br /> +A call went up to the human world, to Woman, the mother of +men.<br /> +The call said, ‘Come: for we, the dumb, are given speech +for a day,<br /> +And the things we have thought for a thousand years we are going +at last to say.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Much they marvelled, these women of earth, at +the strange and curious call,<br /> +And some of them laughed, and some of them sneered, but they +answered it one and all,<br /> +For they wanted to hear what never before was heard since the +world began—<br /> +The spoken word of Beast and Bird, and the message it held for +Man.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +33</span>‘A plea for shelter,’ the woman said, +‘or food in the wintry weathers,<br /> +Or a foolish request that we be dressed without their furs or +feathers.<br /> +We will do what we can for the poor dumb things, but they must be +sensible.’ Then<br /> +The meeting was called and a she-bear stood and voiced the +thought of the fen.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Now this is the message we give to +you’ (it was thus the she-bear spake):<br /> +‘You the creatures of homes and shrines, and we of the wold +and brake,<br /> +We have no churches, we have no schools, and our minds you +question and doubt,<br /> +But we follow the laws which some Great Cause, alike for us all, +laid out.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘We eat and we drink to live; we shun the +things that poison and kill,<br /> +And we settle the problems of sex and birth by the law of the +female will,<br /> +<i>For never was one of us known by a male</i>, <i>or made to +mother its kind</i>,<br /> +<i>Unless there went from our minds consent</i> (<i>or from what +we call the mind</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +34</span>‘But you, the highest of all she-things, you gorge +yourselves at your feasts,<br /> +And you smoke and drink in a way we think would lower the +standard of beasts;<br /> +For a ring, a roof and a rag, you are bought by your males, to +have and to hold,<br /> +And you mate and you breed without nature’s need, while +your hearts and your bodies are cold.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘All unwanted your offspring come, or you +slay them before they are born;<br /> +And now the wild she-things of the earth have spoken and told +their scorn.<br /> +We have no mind and we have no souls, maybe as you +think—And still,<br /> +Never one of us ate or drank the things that poison and kill,<br +/> +<i>And never was one of us known by a male except by our wish and +will</i>.’</p> +<h2><a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +35</span>PROTEST</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">To</span> sit in silence +when we should protest<br /> +Makes cowards out of men. The human race<br /> +Has climbed on protest. Had no voice been raised<br /> +Against injustice, ignorance and lust<br /> +The Inquisition yet would serve the law<br /> +And guillotines decide our least disputes.<br /> +The few who dare must speak and speak again<br /> +To right the wrongs of many. Speech, thank God,<br /> +No vested power in this great day and land<br /> +Can gag or throttle; Press and voice may cry<br /> +Loud disapproval of existing ills,<br /> +May criticise oppression and condemn<br /> +The lawlessness of wealth-protecting laws<br /> +That let the children and child-bearers toil<br /> +To purchase ease for idle millionaires.<br /> +<a name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 36</span>Therefore +do I protest against the boast<br /> +Of independence in this mighty land.<br /> +Call no chain strong which holds one rusted link,<br /> +Call no land free that holds one fettered slave.<br /> +Until the manacled, slim wrists of babes<br /> +Are loosed to toss in childish sport and glee;<br /> +Until the Mother bears no burden save<br /> +The precious one beneath her heart; until<br /> +God’s soil is rescued from the clutch of greed<br /> +And given back to labour, let no man<br /> +Call this the Land of Freedom.</p> +<h2><a name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 37</span>A +BACHELOR TO A MARRIED FLIRT</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">All</span> that a man can +say of woman’s charms,<br /> + Mine eyes have spoken and my lips have told<br /> +To you a thousand times. Your perfect arms<br /> + (A replica from that lost Melos mould),<br /> +The fair firm crescents of your bosom (shown<br /> +With full intent to make their splendours known),</p> +<p class="poetry">Your eyes (that mask with innocence their +smile),<br /> + The (artful) artlessness of all your ways,<br /> +Your kiss-provoking mouth, its lure, its guile—<br /> + All these have had my fond and frequent praise.<br +/> +And something more than praise to you I gave—<br /> +Something which made you know me as your slave.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet slaves, at times, grow mutinous and +rebel.<br /> + Here in this morning hour, from you apart,<br /> +The mood is on me to be frank and tell<br /> + The thoughts long hidden deep down in my heart.<br +/> +<a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 38</span>These +thoughts are bitter—thorny plants, that grew<br /> +Below the flowers of praise I plucked for you.</p> +<p class="poetry">Those flowery praises led you to suppose<br /> + You were my benefactor. Well, in truth,<br /> +When lovely woman on dull man bestows<br /> + Sweet favours of her beauty and her youth,<br /> +He is her debtor. I am yours: and yet<br /> +<i>You robbed me while you placed me thus in debt</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">I owe you for keen moments when you stirred<br +/> + My senses with your beauty, when your eyes<br /> +(Your wanton eyes) belied the prudent word<br /> + Your curled lips uttered. You are worldly +wise,<br /> +And while you like to set men’s hearts on flame,<br /> +You take no risks in that old passion-game.</p> +<p class="poetry">The carnal, common self of dual me<br /> + Found pleasure in this danger play of yours.<br /> +(An egotist, man always thinks to be<br /> + The victor, if his patience but endures,<br /> +And holds in leash the hounds of fierce desire,<br /> +Until the silly woman’s heart takes fire.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +39</span>But now it is the Higher Self who speaks—<br /> + The Me of me—the inner Man—the +real—<br /> +Whoever dreams his dream and ever seeks<br /> + To bring to earth his beautiful ideal.<br /> +That lifelong dream with all its promised joy<br /> +Your soft bedevilments have helped destroy.</p> +<p class="poetry">Woman, how can I hope for happy life<br /> + In days to come at my own nuptial hearth,<br /> +When you who bear the honoured name of wife<br /> + So lightly hold the dearest gifts of earth?<br /> +Descending from your pedestal, alas!<br /> +You shake the pedestals of all your class.</p> +<p class="poetry">A vain, flirtatious wife is like a thief<br /> + Who breaks into the temple of men’s souls,<br +/> +And steals the golden vessels of belief,<br /> + The swinging censers, and the incense bowls.<br /> +All women seem less loyal and less true,<br /> +Less worthy of men’s faith since I met you.</p> +<h2><a name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 40</span>THE +SUPERWOMAN</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">What</span> will the +superwoman be, of whom we sing—<br /> + She who is coming over the dim border<br /> + Of Far To-morrow, after earth’s disorder<br /> +Is tidied up by Time? What will she bring<br /> + To make life better on tempestuous earth?<br /> + How will her worth<br /> +Be greater than her forbears? What new power<br /> +Within her being will burst into flower?</p> +<p class="poetry">She will bring beauty, not the transient +dower<br /> + Of adolescence which departs with youth—<br /> + But beauty based on knowledge of the truth<br /> +Of its eternal message and the source<br /> +Of all its potent force.<br /> + Her outer being by the inner thought<br /> + Shall into lasting loveliness be wrought.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +41</span>She will bring virtue; but it will not be<br /> +The pale, white blossom of cold chastity<br /> + Which hides a barren heart. She will be +human—<br /> + Not saint or angel, but the superwoman—<br /> +Mother and mate and friend of superman.</p> +<p class="poetry">She will bring strength to aid the larger +Plan,<br /> + Wisdom and strength and sweetness all combined,<br +/> + Drawn from the Cosmic Mind—<br /> +Wisdom to act, strength to attain,<br /> +And sweetness that finds growth in joy or pain.</p> +<p class="poetry">She will bring that large virtue, +self-control,<br /> + And cherish it as her supremest treasure.<br /> + Not at the call of sense or for man’s +pleasure<br /> +Will she invite from space an embryo soul,<br /> + To live on earth again in mortal fashion,<br /> + Unless love stirs her with divinest passion.</p> +<p class="poetry">To motherhood she will bring common +sense—<br /> + That most uncommon virtue. She will give<br /> +Love that is more than she-wolf violence<br /> + (Which slaughters others that its own may live).</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +42</span>Love that will help each little tendril mind<br /> + To grow and climb;<br /> + Love that will know the lordliest use of Time<br /> +In training human egos to be kind.</p> +<p class="poetry">She will be formed to guide, but not to +lead—<br /> + Leaders are ever lonely—and her sphere<br /> +Will be that of the comrade and the mate,<br /> + Loved, loving, and with insight fine and clear,<br +/> +Which casts its searchlight on the course of fate,<br /> +And to the leaders says, ‘Proceed’ or +‘Wait.’</p> +<p class="poetry">And best of all, she will bring holy faith<br +/> +To penetrate the shadowy world of death,<br /> + And show the road beyond it, bright and broad,<br /> + That leads straight up to God.</p> +<h2><a name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +43</span>CERTITUDE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There</span> was a time +when I was confident<br /> +That God’s stupendous mystery of birth<br /> +Was mine to know. The wonder of it lent<br /> +New ecstasy and glory to the earth.<br /> +I heard no voice that uttered it aloud,<br /> +Nor was it written for me on a scroll;<br /> +Yet, if alone or in the common crowd,<br /> +I felt myself a consecrated soul.<br /> +My child leaped in its dark and silent room<br /> +And cried, ‘I am,’ though all unheard by men.<br /> +So leaps my spirit in the body’s gloom<br /> +And cries, ‘I live! I shall be born again.’<br +/> +Elate with certitude towards death I go,<br /> +Nor doubt, nor argue, since I know, I know!</p> +<h2><a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +44</span>COMPASSION</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">He</span> was a failure, +and one day he died.<br /> + Across the border of the mapless land<br /> +He found himself among a sad-eyed band<br /> +Of disappointed souls; they, too, had tried<br /> +And missed their purpose. With one voice they cried<br /> + Unto the shining Angel in command:<br /> + ‘Oh, lead us not before our Lord to stand,<br +/> +For we are failures, failures! Let us hide.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet on the Angel fared, until they stood<br /> + Before the Master. (Even His holy place<br /> +The hideous noises of the earth assailed.)<br /> +Christ reached His arms out to the trembling brood,<br /> + With God’s vast sorrow in His listening +face.<br /> +Come unto Me,’ He said; ‘I, too, have +failed.’</p> +<h2><a name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +45</span>LOVE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Dreaming</span> of love, +the ardent mind of youth<br /> + Conceives it one with passion’s brief +delights,<br /> +With keen desire and rapture. But, in truth,<br /> + These are but milestones to sublime heights<br /> +After the highways, swept by strong emotions,<br /> + Where wild winds blow and blazing sun rays beat,<br +/> +After the billows of tempestuous oceans,<br /> + Fair mountain summits wait the lover’s +feet.</p> +<p class="poetry">The path is narrow, but the view is wide,<br /> + And beauteous the outlook towards the west<br /> +Happy are they who walk there side by side,<br /> + Leaving below the valleys of unrest,<br /> +And on the radiant altitudes above<br /> +Know the serene intensity of love.</p> +<h2><a name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 46</span>THREE +SOULS</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Three</span> Souls there +were that reached the Heavenly Gate,<br /> +And gained permission of the Guard to wait.<br /> +Barred from the bliss of Paradise by sin,<br /> +They did not ask or hope to enter in.<br /> +‘We loved one woman (thus their story ran);<br /> +We lost her, for she chose another man.<br /> +So great our love, it brought us to this door;<br /> +We only ask to see her face once more.<br /> +Then will we go to realms where we belong,<br /> +And pay our penalty for doing wrong.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘And wert thou friends on +earth?’ (The Guard spake thus.)<br /> +‘Nay, we were foes; but Death made friends of us.<br /> +The dominating thought within each Soul<br /> +Brought us together, comrades, to this goal,<br /> +<a name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 47</span>To see her +face, and in its radiance bask<br /> +For one great moment—that is all we ask.<br /> +And, having seen her, we must journey back<br /> +The path we came—a hard and dangerous track.’<br /> +‘Wait, then,’ the Angel said, ‘beside me +here,<br /> +But do not strive within God’s Gate to peer<br /> +Nor converse hold with Spirits clothed in light<br /> +Who pass this way; thou hast not earned the right.’</p> +<p class="poetry">They waited year on year. Then, like a +flame,<br /> +News of the woman’s death from earth-land came.<br /> +The eager lovers scanned with hungry eyes<br /> +Each Soul that passed the Gates of Paradise.<br /> +The well-beloved face in vain they sought,<br /> +Until one day the Guardian Angel brought<br /> +A message to them. ‘She has gone,’ he said,<br +/> +‘Down to the lower regions of the dead;<br /> +Her chosen mate went first; so great her love<br /> +She has resigned the joys that wait above<br /> +To dwell with him, until perchance some day,<br /> +Absolved from sin, he seeks the Better Way.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Silent, the lovers turned. The pitying +Guard<br /> +Said: ‘Stay (the while his hand the door unbarred),<br /> +<a name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 48</span>There +waits for thee no darker grief or woe;<br /> +Enter the Gates, and all God’s glories know.<br /> +But to be ready for so great a bliss,<br /> +Pause for a moment and take heed of this:<br /> +The dearest treasure by each mortal lost<br /> +Lies yonder, when the Threshold has been crossed,<br /> +And thou shalt find within that Sacred Place<br /> +The shining wonder of her worshipped face.<br /> +All that is past is but a troubled dream;<br /> +Go forward now and claim the Fact Supreme.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Then clothed like Angels, fitting their +estate,<br /> +Three Souls went singing, singing through God’s Gate.</p> +<h2><a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 49</span>WHEN +LOVE IS LOST</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> love is lost, +the day sets towards the night,<br /> +Albeit the morning sun may still be bright,<br /> +And not one cloud-ship sails across the sky.<br /> +Yet from the places where it used to lie<br /> +Gone is the lustrous glory of the light.</p> +<p class="poetry">No splendour rests in any mountain height,<br +/> +No scene spreads fair and beauteous to the sight;<br /> +All, all seems dull and dreary to the eye<br /> + When love is lost.</p> +<p class="poetry">Love lends to life its grandeur and its +might;<br /> +Love goes, and leaves behind it gloom and blight;<br /> +Like ghosts of time the pallid hours drag by,<br /> +And grief’s one happy thought is that we die.<br /> +Ah, what can recompense us for its flight<br /> + When love is lost?</p> +<h2><a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +50</span>OCCUPATION</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There</span> must in heaven +be many industries<br /> +And occupations, varied, infinite;<br /> +Or heaven could not be heaven.<br /> +What gracious tasks<br /> +The Mighty Maker of the universe<br /> +Can offer souls that have prepared on earth<br /> +By holding lovely thoughts and fair desires!</p> +<p class="poetry">Art thou a poet to whom words come not?<br /> +A dumb composer of unuttered sounds,<br /> +Ignored by fame and to the world unknown?<br /> +Thine may be, then, the mission to create<br /> +Immortal lyrics and immortal strains,<br /> +For stars to chant together as they swing<br /> +About the holy centre where God dwells.</p> +<p class="poetry">Hast thou the artist instinct with no skill<br +/> +To give it form or colour? Unto thee<br /> +<a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 51</span>It may be +given to paint upon the skies<br /> +Astounding dawns and sunsets, framed by seas<br /> +And mountains; or to fashion and adorn<br /> +New faces for sweet pansies and new dyes<br /> +To tint their velvet garments. Oftentimes<br /> +Methinks behind a beauteous flower I see,<br /> +Or in the tender glory of a dawn,<br /> +The presence of some spirit who has gone<br /> +Into the place of mystery, whose call,<br /> +Imperious and compelling, sounds for all<br /> +Or soon or late. So many have passed on—<br /> +So many with ambitions, hopes, and aims<br /> +Unrealised, who could not be content<br /> +As idle angels even in paradise.<br /> +The unknown Michelangelos who lived<br /> +With thoughts on beauty bent while chained to toil<br /> +That gave them only bread and burial—<br /> +These must find waiting in the world of space<br /> +The shining timbers of their splendid dreams,<br /> +Ready for shaping temples, shrines, and towers,<br /> +Where radiant hosts may congregate to raise<br /> +Their glad hosannas to the God Supreme.<br /> +And will there not be gardens glorious,<br /> +And mansions all embosomed among blooms,<br /> +<a name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 52</span>Where +heavenly children reach out loving arms<br /> +To lonely women who have been denied<br /> +On earth the longed-for boon of motherhood?</p> +<p class="poetry">Surely God has provided work to do<br /> +For souls like these, and for the weary, rest.</p> +<h2><a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 53</span>THE +VALLEY OF FEAR</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">In</span> the journey of +life, as we travel along<br /> +To the mystical goal that is hidden from sight,<br /> +You may stumble at times into Roadways of Wrong,<br /> +Not seeing the sign-board that points to the right.<br /> +Through caverns of sorrow your feet may be led,<br /> +Where the noon of the day will like midnight appear.<br /> +But no matter whither you wander or tread,<br /> +Keep out of the Valley of Fear.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Roadways of Wrong will wind out into +light<br /> +If you sit in the silence and ask for a Guide;<br /> +In the caverns of sorrow your soul gains its sight<br /> +Of beautiful vistas, ascending and wide.<br /> +In by-paths of worry and trouble and strife<br /> +Full many a bloom grows bedewed by a tear,<br /> +But wretched and arid and void of all life<br /> +Is the desolate Valley of Fear.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +54</span>The Valley of Fear is a maddening maze<br /> +Of paths that wind on without exit or end,<br /> +From nowhere to nowhere lead all of its ways,<br /> +And shadows with shadows in more shadows blend.<br /> +Each guide-post is lettered, ‘This way to +Despair,’<br /> +And the River of Death in the darkness flows near,<br /> +But there is a beautiful Roadway of Prayer<br /> +This side of the Valley of Fear.</p> +<p class="poetry">This beautiful Roadway is narrow and steep,<br +/> +And it runs up the side of the Mountain of Faith.<br /> +You may not perceive it at first if you weep,<br /> +But it rises high over the River of Death.<br /> +Though the Roadway is narrow and dark at the base,<br /> +It widens ascending, and ever grows clear,<br /> +Till it shines at the top with the Light of God’s face,<br +/> +Far, far from the Valley of Fear.</p> +<p class="poetry">When close to that Valley your footsteps shall +fare,<br /> +Turn, turn to the Roadway of Prayer—<br /> +The beautiful Roadway of Prayer.</p> +<h2><a name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 55</span>WHAT +WOULD IT BE?</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Now</span> what were the +words of Jesus,<br /> +And what would He pause and say,<br /> +If we were to meet in home or street,<br /> +The Lord of the world to-day?<br /> +Oh, I think He would pause and say:<br /> +‘Go on with your chosen labour;<br /> +Speak only good of your neighbour;<br /> +Widen your farms, and lay down your arms,<br /> +Or dig up the soil with each sabre.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Now what were the answer of Jesus<br /> +If we should ask for a creed,<br /> +To carry us straight to the wonderful gate<br /> +When soul from body is freed?<br /> +Oh, I think He would give us this creed:<br /> +‘Praise God whatever betide you;<br /> +Cast joy on the lives beside you;<br /> +Better the earth, by growing in worth,<br /> +With love as the law to guide you.’</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +56</span>Now what were the answer of Jesus<br /> +If we should ask Him to tell<br /> +Of the last great goal of the homing soul<br /> +Where each of us hopes to dwell?<br /> +Oh, I think it is this He would tell:<br /> +‘The soul is the builder—then wake it;<br /> +The mind is the kingdom—then take it;<br /> +And thought upon thought let Eden be wrought,<br /> +For heaven will be what you make it.’</p> +<h2><a name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +57</span>AMERICA</h2> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">am</span> the refuge of +all the oppressed,<br /> +I am the boast of the free,<br /> +I am the harbour where ships may rest<br /> +Safely ’twixt sea and sea.<br /> +I hold up a torch to a darkened world,<br /> +I lighten the path with its ray.<br /> +Let my hand keep steady<br /> +And let me be ready<br /> +For whatever comes my way—<br /> +Let me be ready.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh, better than fortresses, better than +guns,<br /> +Better than lance or spear,<br /> +Are the loyal hearts of my daughters and sons,<br /> +Faithful and without fear.<br /> +But my daughters and sons must understand<br /> +<i>That Attila did not die</i>.<br /> +And they must be ready,<br /> +<a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 58</span>Their +hands must be steady,<br /> +If the hosts of hell come nigh—<br /> +They must be ready.</p> +<p class="poetry">If Jesus were back on the earth with men,<br /> +He would not preach to-day<br /> +Until He had made Him a scourge, and again<br /> +He would drive the defilers away.<br /> +He would throw down the tables of lust and greed<br /> +And scatter the changers’ gold.<br /> +He would be ready,<br /> +His hand would be steady,<br /> +As it was in that temple of old—<br /> +He would be ready.</p> +<p class="poetry">I am the cradle of God’s new world,<br /> +From me shall the new race rise,<br /> +And my glorious banner must float unfurled,<br /> +Unsullied against the skies.<br /> +My sons and daughters must be my strength,<br /> +With courage to do and to dare,<br /> +With hearts that are ready,<br /> +With hands that are steady,<br /> +And their slogan must be, <span +class="smcap">Prepare</span>!—<br /> +They must be ready!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +59</span>With a prayer on the lip they must shoulder arms,<br /> +For after all has been said,<br /> +We must muster guns,<br /> +If we master Huns—<br /> +<i>And Attila is not dead</i>—<br /> +We must be ready!</p> +<h2><a name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 60</span>WAR +MOTHERS</h2> +<p class="poetry"><i>There is something in the sound of drum and +fife</i><br /> +<i>That stirs all the savage instincts into life</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">In</span> the old times of +peace we went our ways,<br /> +Through proper days<br /> +Of little joys and tasks. Lonely at times,<br /> +When from the steeple sounded wedding chimes,<br /> +Telling to all the world some maid was wife—<br /> +But taking patiently our part in life<br /> +As it was portioned us by Church and State,<br /> +Believing it our fate.<br /> + Our thoughts all chaste<br /> +Held yet a secret wish to love and mate<br /> + Ere youth and virtue should go quite to waste.<br /> +But men we criticised for lack of strength,<br /> +And kept them at arm’s length.<br /> +<a name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 61</span>Then the +war came—<br /> +The world was all aflame!<br /> +The men we had thought dull and void of power<br /> +Were heroes in an hour.<br /> +He who had seemed a slave to petty greed<br /> +Showed masterful in that great time of need.<br /> +He who had plotted for his neighbour’s pelf,<br /> +Now for his fellows offers up himself.<br /> +And we were only women, forced by war<br /> +To sacrifice the things worth living for.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Something within us broke</i>,<br /> + <i>Something within us woke</i>,<br /> + <i>The wild cave-woman +spoke</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>When we heard the sound of drumming</i>,<br +/> + <i>As our soldiers went to camp</i>,<br /> + <i>Heard them tramp</i>, <i>tramp</i>, +<i>tramp</i>;<br /> +<i>As we watched to see them coming</i>,<br /> + <i>And they looked at us and smiled</i><br /> + (<i>Yes</i>, <i>looked back at us and +smiled</i>),<br /> +<i>As they filed along by hillock and by hollow</i>,<br /> + <i>Then our hearts were so beguiled</i><br /> + <i>That</i>, <i>for many and many a day</i>,<br /> + <i>We dreamed we heard them say</i>,<br /> +‘<i>Oh</i>, <i>follow</i>, <i>follow</i>, +<i>follow</i>!’<br /> + <a name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +62</span><i>And the distant</i>, <i>rolling drum</i><br /> + <i>Called us</i> ‘<i>Come</i>, <i>come</i>, +<i>come</i>!’<br /> + <i>Till our virtue seemed a thing to give +away</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">War had swept ten thousand years away from +earth.<br /> + We were primal once again.<br /> + There were males, not modern men;<br /> +We were females meant to bring their sons to birth.<br /> + And we could not wait for any formal rite,<br /> + We could hear them calling to us, ‘Come +to-night;<br /> +For to-morrow, at the dawn,<br /> +We move on!’<br /> + And the drum<br /> + Bellowed, ‘Come, come, come!’<br /> +And the fife<br /> +Whistled, ‘Life, life, life!’</p> +<p class="poetry">So they moved on and fought and bled and +died;<br /> +Honoured and mourned, they are the nation’s pride.<br /> +We fought our battles, too, but with the tide<br /> +Of our red blood, we gave the world new lives.<br /> +Because we were not wives<br /> +We are dishonoured. Is it noble, then,<br /> +To break God’s laws only by killing men<br /> +<a name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 63</span>To save +one’s country from destruction?<br /> +We took no man’s life but gave our chastity,<br /> +And sinned the ancient sin<br /> +To plant young trees and fill felled forests in.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh, clergy of the land,<br /> +Bible in hand,<br /> +All reverently you stand,<br /> + On holy thoughts intent<br /> + While barren wives receive the sacrament!<br /> +Had you the open visions you could see<br /> + Phantoms of infants murdered in the womb,<br /> + Who never knew a cradle or a tomb,<br /> +Hovering about these wives accusingly.</p> +<p class="poetry">Bestow the sacrament! Their sins are not +well known—<br /> +Ours to the four winds of the earth are blown.</p> +<h2><a name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 64</span>A +HOLIDAY</h2> +<p>Berlin, Germany, gave the school children a half holiday to +celebrate the sinking of the <i>Lusitania</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">War</span> declares a +holiday;<br /> +Little children, run and play.<br /> +Ring-a-rosy round the earth<br /> +With the garland of your mirth.</p> +<p class="poetry">Shrill a song brim full of glee<br /> +Of a great ship sunk at sea.<br /> +Tell with pleasure and with pride<br /> +How a hundred children died.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sing of orphan babes, whose cries<br /> +Beat against unanswering skies;<br /> +Let a mother’s mad despair<br /> +Lend staccato to your air.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sing of babes who drowned alone;<br /> +Sing of headstones, marked ‘Unknown’;<br /> +Sing of homes made desolate<br /> +Where the stricken mourners wait.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +65</span>Sing of battered corpses tossed<br /> +By the heedless waves, and lost.<br /> +Run, sweet children, sing and play;<br /> +War declares a holiday.</p> +<h2><a name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 66</span>THE +UNDERTONE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> I was very +young I used to feel the dark despairs of youth;<br /> +Out of my little griefs I would invent great tragedies and +woes;<br /> +Not only for myself, but for all those I held most dear<br /> +I would invent vast sorrows in my melancholy moods of thought.<br +/> +Yet down deep, deep in my heart there was an undertone of +rapture.<br /> +It was like a voice from some other world calling softly to +me,<br /> +Saying things joyful.</p> +<p class="poetry">As I grew older, and Life offered bitter gall +for me to drink,<br /> +Forcing it through clenched teeth when I refused to take it +willingly;<br /> +<a name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 67</span>When Pain +prepared some special anguish for my heart to bear,<br /> +And all the things I longed for seemed to be wholly beyond my +reach—<br /> +Yet down deep, deep in my heart there was an undertone of +rapture.<br /> +It was like a Voice, a Voice from some other world calling to +me,<br /> +Bringing glad tidings.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now when I look about me, and see the great +injustices of men,<br /> +See Idleness and Greed waited upon by luxury and mirth,<br /> +See prosperous Vice ride by in state, while footsore Virtue +walks;<br /> +Now when I hear the cry of need rise up from lands of shameful +wealth—<br /> +Yet down deep, deep in my heart there is an undertone of +rapture.<br /> +It is like a Voice—it is a Voice—calling to me and +saying:<br /> +‘Love rules triumphant.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Now when each mile-post on the path of life +seems marked by headstones,<br /> +<a name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 68</span>And one by +one dear faces that I loved are hid away from sight;<br /> +Now when in each familiar home I see a vacant chair,<br /> +And in the throngs once formed of friends I meet unrecognising +eyes—<br /> +Yet down deep, deep in my heart there is an undertone of +rapture.<br /> +It is the Voice, it is the Voice for ever saying unto me:<br /> +‘Life is Eternal.’</p> +<h2><a name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +69</span>GYPSYING</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Gypsying</span>, gypsying, +through the world together,<br /> +Never mind the way we go, never mind what port.<br /> +Follow trails, or fashion sails, start in any weather:<br /> +While we journey hand in hand, everything is sport.</p> +<p class="poetry">Gypsying, gypsying, leaving care and worry:<br +/> +Never mind the ‘if’ and ‘but’ (words for +coward lips).<br /> +Put them out with ‘fear’ and ‘doubt,’ in +the pack with ‘hurry,’<br /> +While we stroll like vagabonds forth to trails, or ships.</p> +<p class="poetry">Gypsying, gypsying, just where fancy calls +us;<br /> +Never mind what others say, or what others do.<br /> +<a name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 70</span>Everywhere +or foul or fair, liking what befalls us:<br /> +While you have me at your side, and while I have you.</p> +<p class="poetry">Gypsying, gypsying, camp by hill or hollow;<br +/> +Never mind the why of it, since it suits our mood.<br /> +Go or stay, and pay our way, and let those who follow<br /> +Find, upspringing from the soil, some small seed of good.</p> +<p class="poetry">Gypsying, gypsying, through the world we +wander:<br /> +Never mind the rushing years, that have come and gone.<br /> +There must be for you and me, lying over Yonder,<br /> +Other lands, where side by side we can gypsy on.</p> +<h2><a name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 71</span>SONG +OF THE ROAD</h2> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">am</span> a Road; a good +road, fair and smooth and broad;<br /> + And I link with my beautiful tether<br /> + Town and Country together,<br /> +Like a ribbon rolled on the earth, from the reel of God.<br /> + Oh, great the life of a Road!</p> +<p class="poetry">I am a Road; a long road, leading on and on;<br +/> + And I cry to the world to follow,<br /> + Past meadow and hill and hollow,<br /> +Through desolate night, to the open gates of dawn.<br /> + Oh, bold the life of a Road!</p> +<p class="poetry">I am a Road; a kind road, shaped by strong +hands.<br /> + I make strange cities neighbours;<br /> + The poor grow rich with my labours,<br /> +And beauty and comfort follow me through the lands.<br /> + Oh, glad the life of a Road!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +72</span>I am a Road; a wise road, knowing all men’s +ways;<br /> + And I know how each heart reaches<br /> + For the things dear Nature teaches;<br /> +And I am the path that leads into green young Mays.<br /> + Oh, sweet the life of a Road!</p> +<p class="poetry">I am a Road; and I speed away from the +slums,<br /> + Away from desolate places,<br /> + Away from unused spaces;<br /> +Wherever I go, there order from chaos comes.<br /> + Oh, brave the life of a Road!</p> +<p class="poetry">I am a Road; and I would make the whole world +one.<br /> + I would give hope to duty,<br /> + And cover the earth with beauty.<br /> +Do you not see, O men! how all this might be done?<br /> + So vast the power of the Road!</p> +<h2><a name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 73</span>THE +FAITH WE NEED</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Too</span> tall our +structures, and too swift our pace;<br /> +Not so we mount, not so we gain the race.<br /> +Too loud the voice of commerce in the land;<br /> +Not so truth speaks, not so we understand.<br /> +Too vast our conquests, and too large our gains;<br /> +Not so comes peace, not so the soul attains.</p> +<p class="poetry">But the need of the world is a faith that will +live anywhere;<br /> +In the still dark depths of the woods, or out in the sun’s +full glare.<br /> +A faith that can hear God’s voice, alike in the quiet +glen,<br /> +Or in the roar of the street, and over the noises of men.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +74</span>And the need of the world is a creed that is founded on +joy;<br /> +A creed with the turrets of hope and trust, no winds can +destroy;<br /> +A creed where the soul finds rest, whatever this life bestows,<br +/> +And dwells undoubting and unafraid, because it knows, it +knows.</p> +<p class="poetry">And the need of the world is love that burns in +the heart like flame;<br /> +A love for the Giver of Life, in sorrow or joy the same;<br /> +A love that blazes a trail to Go through the dark and the +cold,<br /> +Or keeps the pathway that leads to Him clean, through glory and +gold.</p> +<p class="poetry">For the faith that can only thrive or grow in +the solitude,<br /> +And droops and dies in the marts of men, where sights and sounds +are rude;<br /> +That is not a faith at all, but a dream of a mystic’s +heart;<br /> +Our faith should point as the compass points, whatever be the +chart.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +75</span>Our faith must find its centre of peace in a babel of +noise;<br /> +In the changing ways of the world of men it must keep its +poise;<br /> +And over the sorrowing sounds of earth it must hear God’s +call;<br /> +And the faith that cannot do all this, that is not faith at +all.</p> +<h2><a name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 76</span>THE +PRICE HE PAID</h2> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">said</span> I would have +my fling,<br /> + And do what a young man may;<br /> +And I didn’t believe a thing<br /> + That the parsons have to say.<br /> +I didn’t believe in a God<br /> + That gives us blood like fire,<br /> +Then flings us into hell because<br /> + We answer the call of desire.</p> +<p class="poetry">And I said: ‘Religion is rot,<br /> + And the laws of the world are nil;<br /> +For the bad man is he who is caught<br /> + And cannot foot his bill.<br /> +And there is no place called hell;<br /> + And heaven is only a truth<br /> +When a man has his way with a maid,<br /> + In the fresh keen hour of youth.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +77</span>‘And money can buy us grace,<br /> + If it rings on the plate of the church:<br /> +And money can neatly erase<br /> + Each sign of a sinful smirch.’<br /> +For I saw men everywhere,<br /> + Hotfooting the road of vice;<br /> +And women and preachers smiled on them<br /> + As long as they paid the price.</p> +<p class="poetry">So I had my joy of life:<br /> + I went the pace of the town;<br /> +And then I took me a wife,<br /> + And started to settle down.<br /> +I had gold enough and to spare<br /> + For all of the simple joys<br /> +That belong with a house and a home<br /> + And a brood of girls and boys.</p> +<p class="poetry">I married a girl with health<br /> + And virtue and spotless fame.<br /> +I gave in exchange my wealth<br /> + And a proud old family name.<br /> +And I gave her the love of a heart<br /> + Grown sated and sick of sin!<br /> +My deal with the devil was all cleaned up,<br /> + And the last bill handed in.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +78</span>She was going to bring me a child,<br /> + And when in labour she cried<br /> +With love and fear I was wild—<br /> + But now I wish she had died.<br /> +For the son she bore me was blind<br /> + And crippled and weak and sore!<br /> +And his mother was left a wreck.<br /> + It was so she settled my score.</p> +<p class="poetry">I said I must have my fling,<br /> + And they knew the path I would go;<br /> +Yet no one told me a thing<br /> + Of what I needed to know.<br /> +Folks talk too much of a soul<br /> + From heavenly joys debarred—<br /> +And not enough of the babes unborn,<br /> + By the sins of their fathers scarred.</p> +<h2><a name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +79</span>DIVORCED</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Thinking</span> of one +thing all day long, at night<br /> +I fall asleep, brain weary and heart sore;<br /> +But only for a little while. At three,<br /> +Sometimes at two o’clock, I wake and lie,<br /> +Staring out into darkness; while my thoughts<br /> +Begin the weary treadmill-toil again,<br /> +From that white marriage morning of our youth<br /> +Down to this dreadful hour.</p> +<p class="poetry"> I see your +face<br /> +Lit with the lovelight of the honeymoon;<br /> +I hear your voice, that lingered on my name<br /> +As if it loved each letter; and I feel<br /> +The clinging of your arms about my form,<br /> +Your kisses on my cheek—and long to break<br /> +The anguish of such memories with tears,<br /> +But cannot weep; the fountain has run dry.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +80</span>We were so young, so happy, and so full<br /> +Of keen sweet joy of life. I had no wish<br /> +Outside your pleasure; and you loved me so<br /> +That when I sometimes felt a woman’s need<br /> +For more serene expression of man’s love<br /> +(The need to rest in calm affection’s bay<br /> +And not sail ever on the stormy main),<br /> +Yet would I rouse myself to your desire;<br /> +Meet ardent kiss with kisses just as warm;<br /> +So nothing I could give should be denied.</p> +<p class="poetry">And then our children came. Deep in my +soul,<br /> +From the first hour of conscious motherhood,<br /> +I knew I should conserve myself for this<br /> +Most holy office; knew God meant it so.<br /> +Yet even then, I held your wishes first;<br /> +And by my double duties lost the bloom<br /> +And freshness of my beauty; and beheld<br /> +A look of disapproval in your eyes.<br /> +But with the coming of our precious child,<br /> +The lover’s smile, tinged with the father’s pride,<br +/> +Returned again; and helped to make me strong;<br /> +And life was very sweet for both of us.</p> +<p class="poetry">Another, and another birth, and twice<br /> +The little white hearse paused beside our door<br /> +<a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 81</span>And took +away some portion of my youth<br /> +With my sweet babies. At the first you seemed<br /> +To suffer with me, standing very near;<br /> +But when I wept too long, you turned away.<br /> +And I was hurt, not realising then<br /> +My grief was selfish. I could see the change<br /> +Which motherhood and sorrow made in me;<br /> +And when I saw the change that came to you,<br /> +Saw how your eyes looked past me when you talked,<br /> +And when I missed the love tone from your voice,<br /> +I did that foolish thing weak women do,<br /> +Complained and cried, accused you of neglect,<br /> +And made myself obnoxious in your sight.</p> +<p class="poetry">And often, after you had left my side,<br /> +Alone I stood before my mirror, mad<br /> +With anger at my pallid cheeks, my dull<br /> +Unlighted eyes, my shrunken mother-breasts,<br /> +And wept, and wept, and faded more and more.<br /> +How could I hope to win back wandering love,<br /> +And make new flames in dying embers leap,<br /> +By such ungracious means?</p> +<p class="poetry"> And then +She came,<br /> +Firm-bosomed, round of cheek, with such young eyes,<br /> +And all the ways of youth. I who had died<br /> +<a name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 82</span>A thousand +deaths, in waiting the return<br /> +Of that old love-look to your face once more,<br /> +Died yet again and went straight into hell<br /> +When I beheld it come at her approach.</p> +<p class="poetry">My God, my God, how have I borne it all!<br /> +Yet since she had the power to wake that look—<br /> +The power to sweep the ashes from your heart<br /> +Of burned-out love of me, and light new fires,<br /> +One thing remained for me—to let you go.<br /> +I had no wish to keep the empty frame<br /> +From which the priceless picture had been wrenched.<br /> +Nor do I blame you; it was not your fault:<br /> +You gave me all that most men can give—love<br /> +Of youth, of beauty, and of passion; and<br /> +I gave you full return; my womanhood<br /> +Matched well your manhood. Yet had you grown ill,<br /> +Or old, and unattractive from some cause<br /> +(Less close than was my service unto you),<br /> +I should have clung the tighter to you, dear;<br /> +And loved you, loved you, loved you more and more.</p> +<p class="poetry">I grow so weary thinking of these things;<br /> +Day in, day out; and half the awful nights.</p> +<h2><a name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 83</span>THE +REVEALING ANGELS</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Suddenly</span> and without +warning they came—<br /> +The Revealing Angels came.<br /> +Suddenly and simultaneously, through city streets,<br /> +Through quiet lanes and country roads they walked.<br /> +They walked crying: ‘God has sent us to find<br /> +The vilest sinners of earth.<br /> +We are to bring them before Him, before the Lord of +Life.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Their voices were like bugles;<br /> +And then all war, all strife,<br /> +And all the noises of the world grew still;<br /> +And no one talked;<br /> +And no one toiled, but many strove to flee away.<br /> +Robbers and thieves, and those sunk in drunkenness and crime,<br +/> +<a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 84</span>Men and +women of evil repute,<br /> +And mothers with fatherless children in their arms, all strove to +hide.<br /> +But the Revealing Angels passed them by,<br /> +Saying: ‘Not you, not you.<br /> +Another day, when we shall come again<br /> +Unto the haunts of men,<br /> +Then we will call your names;<br /> +But God has asked us first to bring to him<br /> +Those guilty of greater shames<br /> +Than lust, or theft, or drunkenness, or vice—<br /> +Yea, greater than murder done in passion,<br /> +Or self-destruction done in dark despair.<br /> +Now in His Holy Name we call:<br /> +Come one and all<br /> +Come forth; reveal your faces.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Then through the awful silence of the world,<br +/> +Where noise had ceased, they came—<br /> +The sinful hosts.<br /> +They came from lowly and from lofty places,<br /> +Some poorly clad, but many clothed like queens;<br /> +They came from scenes of revel and from toil;<br /> +From haunts of sin, from palaces, from homes,<br /> +From boudoirs, and from churches.<br /> +<a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 85</span>They came +like ghosts—<br /> +<i>The vast brigades of women who had slain</i><br /> +<i>Their helpless</i>, <i>unborn children</i>. With them +trailed<br /> +Lovers and husbands who had said, ‘Do this,’<br /> +And those who helped for hire.<br /> +They stood before the Angels—before the Revealing<br /> +Angels they stood.<br /> +And they heard the Angels say,<br /> +And all the listening world heard the Angels say:<br /> +‘These are the vilest sinners of all;<br /> +For the Lord of Life made sex that birth might come;<br /> +Made sex and its keen compelling desire<br /> +To fashion bodies wherein souls might go<br /> +From lower planes to higher,<br /> +Until the end is reached (which is Beginning).<br /> +They have stolen the costly pleasures of the senses<br /> +And refused to pay God’s price.<br /> +They have come together, these men and these women,<br /> +As male and female they have come together<br /> +In the great creative act.<br /> +They have invited souls, and then flung them out into space;<br +/> +They have made a jest of God’s design.<br /> +All other sins look white beside this sinning;<br /> +<a name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 86</span>All other +sins may be condoned, forgiven;<br /> +All other sinners may be cleansed and shriven;<br /> +Not these, not these.<br /> +Pass on, and meet God’s eyes.’</p> +<p class="poetry">The vast brigade moved forward, and behind then +walked the Angels,<br /> +Walked the sorrowful Revealing Angels.</p> +<h2><a name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 87</span>THE +WELL-BORN</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">So</span> many +people—people—in the world;<br /> +So few great souls, love ordered, well begun,<br /> +In answer to the fertile mother need!<br /> +So few who seem<br /> +The image of the Maker’s mortal dream;<br /> +So many born of mere propinquity—<br /> +Of lustful habit, or of accident.<br /> +Their mothers felt<br /> +No mighty, all-compelling wish to see<br /> +Their bosoms garden-places<br /> +Abloom with flower faces;<br /> +No tidal wave swept o’er them with its flood;<br /> +No thrill of flesh or heart; no leap of blood;<br /> +No glowing fire, flaming to white desire<br /> +For mating and for motherhood:<br /> +Yet they bore children.<br /> +God! how mankind misuses Thy command,<br /> +To populate the earth!<br /> +How low is brought high birth!<br /> +<a name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 88</span>How low +the woman; when, inert as spawn<br /> +Left on the sands to fertilise,<br /> +She is the means through which the race goes on!<br /> +Not so the first intent.<br /> +Birth, as the Supreme Mind conceived it, meant<br /> +The clear imperious call of mate to mate<br /> +And the clear answer. Only thus and then<br /> +Are fine, well-ordered, and potential lives<br /> +Brought into being. Not by Church or State<br /> +Can birth be made legitimate,<br /> +Unless<br /> +Love in its fulness bless.<br /> +Creation so ordains its lofty laws<br /> +That man, while greater in all other things,<br /> +Is lesser in the generative cause.<br /> +The father may be merely man, the male;<br /> +Yet more than female must the mother be.<br /> +The woman who would fashion<br /> +Souls, for the use of earth and angels meet,<br /> +Must entertain a high and holy passion.<br /> +Not rank, or wealth, or influence of kings<br /> +Can give a soul its dower<br /> +Of majesty and power,<br /> +Unless the mother brings<br /> +Great love to that great hour.</p> +<h2><a name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +89</span>SISTERS OF MINE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Sisters</span>, sisters of +mine, have we done what we could<br /> +In all the old ways, through all the new days,<br /> +To better the race and to make life sweet and good?<br /> +Have we played the full part that was ours in the start,<br /> +Sisters of mine?</p> +<p class="poetry">Sisters, sisters of mine, as we hurry along<br +/> +To a larger world, with our banners unfurled,<br /> +The battle-cry on lips where once was Love’s old song,<br +/> +Are we leaving behind better things than we find,<br /> +Sisters of mine?</p> +<p class="poetry">Sisters, sisters of mine, through the march in +the street,<br /> +<a name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 90</span>Through +turmoil and din, without, and within,<br /> +As we gain something big do we lose something sweet?<br /> +In the growth of our might is our grace lost to sight?<br /> +As new powers unfold do we <i>love</i> as of old,<br /> +Sisters of mine?</p> +<h2><a name="page91"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +91</span>ANSWER</h2> +<p class="poetry">O <span class="smcap">well</span> have we done +the old tasks! in the old, old ways of earth.<br /> +We have kept the house in order, we have given the children +birth;<br /> +And our sons went out with their fathers, and left us alone at +the hearth!</p> +<p class="poetry">We have cooked the meats for their table; we +have woven their cloth at the loom;<br /> +We have pulled the weeds from their gardens, and kept the flowers +in bloom;<br /> +And then we have sat and waited, alone in a silent room.</p> +<p class="poetry">We have borne all the pains of travail in +giving life to the race;<br /> +<a name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 92</span>We have +toiled and saved, for the masters, and helped them to power and +place;<br /> +And when we asked for a pittance, they gave it with grudging +grace.</p> +<p class="poetry">On the bold, bright face of the dollar all the +evils of earth are shown.<br /> +We are weary of love that is barter, and of virtue that pines +alone;<br /> +We are out in the world with the masters: we are finding and +claiming our own!</p> +<h2><a name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 93</span>THE +GRADUATES</h2> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">saw</span> them +beautiful, in fair array upon Commencement Day;<br /> +Lissome and lovely, radiant and sweet<br /> +As cultured roses, brought to their estate<br /> +By careful training. Finished and complete<br /> +(As teachers calculate).</p> +<p class="poetry">They passed in maiden grace along the aisle,<br +/> +Leaving the chaste white sunlight of a smile<br /> +Upon the gazing throng.<br /> +Musing I thought upon their place as mothers of the race.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh there are many actors who can play<br /> +Greatly, great parts; but rare indeed the soul<br /> +Who can be great when cast for some small rôle;<br /> +Yet that is what the world most needs; big hearts<br /> +That will shine forth and glorify poor parts<br /> +<a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 94</span>In this +strange drama, Life! Do they,<br /> +Who in full dress-rehearsal pass to-day<br /> +Before admiring eyes, hold in their store<br /> +Those fine high principles which keep old Earth<br /> +From being only earth; and make men more<br /> +Than just mere men? How will they prove their worth<br /> +Of years of study? Will they walk abroad<br /> +Decked with the plumage of dead bards of God,<br /> +The glorious birds? And shall the lamb unborn<br /> +Be slain on altars of their vanity?<br /> +To some frail sister who has missed the way<br /> +Will they give Christ’s compassion, or man’s +scorn;<br /> +And will clean manhood, linked with honest love,<br /> +The victor prove,<br /> +When riches, gained by greed, dispute the claim?<br /> +Will they guard well a husband’s home and name.<br /> +Or lean down from their altitudes to hear<br /> +The voice of flattery speak in the ear<br /> +Those lying platitudes which men repeat<br /> +To listening Self-Conceit?<br /> +Musing I thought upon their place as mothers of the race,<br /> +As beautiful they passed in maiden grace.</p> +<h2><a name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 95</span>THE +SILENT TRAGEDY</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> deepest +tragedies of life are not<br /> +Put into books, or acted on the stage.<br /> +Nay, they are lived in silence, by tense hearts<br /> +In homes, among dull unperceiving kin,<br /> +And thoughtless friends, who make a whip of words<br /> +Wherewith to lash these hearts, and call it wit.</p> +<p class="poetry">There is a tragedy lived everywhere<br /> +In Christian lands, by an increasing horde<br /> +Of women martyrs to our social laws.<br /> +Women whose hearts cry out for motherhood;<br /> +Women whose bosoms ache for little heads;<br /> +Women God meant for mothers, but whose lives<br /> +Have been restrained, restricted, and denied<br /> +Their natural channels, till at last they stand<br /> +Unmated and alone, by that sad sea<br /> +Whose slow receding tide returns no more.<br /> +<a name="page96"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 96</span>Men meet +great sorrows; but no man can grasp<br /> +The depth, and height, of such a grief as this.</p> +<p class="poetry">The call of Fatherhood is from man’s +brain.<br /> +Man cannot know the answer to that call<br /> +Save as a woman tells him. But to her<br /> +The call of Motherhood is from the soul,<br /> +The brain, the body. She is like a plant<br /> +Which buds and blossoms only to bear fruit.<br /> +Man is the pollen, carried by the wind<br /> +Of accident, or impulse, or desire;<br /> +And then his rôle of fatherhood is played.<br /> +Her threefold knowledge of maternity,<br /> +Through three times three great months, is hers alone.</p> +<p class="poetry">Man as an egotist is wounded when<br /> +He is not father. Woman when denied<br /> +The all-embracing rôle of motherhood<br /> +Rebels with her whole being. Oftentimes<br /> +Rebellion finds its only utterance<br /> +In shattered nerves, and lack of self-control;<br /> +Which gives the merry world its chance to cry<br /> +‘Old maids are queer.’<br /> + In far off Eastern lands</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +97</span>They think of God as Mother to the race;<br /> +Father and Mother of the Universe.<br /> +And mayhap this is why they make their girls<br /> +Wives prematurely, mothers over young,<br /> +Hoping to please their Mother God this way.<br /> +Since everywhere in Nature sex is shown<br /> +For procreative uses, they contend<br /> +Sterility is sinful. (Save when one<br /> +Chooses a life of Saintship here on earth,<br /> +And so conserves all forces to that end.)</p> +<p class="poetry">Here in the West, our God is Masculine;<br /> +And while we say He bade a Virgin bring<br /> +His Son to birth, we think of Him as One<br /> +Placing false values on forced continence—<br /> +Preparing heavens for those who live that life—<br /> +And hells for those who stray by thought or act<br /> +From the unnatural path our laws have made.</p> +<p class="poetry">Mother of Christ, thou being woman, thou<br /> +Knowing all depths within the woman heart,<br /> +All joy, all pain, oh send the world more light.<br /> +Enlarge our sympathies; and let our minds<br /> +Turn from achievements of material things<br /> +To contemplation of Eternal truths.<br /> +<a name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 98</span>Space +throbs with egos, waiting for rebirth;<br /> +And mother-hearted women fill the earth.<br /> +Mother of Christ, show us the way to thin<br /> +The ranks of childless women, without sin.</p> +<h2><a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 99</span>THE +TRINITY</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Much</span> may be done +with the world we are in,<br /> +Much with the race to better it;<br /> +We can unfetter it,<br /> +Free it from chains of the old traditions;<br /> +Broaden its viewpoint of virtue and sin;<br /> +Change its conditions<br /> +Of labour and wealth;<br /> +And open new roadways to knowledge and health.<br /> +<i>Yet some things ever must stay as they are</i><br /> +<i>While the sea has its tide and the sky has its star</i>.<br /> +A man and a woman with love between,<br /> +Loyal and tender and true and clean,<br /> +Nothing better has been or can be<br /> +Than just those three.</p> +<p class="poetry">Woman may alter the first great plan.<br /> +Daughters and sisters and mothers<br /> +May stalk with their brothers<br /> +Forth from their homes into noisy places<br /> +Fit (and fit only) for masculine man.<br /> +Marring their graces<br /> +<a name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 100</span>With +conflict and strife<br /> +To widen the outlook of all human life.<br /> +<i>Yet some things ever must stay as they are</i><br /> +<i>While the sea has its tide and the sky has its star</i>.<br /> +A man and a woman with love that strengthens<br /> +And gathers new force as its earth way lengthens;<br /> +Nothing better by God is given<br /> +This side of heaven.</p> +<p class="poetry">Science may show us a wonderful vast<br /> +Secret of life and of breeding it;<br /> +Man by the heeding it<br /> +Out of earth’s chaos may bring a new order.<br /> +Off with old systems, old laws may be cast.<br /> +What now seems the border<br /> +Of licence in creeds,<br /> +May then be the centre of thoughts and of deeds.<br /> +<i>Yet some things ever must stay as they are</i><br /> +<i>While the sea has its tide and the sky has its star</i>.<br /> +A man and a woman and love undefiled<br /> +And the look of the two in the face of a child,—<br /> +Oh, the joys of this world have their changing ways,<br /> +But this joy stays.<br /> +Nothing better on earth can be<br /> +Than just those three.</p> +<h2><a name="page101"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 101</span>THE +UNWED MOTHER TO THE WIFE</h2> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">had</span> been almost +happy for an hour,<br /> +Lost to the world that knew me in the park<br /> +Among strange faces; while my little girl<br /> +Leaped with the squirrels, chirruped with the birds<br /> +And with the sunlight glowed. She was so dear,<br /> +So beautiful, so sweet; and for the time<br /> +The rose of love, shorn of its thorn of shame,<br /> +Bloomed in my heart. Then suddenly you passed.<br /> +I sat alone upon the public bench;<br /> +You, with your lawful husband, rode in state;<br /> +And when your eyes fell on me and my child,<br /> +They were not eyes, but daggers, poison tipped.</p> +<p class="poetry">God! how good women slaughter with a look!<br +/> +And, like cold steel, your glance cut through my heart,<br /> +<a name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 102</span>Struck +every petal from the rose of love<br /> +And left the ragged stalk alive with thorns.</p> +<p class="poetry">My little one came running to my side<br /> +And called me Mother. It was like a blow<br /> +Between the eyes; and made me sick with pain.<br /> +And then it seemed as if each bird and breeze<br /> +Took up the word, and changed its syllables<br /> +From Mother into Magdalene; and cried<br /> +My shame to all the world.</p> +<p class="poetry"> It was your +eyes<br /> +Which did all this. But listen now to me<br /> +(Not you alone, but all the barren wives<br /> +Who, like you, flaunt their virtue in the face<br /> +Of fallen women): I do chance to know<br /> +The crimes you think are hidden from all men<br /> +(Save one who took your gold and sold his skill<br /> +And jeopardized his name for your base ends).</p> +<p class="poetry">I know how you have sunk your soul in sense<br +/> +Like any wanton; and refused to bear<br /> +The harvest of your pleasure-planted seed;<br /> +I know how you have crushed the tender bud<br /> +Which held a soul; how you have blighted it;<br /> +<a name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 103</span>And made +the holy miracle of birth<br /> +A wicked travesty of God’s design;<br /> +Yea, many buds, which might be blossoms now<br /> +And beautify your selfish, arid life,<br /> +Have been destroyed, because you chose to keep<br /> +The aimless freedom, and the purposeless,<br /> +Self-seeking liberty of childless wives.</p> +<p class="poetry">I was an untaught girl. By nature led,<br +/> +By love and passion blinded, I became<br /> +An unwed mother. You, an honoured wife,<br /> +Refuse the crown of motherhood, defy<br /> +The laws of nature, and fling baby souls<br /> +Back in the face of God. And yet you dare<br /> +Call me a sinner, and yourself a saint;<br /> +And all the world smiles on you, and its doors<br /> +Swing wide at your approach.<br /> + I stand outside.</p> +<p class="poetry">Surely there must be higher courts than +earth,<br /> +Where you and I will some day meet and be<br /> +Weighed by a larger justice.</p> +<h2><a name="page104"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +104</span>FATHER AND SON</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">My</span> grand-dame, +vigorous at eighty-one,<br /> +Delights in talking of her only son,<br /> +My gallant father, long since dead and gone.<br /> +‘Ah, but he was the lad!’<br /> +She says, and sighs, and looks at me askance.<br /> +How well I read the meaning of that glance—<br /> + ‘Poor son of such a dad;<br /> + Poor weakling, dull and sad.’<br /> +I could, but would not tell her bitter truth<br /> +About my father’s youth.</p> +<p class="poetry">She says: ‘Your father laughed his way +through earth:<br /> +He laughed right in the doctor’s face at birth,<br /> +Such joy of life he had, such founts of mirth.<br /> + Ah, what a lad was he!’<br /> +And then she sighs. I feel her silent blame,<br /> +Because I brought her nothing but his name.<br /> + <a name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +105</span>Because she does not see<br /> + Her worshipped son in me.<br /> +I could, but would not, speak in my defence,<br /> +Anent the difference.</p> +<p class="poetry">She says: ‘He won all prizes in his +time:<br /> +He overworked, and died before his prime.<br /> +At high ambition’s door I lay the crime.<br /> + Ah, what a lad he was!’<br /> +Well, let her rest in that deceiving thought,<br /> +Of what avail to say, ‘His death was brought<br /> + By broken sexual laws,<br /> + The ancient sinful cause.’<br /> +I could, but would not, tell the good old dame<br /> +The story of his shame.</p> +<p class="poetry">I could say: ‘I am crippled, weak, and +pale,<br /> +Because my father was an unleashed male.<br /> +Because he ran so fast, I halt and fail<br /> + (Ah, yes, he was the lad),<br /> +Because he drained each cup of sense-delight<br /> +I must go thirsting, thirsting, day and night.<br /> + Because he was joy-mad,<br /> + I must be always sad.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +106</span>Because he learned no law of self-control,<br /> +I am a blighted soul.’<br /> + Of what avail to speak and spoil her joy.<br /> +Better to see her disapproving eyes,<br /> +And silent, hear her say, between her sighs,<br /> + ‘Ah, but he was the boy!’</p> +<h2><a name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +107</span>HUSKS</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">She</span> looked at her +neighbour’s house in the light of the waning day—<br +/> +A shower of rice on the steps, and the shreds of a bride’s +bouquet.<br /> +And then she drew the shade, to shut out the growing gloom,<br /> +But she shut it into her heart instead. (Was that a voice +in the room?)</p> +<p class="poetry">‘My neighbour is sad,’ she sighed, +‘like the mother bird who sees<br /> +The last of her brood fly out of the nest to make its home in the +trees’—<br /> +And then in a passion of tears—‘But, oh, to be sad +like her:<br /> +Sad for a joy that has come and gone!’ (Did some one +speak, or stir?)</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +108</span>She looked at her faded hands, all burdened with costly +rings;<br /> +She looked on her widowed home, all burdened with priceless +things.<br /> +She thought of the dead years gone, of the empty years +ahead—<br /> +(Yes, something stirred and something spake, and this was what it +said:)</p> +<p class="poetry">‘<i>The voice of the Might Have Been +speaks here through the lonely dusk</i>;<br /> +<i>Life offered the fruits of love</i>; <i>you gathered only the +husk</i>.<br /> +<i>There are jewels ablaze on your breast where never a child has +slept</i>.’<br /> +She covered her face with her ringed old hands, and wept and wept +and wept.</p> +<h2><a name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +109</span>MEDITATIONS</h2> +<h3>HIS</h3> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">was</span> so proud of +you last night, dear girl,<br /> +While man with man was striving for your smile.<br /> +You never lost your head, nor once dropped down<br /> +From your high place<br /> +As queen in that gay whirl.</p> +<p class="poetry">(It takes more poise to wear a little crown<br +/> +With modesty and grace<br /> +Than to adorn the lordlier thrones of earth.)</p> +<p class="poetry">You seem so free from artifice and wile:<br /> +And in your eyes I read<br /> +Encouragement to my unspoken thought.<br /> +My heart is eloquent with words to plead<br /> +Its cause of passion; but my questioning mind,<br /> +<a name="page110"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 110</span>Knowing +how love is blind,<br /> +Dwells on the pros and cons, and God knows what.</p> +<p class="poetry">My heart cries with each beat,<br /> +‘She is so beautiful, so pure, so sweet,<br /> +So more than dear.’<br /> +And then I hear<br /> +The voice of Reason, asking: ‘Would she meet<br /> +Life’s common duties with good common sense?<br /> +Could she bear quiet evenings at your hearth,<br /> +And not be sighing for gay scenes of mirth?<br /> +If, some great day, love’s mighty recompense<br /> +For chastity surrendered came to her,<br /> +If she felt stir<br /> +Beneath her heart a little pulse of life,<br /> +Would she rejoice with holy pride and wonder,<br /> +And find new glory in the name of wife?<br /> +Or would she plot with sin, and seek to plunder<br /> +Love’s sanctuary, and cast away its treasure,<br /> +That she might keep her freedom and her pleasure?<br /> +Could she be loyal mate and mother dutiful?<br /> +Or is she only some bright hothouse bloom,<br /> +Seedless and beautiful,<br /> +Meant just for decoration, and for show?’<br /> +Alone here in my room,<br /> +<a name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 111</span>I hear +this voice of Reason. My poor heart<br /> +Has ever but one answer to impart,<br /> +‘I love her so.’</p> +<h3>HERS</h3> +<p class="poetry">After the ball last night, when I came home<br +/> +I stood before my mirror, and took note<br /> +Of all that men call beautiful. Delight,<br /> +Keen sweet delight, possessed me, when I saw<br /> +My own reflection smiling on me there,<br /> +Because your eyes, through all the swirling hours,<br /> +And in your slow good-night, had made a fact<br /> +Of what before I fancied might be so;<br /> +Yet knowing how men lie, by look and act,<br /> +I still had doubted. But I doubt no more,<br /> +I know you love me, love me. And I feel<br /> +Your satisfaction in my comeliness.</p> +<p class="poetry">Beauty and youth, good health and willing +mind,<br /> +A spotless reputation, and a heart<br /> +Longing for mating and for motherhood,<br /> +And lips unsullied by another’s kiss—<br /> +These are the riches I can bring to you.</p> +<p class="poetry">But as I sit here, thinking of it all<br /> +In the clear light of morning, sudden fear<br /> +<a name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 112</span>Has +seized upon me. What has been your past?<br /> +From out the jungle of old reckless years,<br /> +May serpents crawl across our path some day<br /> +And pierce us with their fangs? Oh, I am not<br /> +A prude or bigot; and I have not lived<br /> +A score and three full years in ignorance<br /> +Of human nature. Much I can condone;<br /> +For well I know our kinship to the earth<br /> +And all created things. Why, even I<br /> +Have felt the burden of virginity,<br /> +When flowers and birds and golden butterflies<br /> +In early spring were mating; and I know<br /> +How loud that call of sex must sound to man<br /> +Above the feeble protest of the world.<br /> +But I can hear from depths within my soul<br /> +The voices of my unborn children cry<br /> +For rightful heritage. (May God attune<br /> +The souls of men, that they may hear and heed<br /> +That plaintive voice above the call of sex;<br /> +And may the world’s weak protest swell into<br /> +A thunderous diapason—a demand<br /> +For cleaner fatherhood.)<br /> + Oh, love, come near;<br /> +Look in my eyes, and say I need not fear.</p> +<h2><a name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 113</span>THE +TRAVELLER</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Bristling</span> with +steeples, high against the hill,<br /> +Like some great thistle in the rosy dawn<br /> +It stood; the Town-of-Christian-Churches, stood.<br /> +The Traveller surveyed it with a smile.<br /> +‘Surely,’ He said, ‘here is the home of +peace;<br /> +Here neighbour lives with neighbour in accord;<br /> +God in the heart of all. Else why these spires?’<br +/> +(Christmas season, and every bell ringing.)</p> +<p class="poetry">The sudden shriek of whistles changed the +sound<br /> +From mellow music into jarring noise.<br /> +Then down the street pale hurrying children came,<br /> +And vanished in the yawning Factory door.<br /> +He called to them: ‘Come back, come unto Me.’<br /> +The Foreman cursed, and caned Him from the place.<br /> +(Christmas season, and every bell ringing.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page114"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +114</span>Forth from two churches came two men, and met,<br /> +Disputing loudly over boundary lines,<br /> +Hate in their eyes, and murder in their hearts.<br /> +A haughty woman drew her skirts aside<br /> +Because her fallen sister passed that way.<br /> +The Traveller rebuked them all. Amazed,<br /> +They asked in indignation, ‘Who are you,<br /> +Daring to interfere in private lives?’<br /> +The Traveller replied, ‘My name is CHRIST.’<br /> +(Christmas season, and every bell ringing.)</p> +<h2><a name="page115"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 115</span>WHAT +HAVE YOU DONE?</h2> +<h3>I</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">What</span> have you done, +and what are you doing with life, O Man!<br /> +O Average Man of the world—<br /> +Average Man of the Christian world we call civilised?<br /> +What have you done to pay for the labour pains of the mother who +bore you?<br /> +On earth you occupy space; you consume oxygen from the air:<br /> +And what do you give in return for these things?<br /> +Who is better that you live, and strive, and toil?<br /> +Or that you live through the toiling and striving of others?<br +/> +As you pass down the street does any one look on you and say,<br +/> +‘There goes a good son, a true husband, a wise father, a +fine citizen?<br /> +<a name="page116"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 116</span>A man +whose strong hand is ready to help a neighbour,<br /> +A man to trust’? And what do women say of you?<br /> +Unto their own souls what do women say?<br /> +Do they say: ‘He helped to make the road easier for tired +feet?<br /> +To broaden the narrow horizon for aching eyes?<br /> +He helped us to higher ideals of womanhood’?<br /> +Look into your own heart and answer, O Average Man of the +world,<br /> +Of the Christian world we call civilised.</p> +<h3>II</h3> +<p class="poetry">What do men think of you, what do they think +and say of you,<br /> +O Average Woman of the world?<br /> +Do they say: ‘There is a woman with a great heart,<br /> +Loyal to her sex, and above envy and evil speaking?<br /> +There is a daughter, wife, mother, with a purpose in life:<br /> +She can be trusted to mould the minds of little children.<br /> +She knows how to be good without being dull;<br /> +<a name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 117</span>How to +be glad and to make others glad without descending to folly;<br +/> +She is one who illuminates the path wherein she walks;<br /> +One who awakens the best in every human being she +meets’?<br /> +Look into your heart, O Woman! and answer this:<br /> +What are you doing with the beautiful years?<br /> +Is your to-day a better thing than was your yesterday?<br /> +Have you grown in knowledge, grace, and usefulness?<br /> +Or are you ravelling out the wonderful fabric knit by Time,<br /> +And throwing away the threads?<br /> +Make answer, O Woman! Average Woman of the Christian +world.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> + +<div class="gapmediumline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Printed by T. and A. Constable, +Printers to His Majesty<br /> +at the Edinburgh University Press</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF PURPOSE***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 6618-h.htm or 6618-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/6/6/1/6618 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Poems of Purpose + +Author: Ella Wheeler Wilcox + +Release Date: October, 2004 [EBook #6618] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on December 31, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, POEMS OF PURPOSE *** + + + + +Transcribed from the 1919 Gay and Hancock edition by David Price, email +ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + + + + +POEMS OF PURPOSE + + + + +Contents: + A Good Sport + A Son Speaks + The Younger Born + Happiness + Seeking for Happiness + The Island of Endless Play + The River of Sleep + The Things that Count + Limitless + What They Saw + The Convention + Protest + A Bachelor to a Married Flirt + The Superwoman + Certitude + Compassion + Love + Three Souls + When Love is Lost + Occupation + The Valley of Fear + What would it be? + America + War Mothers + A Holiday + The Undertone + Gypsying + Song of the Road + The Faith we Need + The Price he Paid + Divorced + The Revealing Angels + The Well-born + Sisters of Mine + Answer + The Graduates + The Silent Tragedy + The Trinity + The Unwed Mother to the Wife + Father and Son + Husks + Meditations + The Traveller + What Have You Done? + + + +A GOOD SPORT + + + +I was a little lad, and the older boys called to me from the pier: +They called to me: 'Be a sport: be a sport! Leap in and swim!' +I leaped in and swam, though I had never been taught a stroke. +Then I was made a hero, and they all shouted: + 'Well done! Well done, +Brave boy, you are a sport, a good sport!' +And I was very glad. + +But now I wish I had learned to swim the right way, + Or had never learned at all. +Now I regret that day, + For it led to my fall. + +I was a youth, and I heard the older men talking of the road to wealth; +They talked of bulls and bears, of buying on margins, +And they said, 'Be a sport, my boy, plunge in and win or lose it all! +It is the only way to fortune.' +So I plunged in and won; and the older men patted me on the back, +And they said, 'You are a sport, my boy, a good sport!' +And I was very glad. + +But now I wish I had lost all I ventured on that day - + Yes, wish I had lost it all. +For it was the wrong way, + And pushed me to my fall. + +I was a young man, and the gay world called me to come; +Gay women and gay men called to me, crying: + 'Be a sport; be a good sport! +Fill our glasses and let us fill yours. +We are young but once; let us dance and sing, +And drive the dull hours of night until they stand at bay +Against the shining bayonets of day.' +So I filled my glass, and I filled their glasses, over and over again, +And I sang and danced and drank, and drank and danced and sang, +And I heard them cry, 'He is a sport, a good sport!' +As they held their glasses out to be filled again. +And I was very glad. + +Oh the madness of youth and song and dance and wine, +Of woman's eyes and lips, when the night dies in the arms of dawn! +And now I wish I had not gone that way. +Now I wish I had not heard them say, +'He is a sport, a good sport!' +For I am old who should be young. +The splendid vigour of my youth I flung +Under the feet of a mad, unthinking throng. +My strength went out with wine and dance and song; +Unto the winds of earth I tossed like chaff, +With idle jest and laugh, +The pride of splendid manhood, all its wealth +Of unused power and health - +Its dream of looking into some pure girl's eyes +And finding there its earthly paradise - +Its hope of virile children free from blight - +Its thoughts of climbing to some noble height +Of great achievement--all these gifts divine +I cast away for song and dance and wine. +Oh, I have been a sport, a good sport; +But I am very sad. + + + +A SON SPEAKS + + + +Mother, sit down, for I have much to say +Anent this widespread ever-growing theme +Of woman and her virtues and her rights. + +I left you for the large, loud world of men, +When I had lived one little score of years. +I judged all women by you, and my heart +Was filled with high esteem and reverence +For your angelic sex; and for the wives, +The sisters, daughters, mothers of my friends +I held but holy thoughts. To fallen stars +(Of whom you told me in our last sweet talk, +Warning me of the dangers in my path) +I gave wide pity as you bade me to, +Saying their sins harked back to my base sex. + +Now listen, mother mine: Ten years have passed +Since that clean-minded and pure-bodied youth, +Thinking to write his name upon the stars, +Went from your presence. He returns to you +Fallen from his altitude of thought, +Hiding deep scars of sins upon his soul, +His fair illusions shattered and destroyed. +And would you know the story of his fall? + +He sat beside a good man's honoured wife +At her own table. She was beautiful +As woods in early autumn. Full of soft +And subtle witcheries of voice and look - +His senior, both in knowledge and in years. + +The boyish admiration of his glance +Was white as April sunlight when it falls +Upon a blooming tree, until she leaned +So close her rounded body sent quick thrills +Along his nerves. He thought it accident, +And moved a little; soon she leaned again. +The half-hid beauties of her heaving breast +Rising and falling under scented lace, +The teasing tendrils of her fragrant hair, +With intermittent touches on his cheek, +Changed the boy's interest to a man's desire. +She saw that first young madness in his eyes +And smiled and fanned the flame. That was his fall; +And as some mangled fly may crawl away +And leave his wings behind him in the web, +So were his wings of faith in womanhood +Left in the meshes of her sensuous net. + +The youth, forced into sudden manhood, went +Seeking the lost ideal of his dreams. +He met, in churches and in drawing-rooms, +Women who wore the mask of innocence +And basked in public favour, yet who seemed +To find their pleasure playing with men's hearts, +As children play with loaded guns. He heard +(Until the tale fell dull upon his ears) +The unsolicited complaints of wives +And mothers all unsatisfied with life, +While crowned with every blessing earth can give +Longing for God knows what to bring content, +And openly or with appealing look +Asking for sympathy. (The first blind step +That leads from wifely honour down to shame, +Is ofttimes hid with flowers of sympathy.) + +He saw proud women who would flush and pale +With sense of outraged modesty if one +Spoke of the ancient sin before them, bare +To all men's sight, or flimsily conceal +By veils that bid adventurous eyes proceed, +Charms meant alone for lover and for child. +He saw chaste virgins tempt and tantalise, +Lure and deny, invite--and then refuse, +And drive men forth half crazed to wantons' arms. + +Mother, you taught me there were but two kinds +Of women in the world--the good and bad. +But you have been too sheltered in the safe, +Old-fashioned sweetness of your quiet life, +To know how women of these modern days +Make licence of their new-found liberty. +Why, I have been more tempted and more shocked +By belles and beauties in the social whirl, +By trusted wives and mothers in their homes, +Than by the women of the underworld +Who sell their favours. Do you think me mad? +No, mother; I am sane, but very sad. + +I miss my boyhood's faith in woman's worth - +Torn from my heart, by 'good folks' of the earth. + + + +THE YOUNGER BORN + + + +The modern English-speaking young girl is the astonishment of the world and +the despair of the older generation. Nothing like her has ever been seen +or heard before. Alike in drawing-rooms and the amusement places of the +people, she defies conventions in dress, speech, and conduct. She is bold, +yet not immoral. She is immodest, yet she is chaste. She has no ideals, +yet she is kind and generous. She is an anomaly and a paradox. + +We are the little daughters of Time and the World his wife, +We are not like the children, born in their younger life, +We are marred with our mother's follies and torn with our father's strife. + +We are the little daughters of the modern world, +And Time, her spouse. +She has brought many children to our father's house +Before we came, when both our parents were content + +With simple pleasures and with quiet homely ways. + Modest and mild +Were the fair daughters born to them in those fair days, + Modest and mild. + +But Father Time grew restless and longed for a swifter pace, +And our mother pushed out beside him at the cost of her tender grace, +And life was no more living but just a headlong race. + +And we are wild - +Yea, wild are we, the younger born of the World + Into life's vortex hurled. +With the milk of our mother's breast +We drank her own unrest, + And we learned our speech from Time + Who scoffs at the things sublime. +Time and the World have hurried so +They could not help their younger born to grow; +We only follow, follow where they go. + +They left their high ideals behind them as they ran; +There was but one goal, pleasure, for Woman or for Man, +And they robbed the nights of slumber to lengthen the days' brief span. + +We are the demi-virgins of the modern day; + All evil on the earth is known to us in thought, + But yet we do it not. + We bare our beauteous bodies to the gaze of men, + We lure them, tempt them, lead them on, and then +Lightly we turn away. +By strong compelling passion we are never stirred; +To us it is a word - +A word much used when tragic tales are told; +We are the younger born, yet we are very old +In understanding, and our knowledge makes us bold. +Boldly we look at life, +Loving its stress and strife, +And hating all conventions that may mean restraint, +Yet shunning sin's black taint. + +We know wine's taste; + And the young-maiden bloom and sweetness of our lips + Is often in eclipse + Under the brown weed's stain. +Yet we are chaste; + We have no large capacity for joy or pain, +But an insatiable appetite for pleasure. +We have no use for leisure +And never learned the meaning of that word 'repose.' +Life as it goes +Must spell excitement for us, be the cost what may. +Speeding along the way, + +We ofttimes pause to do some generous little deed, +And fill the cup of need; +For we are kind at heart, + Though with less heart than head, + Unmoral, not immoral, when the worst is said; +We are the product of the modern day. + +We are the little daughters of Time and the World his wife, +We are not like the children, born in their younger life, +We are marred with our mother's follies and torn with our father's strife. + + + +HAPPINESS + + + +There are so many little things that make life beautiful. +I can recall a day in early youth when I was longing for happiness. +Toward the western hills I gazed, watching for its approach. +The hills lay between me and the setting sun, and over them led a highway. +When some traveller crossed the hill, always a fine grey dust rose +cloudless against the sky. +The traveller I could not distinguish, but the dust-cloud I could see. + +And the dust-cloud seemed formed of hopes and possibilities--each speck an +embryo event. +At sunset, when the skies were fair, the dust-cloud grew radiant and shone +with visions. +The happiness for which I waited came not to me adown that western slope, +But now I can recall the cloud of golden dust, the sunset, and the highway +leading over the hill, +The wonderful hope and expectancy of my heart, the visions of youth in my +eyes; and I know this was happiness. + +There are so many little things that make life beautiful. +I can recall another day when I rebelled at life's monotony. +Everywhere about me was the commonplace; and nothing seemed to happen. +Each day was like its yesterday, and to-morrow gave no promise of change. +My young heart rose rebellious in my breast; and I ran aimlessly into the +sunlight--the glowing sunlight of June. +I sent out a dumb cry to Fate, demanding larger joys and more delight. +I ran blindly into a field of blooming clover. +It was breast-high, and billowed about me like rose-red waves of a fragrant +sea. + +The bees were singing above it; and their little brown bodies were loaded +with honey-dew, extracted from the clover blossoms. +The sun reeled in the heavens dizzy with its own splendour. +The day went into night, without bringing any new event to change my life. +But now I recall the field of blooming clover, and the honey-laden bees, +the glorious June sunlight, and the passion of youth in my heart; and I +know that was happiness. + +There are so many little things that make life beautiful. +Yesterday a failure stared me in the face, where I had thought to welcome +proud success. +There was no radiant cloud of dust against the western sky, and no clover +field lying fragrant under mid-June suns, +Neither was youth with me any more. + +But under the vines that clung against my walls, a flock of birds sought +shelter just at twilight; +And, standing at my casement, I could hear the twitter of their voices and +the soft, sweet flutter of their wings. +Then over me there fell a sense of peace and calm, and love for all created +things, and trust illimitable. + +And that I knew was happiness. + +There are so many little things to make life beautiful. + + + +SEEKING FOR HAPPINESS + + + +Seeking for happiness we must go slowly; + The road leads not down avenues of haste; +But often gently winds through by ways lowly, + Whose hidden pleasures are serene and chaste +Seeking for happiness we must take heed +Of simple joys that are not found in speed. + +Eager for noon-time's large effulgent splendour, + Too oft we miss the beauty of the dawn, +Which tiptoes by us, evanescent, tender, + Its pure delights unrecognised till gone. +Seeking for happiness we needs must care +For all the little things that make life fair. + +Dreaming of future pleasures and achievements + We must not let to-day starve at our door; +Nor wait till after losses and bereavements + Before we count the riches in our store. +Seeking for happiness we must prize this - +Not what will be, or was, but that which IS. + +In simple pathways hand in hand with duty + (With faith and love, too, ever at her side), +May happiness be met in all her beauty + The while we search for her both far and wide. +Seeking for happiness we find the way +Doing the things we ought to do each day. + + + +THE ISLAND OF ENDLESS PLAY + + + +Said Willie to Tom, 'Let us hie away +To the wonderful Island of Endless Play. + +It lies off the border of "No School Land," +And abounds with pleasure, I understand. + +There boys go swimming whenever they please +In a lovely river right under the trees. + +And marbles are free, so you need not buy; +And kites of all sizes are ready to fly. + +We sail down the Isthmus of Idle Delight - +We sail and we sail for a day and a night. + +And then, if favoured by billows and breeze, +We land in the Harbour of Do-as-You-Please. + +And there lies the Island of Endless Play, +With no one to say to us, Must, or Nay. + +Books are not known in that land so fair, +Teachers are stoned if they set foot there. + +Hurrah for the Island, so glad and free, +That is the country for you and me.' + +So away went Willie and Tom together +On a pleasure boat, in the lazy weather, +And they sailed in the teeth of a friendly breeze +Right into the harbour of 'Do-as-You-Please.' +Where boats and tackle and marbles and kites +Were waiting them there in this Land of Delights. +They dwelt on the Island of Endless Play +For five long years; then one sad day +A strange, dark ship sailed up to the strand, +And 'Ho! for the voyage to Stupid Land,' +The captain cried, with a terrible noise, +As he seized the frightened and struggling boys +And threw them into the dark ship's hold; +And off and away sailed the captain bold. +They vainly begged him to let them out, +He answered only with scoff and shout. +'Boys that don't study or work,' said he, +'Must sail one day down the Ignorant Sea +To Stupid Land by the No-Book Strait, +With Captain Time on the Pitiless Fate.' + +He let out the sails and away went the three +Over the waters of Ignorant Sea, +Out and away to Stupid Land; +And they live there yet, I understand. +And there's where every one goes, they say, +Who seeks the Island of Endless Play. + + + +THE RIVER OF SLEEP + + + +There are curious isles in the River of Sleep, + Curious isles without number. +We'll visit them all as we leisurely creep +Down the winding stream whose current is deep, + In our beautiful barge of Slumber. + +The very first isle in this wonderful stream + Quite close to the shore is lying, +And after a supper of cakes and cream +We come to the Night-Mare-Isle with a scream, + And hurry away from it crying. + +And next is the Island-of-Lullaby, + And every one there rejoices. +The winds are only a perfumed sigh, +And the birds that sing in the treetops try + To imitate Mothers' voices. + +A little beyond is the Isle-of-Dreams; + Oh, that is the place to be straying. +Everything there is just as it seems; +Dolls are real and sunshine gleams, + And no one calls us from playing. + +And then we come to the drollest isle, + And the funniest sounds come pouring +Down from its borderlands once in a while, +And we lean o'er our barge and listen and smile; + For that is the Isle-of-Snoring. + +And the very last isle in the River of Sleep + Is the sunshiny Isle-of-Waking. +We see it first with our eyes a-peep, +And we give a yawn--then away we leap, + The barge of Slumber forsaking. + + + +THE THINGS THAT COUNT + + + +Now, dear, it isn't the bold things, +Great deeds of valour and might, +That count the most in the summing up of life at the end of the day. +But it is the doing of old things, +Small acts that are just and right; +And doing them over and over again, no matter what others say; +In smiling at fate, when you want to cry, and in keeping at work when you +want to play - +Dear, those are the things that count. + +And, dear, it isn't the new ways +Where the wonder-seekers crowd +That lead us into the land of content, or help us to find our own. +But it is keeping to true ways, +Though the music is not so loud, +And there may be many a shadowed spot where we journey along alone; +In flinging a prayer at the face of fear, and in changing into a song a +groan - +Dear, these are the things that count. + +My dear, it isn't the loud part +Of creeds that are pleasing to God, +Not the chant of a prayer, or the hum of a hymn, or a jubilant shout or +song. +But it is the beautiful proud part +Of walking with feet faith-shod; +And in loving, loving, loving through all, no matter how things go wrong; +In trusting ever, though dark the day, and in keeping your hope when the +way seems long - +Dear, these are the things that count. + + + +LIMITLESS + + + +When the motive is right and the will is strong + There are no limits to human power; + For that great Force back of us moves along +And takes us with it, in trial's hour. + +And whatever the height you yearn to climb, + Though it never was trod by the foot of man, + And no matter how steep--I say you CAN, +If you will be patient--and use your time. + + + +WHAT THEY SAW + + + +Sad man, Sad man, tell me, pray, +What did you see to-day? + +I saw the unloved and unhappy old, waiting for slow delinquent death to +come; +Pale little children toiling for the rich, in rooms where sunlight is +ashamed to go; +The awful almshouse, where the living dead rot slowly in their hideous open +graves. +And there were shameful things. +Soldiers and forts, and industries of death, and devil-ships, and loud- +winged devil-birds, +All bent on slaughter and destruction. These and yet more shameful things +mine eyes beheld: +Old men upon lascivious conquest bent, and young men living with no thought +of God, +And half-clothed women puffing at a weed, aping the vices of the +underworld, +Engrossed in shallow pleasures and intent on being barren wives. +These things I saw. +(How God must loathe His earth!) + +Glad man, Glad man, tell me, pray. +What did you see to-day? + +I saw an aged couple, in whose eyes + Shone that deep light of mingled love and faith, +Which makes the earth one room of paradise, + And leaves no sting in death. + +I saw vast regiments of children pour, +Rank after rank, out of the schoolroom door +By Progress mobilised. They seemed to say: +'Let ignorance make way. +We are the heralds of a better day.' + +I saw the college and the church that stood +For all things sane and good. +I saw God's helpers in the shop and slum +Blazing a path for health and hope to come, +And True Religion, from the grave of creeds, +Springing to meet man's needs. + +I saw great Science reverently stand +And listen for a sound from Border-land, + No longer arrogant with unbelief - + Holding itself aloof - +But drawing near, and searching high and low + For that complete and all-convincing proof + Which shall permit its voice to comfort grief, +Saying, 'We know.' + +I saw fair women in their radiance rise + And trample old traditions in the dust. +Looking in their clear eyes, +I seemed to hear these words as from the skies: + 'He who would father our sweet children must + Be worthy of the trust.' + +Against the rosy dawn, I saw unfurled + The banner of the race we usher in, +The supermen and women of the world, + Who make no code of sex to cover sin; +Before they till the soil of parenthood, +They look to it that seed and soil are good. + +And I saw, too, that old, old sight, and best - +Pure mothers, with dear babies at the breast. +These things I saw. +(How God must love His earth!) + + + +THE CONVENTION + + + +From the Queen Bee mother, the mother Beast, and the mother Fowl in the +fen, +A call went up to the human world, to Woman, the mother of men. +The call said, 'Come: for we, the dumb, are given speech for a day, +And the things we have thought for a thousand years we are going at last to +say.' + +Much they marvelled, these women of earth, at the strange and curious call, +And some of them laughed, and some of them sneered, but they answered it +one and all, +For they wanted to hear what never before was heard since the world began - +The spoken word of Beast and Bird, and the message it held for Man. + +'A plea for shelter,' the woman said, 'or food in the wintry weathers, +Or a foolish request that we be dressed without their furs or feathers. +We will do what we can for the poor dumb things, but they must be +sensible.' Then +The meeting was called and a she-bear stood and voiced the thought of the +fen. + +'Now this is the message we give to you' (it was thus the she-bear spake): +'You the creatures of homes and shrines, and we of the wold and brake, +We have no churches, we have no schools, and our minds you question and +doubt, +But we follow the laws which some Great Cause, alike for us all, laid out. + +'We eat and we drink to live; we shun the things that poison and kill, +And we settle the problems of sex and birth by the law of the female will, +For never was one of us known by a male, or made to mother its kind, +Unless there went from our minds consent (or from what we call the mind). + +'But you, the highest of all she-things, you gorge yourselves at your +feasts, +And you smoke and drink in a way we think would lower the standard of +beasts; +For a ring, a roof and a rag, you are bought by your males, to have and to +hold, +And you mate and you breed without nature's need, while your hearts and +your bodies are cold. + +'All unwanted your offspring come, or you slay them before they are born; +And now the wild she-things of the earth have spoken and told their scorn. +We have no mind and we have no souls, maybe as you think--And still, +Never one of us ate or drank the things that poison and kill, +And never was one of us known by a male except by our wish and will.' + + + +PROTEST + + + +To sit in silence when we should protest +Makes cowards out of men. The human race +Has climbed on protest. Had no voice been raised +Against injustice, ignorance and lust +The Inquisition yet would serve the law +And guillotines decide our least disputes. +The few who dare must speak and speak again +To right the wrongs of many. Speech, thank God, +No vested power in this great day and land +Can gag or throttle; Press and voice may cry +Loud disapproval of existing ills, +May criticise oppression and condemn +The lawlessness of wealth-protecting laws +That let the children and child-bearers toil +To purchase ease for idle millionaires. +Therefore do I protest against the boast +Of independence in this mighty land. +Call no chain strong which holds one rusted link, +Call no land free that holds one fettered slave. +Until the manacled, slim wrists of babes +Are loosed to toss in childish sport and glee; +Until the Mother bears no burden save +The precious one beneath her heart; until +God's soil is rescued from the clutch of greed +And given back to labour, let no man +Call this the Land of Freedom. + + + +A BACHELOR TO A MARRIED FLIRT + + + +All that a man can say of woman's charms, + Mine eyes have spoken and my lips have told +To you a thousand times. Your perfect arms + (A replica from that lost Melos mould), +The fair firm crescents of your bosom (shown +With full intent to make their splendours known), + +Your eyes (that mask with innocence their smile), + The (artful) artlessness of all your ways, +Your kiss-provoking mouth, its lure, its guile - + All these have had my fond and frequent praise. +And something more than praise to you I gave - +Something which made you know me as your slave. + +Yet slaves, at times, grow mutinous and rebel. + Here in this morning hour, from you apart, +The mood is on me to be frank and tell + The thoughts long hidden deep down in my heart. +These thoughts are bitter--thorny plants, that grew +Below the flowers of praise I plucked for you. + +Those flowery praises led you to suppose + You were my benefactor. Well, in truth, +When lovely woman on dull man bestows + Sweet favours of her beauty and her youth, +He is her debtor. I am yours: and yet +You robbed me while you placed me thus in debt. + +I owe you for keen moments when you stirred + My senses with your beauty, when your eyes +(Your wanton eyes) belied the prudent word + Your curled lips uttered. You are worldly wise, +And while you like to set men's hearts on flame, +You take no risks in that old passion-game. + +The carnal, common self of dual me + Found pleasure in this danger play of yours. +(An egotist, man always thinks to be + The victor, if his patience but endures, +And holds in leash the hounds of fierce desire, +Until the silly woman's heart takes fire.) + +But now it is the Higher Self who speaks - + The Me of me--the inner Man--the real - +Whoever dreams his dream and ever seeks + To bring to earth his beautiful ideal. +That lifelong dream with all its promised joy +Your soft bedevilments have helped destroy. + +Woman, how can I hope for happy life + In days to come at my own nuptial hearth, +When you who bear the honoured name of wife + So lightly hold the dearest gifts of earth? +Descending from your pedestal, alas! +You shake the pedestals of all your class. + +A vain, flirtatious wife is like a thief + Who breaks into the temple of men's souls, +And steals the golden vessels of belief, + The swinging censers, and the incense bowls. +All women seem less loyal and less true, +Less worthy of men's faith since I met you. + + + +THE SUPERWOMAN + + + +What will the superwoman be, of whom we sing - + She who is coming over the dim border + Of Far To-morrow, after earth's disorder +Is tidied up by Time? What will she bring + To make life better on tempestuous earth? + How will her worth +Be greater than her forbears? What new power +Within her being will burst into flower? + +She will bring beauty, not the transient dower + Of adolescence which departs with youth - + But beauty based on knowledge of the truth +Of its eternal message and the source +Of all its potent force. + Her outer being by the inner thought + Shall into lasting loveliness be wrought. + +She will bring virtue; but it will not be +The pale, white blossom of cold chastity + Which hides a barren heart. She will be human - + Not saint or angel, but the superwoman - +Mother and mate and friend of superman. + +She will bring strength to aid the larger Plan, + Wisdom and strength and sweetness all combined, + Drawn from the Cosmic Mind - +Wisdom to act, strength to attain, +And sweetness that finds growth in joy or pain. + +She will bring that large virtue, self-control, + And cherish it as her supremest treasure. + Not at the call of sense or for man's pleasure +Will she invite from space an embryo soul, + To live on earth again in mortal fashion, + Unless love stirs her with divinest passion. + +To motherhood she will bring common sense - + That most uncommon virtue. She will give +Love that is more than she-wolf violence + (Which slaughters others that its own may live). + +Love that will help each little tendril mind + To grow and climb; + Love that will know the lordliest use of Time +In training human egos to be kind. + +She will be formed to guide, but not to lead - + Leaders are ever lonely--and her sphere +Will be that of the comrade and the mate, + Loved, loving, and with insight fine and clear, +Which casts its searchlight on the course of fate, +And to the leaders says, 'Proceed' or 'Wait.' + +And best of all, she will bring holy faith +To penetrate the shadowy world of death, + And show the road beyond it, bright and broad, + That leads straight up to God. + + + +CERTITUDE + + + +There was a time when I was confident +That God's stupendous mystery of birth +Was mine to know. The wonder of it lent +New ecstasy and glory to the earth. +I heard no voice that uttered it aloud, +Nor was it written for me on a scroll; +Yet, if alone or in the common crowd, +I felt myself a consecrated soul. +My child leaped in its dark and silent room +And cried, 'I am,' though all unheard by men. +So leaps my spirit in the body's gloom +And cries, 'I live! I shall be born again.' +Elate with certitude towards death I go, +Nor doubt, nor argue, since I know, I know! + + + +COMPASSION + + + +He was a failure, and one day he died. + Across the border of the mapless land +He found himself among a sad-eyed band +Of disappointed souls; they, too, had tried +And missed their purpose. With one voice they cried + Unto the shining Angel in command: + 'Oh, lead us not before our Lord to stand, +For we are failures, failures! Let us hide.' + +Yet on the Angel fared, until they stood + Before the Master. (Even His holy place +The hideous noises of the earth assailed.) +Christ reached His arms out to the trembling brood, + With God's vast sorrow in His listening face. +Come unto Me,' He said; 'I, too, have failed.' + + + +LOVE + + + +Dreaming of love, the ardent mind of youth + Conceives it one with passion's brief delights, +With keen desire and rapture. But, in truth, + These are but milestones to sublime heights +After the highways, swept by strong emotions, + Where wild winds blow and blazing sun rays beat, +After the billows of tempestuous oceans, + Fair mountain summits wait the lover's feet. + +The path is narrow, but the view is wide, + And beauteous the outlook towards the west +Happy are they who walk there side by side, + Leaving below the valleys of unrest, +And on the radiant altitudes above +Know the serene intensity of love. + + + +THREE SOULS + + + +Three Souls there were that reached the Heavenly Gate, +And gained permission of the Guard to wait. +Barred from the bliss of Paradise by sin, +They did not ask or hope to enter in. +'We loved one woman (thus their story ran); +We lost her, for she chose another man. +So great our love, it brought us to this door; +We only ask to see her face once more. +Then will we go to realms where we belong, +And pay our penalty for doing wrong.' + +'And wert thou friends on earth?' (The Guard spake thus.) +'Nay, we were foes; but Death made friends of us. +The dominating thought within each Soul +Brought us together, comrades, to this goal, +To see her face, and in its radiance bask +For one great moment--that is all we ask. +And, having seen her, we must journey back +The path we came--a hard and dangerous track.' +'Wait, then,' the Angel said, 'beside me here, +But do not strive within God's Gate to peer +Nor converse hold with Spirits clothed in light +Who pass this way; thou hast not earned the right.' + +They waited year on year. Then, like a flame, +News of the woman's death from earth-land came. +The eager lovers scanned with hungry eyes +Each Soul that passed the Gates of Paradise. +The well-beloved face in vain they sought, +Until one day the Guardian Angel brought +A message to them. 'She has gone,' he said, +'Down to the lower regions of the dead; +Her chosen mate went first; so great her love +She has resigned the joys that wait above +To dwell with him, until perchance some day, +Absolved from sin, he seeks the Better Way.' + +Silent, the lovers turned. The pitying Guard +Said: 'Stay (the while his hand the door unbarred), +There waits for thee no darker grief or woe; +Enter the Gates, and all God's glories know. +But to be ready for so great a bliss, +Pause for a moment and take heed of this: +The dearest treasure by each mortal lost +Lies yonder, when the Threshold has been crossed, +And thou shalt find within that Sacred Place +The shining wonder of her worshipped face. +All that is past is but a troubled dream; +Go forward now and claim the Fact Supreme.' + +Then clothed like Angels, fitting their estate, +Three Souls went singing, singing through God's Gate. + + + +WHEN LOVE IS LOST + + + +When love is lost, the day sets towards the night, +Albeit the morning sun may still be bright, +And not one cloud-ship sails across the sky. +Yet from the places where it used to lie +Gone is the lustrous glory of the light. + +No splendour rests in any mountain height, +No scene spreads fair and beauteous to the sight; +All, all seems dull and dreary to the eye + When love is lost. + +Love lends to life its grandeur and its might; +Love goes, and leaves behind it gloom and blight; +Like ghosts of time the pallid hours drag by, +And grief's one happy thought is that we die. +Ah, what can recompense us for its flight + When love is lost? + + + +OCCUPATION + + + +There must in heaven be many industries +And occupations, varied, infinite; +Or heaven could not be heaven. +What gracious tasks +The Mighty Maker of the universe +Can offer souls that have prepared on earth +By holding lovely thoughts and fair desires! + +Art thou a poet to whom words come not? +A dumb composer of unuttered sounds, +Ignored by fame and to the world unknown? +Thine may be, then, the mission to create +Immortal lyrics and immortal strains, +For stars to chant together as they swing +About the holy centre where God dwells. + +Hast thou the artist instinct with no skill +To give it form or colour? Unto thee +It may be given to paint upon the skies +Astounding dawns and sunsets, framed by seas +And mountains; or to fashion and adorn +New faces for sweet pansies and new dyes +To tint their velvet garments. Oftentimes +Methinks behind a beauteous flower I see, +Or in the tender glory of a dawn, +The presence of some spirit who has gone +Into the place of mystery, whose call, +Imperious and compelling, sounds for all +Or soon or late. So many have passed on - +So many with ambitions, hopes, and aims +Unrealised, who could not be content +As idle angels even in paradise. +The unknown Michelangelos who lived +With thoughts on beauty bent while chained to toil +That gave them only bread and burial - +These must find waiting in the world of space +The shining timbers of their splendid dreams, +Ready for shaping temples, shrines, and towers, +Where radiant hosts may congregate to raise +Their glad hosannas to the God Supreme. +And will there not be gardens glorious, +And mansions all embosomed among blooms, +Where heavenly children reach out loving arms +To lonely women who have been denied +On earth the longed-for boon of motherhood? + +Surely God has provided work to do +For souls like these, and for the weary, rest. + + + +THE VALLEY OF FEAR + + + +In the journey of life, as we travel along +To the mystical goal that is hidden from sight, +You may stumble at times into Roadways of Wrong, +Not seeing the sign-board that points to the right. +Through caverns of sorrow your feet may be led, +Where the noon of the day will like midnight appear. +But no matter whither you wander or tread, +Keep out of the Valley of Fear. + +The Roadways of Wrong will wind out into light +If you sit in the silence and ask for a Guide; +In the caverns of sorrow your soul gains its sight +Of beautiful vistas, ascending and wide. +In by-paths of worry and trouble and strife +Full many a bloom grows bedewed by a tear, +But wretched and arid and void of all life +Is the desolate Valley of Fear. + +The Valley of Fear is a maddening maze +Of paths that wind on without exit or end, +From nowhere to nowhere lead all of its ways, +And shadows with shadows in more shadows blend. +Each guide-post is lettered, 'This way to Despair,' +And the River of Death in the darkness flows near, +But there is a beautiful Roadway of Prayer +This side of the Valley of Fear. + +This beautiful Roadway is narrow and steep, +And it runs up the side of the Mountain of Faith. +You may not perceive it at first if you weep, +But it rises high over the River of Death. +Though the Roadway is narrow and dark at the base, +It widens ascending, and ever grows clear, +Till it shines at the top with the Light of God's face, +Far, far from the Valley of Fear. + +When close to that Valley your footsteps shall fare, +Turn, turn to the Roadway of Prayer - +The beautiful Roadway of Prayer. + + + +WHAT WOULD IT BE? + + + +Now what were the words of Jesus, +And what would He pause and say, +If we were to meet in home or street, +The Lord of the world to-day? +Oh, I think He would pause and say: +'Go on with your chosen labour; +Speak only good of your neighbour; +Widen your farms, and lay down your arms, +Or dig up the soil with each sabre.' + +Now what were the answer of Jesus +If we should ask for a creed, +To carry us straight to the wonderful gate +When soul from body is freed? +Oh, I think He would give us this creed: +'Praise God whatever betide you; +Cast joy on the lives beside you; +Better the earth, by growing in worth, +With love as the law to guide you.' + +Now what were the answer of Jesus +If we should ask Him to tell +Of the last great goal of the homing soul +Where each of us hopes to dwell? +Oh, I think it is this He would tell: +'The soul is the builder--then wake it; +The mind is the kingdom--then take it; +And thought upon thought let Eden be wrought, +For heaven will be what you make it.' + + + +AMERICA + + + +I am the refuge of all the oppressed, +I am the boast of the free, +I am the harbour where ships may rest +Safely 'twixt sea and sea. +I hold up a torch to a darkened world, +I lighten the path with its ray. +Let my hand keep steady +And let me be ready +For whatever comes my way - +Let me be ready. + +Oh, better than fortresses, better than guns, +Better than lance or spear, +Are the loyal hearts of my daughters and sons, +Faithful and without fear. +But my daughters and sons must understand +THAT ATTILA DID NOT DIE. +And they must be ready, +Their hands must be steady, +If the hosts of hell come nigh - +They must be ready. + +If Jesus were back on the earth with men, +He would not preach to-day +Until He had made Him a scourge, and again +He would drive the defilers away. +He would throw down the tables of lust and greed +And scatter the changers' gold. +He would be ready, +His hand would be steady, +As it was in that temple of old - +He would be ready. + +I am the cradle of God's new world, +From me shall the new race rise, +And my glorious banner must float unfurled, +Unsullied against the skies. +My sons and daughters must be my strength, +With courage to do and to dare, +With hearts that are ready, +With hands that are steady, +And their slogan must be, PREPARE! - +They must be ready! + +With a prayer on the lip they must shoulder arms, +For after all has been said, +We must muster guns, +If we master Huns - +AND ATTILA IS NOT DEAD - +We must be ready! + + + +WAR MOTHERS + + + +There is something in the sound of drum and fife +That stirs all the savage instincts into life. + +In the old times of peace we went our ways, +Through proper days +Of little joys and tasks. Lonely at times, +When from the steeple sounded wedding chimes, +Telling to all the world some maid was wife - +But taking patiently our part in life +As it was portioned us by Church and State, +Believing it our fate. + Our thoughts all chaste +Held yet a secret wish to love and mate + Ere youth and virtue should go quite to waste. +But men we criticised for lack of strength, +And kept them at arm's length. +Then the war came - +The world was all aflame! +The men we had thought dull and void of power +Were heroes in an hour. +He who had seemed a slave to petty greed +Showed masterful in that great time of need. +He who had plotted for his neighbour's pelf, +Now for his fellows offers up himself. +And we were only women, forced by war +To sacrifice the things worth living for. + +Something within us broke, + Something within us woke, + The wild cave-woman spoke. + +When we heard the sound of drumming, + As our soldiers went to camp, + Heard them tramp, tramp, tramp; +As we watched to see them coming, + And they looked at us and smiled + (Yes, looked back at us and smiled), +As they filed along by hillock and by hollow, + Then our hearts were so beguiled + That, for many and many a day, + We dreamed we heard them say, +'Oh, follow, follow, follow!' + And the distant, rolling drum + Called us 'Come, come, come!' + Till our virtue seemed a thing to give away. + +War had swept ten thousand years away from earth. + We were primal once again. + There were males, not modern men; +We were females meant to bring their sons to birth. + And we could not wait for any formal rite, + We could hear them calling to us, 'Come to-night; +For to-morrow, at the dawn, +We move on!' + And the drum + Bellowed, 'Come, come, come!' +And the fife +Whistled, 'Life, life, life!' + +So they moved on and fought and bled and died; +Honoured and mourned, they are the nation's pride. +We fought our battles, too, but with the tide +Of our red blood, we gave the world new lives. +Because we were not wives +We are dishonoured. Is it noble, then, +To break God's laws only by killing men +To save one's country from destruction? +We took no man's life but gave our chastity, +And sinned the ancient sin +To plant young trees and fill felled forests in. + +Oh, clergy of the land, +Bible in hand, +All reverently you stand, + On holy thoughts intent + While barren wives receive the sacrament! +Had you the open visions you could see + Phantoms of infants murdered in the womb, + Who never knew a cradle or a tomb, +Hovering about these wives accusingly. + +Bestow the sacrament! Their sins are not well known - +Ours to the four winds of the earth are blown. + + + +A HOLIDAY + + + +Berlin, Germany, gave the school children a half holiday to celebrate the +sinking of the Lusitania. + +War declares a holiday; +Little children, run and play. +Ring-a-rosy round the earth +With the garland of your mirth. + +Shrill a song brim full of glee +Of a great ship sunk at sea. +Tell with pleasure and with pride +How a hundred children died. + +Sing of orphan babes, whose cries +Beat against unanswering skies; +Let a mother's mad despair +Lend staccato to your air. + +Sing of babes who drowned alone; +Sing of headstones, marked 'Unknown'; +Sing of homes made desolate +Where the stricken mourners wait. + +Sing of battered corpses tossed +By the heedless waves, and lost. +Run, sweet children, sing and play; +War declares a holiday. + + + +THE UNDERTONE + + + +When I was very young I used to feel the dark despairs of youth; +Out of my little griefs I would invent great tragedies and woes; +Not only for myself, but for all those I held most dear +I would invent vast sorrows in my melancholy moods of thought. +Yet down deep, deep in my heart there was an undertone of rapture. +It was like a voice from some other world calling softly to me, +Saying things joyful. + +As I grew older, and Life offered bitter gall for me to drink, +Forcing it through clenched teeth when I refused to take it willingly; +When Pain prepared some special anguish for my heart to bear, +And all the things I longed for seemed to be wholly beyond my reach - +Yet down deep, deep in my heart there was an undertone of rapture. +It was like a Voice, a Voice from some other world calling to me, +Bringing glad tidings. + +Now when I look about me, and see the great injustices of men, +See Idleness and Greed waited upon by luxury and mirth, +See prosperous Vice ride by in state, while footsore Virtue walks; +Now when I hear the cry of need rise up from lands of shameful wealth - +Yet down deep, deep in my heart there is an undertone of rapture. +It is like a Voice--it is a Voice--calling to me and saying: +'Love rules triumphant.' + +Now when each mile-post on the path of life seems marked by headstones, +And one by one dear faces that I loved are hid away from sight; +Now when in each familiar home I see a vacant chair, +And in the throngs once formed of friends I meet unrecognising eyes - +Yet down deep, deep in my heart there is an undertone of rapture. +It is the Voice, it is the Voice for ever saying unto me: +'Life is Eternal.' + + + +GYPSYING + + + +Gypsying, gypsying, through the world together, +Never mind the way we go, never mind what port. +Follow trails, or fashion sails, start in any weather: +While we journey hand in hand, everything is sport. + +Gypsying, gypsying, leaving care and worry: +Never mind the 'if' and 'but' (words for coward lips). +Put them out with 'fear' and 'doubt,' in the pack with 'hurry,' +While we stroll like vagabonds forth to trails, or ships. + +Gypsying, gypsying, just where fancy calls us; +Never mind what others say, or what others do. +Everywhere or foul or fair, liking what befalls us: +While you have me at your side, and while I have you. + +Gypsying, gypsying, camp by hill or hollow; +Never mind the why of it, since it suits our mood. +Go or stay, and pay our way, and let those who follow +Find, upspringing from the soil, some small seed of good. + +Gypsying, gypsying, through the world we wander: +Never mind the rushing years, that have come and gone. +There must be for you and me, lying over Yonder, +Other lands, where side by side we can gypsy on. + + + +SONG OF THE ROAD + + + +I am a Road; a good road, fair and smooth and broad; + And I link with my beautiful tether + Town and Country together, +Like a ribbon rolled on the earth, from the reel of God. + Oh, great the life of a Road! + +I am a Road; a long road, leading on and on; + And I cry to the world to follow, + Past meadow and hill and hollow, +Through desolate night, to the open gates of dawn. + Oh, bold the life of a Road! + +I am a Road; a kind road, shaped by strong hands. + I make strange cities neighbours; + The poor grow rich with my labours, +And beauty and comfort follow me through the lands. + Oh, glad the life of a Road! + +I am a Road; a wise road, knowing all men's ways; + And I know how each heart reaches + For the things dear Nature teaches; +And I am the path that leads into green young Mays. + Oh, sweet the life of a Road! + +I am a Road; and I speed away from the slums, + Away from desolate places, + Away from unused spaces; +Wherever I go, there order from chaos comes. + Oh, brave the life of a Road! + +I am a Road; and I would make the whole world one. + I would give hope to duty, + And cover the earth with beauty. +Do you not see, O men! how all this might be done? + So vast the power of the Road! + + + +THE FAITH WE NEED + + + +Too tall our structures, and too swift our pace; +Not so we mount, not so we gain the race. +Too loud the voice of commerce in the land; +Not so truth speaks, not so we understand. +Too vast our conquests, and too large our gains; +Not so comes peace, not so the soul attains. + +But the need of the world is a faith that will live anywhere; +In the still dark depths of the woods, or out in the sun's full glare. +A faith that can hear God's voice, alike in the quiet glen, +Or in the roar of the street, and over the noises of men. + +And the need of the world is a creed that is founded on joy; +A creed with the turrets of hope and trust, no winds can destroy; +A creed where the soul finds rest, whatever this life bestows, +And dwells undoubting and unafraid, because it knows, it knows. + +And the need of the world is love that burns in the heart like flame; +A love for the Giver of Life, in sorrow or joy the same; +A love that blazes a trail to Go through the dark and the cold, +Or keeps the pathway that leads to Him clean, through glory and gold. + +For the faith that can only thrive or grow in the solitude, +And droops and dies in the marts of men, where sights and sounds are rude; +That is not a faith at all, but a dream of a mystic's heart; +Our faith should point as the compass points, whatever be the chart. + +Our faith must find its centre of peace in a babel of noise; +In the changing ways of the world of men it must keep its poise; +And over the sorrowing sounds of earth it must hear God's call; +And the faith that cannot do all this, that is not faith at all. + + + +THE PRICE HE PAID + + + +I said I would have my fling, + And do what a young man may; +And I didn't believe a thing + That the parsons have to say. +I didn't believe in a God + That gives us blood like fire, +Then flings us into hell because + We answer the call of desire. + +And I said: 'Religion is rot, + And the laws of the world are nil; +For the bad man is he who is caught + And cannot foot his bill. +And there is no place called hell; + And heaven is only a truth +When a man has his way with a maid, + In the fresh keen hour of youth. + +'And money can buy us grace, + If it rings on the plate of the church: +And money can neatly erase + Each sign of a sinful smirch.' +For I saw men everywhere, + Hotfooting the road of vice; +And women and preachers smiled on them + As long as they paid the price. + +So I had my joy of life: + I went the pace of the town; +And then I took me a wife, + And started to settle down. +I had gold enough and to spare + For all of the simple joys +That belong with a house and a home + And a brood of girls and boys. + +I married a girl with health + And virtue and spotless fame. +I gave in exchange my wealth + And a proud old family name. +And I gave her the love of a heart + Grown sated and sick of sin! +My deal with the devil was all cleaned up, + And the last bill handed in. + +She was going to bring me a child, + And when in labour she cried +With love and fear I was wild - + But now I wish she had died. +For the son she bore me was blind + And crippled and weak and sore! +And his mother was left a wreck. + It was so she settled my score. + +I said I must have my fling, + And they knew the path I would go; +Yet no one told me a thing + Of what I needed to know. +Folks talk too much of a soul + From heavenly joys debarred - +And not enough of the babes unborn, + By the sins of their fathers scarred. + + + +DIVORCED + + + +Thinking of one thing all day long, at night +I fall asleep, brain weary and heart sore; +But only for a little while. At three, +Sometimes at two o'clock, I wake and lie, +Staring out into darkness; while my thoughts +Begin the weary treadmill-toil again, +From that white marriage morning of our youth +Down to this dreadful hour. + + I see your face +Lit with the lovelight of the honeymoon; +I hear your voice, that lingered on my name +As if it loved each letter; and I feel +The clinging of your arms about my form, +Your kisses on my cheek--and long to break +The anguish of such memories with tears, +But cannot weep; the fountain has run dry. + +We were so young, so happy, and so full +Of keen sweet joy of life. I had no wish +Outside your pleasure; and you loved me so +That when I sometimes felt a woman's need +For more serene expression of man's love +(The need to rest in calm affection's bay +And not sail ever on the stormy main), +Yet would I rouse myself to your desire; +Meet ardent kiss with kisses just as warm; +So nothing I could give should be denied. + +And then our children came. Deep in my soul, +From the first hour of conscious motherhood, +I knew I should conserve myself for this +Most holy office; knew God meant it so. +Yet even then, I held your wishes first; +And by my double duties lost the bloom +And freshness of my beauty; and beheld +A look of disapproval in your eyes. +But with the coming of our precious child, +The lover's smile, tinged with the father's pride, +Returned again; and helped to make me strong; +And life was very sweet for both of us. + +Another, and another birth, and twice +The little white hearse paused beside our door +And took away some portion of my youth +With my sweet babies. At the first you seemed +To suffer with me, standing very near; +But when I wept too long, you turned away. +And I was hurt, not realising then +My grief was selfish. I could see the change +Which motherhood and sorrow made in me; +And when I saw the change that came to you, +Saw how your eyes looked past me when you talked, +And when I missed the love tone from your voice, +I did that foolish thing weak women do, +Complained and cried, accused you of neglect, +And made myself obnoxious in your sight. + +And often, after you had left my side, +Alone I stood before my mirror, mad +With anger at my pallid cheeks, my dull +Unlighted eyes, my shrunken mother-breasts, +And wept, and wept, and faded more and more. +How could I hope to win back wandering love, +And make new flames in dying embers leap, +By such ungracious means? + + And then She came, +Firm-bosomed, round of cheek, with such young eyes, +And all the ways of youth. I who had died +A thousand deaths, in waiting the return +Of that old love-look to your face once more, +Died yet again and went straight into hell +When I beheld it come at her approach. + +My God, my God, how have I borne it all! +Yet since she had the power to wake that look - +The power to sweep the ashes from your heart +Of burned-out love of me, and light new fires, +One thing remained for me--to let you go. +I had no wish to keep the empty frame +From which the priceless picture had been wrenched. +Nor do I blame you; it was not your fault: +You gave me all that most men can give--love +Of youth, of beauty, and of passion; and +I gave you full return; my womanhood +Matched well your manhood. Yet had you grown ill, +Or old, and unattractive from some cause +(Less close than was my service unto you), +I should have clung the tighter to you, dear; +And loved you, loved you, loved you more and more. + +I grow so weary thinking of these things; +Day in, day out; and half the awful nights. + + + +THE REVEALING ANGELS + + + +Suddenly and without warning they came - +The Revealing Angels came. +Suddenly and simultaneously, through city streets, +Through quiet lanes and country roads they walked. +They walked crying: 'God has sent us to find +The vilest sinners of earth. +We are to bring them before Him, before the Lord of Life.' + +Their voices were like bugles; +And then all war, all strife, +And all the noises of the world grew still; +And no one talked; +And no one toiled, but many strove to flee away. +Robbers and thieves, and those sunk in drunkenness and crime, +Men and women of evil repute, +And mothers with fatherless children in their arms, all strove to hide. +But the Revealing Angels passed them by, +Saying: 'Not you, not you. +Another day, when we shall come again +Unto the haunts of men, +Then we will call your names; +But God has asked us first to bring to him +Those guilty of greater shames +Than lust, or theft, or drunkenness, or vice - +Yea, greater than murder done in passion, +Or self-destruction done in dark despair. +Now in His Holy Name we call: +Come one and all +Come forth; reveal your faces.' + +Then through the awful silence of the world, +Where noise had ceased, they came - +The sinful hosts. +They came from lowly and from lofty places, +Some poorly clad, but many clothed like queens; +They came from scenes of revel and from toil; +From haunts of sin, from palaces, from homes, +From boudoirs, and from churches. +They came like ghosts - +THE VAST BRIGADES OF WOMEN WHO HAD SLAIN +THEIR HELPLESS, UNBORN CHILDREN. With them trailed +Lovers and husbands who had said, 'Do this,' +And those who helped for hire. +They stood before the Angels--before the Revealing +Angels they stood. +And they heard the Angels say, +And all the listening world heard the Angels say: +'These are the vilest sinners of all; +For the Lord of Life made sex that birth might come; +Made sex and its keen compelling desire +To fashion bodies wherein souls might go +From lower planes to higher, +Until the end is reached (which is Beginning). +They have stolen the costly pleasures of the senses +And refused to pay God's price. +They have come together, these men and these women, +As male and female they have come together +In the great creative act. +They have invited souls, and then flung them out into space; +They have made a jest of God's design. +All other sins look white beside this sinning; +All other sins may be condoned, forgiven; +All other sinners may be cleansed and shriven; +Not these, not these. +Pass on, and meet God's eyes.' + +The vast brigade moved forward, and behind then walked the Angels, +Walked the sorrowful Revealing Angels. + + + +THE WELL-BORN + + + +So many people--people--in the world; +So few great souls, love ordered, well begun, +In answer to the fertile mother need! +So few who seem +The image of the Maker's mortal dream; +So many born of mere propinquity - +Of lustful habit, or of accident. +Their mothers felt +No mighty, all-compelling wish to see +Their bosoms garden-places +Abloom with flower faces; +No tidal wave swept o'er them with its flood; +No thrill of flesh or heart; no leap of blood; +No glowing fire, flaming to white desire +For mating and for motherhood: +Yet they bore children. +God! how mankind misuses Thy command, +To populate the earth! +How low is brought high birth! +How low the woman; when, inert as spawn +Left on the sands to fertilise, +She is the means through which the race goes on! +Not so the first intent. +Birth, as the Supreme Mind conceived it, meant +The clear imperious call of mate to mate +And the clear answer. Only thus and then +Are fine, well-ordered, and potential lives +Brought into being. Not by Church or State +Can birth be made legitimate, +Unless +Love in its fulness bless. +Creation so ordains its lofty laws +That man, while greater in all other things, +Is lesser in the generative cause. +The father may be merely man, the male; +Yet more than female must the mother be. +The woman who would fashion +Souls, for the use of earth and angels meet, +Must entertain a high and holy passion. +Not rank, or wealth, or influence of kings +Can give a soul its dower +Of majesty and power, +Unless the mother brings +Great love to that great hour. + + + +SISTERS OF MINE + + + +Sisters, sisters of mine, have we done what we could +In all the old ways, through all the new days, +To better the race and to make life sweet and good? +Have we played the full part that was ours in the start, +Sisters of mine? + +Sisters, sisters of mine, as we hurry along +To a larger world, with our banners unfurled, +The battle-cry on lips where once was Love's old song, +Are we leaving behind better things than we find, +Sisters of mine? + +Sisters, sisters of mine, through the march in the street, +Through turmoil and din, without, and within, +As we gain something big do we lose something sweet? +In the growth of our might is our grace lost to sight? +As new powers unfold do we LOVE as of old, +Sisters of mine? + + + +ANSWER + + + +O well have we done the old tasks! in the old, old ways of earth. +We have kept the house in order, we have given the children birth; +And our sons went out with their fathers, and left us alone at the hearth! + +We have cooked the meats for their table; we have woven their cloth at the +loom; +We have pulled the weeds from their gardens, and kept the flowers in bloom; +And then we have sat and waited, alone in a silent room. + +We have borne all the pains of travail in giving life to the race; +We have toiled and saved, for the masters, and helped them to power and +place; +And when we asked for a pittance, they gave it with grudging grace. + +On the bold, bright face of the dollar all the evils of earth are shown. +We are weary of love that is barter, and of virtue that pines alone; +We are out in the world with the masters: we are finding and claiming our +own! + + + +THE GRADUATES + + + +I saw them beautiful, in fair array upon Commencement Day; +Lissome and lovely, radiant and sweet +As cultured roses, brought to their estate +By careful training. Finished and complete +(As teachers calculate). + +They passed in maiden grace along the aisle, +Leaving the chaste white sunlight of a smile +Upon the gazing throng. +Musing I thought upon their place as mothers of the race. + +Oh there are many actors who can play +Greatly, great parts; but rare indeed the soul +Who can be great when cast for some small role; +Yet that is what the world most needs; big hearts +That will shine forth and glorify poor parts +In this strange drama, Life! Do they, +Who in full dress-rehearsal pass to-day +Before admiring eyes, hold in their store +Those fine high principles which keep old Earth +From being only earth; and make men more +Than just mere men? How will they prove their worth +Of years of study? Will they walk abroad +Decked with the plumage of dead bards of God, +The glorious birds? And shall the lamb unborn +Be slain on altars of their vanity? +To some frail sister who has missed the way +Will they give Christ's compassion, or man's scorn; +And will clean manhood, linked with honest love, +The victor prove, +When riches, gained by greed, dispute the claim? +Will they guard well a husband's home and name. +Or lean down from their altitudes to hear +The voice of flattery speak in the ear +Those lying platitudes which men repeat +To listening Self-Conceit? +Musing I thought upon their place as mothers of the race, +As beautiful they passed in maiden grace. + + + +THE SILENT TRAGEDY + + + +The deepest tragedies of life are not +Put into books, or acted on the stage. +Nay, they are lived in silence, by tense hearts +In homes, among dull unperceiving kin, +And thoughtless friends, who make a whip of words +Wherewith to lash these hearts, and call it wit. + +There is a tragedy lived everywhere +In Christian lands, by an increasing horde +Of women martyrs to our social laws. +Women whose hearts cry out for motherhood; +Women whose bosoms ache for little heads; +Women God meant for mothers, but whose lives +Have been restrained, restricted, and denied +Their natural channels, till at last they stand +Unmated and alone, by that sad sea +Whose slow receding tide returns no more. +Men meet great sorrows; but no man can grasp +The depth, and height, of such a grief as this. + +The call of Fatherhood is from man's brain. +Man cannot know the answer to that call +Save as a woman tells him. But to her +The call of Motherhood is from the soul, +The brain, the body. She is like a plant +Which buds and blossoms only to bear fruit. +Man is the pollen, carried by the wind +Of accident, or impulse, or desire; +And then his role of fatherhood is played. +Her threefold knowledge of maternity, +Through three times three great months, is hers alone. + +Man as an egotist is wounded when +He is not father. Woman when denied +The all-embracing role of motherhood +Rebels with her whole being. Oftentimes +Rebellion finds its only utterance +In shattered nerves, and lack of self-control; +Which gives the merry world its chance to cry +'Old maids are queer.' + In far off Eastern lands + +They think of God as Mother to the race; +Father and Mother of the Universe. +And mayhap this is why they make their girls +Wives prematurely, mothers over young, +Hoping to please their Mother God this way. +Since everywhere in Nature sex is shown +For procreative uses, they contend +Sterility is sinful. (Save when one +Chooses a life of Saintship here on earth, +And so conserves all forces to that end.) + +Here in the West, our God is Masculine; +And while we say He bade a Virgin bring +His Son to birth, we think of Him as One +Placing false values on forced continence - +Preparing heavens for those who live that life - +And hells for those who stray by thought or act +From the unnatural path our laws have made. + +Mother of Christ, thou being woman, thou +Knowing all depths within the woman heart, +All joy, all pain, oh send the world more light. +Enlarge our sympathies; and let our minds +Turn from achievements of material things +To contemplation of Eternal truths. +Space throbs with egos, waiting for rebirth; +And mother-hearted women fill the earth. +Mother of Christ, show us the way to thin +The ranks of childless women, without sin. + + + +THE TRINITY + + + +Much may be done with the world we are in, +Much with the race to better it; +We can unfetter it, +Free it from chains of the old traditions; +Broaden its viewpoint of virtue and sin; +Change its conditions +Of labour and wealth; +And open new roadways to knowledge and health. +Yet some things ever must stay as they are +While the sea has its tide and the sky has its star. +A man and a woman with love between, +Loyal and tender and true and clean, +Nothing better has been or can be +Than just those three. + +Woman may alter the first great plan. +Daughters and sisters and mothers +May stalk with their brothers +Forth from their homes into noisy places +Fit (and fit only) for masculine man. +Marring their graces +With conflict and strife +To widen the outlook of all human life. +Yet some things ever must stay as they are +While the sea has its tide and the sky has its star. +A man and a woman with love that strengthens +And gathers new force as its earth way lengthens; +Nothing better by God is given +This side of heaven. + +Science may show us a wonderful vast +Secret of life and of breeding it; +Man by the heeding it +Out of earth's chaos may bring a new order. +Off with old systems, old laws may be cast. +What now seems the border +Of licence in creeds, +May then be the centre of thoughts and of deeds. +Yet some things ever must stay as they are +While the sea has its tide and the sky has its star. +A man and a woman and love undefiled +And the look of the two in the face of a child, - +Oh, the joys of this world have their changing ways, +But this joy stays. +Nothing better on earth can be +Than just those three. + + + +THE UNWED MOTHER TO THE WIFE + + + +I had been almost happy for an hour, +Lost to the world that knew me in the park +Among strange faces; while my little girl +Leaped with the squirrels, chirruped with the birds +And with the sunlight glowed. She was so dear, +So beautiful, so sweet; and for the time +The rose of love, shorn of its thorn of shame, +Bloomed in my heart. Then suddenly you passed. +I sat alone upon the public bench; +You, with your lawful husband, rode in state; +And when your eyes fell on me and my child, +They were not eyes, but daggers, poison tipped. + +God! how good women slaughter with a look! +And, like cold steel, your glance cut through my heart, +Struck every petal from the rose of love +And left the ragged stalk alive with thorns. + +My little one came running to my side +And called me Mother. It was like a blow +Between the eyes; and made me sick with pain. +And then it seemed as if each bird and breeze +Took up the word, and changed its syllables +From Mother into Magdalene; and cried +My shame to all the world. + + It was your eyes +Which did all this. But listen now to me +(Not you alone, but all the barren wives +Who, like you, flaunt their virtue in the face +Of fallen women): I do chance to know +The crimes you think are hidden from all men +(Save one who took your gold and sold his skill +And jeopardized his name for your base ends). + +I know how you have sunk your soul in sense +Like any wanton; and refused to bear +The harvest of your pleasure-planted seed; +I know how you have crushed the tender bud +Which held a soul; how you have blighted it; +And made the holy miracle of birth +A wicked travesty of God's design; +Yea, many buds, which might be blossoms now +And beautify your selfish, arid life, +Have been destroyed, because you chose to keep +The aimless freedom, and the purposeless, +Self-seeking liberty of childless wives. + +I was an untaught girl. By nature led, +By love and passion blinded, I became +An unwed mother. You, an honoured wife, +Refuse the crown of motherhood, defy +The laws of nature, and fling baby souls +Back in the face of God. And yet you dare +Call me a sinner, and yourself a saint; +And all the world smiles on you, and its doors +Swing wide at your approach. + I stand outside. + +Surely there must be higher courts than earth, +Where you and I will some day meet and be +Weighed by a larger justice. + + + +FATHER AND SON + + + +My grand-dame, vigorous at eighty-one, +Delights in talking of her only son, +My gallant father, long since dead and gone. +'Ah, but he was the lad!' +She says, and sighs, and looks at me askance. +How well I read the meaning of that glance - + 'Poor son of such a dad; + Poor weakling, dull and sad.' +I could, but would not tell her bitter truth +About my father's youth. + +She says: 'Your father laughed his way through earth: +He laughed right in the doctor's face at birth, +Such joy of life he had, such founts of mirth. + Ah, what a lad was he!' +And then she sighs. I feel her silent blame, +Because I brought her nothing but his name. + Because she does not see + Her worshipped son in me. +I could, but would not, speak in my defence, +Anent the difference. + +She says: 'He won all prizes in his time: +He overworked, and died before his prime. +At high ambition's door I lay the crime. + Ah, what a lad he was!' +Well, let her rest in that deceiving thought, +Of what avail to say, 'His death was brought + By broken sexual laws, + The ancient sinful cause.' +I could, but would not, tell the good old dame +The story of his shame. + +I could say: 'I am crippled, weak, and pale, +Because my father was an unleashed male. +Because he ran so fast, I halt and fail + (Ah, yes, he was the lad), +Because he drained each cup of sense-delight +I must go thirsting, thirsting, day and night. + Because he was joy-mad, + I must be always sad. + +Because he learned no law of self-control, +I am a blighted soul.' + Of what avail to speak and spoil her joy. +Better to see her disapproving eyes, +And silent, hear her say, between her sighs, + 'Ah, but he was the boy!' + + + +HUSKS + + + +She looked at her neighbour's house in the light of the waning day - +A shower of rice on the steps, and the shreds of a bride's bouquet. +And then she drew the shade, to shut out the growing gloom, +But she shut it into her heart instead. (Was that a voice in the room?) + +'My neighbour is sad,' she sighed, 'like the mother bird who sees +The last of her brood fly out of the nest to make its home in the trees' - +And then in a passion of tears--'But, oh, to be sad like her: +Sad for a joy that has come and gone!' (Did some one speak, or stir?) + +She looked at her faded hands, all burdened with costly rings; +She looked on her widowed home, all burdened with priceless things. +She thought of the dead years gone, of the empty years ahead - +(Yes, something stirred and something spake, and this was what it said:) + +'The voice of the Might Have Been speaks here through the lonely dusk; +Life offered the fruits of love; you gathered only the husk. +There are jewels ablaze on your breast where never a child has slept.' +She covered her face with her ringed old hands, and wept and wept and wept. + + + +MEDITATIONS + + + +HIS + +I was so proud of you last night, dear girl, +While man with man was striving for your smile. +You never lost your head, nor once dropped down +From your high place +As queen in that gay whirl. + +(It takes more poise to wear a little crown +With modesty and grace +Than to adorn the lordlier thrones of earth.) + +You seem so free from artifice and wile: +And in your eyes I read +Encouragement to my unspoken thought. +My heart is eloquent with words to plead +Its cause of passion; but my questioning mind, +Knowing how love is blind, +Dwells on the pros and cons, and God knows what. + +My heart cries with each beat, +'She is so beautiful, so pure, so sweet, +So more than dear.' +And then I hear +The voice of Reason, asking: 'Would she meet +Life's common duties with good common sense? +Could she bear quiet evenings at your hearth, +And not be sighing for gay scenes of mirth? +If, some great day, love's mighty recompense +For chastity surrendered came to her, +If she felt stir +Beneath her heart a little pulse of life, +Would she rejoice with holy pride and wonder, +And find new glory in the name of wife? +Or would she plot with sin, and seek to plunder +Love's sanctuary, and cast away its treasure, +That she might keep her freedom and her pleasure? +Could she be loyal mate and mother dutiful? +Or is she only some bright hothouse bloom, +Seedless and beautiful, +Meant just for decoration, and for show?' +Alone here in my room, +I hear this voice of Reason. My poor heart +Has ever but one answer to impart, +'I love her so.' + +HERS + +After the ball last night, when I came home +I stood before my mirror, and took note +Of all that men call beautiful. Delight, +Keen sweet delight, possessed me, when I saw +My own reflection smiling on me there, +Because your eyes, through all the swirling hours, +And in your slow good-night, had made a fact +Of what before I fancied might be so; +Yet knowing how men lie, by look and act, +I still had doubted. But I doubt no more, +I know you love me, love me. And I feel +Your satisfaction in my comeliness. + +Beauty and youth, good health and willing mind, +A spotless reputation, and a heart +Longing for mating and for motherhood, +And lips unsullied by another's kiss - +These are the riches I can bring to you. + +But as I sit here, thinking of it all +In the clear light of morning, sudden fear +Has seized upon me. What has been your past? +From out the jungle of old reckless years, +May serpents crawl across our path some day +And pierce us with their fangs? Oh, I am not +A prude or bigot; and I have not lived +A score and three full years in ignorance +Of human nature. Much I can condone; +For well I know our kinship to the earth +And all created things. Why, even I +Have felt the burden of virginity, +When flowers and birds and golden butterflies +In early spring were mating; and I know +How loud that call of sex must sound to man +Above the feeble protest of the world. +But I can hear from depths within my soul +The voices of my unborn children cry +For rightful heritage. (May God attune +The souls of men, that they may hear and heed +That plaintive voice above the call of sex; +And may the world's weak protest swell into +A thunderous diapason--a demand +For cleaner fatherhood.) + Oh, love, come near; +Look in my eyes, and say I need not fear. + + + +THE TRAVELLER + + + +Bristling with steeples, high against the hill, +Like some great thistle in the rosy dawn +It stood; the Town-of-Christian-Churches, stood. +The Traveller surveyed it with a smile. +'Surely,' He said, 'here is the home of peace; +Here neighbour lives with neighbour in accord; +God in the heart of all. Else why these spires?' +(Christmas season, and every bell ringing.) + +The sudden shriek of whistles changed the sound +From mellow music into jarring noise. +Then down the street pale hurrying children came, +And vanished in the yawning Factory door. +He called to them: 'Come back, come unto Me.' +The Foreman cursed, and caned Him from the place. +(Christmas season, and every bell ringing.) + +Forth from two churches came two men, and met, +Disputing loudly over boundary lines, +Hate in their eyes, and murder in their hearts. +A haughty woman drew her skirts aside +Because her fallen sister passed that way. +The Traveller rebuked them all. Amazed, +They asked in indignation, 'Who are you, +Daring to interfere in private lives?' +The Traveller replied, 'My name is CHRIST.' +(Christmas season, and every bell ringing.) + + + +WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? + + + +I + +What have you done, and what are you doing with life, O Man! +O Average Man of the world - +Average Man of the Christian world we call civilised? +What have you done to pay for the labour pains of the mother who bore you? +On earth you occupy space; you consume oxygen from the air: +And what do you give in return for these things? +Who is better that you live, and strive, and toil? +Or that you live through the toiling and striving of others? +As you pass down the street does any one look on you and say, +'There goes a good son, a true husband, a wise father, a fine citizen? +A man whose strong hand is ready to help a neighbour, +A man to trust'? And what do women say of you? +Unto their own souls what do women say? +Do they say: 'He helped to make the road easier for tired feet? +To broaden the narrow horizon for aching eyes? +He helped us to higher ideals of womanhood'? +Look into your own heart and answer, O Average Man of the world, +Of the Christian world we call civilised. + +II + +What do men think of you, what do they think and say of you, +O Average Woman of the world? +Do they say: 'There is a woman with a great heart, +Loyal to her sex, and above envy and evil speaking? +There is a daughter, wife, mother, with a purpose in life: +She can be trusted to mould the minds of little children. +She knows how to be good without being dull; +How to be glad and to make others glad without descending to folly; +She is one who illuminates the path wherein she walks; +One who awakens the best in every human being she meets'? +Look into your heart, O Woman! and answer this: +What are you doing with the beautiful years? +Is your to-day a better thing than was your yesterday? +Have you grown in knowledge, grace, and usefulness? +Or are you ravelling out the wonderful fabric knit by Time, +And throwing away the threads? +Make answer, O Woman! Average Woman of the Christian world. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, POEMS OF PURPOSE *** + +This file should be named ppur10.txt or ppur10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, ppur11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, ppur10a.txt + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END* + diff --git a/old/ppur10.zip b/old/ppur10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d77cace --- /dev/null +++ b/old/ppur10.zip diff --git a/old/ppur10h.htm b/old/ppur10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7c86c23 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/ppur10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1861 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Poems of Purpose</title> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Poems of Purpose, by Ella Wheeler Wilcox</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems of Purpose, by Ella Wheeler Wilcox +(#10 in our series by Ella Wheeler Wilcox) + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. 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You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Poems of Purpose + +Author: Ella Wheeler Wilcox + +Release Date: October, 2004 [EBook #6618] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on December 31, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1919 Gay and Hancock edition by David Price, +email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h1>POEMS OF PURPOSE</h1> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>Contents:<br /> A Good Sport<br /> A +Son Speaks<br /> The Younger Born<br /> Happiness<br /> Seeking +for Happiness<br /> The Island of Endless Play<br /> The +River of Sleep<br /> The Things that Count<br /> Limitless<br /> What +They Saw<br /> The Convention<br /> Protest<br /> A +Bachelor to a Married Flirt<br /> The Superwoman<br /> Certitude<br /> Compassion<br /> Love<br /> Three +Souls<br /> When Love is Lost<br /> Occupation<br /> The +Valley of Fear<br /> What would it be?<br /> America<br /> War +Mothers<br /> A Holiday<br /> The +Undertone<br /> Gypsying<br /> Song +of the Road<br /> The Faith we Need<br /> The +Price he Paid<br /> Divorced<br /> The +Revealing Angels<br /> The Well-born<br /> Sisters +of Mine<br /> Answer<br /> The Graduates<br /> The +Silent Tragedy<br /> The Trinity<br /> The +Unwed Mother to the Wife<br /> Father and Son<br /> Husks<br /> Meditations<br /> The +Traveller<br /> What Have You Done?</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>A GOOD SPORT</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I was a little lad, and the older boys called to me from the pier:<br />They +called to me: ‘Be a sport: be a sport! Leap in and swim!’<br />I +leaped in and swam, though I had never been taught a stroke.<br />Then +I was made a hero, and they all shouted:<br /> ‘Well +done! Well done,<br />Brave boy, you are a sport, a good sport!’<br />And +I was very glad.</p> +<p>But now I wish I had learned to swim the right way,<br /> Or +had never learned at all.<br />Now I regret that day,<br /> For +it led to my fall.</p> +<p>I was a youth, and I heard the older men talking of the road to wealth;<br />They +talked of bulls and bears, of buying on margins,<br />And they said, +‘Be a sport, my boy, plunge in and win or lose it all!<br />It +is the only way to fortune.’<br />So I plunged in and won; and +the older men patted me on the back,<br />And they said, ‘You +are a sport, my boy, a good sport!’<br />And I was very glad.</p> +<p>But now I wish I had lost all I ventured on that day -<br /> Yes, +wish I had lost it all.<br />For it was the wrong way,<br /> And +pushed me to my fall.</p> +<p>I was a young man, and the gay world called me to come;<br />Gay +women and gay men called to me, crying:<br /> ‘Be +a sport; be a good sport!<br />Fill our glasses and let us fill yours.<br />We +are young but once; let us dance and sing,<br />And drive the dull hours +of night until they stand at bay<br />Against the shining bayonets of +day.’<br />So I filled my glass, and I filled their glasses, over +and over again,<br />And I sang and danced and drank, and drank and +danced and sang,<br />And I heard them cry, ‘He is a sport, a +good sport!’<br />As they held their glasses out to be filled +again.<br />And I was very glad.</p> +<p>Oh the madness of youth and song and dance and wine,<br />Of woman’s +eyes and lips, when the night dies in the arms of dawn!<br />And now +I wish I had not gone that way.<br />Now I wish I had not heard them +say,<br />‘He is a sport, a good sport!’<br />For I am old +who should be young.<br />The splendid vigour of my youth I flung<br />Under +the feet of a mad, unthinking throng.<br />My strength went out with +wine and dance and song;<br />Unto the winds of earth I tossed like +chaff,<br />With idle jest and laugh,<br />The pride of splendid manhood, +all its wealth<br />Of unused power and health -<br />Its dream of looking +into some pure girl’s eyes<br />And finding there its earthly +paradise -<br />Its hope of virile children free from blight -<br />Its +thoughts of climbing to some noble height<br />Of great achievement +- all these gifts divine<br />I cast away for song and dance and wine.<br />Oh, +I have been a sport, a good sport;<br />But I am very sad.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>A SON SPEAKS</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Mother, sit down, for I have much to say<br />Anent this widespread +ever-growing theme<br />Of woman and her virtues and her rights.</p> +<p>I left you for the large, loud world of men,<br />When I had lived +one little score of years.<br />I judged all women by you, and my heart<br />Was +filled with high esteem and reverence<br />For your angelic sex; and +for the wives,<br />The sisters, daughters, mothers of my friends<br />I +held but holy thoughts. To fallen stars<br />(Of whom you told +me in our last sweet talk,<br />Warning me of the dangers in my path)<br />I +gave wide pity as you bade me to,<br />Saying their sins harked back +to my base sex.</p> +<p>Now listen, mother mine: Ten years have passed<br />Since that clean-minded +and pure-bodied youth,<br />Thinking to write his name upon the stars,<br />Went +from your presence. He returns to you<br />Fallen from his altitude +of thought,<br />Hiding deep scars of sins upon his soul,<br />His fair +illusions shattered and destroyed.<br />And would you know the story +of his fall?</p> +<p>He sat beside a good man’s honoured wife<br />At her own table. +She was beautiful<br />As woods in early autumn. Full of soft<br />And +subtle witcheries of voice and look -<br />His senior, both in knowledge +and in years.</p> +<p>The boyish admiration of his glance<br />Was white as April sunlight +when it falls<br />Upon a blooming tree, until she leaned<br />So close +her rounded body sent quick thrills<br />Along his nerves. He +thought it accident,<br />And moved a little; soon she leaned again.<br />The +half-hid beauties of her heaving breast<br />Rising and falling under +scented lace,<br />The teasing tendrils of her fragrant hair,<br />With +intermittent touches on his cheek,<br />Changed the boy’s interest +to a man’s desire.<br />She saw that first young madness in his +eyes<br />And smiled and fanned the flame. That was his fall;<br />And +as some mangled fly may crawl away<br />And leave his wings behind him +in the web,<br />So were his wings of faith in womanhood<br />Left in +the meshes of her sensuous net.</p> +<p>The youth, forced into sudden manhood, went<br />Seeking the lost +ideal of his dreams.<br />He met, in churches and in drawing-rooms,<br />Women +who wore the mask of innocence<br />And basked in public favour, yet +who seemed<br />To find their pleasure playing with men’s hearts,<br />As +children play with loaded guns. He heard<br />(Until the tale +fell dull upon his ears)<br />The unsolicited complaints of wives<br />And +mothers all unsatisfied with life,<br />While crowned with every blessing +earth can give<br />Longing for God knows what to bring content,<br />And +openly or with appealing look<br />Asking for sympathy. (The first +blind step<br />That leads from wifely honour down to shame,<br />Is +ofttimes hid with flowers of sympathy.)</p> +<p>He saw proud women who would flush and pale<br />With sense of outraged +modesty if one<br />Spoke of the ancient sin before them, bare<br />To +all men’s sight, or flimsily conceal<br />By veils that bid adventurous +eyes proceed,<br />Charms meant alone for lover and for child.<br />He +saw chaste virgins tempt and tantalise,<br />Lure and deny, invite - +and then refuse,<br />And drive men forth half crazed to wantons’ +arms.</p> +<p>Mother, you taught me there were but two kinds<br />Of women in the +world - the good and bad.<br />But you have been too sheltered in the +safe,<br />Old-fashioned sweetness of your quiet life,<br />To know +how women of these modern days<br />Make licence of their new-found +liberty.<br />Why, I have been more tempted and more shocked<br />By +belles and beauties in the social whirl,<br />By trusted wives and mothers +in their homes,<br />Than by the women of the underworld<br />Who sell +their favours. Do you think me mad?<br />No, mother; I am sane, +but very sad.</p> +<p>I miss my boyhood’s faith in woman’s worth -<br />Torn +from my heart, by ‘good folks’ of the earth.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE YOUNGER BORN</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The modern English-speaking young girl is the astonishment of the +world and the despair of the older generation. Nothing like her +has ever been seen or heard before. Alike in drawing-rooms and +the amusement places of the people, she defies conventions in dress, +speech, and conduct. She is bold, yet not immoral. She is +immodest, yet she is chaste. She has no ideals, yet she is kind +and generous. She is an anomaly and a paradox.</p> +<p><i>We</i> <i>are the little daughters of Time and the World his wife</i>,<br /><i>We +are not like the children</i>, <i>born in their younger life</i>,<br /><i>We +are marred with our mother’s follies and torn with our father’s +strife.</i></p> +<p>We are the little daughters of the modern world,<br />And Time, her +spouse.<br />She has brought many children to our father’s house<br />Before +we came, when both our parents were content</p> +<p>With simple pleasures and with quiet homely ways.<br /> Modest +and mild<br />Were the fair daughters born to them in those fair days,<br /> Modest +and mild.</p> +<p><i>But Father Time grew restless and longed for a swifter pace</i>,<br /><i>And +our mother pushed out beside him at the cost of her tender grace</i>,<br /><i>And +life was no more living but just a headlong race.</i></p> +<p>And we are wild -<br />Yea, wild are we, the younger born of the +World<br /> Into life’s vortex hurled.<br />With +the milk of our mother’s breast<br />We drank her own unrest,<br /> And +we learned our speech from Time<br /> Who scoffs at +the things sublime.<br />Time and the World have hurried so<br />They +could not help their younger born to grow;<br />We only follow, follow +where they go.</p> +<p><i>They left their high ideals behind them as they ran;<br />There +was but one goal</i>, <i>pleasure</i>, <i>for Woman or for Man</i>,<br /><i>And +they robbed the nights of slumber to lengthen the days’ brief +span.</i></p> +<p>We are the demi-virgins of the modern day;<br /> All +evil on the earth is known to us in thought,<br /> But +yet we do it not.<br /> We bare our beauteous bodies +to the gaze of men,<br /> We lure them, tempt them, +lead them on, and then<br />Lightly we turn away.<br />By strong compelling +passion we are never stirred;<br />To us it is a word -<br />A word +much used when tragic tales are told;<br />We are the younger born, +yet we are very old<br />In understanding, and our knowledge makes us +bold.<br />Boldly we look at life,<br />Loving its stress and strife,<br />And +hating all conventions that may mean restraint,<br />Yet shunning sin’s +black taint.</p> +<p>We know wine’s taste;<br /> And the young-maiden +bloom and sweetness of our lips<br /> Is often in eclipse<br /> Under +the brown weed’s stain.<br />Yet we are chaste;<br /> We +have no large capacity for joy or pain,<br />But an insatiable appetite +for pleasure.<br />We have no use for leisure<br />And never learned +the meaning of that word ‘repose.’<br />Life as it goes<br />Must +spell excitement for us, be the cost what may.<br />Speeding along the +way,</p> +<p>We ofttimes pause to do some generous little deed,<br />And fill +the cup of need;<br />For we are kind at heart,<br /> Though +with less heart than head,<br /> Unmoral, not immoral, +when the worst is said;<br />We are the product of the modern day.</p> +<p><i>We are the little daughters of Time and the World his wife</i>,<br /><i>We +are not like the children</i>, <i>born in their younger life</i>,<br /><i>We +are marred with our mother’s follies and torn with our father’s +strife</i>.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>HAPPINESS</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><i>There are so many little things that make life beautiful.<br /></i>I +can recall a day in early youth when I was longing for happiness.<br />Toward +the western hills I gazed, watching for its approach.<br />The hills +lay between me and the setting sun, and over them led a highway.<br />When +some traveller crossed the hill, always a fine grey dust rose cloudless +against the sky.<br />The traveller I could not distinguish, but the +dust-cloud I could see.</p> +<p>And the dust-cloud seemed formed of hopes and possibilities - each +speck an embryo event.<br />At sunset, when the skies were fair, the +dust-cloud grew radiant and shone with visions.<br />The happiness for +which I waited came not to me adown that western slope,<br />But now +I can recall the cloud of golden dust, the sunset, and the highway leading +over the hill,<br />The wonderful hope and expectancy of my heart, the +visions of youth in my eyes; and I know this was happiness.</p> +<p><i>There are so many little things that make life beautiful.<br /></i>I +can recall another day when I rebelled at life’s monotony.<br />Everywhere +about me was the commonplace; and nothing seemed to happen.<br />Each +day was like its yesterday, and to-morrow gave no promise of change.<br />My +young heart rose rebellious in my breast; and I ran aimlessly into the +sunlight - the glowing sunlight of June.<br />I sent out a dumb cry +to Fate, demanding larger joys and more delight.<br />I ran blindly +into a field of blooming clover.<br />It was breast-high, and billowed +about me like rose-red waves of a fragrant sea.</p> +<p>The bees were singing above it; and their little brown bodies were +loaded with honey-dew, extracted from the clover blossoms.<br />The +sun reeled in the heavens dizzy with its own splendour.<br />The day +went into night, without bringing any new event to change my life.<br />But +now I recall the field of blooming clover, and the honey-laden bees, +the glorious June sunlight, and the passion of youth in my heart; and +I know that was happiness.</p> +<p><i>There are so many little things that make life beautiful.<br /></i>Yesterday +a failure stared me in the face, where I had thought to welcome proud +success.<br />There was no radiant cloud of dust against the western +sky, and no clover field lying fragrant under mid-June suns,<br />Neither +was youth with me any more.</p> +<p>But under the vines that clung against my walls, a flock of birds +sought shelter just at twilight;<br />And, standing at my casement, +I could hear the twitter of their voices and the soft, sweet flutter +of their wings.<br />Then over me there fell a sense of peace and calm, +and love for all created things, and trust illimitable.</p> +<p>And that I knew was happiness.</p> +<p><i>There are so many little things to make life beautiful</i>.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>SEEKING FOR HAPPINESS</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Seeking for happiness we must go slowly;<br /> The +road leads not down avenues of haste;<br />But often gently winds through +by ways lowly,<br /> Whose hidden pleasures are serene +and chaste<br />Seeking for happiness we must take heed<br />Of simple +joys that are not found in speed.</p> +<p>Eager for noon-time’s large effulgent splendour,<br /> Too +oft we miss the beauty of the dawn,<br />Which tiptoes by us, evanescent, +tender,<br /> Its pure delights unrecognised till gone.<br />Seeking +for happiness we needs must care<br />For all the little things that +make life fair.</p> +<p>Dreaming of future pleasures and achievements<br /> We +must not let to-day starve at our door;<br />Nor wait till after losses +and bereavements<br /> Before we count the riches in +our store.<br />Seeking for happiness we must prize this -<br />Not +what will be, or was, but that which <i>is</i>.</p> +<p>In simple pathways hand in hand with duty<br /> (With +faith and love, too, ever at her side),<br />May happiness be met in +all her beauty<br /> The while we search for her both +far and wide.<br />Seeking for happiness we find the way<br />Doing +the things we ought to do each day.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE ISLAND OF ENDLESS PLAY</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Said Willie to Tom, ‘Let us hie away<br />To the wonderful +Island of Endless Play.</p> +<p>It lies off the border of “No School Land,”<br />And +abounds with pleasure, I understand.</p> +<p>There boys go swimming whenever they please<br />In a lovely river +right under the trees.</p> +<p>And marbles are free, so you need not buy;<br />And kites of all +sizes are ready to fly.</p> +<p>We sail down the Isthmus of Idle Delight -<br />We sail and we sail +for a day and a night.</p> +<p>And then, if favoured by billows and breeze,<br />We land in the +Harbour of Do-as-You-Please.</p> +<p>And there lies the Island of Endless Play,<br />With no one to say +to us, Must, or Nay.</p> +<p>Books are not known in that land so fair,<br />Teachers are stoned +if they set foot there.</p> +<p>Hurrah for the Island, so glad and free,<br />That is the country +for you and me.’</p> +<p>So away went Willie and Tom together<br />On a pleasure boat, in +the lazy weather,<br />And they sailed in the teeth of a friendly breeze<br />Right +into the harbour of ‘Do-as-You-Please.’<br />Where boats +and tackle and marbles and kites<br />Were waiting them there in this +Land of Delights.<br />They dwelt on the Island of Endless Play<br />For +five long years; then one sad day<br />A strange, dark ship sailed up +to the strand,<br />And ‘Ho! for the voyage to Stupid Land,’<br />The +captain cried, with a terrible noise,<br />As he seized the frightened +and struggling boys<br />And threw them into the dark ship’s hold;<br />And +off and away sailed the captain bold.<br />They vainly begged him to +let them out,<br />He answered only with scoff and shout.<br />‘Boys +that don’t study or work,’ said he,<br />‘Must sail +one day down the Ignorant Sea<br />To Stupid Land by the No-Book Strait,<br />With +Captain Time on the Pitiless Fate.’</p> +<p>He let out the sails and away went the three<br />Over the waters +of Ignorant Sea,<br />Out and away to Stupid Land;<br />And they live +there yet, I understand.<br />And there’s where every one goes, +they say,<br />Who seeks the Island of Endless Play.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE RIVER OF SLEEP</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>There are curious isles in the River of Sleep,<br /> Curious +isles without number.<br />We’ll visit them all as we leisurely +creep<br />Down the winding stream whose current is deep,<br /> In +our beautiful barge of Slumber.</p> +<p>The very first isle in this wonderful stream<br /> Quite +close to the shore is lying,<br />And after a supper of cakes and cream<br />We +come to the Night-Mare-Isle with a scream,<br /> And +hurry away from it crying.</p> +<p>And next is the Island-of-Lullaby,<br /> And every +one there rejoices.<br />The winds are only a perfumed sigh,<br />And +the birds that sing in the treetops try<br /> To imitate +Mothers’ voices.</p> +<p>A little beyond is the Isle-of-Dreams;<br /> Oh, +that is the place to be straying.<br />Everything there is just as it +seems;<br />Dolls are real and sunshine gleams,<br /> And +no one calls us from playing.</p> +<p>And then we come to the drollest isle,<br /> And +the funniest sounds come pouring<br />Down from its borderlands once +in a while,<br />And we lean o’er our barge and listen and smile;<br /> For +that is the Isle-of-Snoring.</p> +<p>And the very last isle in the River of Sleep<br /> Is +the sunshiny Isle-of-Waking.<br />We see it first with our eyes a-peep,<br />And +we give a yawn - then away we leap,<br /> The barge +of Slumber forsaking.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE THINGS THAT COUNT</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Now, dear, it isn’t the bold things,<br />Great deeds of valour +and might,<br />That count the most in the summing up of life at the +end of the day.<br />But it is the doing of old things,<br />Small acts +that are just and right;<br />And doing them over and over again, no +matter what others say;<br />In smiling at fate, when you want to cry, +and in keeping at work when you want to play -<br />Dear, those are +the things that count.</p> +<p>And, dear, it isn’t the new ways<br />Where the wonder-seekers +crowd<br />That lead us into the land of content, or help us to find +our own.<br />But it is keeping to true ways,<br />Though the music +is not so loud,<br />And there may be many a shadowed spot where we +journey along alone;<br />In flinging a prayer at the face of fear, +and in changing into a song a groan -<br />Dear, these are the things +that count.</p> +<p>My dear, it isn’t the loud part<br />Of creeds that are pleasing +to God,<br />Not the chant of a prayer, or the hum of a hymn, or a jubilant +shout or song.<br />But it is the beautiful proud part<br />Of walking +with feet faith-shod;<br />And in loving, loving, loving through all, +no matter how things go wrong;<br />In trusting ever, though dark the +day, and in keeping your hope when the way seems long -<br />Dear, these +are the things that count.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>LIMITLESS</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>When the motive is right and the will is strong<br /> There +are no limits to human power;<br /> For that great +Force back of us moves along<br />And takes us with it, in trial’s +hour.</p> +<p>And whatever the height you yearn to climb,<br /> Though +it never was trod by the foot of man,<br /> And no +matter how steep - I say you <i>can</i>,<br />If you will be patient +- and use your time.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>WHAT THEY SAW</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><i>Sad man</i>, <i>Sad man</i>, <i>tell me</i>, <i>pray</i>,<br /><i>What +did you see to-day</i>?</p> +<p>I saw the unloved and unhappy old, waiting for slow delinquent death +to come;<br />Pale little children toiling for the rich, in rooms where +sunlight is ashamed to go;<br />The awful almshouse, where the living +dead rot slowly in their hideous open graves.<br />And there were shameful +things.<br />Soldiers and forts, and industries of death, and devil-ships, +and loud-winged devil-birds,<br />All bent on slaughter and destruction. +These and yet more shameful things mine eyes beheld:<br />Old men upon +lascivious conquest bent, and young men living with no thought of God,<br />And +half-clothed women puffing at a weed, aping the vices of the underworld,<br />Engrossed +in shallow pleasures and intent on being barren wives.<br />These things +I saw.<br />(How God must loathe His earth!)</p> +<p><i>Glad man</i>, <i>Glad man</i>, <i>tell me</i>, <i>pray.<br />What +did you see to-day</i>?</p> +<p>I saw an agèd couple, in whose eyes<br /> Shone +that deep light of mingled love and faith,<br />Which makes the earth +one room of paradise,<br /> And leaves no sting in +death.</p> +<p>I saw vast regiments of children pour,<br />Rank after rank, out +of the schoolroom door<br />By Progress mobilised. They seemed +to say:<br />‘Let ignorance make way.<br />We are the heralds +of a better day.’</p> +<p>I saw the college and the church that stood<br />For all things sane +and good.<br />I saw God’s helpers in the shop and slum<br />Blazing +a path for health and hope to come,<br />And True Religion, from the +grave of creeds,<br />Springing to meet man’s needs.</p> +<p>I saw great Science reverently stand<br />And listen for a sound +from Border-land,<br /> No longer arrogant with unbelief +-<br /> Holding itself aloof -<br />But drawing near, +and searching high and low<br /> For that complete +and all-convincing proof<br /> Which shall permit its +voice to comfort grief,<br />Saying, ‘We know.’</p> +<p>I saw fair women in their radiance rise<br /> And +trample old traditions in the dust.<br />Looking in their clear eyes,<br />I +seemed to hear these words as from the skies:<br /> ‘He +who would father our sweet children must<br /> Be worthy +of the trust.’</p> +<p>Against the rosy dawn, I saw unfurled<br /> The +banner of the race we usher in,<br />The supermen and women of the world,<br /> Who +make no code of sex to cover sin;<br />Before they till the soil of +parenthood,<br />They look to it that seed and soil are good.</p> +<p>And I saw, too, that old, old sight, and best -<br />Pure mothers, +with dear babies at the breast.<br />These things I saw.<br />(How God +must love His earth!)</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE CONVENTION</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>From the Queen Bee mother, the mother Beast, and the mother Fowl +in the fen,<br />A call went up to the human world, to Woman, the mother +of men.<br />The call said, ‘Come: for we, the dumb, are given +speech for a day,<br />And the things we have thought for a thousand +years we are going at last to say.’</p> +<p>Much they marvelled, these women of earth, at the strange and curious +call,<br />And some of them laughed, and some of them sneered, but they +answered it one and all,<br />For they wanted to hear what never before +was heard since the world began -<br />The spoken word of Beast and +Bird, and the message it held for Man.</p> +<p>‘A plea for shelter,’ the woman said, ‘or food +in the wintry weathers,<br />Or a foolish request that we be dressed +without their furs or feathers.<br />We will do what we can for the +poor dumb things, but they must be sensible.’ Then<br />The +meeting was called and a she-bear stood and voiced the thought of the +fen.</p> +<p>‘Now this is the message we give to you’ (it was thus +the she-bear spake):<br />‘You the creatures of homes and shrines, +and we of the wold and brake,<br />We have no churches, we have no schools, +and our minds you question and doubt,<br />But we follow the laws which +some Great Cause, alike for us all, laid out.</p> +<p>‘We eat and we drink to live; we shun the things that poison +and kill,<br />And we settle the problems of sex and birth by the law +of the female will,<br /><i>For never was one of us known by a male</i>, +<i>or made to mother its kind</i>,<br /><i>Unless there went from our +minds consent (or from what we call the mind).</i></p> +<p>‘But you, the highest of all she-things, you gorge yourselves +at your feasts,<br />And you smoke and drink in a way we think would +lower the standard of beasts;<br />For a ring, a roof and a rag, you +are bought by your males, to have and to hold,<br />And you mate and +you breed without nature’s need, while your hearts and your bodies +are cold.</p> +<p>‘All unwanted your offspring come, or you slay them before +they are born;<br />And now the wild she-things of the earth have spoken +and told their scorn.<br />We have no mind and we have no souls, maybe +as you think - And still,<br />Never one of us ate or drank the things +that poison and kill,<br /><i>And never was one of us known by a male +except by our wish and will</i>.’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>PROTEST</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>To sit in silence when we should protest<br />Makes cowards out of +men. The human race<br />Has climbed on protest. Had no +voice been raised<br />Against injustice, ignorance and lust<br />The +Inquisition yet would serve the law<br />And guillotines decide our +least disputes.<br />The few who dare must speak and speak again<br />To +right the wrongs of many. Speech, thank God,<br />No vested power +in this great day and land<br />Can gag or throttle; Press and voice +may cry<br />Loud disapproval of existing ills,<br />May criticise oppression +and condemn<br />The lawlessness of wealth-protecting laws<br />That +let the children and child-bearers toil<br />To purchase ease for idle +millionaires.<br />Therefore do I protest against the boast<br />Of +independence in this mighty land.<br />Call no chain strong which holds +one rusted link,<br />Call no land free that holds one fettered slave.<br />Until +the manacled, slim wrists of babes<br />Are loosed to toss in childish +sport and glee;<br />Until the Mother bears no burden save<br />The +precious one beneath her heart; until<br />God’s soil is rescued +from the clutch of greed<br />And given back to labour, let no man<br />Call +this the Land of Freedom.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>A BACHELOR TO A MARRIED FLIRT</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>All that a man can say of woman’s charms,<br /> Mine +eyes have spoken and my lips have told<br />To you a thousand times. +Your perfect arms<br /> (A replica from that lost Melos +mould),<br />The fair firm crescents of your bosom (shown<br />With +full intent to make their splendours known),</p> +<p>Your eyes (that mask with innocence their smile),<br /> The +(artful) artlessness of all your ways,<br />Your kiss-provoking mouth, +its lure, its guile -<br /> All these have had my fond +and frequent praise.<br />And something more than praise to you I gave +-<br />Something which made you know me as your slave.</p> +<p>Yet slaves, at times, grow mutinous and rebel.<br /> Here +in this morning hour, from you apart,<br />The mood is on me to be frank +and tell<br /> The thoughts long hidden deep down in +my heart.<br />These thoughts are bitter - thorny plants, that grew<br />Below +the flowers of praise I plucked for you.</p> +<p>Those flowery praises led you to suppose<br /> You +were my benefactor. Well, in truth,<br />When lovely woman on +dull man bestows<br /> Sweet favours of her beauty +and her youth,<br />He is her debtor. I am yours: and yet<br /><i>You +robbed me while you placed me thus in debt.</i></p> +<p>I owe you for keen moments when you stirred<br /> My +senses with your beauty, when your eyes<br />(Your wanton eyes) belied +the prudent word<br /> Your curled lips uttered. +You are worldly wise,<br />And while you like to set men’s hearts +on flame,<br />You take no risks in that old passion-game.</p> +<p>The carnal, common self of dual me<br /> Found pleasure +in this danger play of yours.<br />(An egotist, man always thinks to +be<br /> The victor, if his patience but endures,<br />And +holds in leash the hounds of fierce desire,<br />Until the silly woman’s +heart takes fire.)</p> +<p>But now it is the Higher Self who speaks -<br /> The +Me of me - the inner Man - the real -<br />Whoever dreams his dream +and ever seeks<br /> To bring to earth his beautiful +ideal.<br />That lifelong dream with all its promised joy<br />Your +soft bedevilments have helped destroy.</p> +<p>Woman, how can I hope for happy life<br /> In days +to come at my own nuptial hearth,<br />When you who bear the honoured +name of wife<br /> So lightly hold the dearest gifts +of earth?<br />Descending from your pedestal, alas!<br />You shake the +pedestals of all your class.</p> +<p>A vain, flirtatious wife is like a thief<br /> Who +breaks into the temple of men’s souls,<br />And steals the golden +vessels of belief,<br /> The swinging censers, and +the incense bowls.<br />All women seem less loyal and less true,<br />Less +worthy of men’s faith since I met you.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE SUPERWOMAN</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>What will the superwoman be, of whom we sing -<br /> She +who is coming over the dim border<br /> Of Far To-morrow, +after earth’s disorder<br />Is tidied up by Time? What will +she bring<br /> To make life better on tempestuous +earth?<br /> How will her worth<br />Be greater than +her forbears? What new power<br />Within her being will burst +into flower?</p> +<p>She will bring beauty, not the transient dower<br /> Of +adolescence which departs with youth -<br /> But beauty +based on knowledge of the truth<br />Of its eternal message and the +source<br />Of all its potent force.<br /> Her outer +being by the inner thought<br /> Shall into lasting +loveliness be wrought.</p> +<p>She will bring virtue; but it will not be<br />The pale, white blossom +of cold chastity<br /> Which hides a barren heart. +She will be human -<br /> Not saint or angel, but the +superwoman -<br />Mother and mate and friend of superman.</p> +<p>She will bring strength to aid the larger Plan,<br /> Wisdom +and strength and sweetness all combined,<br /> Drawn +from the Cosmic Mind -<br />Wisdom to act, strength to attain,<br />And +sweetness that finds growth in joy or pain.</p> +<p>She will bring that large virtue, self-control,<br /> And +cherish it as her supremest treasure.<br /> Not at +the call of sense or for man’s pleasure<br />Will she invite from +space an embryo soul,<br /> To live on earth again +in mortal fashion,<br /> Unless love stirs her with +divinest passion.</p> +<p>To motherhood she will bring common sense -<br /> That +most uncommon virtue. She will give<br />Love that is more than +she-wolf violence<br /> (Which slaughters others that +its own may live).</p> +<p>Love that will help each little tendril mind<br /> To +grow and climb;<br /> Love that will know the lordliest +use of Time<br />In training human egos to be kind.</p> +<p>She will be formed to guide, but not to lead -<br /> Leaders +are ever lonely - and her sphere<br />Will be that of the comrade and +the mate,<br /> Loved, loving, and with insight fine +and clear,<br />Which casts its searchlight on the course of fate,<br />And +to the leaders says, ‘Proceed’ or ‘Wait.’</p> +<p>And best of all, she will bring holy faith<br />To penetrate the +shadowy world of death,<br /> And show the road beyond +it, bright and broad,<br /> That leads straight up +to God.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CERTITUDE</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>There was a time when I was confident<br />That God’s stupendous +mystery of birth<br />Was mine to know. The wonder of it lent<br />New +ecstasy and glory to the earth.<br />I heard no voice that uttered it +aloud,<br />Nor was it written for me on a scroll;<br />Yet, if alone +or in the common crowd,<br />I felt myself a consecrated soul.<br />My +child leaped in its dark and silent room<br />And cried, ‘I am,’ +though all unheard by men.<br />So leaps my spirit in the body’s +gloom<br />And cries, ‘I live! I shall be born again.’<br />Elate +with certitude towards death I go,<br />Nor doubt, nor argue, since +I know, I know!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>COMPASSION</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>He was a failure, and one day he died.<br /> Across +the border of the mapless land<br />He found himself among a sad-eyed +band<br />Of disappointed souls; they, too, had tried<br />And missed +their purpose. With one voice they cried<br /> Unto +the shining Angel in command:<br /> ‘Oh, lead +us not before our Lord to stand,<br />For we are failures, failures! +Let us hide.’</p> +<p>Yet on the Angel fared, until they stood<br /> Before +the Master. (Even His holy place<br />The hideous noises of the +earth assailed.)<br />Christ reached His arms out to the trembling brood,<br /> With +God’s vast sorrow in His listening face.<br />Come unto Me,’ +He said; ‘I, too, have failed.’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>LOVE</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Dreaming of love, the ardent mind of youth<br /> Conceives +it one with passion’s brief delights,<br />With keen desire and +rapture. But, in truth,<br /> These are but milestones +to sublime heights<br />After the highways, swept by strong emotions,<br /> Where +wild winds blow and blazing sun rays beat,<br />After the billows of +tempestuous oceans,<br /> Fair mountain summits wait +the lover’s feet.</p> +<p>The path is narrow, but the view is wide,<br /> And +beauteous the outlook towards the west<br />Happy are they who walk +there side by side,<br /> Leaving below the valleys +of unrest,<br />And on the radiant altitudes above<br />Know the serene +intensity of love.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THREE SOULS</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Three Souls there were that reached the Heavenly Gate,<br />And gained +permission of the Guard to wait.<br />Barred from the bliss of Paradise +by sin,<br />They did not ask or hope to enter in.<br />‘We loved +one woman (thus their story ran);<br />We lost her, for she chose another +man.<br />So great our love, it brought us to this door;<br />We only +ask to see her face once more.<br />Then will we go to realms where +we belong,<br />And pay our penalty for doing wrong.’</p> +<p>‘And wert thou friends on earth?’ (The Guard spake +thus.)<br />‘Nay, we were foes; but Death made friends of us.<br />The +dominating thought within each Soul<br />Brought us together, comrades, +to this goal,<br />To see her face, and in its radiance bask<br />For +one great moment - that is all we ask.<br />And, having seen her, we +must journey back<br />The path we came - a hard and dangerous track.’<br />‘Wait, +then,’ the Angel said, ‘beside me here,<br />But do not +strive within God’s Gate to peer<br />Nor converse hold with Spirits +clothed in light<br />Who pass this way; thou hast not earned the right.’</p> +<p>They waited year on year. Then, like a flame,<br />News of +the woman’s death from earth-land came.<br />The eager lovers +scanned with hungry eyes<br />Each Soul that passed the Gates of Paradise.<br />The +well-beloved face in vain they sought,<br />Until one day the Guardian +Angel brought<br />A message to them. ‘She has gone,’ +he said,<br />‘Down to the lower regions of the dead;<br />Her +chosen mate went first; so great her love<br />She has resigned the +joys that wait above<br />To dwell with him, until perchance some day,<br />Absolved +from sin, he seeks the Better Way.’</p> +<p>Silent, the lovers turned. The pitying Guard<br />Said: ‘Stay +(the while his hand the door unbarred),<br />There waits for thee no +darker grief or woe;<br />Enter the Gates, and all God’s glories +know.<br />But to be ready for so great a bliss,<br />Pause for a moment +and take heed of this:<br />The dearest treasure by each mortal lost<br />Lies +yonder, when the Threshold has been crossed,<br />And thou shalt find +within that Sacred Place<br />The shining wonder of her worshipped face.<br />All +that is past is but a troubled dream;<br />Go forward now and claim +the Fact Supreme.’</p> +<p>Then clothed like Angels, fitting their estate,<br />Three Souls +went singing, singing through God’s Gate.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>WHEN LOVE IS LOST</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>When love is lost, the day sets towards the night,<br />Albeit the +morning sun may still be bright,<br />And not one cloud-ship sails across +the sky.<br />Yet from the places where it used to lie<br />Gone is +the lustrous glory of the light.</p> +<p>No splendour rests in any mountain height,<br />No scene spreads +fair and beauteous to the sight;<br />All, all seems dull and dreary +to the eye<br /> When love is lost.</p> +<p>Love lends to life its grandeur and its might;<br />Love goes, and +leaves behind it gloom and blight;<br />Like ghosts of time the pallid +hours drag by,<br />And grief’s one happy thought is that we die.<br />Ah, +what can recompense us for its flight<br /> When love +is lost?</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>OCCUPATION</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>There must in heaven be many industries<br />And occupations, varied, +infinite;<br />Or heaven could not be heaven.<br />What gracious tasks<br />The +Mighty Maker of the universe<br />Can offer souls that have prepared +on earth<br />By holding lovely thoughts and fair desires!</p> +<p>Art thou a poet to whom words come not?<br />A dumb composer of unuttered +sounds,<br />Ignored by fame and to the world unknown?<br />Thine may +be, then, the mission to create<br />Immortal lyrics and immortal strains,<br />For +stars to chant together as they swing<br />About the holy centre where +God dwells.</p> +<p>Hast thou the artist instinct with no skill<br />To give it form +or colour? Unto thee<br />It may be given to paint upon the skies<br />Astounding +dawns and sunsets, framed by seas<br />And mountains; or to fashion +and adorn<br />New faces for sweet pansies and new dyes<br />To tint +their velvet garments. Oftentimes<br />Methinks behind a beauteous +flower I see,<br />Or in the tender glory of a dawn,<br />The presence +of some spirit who has gone<br />Into the place of mystery, whose call,<br />Imperious +and compelling, sounds for all<br />Or soon or late. So many have +passed on -<br />So many with ambitions, hopes, and aims<br />Unrealised, +who could not be content<br />As idle angels even in paradise.<br />The +unknown Michelangelos who lived<br />With thoughts on beauty bent while +chained to toil<br />That gave them only bread and burial -<br />These +must find waiting in the world of space<br />The shining timbers of +their splendid dreams,<br />Ready for shaping temples, shrines, and +towers,<br />Where radiant hosts may congregate to raise<br />Their +glad hosannas to the God Supreme.<br />And will there not be gardens +glorious,<br />And mansions all embosomed among blooms,<br />Where heavenly +children reach out loving arms<br />To lonely women who have been denied<br />On +earth the longed-for boon of motherhood?</p> +<p>Surely God has provided work to do<br />For souls like these, and +for the weary, rest.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE VALLEY OF FEAR</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>In the journey of life, as we travel along<br />To the mystical goal +that is hidden from sight,<br />You may stumble at times into Roadways +of Wrong,<br />Not seeing the sign-board that points to the right.<br />Through +caverns of sorrow your feet may be led,<br />Where the noon of the day +will like midnight appear.<br />But no matter whither you wander or +tread,<br />Keep out of the Valley of Fear.</p> +<p>The Roadways of Wrong will wind out into light<br />If you sit in +the silence and ask for a Guide;<br />In the caverns of sorrow your +soul gains its sight<br />Of beautiful vistas, ascending and wide.<br />In +by-paths of worry and trouble and strife<br />Full many a bloom grows +bedewed by a tear,<br />But wretched and arid and void of all life<br />Is +the desolate Valley of Fear.</p> +<p>The Valley of Fear is a maddening maze<br />Of paths that wind on +without exit or end,<br />From nowhere to nowhere lead all of its ways,<br />And +shadows with shadows in more shadows blend.<br />Each guide-post is +lettered, ‘This way to Despair,’<br />And the River of Death +in the darkness flows near,<br />But there is a beautiful Roadway of +Prayer<br />This side of the Valley of Fear.</p> +<p>This beautiful Roadway is narrow and steep,<br />And it runs up the +side of the Mountain of Faith.<br />You may not perceive it at first +if you weep,<br />But it rises high over the River of Death.<br />Though +the Roadway is narrow and dark at the base,<br />It widens ascending, +and ever grows clear,<br />Till it shines at the top with the Light +of God’s face,<br />Far, far from the Valley of Fear.</p> +<p>When close to that Valley your footsteps shall fare,<br />Turn, turn +to the Roadway of Prayer -<br />The beautiful Roadway of Prayer.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>WHAT WOULD IT BE?</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Now what were the words of Jesus,<br />And what would He pause and +say,<br />If we were to meet in home or street,<br />The Lord of the +world to-day?<br />Oh, I think He would pause and say:<br />‘Go +on with your chosen labour;<br />Speak only good of your neighbour;<br />Widen +your farms, and lay down your arms,<br />Or dig up the soil with each +sabre.’</p> +<p>Now what were the answer of Jesus<br />If we should ask for a creed,<br />To +carry us straight to the wonderful gate<br />When soul from body is +freed?<br />Oh, I think He would give us this creed:<br />‘Praise +God whatever betide you;<br />Cast joy on the lives beside you;<br />Better +the earth, by growing in worth,<br />With love as the law to guide you.’</p> +<p>Now what were the answer of Jesus<br />If we should ask Him to tell<br />Of +the last great goal of the homing soul<br />Where each of us hopes to +dwell?<br />Oh, I think it is this He would tell:<br />‘The soul +is the builder - then wake it;<br />The mind is the kingdom - then take +it;<br />And thought upon thought let Eden be wrought,<br />For heaven +will be what you make it.’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>AMERICA</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I am the refuge of all the oppressed,<br />I am the boast of the +free,<br />I am the harbour where ships may rest<br />Safely ’twixt +sea and sea.<br />I hold up a torch to a darkened world,<br />I lighten +the path with its ray.<br />Let my hand keep steady<br />And let me +be ready<br />For whatever comes my way -<br />Let me be ready.</p> +<p>Oh, better than fortresses, better than guns,<br />Better than lance +or spear,<br />Are the loyal hearts of my daughters and sons,<br />Faithful +and without fear.<br />But my daughters and sons must understand<br /><i>That +Attila did not die.<br /></i>And they must be ready,<br />Their hands +must be steady,<br />If the hosts of hell come nigh -<br />They must +be ready.</p> +<p>If Jesus were back on the earth with men,<br />He would not preach +to-day<br />Until He had made Him a scourge, and again<br />He would +drive the defilers away.<br />He would throw down the tables of lust +and greed<br />And scatter the changers’ gold.<br />He would be +ready,<br />His hand would be steady,<br />As it was in that temple +of old -<br />He would be ready.</p> +<p>I am the cradle of God’s new world,<br />From me shall the +new race rise,<br />And my glorious banner must float unfurled,<br />Unsullied +against the skies.<br />My sons and daughters must be my strength,<br />With +courage to do and to dare,<br />With hearts that are ready,<br />With +hands that are steady,<br />And their slogan must be, PREPARE! -<br />They +must be ready!</p> +<p>With a prayer on the lip they must shoulder arms,<br />For after +all has been said,<br />We must muster guns,<br />If we master Huns +-<br /><i>And Attila is not dead -<br /></i>We must be ready!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>WAR MOTHERS</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><i>There is something in the sound of drum and fife<br />That stirs +all the savage instincts into life.</i></p> +<p>In the old times of peace we went our ways,<br />Through proper days<br />Of +little joys and tasks. Lonely at times,<br />When from the steeple +sounded wedding chimes,<br />Telling to all the world some maid was +wife -<br />But taking patiently our part in life<br />As it was portioned +us by Church and State,<br />Believing it our fate.<br /> Our +thoughts all chaste<br />Held yet a secret wish to love and mate<br /> Ere +youth and virtue should go quite to waste.<br />But men we criticised +for lack of strength,<br />And kept them at arm’s length.<br />Then +the war came -<br />The world was all aflame!<br />The men we had thought +dull and void of power<br />Were heroes in an hour.<br />He who had +seemed a slave to petty greed<br />Showed masterful in that great time +of need.<br />He who had plotted for his neighbour’s pelf,<br />Now +for his fellows offers up himself.<br />And we were only women, forced +by war<br />To sacrifice the things worth living for.</p> +<p><i>Something within us broke</i>,<br /><i> Something +within us woke</i>,<br /><i> The +wild cave-woman spoke.</i></p> +<p><i>When we heard the sound of drumming</i>,<br /><i> As +our soldiers went to camp</i>,<br /><i> Heard them +tramp</i>, <i>tramp</i>, <i>tramp;<br />As we watched to see them coming</i>,<br /><i> And +they looked at us and smiled<br /> (Yes</i>, <i>looked +back at us and smiled</i>),<br /><i>As they filed along by hillock and +by hollow</i>,<br /><i> Then our hearts were so beguiled<br /> That</i>, +<i>for many and many a day</i>,<br /><i> We dreamed +we heard them say</i>,<br />‘<i>Oh</i>, <i>follow</i>, <i>follow</i>, +<i>follow</i>!’<br /><i> And the distant</i>, +<i>rolling drum<br /> Called us</i> ‘<i>Come</i>, +<i>come</i>, <i>come</i>!’<br /><i> Till our +virtue seemed a thing to give away.</i></p> +<p>War had swept ten thousand years away from earth.<br /> We +were primal once again.<br /> There were males, not +modern men;<br />We were females meant to bring their sons to birth.<br /> And +we could not wait for any formal rite,<br /> We could +hear them calling to us, ‘Come to-night;<br />For to-morrow, at +the dawn,<br />We move on!’<br /> And the drum<br /> Bellowed, +‘Come, come, come!’<br />And the fife<br />Whistled, ‘Life, +life, life!’</p> +<p>So they moved on and fought and bled and died;<br />Honoured and +mourned, they are the nation’s pride.<br />We fought our battles, +too, but with the tide<br />Of our red blood, we gave the world new +lives.<br />Because we were not wives<br />We are dishonoured. +Is it noble, then,<br />To break God’s laws only by killing men<br />To +save one’s country from destruction?<br />We took no man’s +life but gave our chastity,<br />And sinned the ancient sin<br />To +plant young trees and fill felled forests in.</p> +<p>Oh, clergy of the land,<br />Bible in hand,<br />All reverently you +stand,<br /> On holy thoughts intent<br /> While +barren wives receive the sacrament!<br />Had you the open visions you +could see<br /> Phantoms of infants murdered in the +womb,<br /> Who never knew a cradle or a tomb,<br />Hovering +about these wives accusingly.</p> +<p>Bestow the sacrament! Their sins are not well known -<br />Ours +to the four winds of the earth are blown.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>A HOLIDAY</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Berlin, Germany, gave the school children a half holiday to celebrate +the sinking of the <i>Lusitania.</i></p> +<p>War declares a holiday;<br />Little children, run and play.<br />Ring-a-rosy +round the earth<br />With the garland of your mirth.</p> +<p>Shrill a song brim full of glee<br />Of a great ship sunk at sea.<br />Tell +with pleasure and with pride<br />How a hundred children died.</p> +<p>Sing of orphan babes, whose cries<br />Beat against unanswering skies;<br />Let +a mother’s mad despair<br />Lend staccato to your air.</p> +<p>Sing of babes who drowned alone;<br />Sing of headstones, marked +‘Unknown’;<br />Sing of homes made desolate<br />Where the +stricken mourners wait.</p> +<p>Sing of battered corpses tossed<br />By the heedless waves, and lost.<br />Run, +sweet children, sing and play;<br />War declares a holiday.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE UNDERTONE</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>When I was very young I used to feel the dark despairs of youth;<br />Out +of my little griefs I would invent great tragedies and woes;<br />Not +only for myself, but for all those I held most dear<br />I would invent +vast sorrows in my melancholy moods of thought.<br />Yet down deep, +deep in my heart there was an undertone of rapture.<br />It was like +a voice from some other world calling softly to me,<br />Saying things +joyful.</p> +<p>As I grew older, and Life offered bitter gall for me to drink,<br />Forcing +it through clenched teeth when I refused to take it willingly;<br />When +Pain prepared some special anguish for my heart to bear,<br />And all +the things I longed for seemed to be wholly beyond my reach -<br />Yet +down deep, deep in my heart there was an undertone of rapture.<br />It +was like a Voice, a Voice from some other world calling to me,<br />Bringing +glad tidings.</p> +<p>Now when I look about me, and see the great injustices of men,<br />See +Idleness and Greed waited upon by luxury and mirth,<br />See prosperous +Vice ride by in state, while footsore Virtue walks;<br />Now when I +hear the cry of need rise up from lands of shameful wealth -<br />Yet +down deep, deep in my heart there is an undertone of rapture.<br />It +is like a Voice - it is a Voice - calling to me and saying:<br />‘Love +rules triumphant.’</p> +<p>Now when each mile-post on the path of life seems marked by headstones,<br />And +one by one dear faces that I loved are hid away from sight;<br />Now +when in each familiar home I see a vacant chair,<br />And in the throngs +once formed of friends I meet unrecognising eyes -<br />Yet down deep, +deep in my heart there is an undertone of rapture.<br />It is the Voice, +it is the Voice for ever saying unto me:<br />‘Life is Eternal.’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>GYPSYING</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Gypsying, gypsying, through the world together,<br />Never mind the +way we go, never mind what port.<br />Follow trails, or fashion sails, +start in any weather:<br />While we journey hand in hand, everything +is sport.</p> +<p>Gypsying, gypsying, leaving care and worry:<br />Never mind the ‘if’ +and ‘but’ (words for coward lips).<br />Put them out with +‘fear’ and ‘doubt,’ in the pack with ‘hurry,’<br />While +we stroll like vagabonds forth to trails, or ships.</p> +<p>Gypsying, gypsying, just where fancy calls us;<br />Never mind what +others say, or what others do.<br />Everywhere or foul or fair, liking +what befalls us:<br />While you have me at your side, and while I have +you.</p> +<p>Gypsying, gypsying, camp by hill or hollow;<br />Never mind the why +of it, since it suits our mood.<br />Go or stay, and pay our way, and +let those who follow<br />Find, upspringing from the soil, some small +seed of good.</p> +<p>Gypsying, gypsying, through the world we wander:<br />Never mind +the rushing years, that have come and gone.<br />There must be for you +and me, lying over Yonder,<br />Other lands, where side by side we can +gypsy on.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>SONG OF THE ROAD</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I am a Road; a good road, fair and smooth and broad;<br /> And +I link with my beautiful tether<br /> Town and Country +together,<br />Like a ribbon rolled on the earth, from the reel of God.<br /> Oh, +great the life of a Road!</p> +<p>I am a Road; a long road, leading on and on;<br /> And +I cry to the world to follow,<br /> Past meadow and +hill and hollow,<br />Through desolate night, to the open gates of dawn.<br /> Oh, +bold the life of a Road!</p> +<p>I am a Road; a kind road, shaped by strong hands.<br /> I +make strange cities neighbours;<br /> The poor grow +rich with my labours,<br />And beauty and comfort follow me through +the lands.<br /> Oh, glad the life of a Road!</p> +<p>I am a Road; a wise road, knowing all men’s ways;<br /> And +I know how each heart reaches<br /> For the things +dear Nature teaches;<br />And I am the path that leads into green young +Mays.<br /> Oh, sweet the life of a Road!</p> +<p>I am a Road; and I speed away from the slums,<br /> Away +from desolate places,<br /> Away from unused spaces;<br />Wherever +I go, there order from chaos comes.<br /> Oh, brave +the life of a Road!</p> +<p>I am a Road; and I would make the whole world one.<br /> I +would give hope to duty,<br /> And cover the earth +with beauty.<br />Do you not see, O men! how all this might be done?<br /> So +vast the power of the Road!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE FAITH WE NEED</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Too tall our structures, and too swift our pace;<br />Not so we mount, +not so we gain the race.<br />Too loud the voice of commerce in the +land;<br />Not so truth speaks, not so we understand.<br />Too vast +our conquests, and too large our gains;<br />Not so comes peace, not +so the soul attains.</p> +<p>But the need of the world is a faith that will live anywhere;<br />In +the still dark depths of the woods, or out in the sun’s full glare.<br />A +faith that can hear God’s voice, alike in the quiet glen,<br />Or +in the roar of the street, and over the noises of men.</p> +<p>And the need of the world is a creed that is founded on joy;<br />A +creed with the turrets of hope and trust, no winds can destroy;<br />A +creed where the soul finds rest, whatever this life bestows,<br />And +dwells undoubting and unafraid, because it knows, it knows.</p> +<p>And the need of the world is love that burns in the heart like flame;<br />A +love for the Giver of Life, in sorrow or joy the same;<br />A love that +blazes a trail to Go through the dark and the cold,<br />Or keeps the +pathway that leads to Him clean, through glory and gold.</p> +<p>For the faith that can only thrive or grow in the solitude,<br />And +droops and dies in the marts of men, where sights and sounds are rude;<br />That +is not a faith at all, but a dream of a mystic’s heart;<br />Our +faith should point as the compass points, whatever be the chart.</p> +<p>Our faith must find its centre of peace in a babel of noise;<br />In +the changing ways of the world of men it must keep its poise;<br />And +over the sorrowing sounds of earth it must hear God’s call;<br />And +the faith that cannot do all this, that is not faith at all.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE PRICE HE PAID</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I said I would have my fling,<br /> And do what +a young man may;<br />And I didn’t believe a thing<br /> That +the parsons have to say.<br />I didn’t believe in a God<br /> That +gives us blood like fire,<br />Then flings us into hell because<br /> We +answer the call of desire.</p> +<p>And I said: ‘Religion is rot,<br /> And the +laws of the world are nil;<br />For the bad man is he who is caught<br /> And +cannot foot his bill.<br />And there is no place called hell;<br /> And +heaven is only a truth<br />When a man has his way with a maid,<br /> In +the fresh keen hour of youth.</p> +<p>‘And money can buy us grace,<br /> If it rings +on the plate of the church:<br />And money can neatly erase<br /> Each +sign of a sinful smirch.’<br />For I saw men everywhere,<br /> Hotfooting +the road of vice;<br />And women and preachers smiled on them<br /> As +long as they paid the price.</p> +<p>So I had my joy of life:<br /> I went the pace of +the town;<br />And then I took me a wife,<br /> And +started to settle down.<br />I had gold enough and to spare<br /> For +all of the simple joys<br />That belong with a house and a home<br /> And +a brood of girls and boys.</p> +<p>I married a girl with health<br /> And virtue and +spotless fame.<br />I gave in exchange my wealth<br /> And +a proud old family name.<br />And I gave her the love of a heart<br /> Grown +sated and sick of sin!<br />My deal with the devil was all cleaned up,<br /> And +the last bill handed in.</p> +<p>She was going to bring me a child,<br /> And when +in labour she cried<br />With love and fear I was wild -<br /> But +now I wish she had died.<br />For the son she bore me was blind<br /> And +crippled and weak and sore!<br />And his mother was left a wreck.<br /> It +was so she settled my score.</p> +<p>I said I must have my fling,<br /> And they knew +the path I would go;<br />Yet no one told me a thing<br /> Of +what I needed to know.<br />Folks talk too much of a soul<br /> From +heavenly joys debarred -<br />And not enough of the babes unborn,<br /> By +the sins of their fathers scarred.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>DIVORCED</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Thinking of one thing all day long, at night<br />I fall asleep, +brain weary and heart sore;<br />But only for a little while. +At three,<br />Sometimes at two o’clock, I wake and lie,<br />Staring +out into darkness; while my thoughts<br />Begin the weary treadmill-toil +again,<br />From that white marriage morning of our youth<br />Down +to this dreadful hour.</p> +<p> I see your face<br />Lit with +the lovelight of the honeymoon;<br />I hear your voice, that lingered +on my name<br />As if it loved each letter; and I feel<br />The clinging +of your arms about my form,<br />Your kisses on my cheek - and long +to break<br />The anguish of such memories with tears,<br />But cannot +weep; the fountain has run dry.</p> +<p>We were so young, so happy, and so full<br />Of keen sweet joy of +life. I had no wish<br />Outside your pleasure; and you loved +me so<br />That when I sometimes felt a woman’s need<br />For +more serene expression of man’s love<br />(The need to rest in +calm affection’s bay<br />And not sail ever on the stormy main),<br />Yet +would I rouse myself to your desire;<br />Meet ardent kiss with kisses +just as warm;<br />So nothing I could give should be denied.</p> +<p>And then our children came. Deep in my soul,<br />From the +first hour of conscious motherhood,<br />I knew I should conserve myself +for this<br />Most holy office; knew God meant it so.<br />Yet even +then, I held your wishes first;<br />And by my double duties lost the +bloom<br />And freshness of my beauty; and beheld<br />A look of disapproval +in your eyes.<br />But with the coming of our precious child,<br />The +lover’s smile, tinged with the father’s pride,<br />Returned +again; and helped to make me strong;<br />And life was very sweet for +both of us.</p> +<p>Another, and another birth, and twice<br />The little white hearse +paused beside our door<br />And took away some portion of my youth<br />With +my sweet babies. At the first you seemed<br />To suffer with me, +standing very near;<br />But when I wept too long, you turned away.<br />And +I was hurt, not realising then<br />My grief was selfish. I could +see the change<br />Which motherhood and sorrow made in me;<br />And +when I saw the change that came to you,<br />Saw how your eyes looked +past me when you talked,<br />And when I missed the love tone from your +voice,<br />I did that foolish thing weak women do,<br />Complained +and cried, accused you of neglect,<br />And made myself obnoxious in +your sight.</p> +<p>And often, after you had left my side,<br />Alone I stood before +my mirror, mad<br />With anger at my pallid cheeks, my dull<br />Unlighted +eyes, my shrunken mother-breasts,<br />And wept, and wept, and faded +more and more.<br />How could I hope to win back wandering love,<br />And +make new flames in dying embers leap,<br />By such ungracious means?</p> +<p> And then She came,<br />Firm-bosomed, +round of cheek, with such young eyes,<br />And all the ways of youth. +I who had died<br />A thousand deaths, in waiting the return<br />Of +that old love-look to your face once more,<br />Died yet again and went +straight into hell<br />When I beheld it come at her approach.</p> +<p>My God, my God, how have I borne it all!<br />Yet since she had the +power to wake that look -<br />The power to sweep the ashes from your +heart<br />Of burned-out love of me, and light new fires,<br />One thing +remained for me - to let you go.<br />I had no wish to keep the empty +frame<br />From which the priceless picture had been wrenched.<br />Nor +do I blame you; it was not your fault:<br />You gave me all that most +men can give - love<br />Of youth, of beauty, and of passion; and<br />I +gave you full return; my womanhood<br />Matched well your manhood. +Yet had you grown ill,<br />Or old, and unattractive from some cause<br />(Less +close than was my service unto you),<br />I should have clung the tighter +to you, dear;<br />And loved you, loved you, loved you more and more.</p> +<p>I grow so weary thinking of these things;<br />Day in, day out; and +half the awful nights.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE REVEALING ANGELS</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Suddenly and without warning they came -<br />The Revealing Angels +came.<br />Suddenly and simultaneously, through city streets,<br />Through +quiet lanes and country roads they walked.<br />They walked crying: +‘God has sent us to find<br />The vilest sinners of earth.<br />We +are to bring them before Him, before the Lord of Life.’</p> +<p>Their voices were like bugles;<br />And then all war, all strife,<br />And +all the noises of the world grew still;<br />And no one talked;<br />And +no one toiled, but many strove to flee away.<br />Robbers and thieves, +and those sunk in drunkenness and crime,<br />Men and women of evil +repute,<br />And mothers with fatherless children in their arms, all +strove to hide.<br />But the Revealing Angels passed them by,<br />Saying: +‘Not you, not you.<br />Another day, when we shall come again<br />Unto +the haunts of men,<br />Then we will call your names;<br />But God has +asked us first to bring to him<br />Those guilty of greater shames<br />Than +lust, or theft, or drunkenness, or vice -<br />Yea, greater than murder +done in passion,<br />Or self-destruction done in dark despair.<br />Now +in His Holy Name we call:<br />Come one and all<br />Come forth; reveal +your faces.’</p> +<p>Then through the awful silence of the world,<br />Where noise had +ceased, they came -<br />The sinful hosts.<br />They came from lowly +and from lofty places,<br />Some poorly clad, but many clothed like +queens;<br />They came from scenes of revel and from toil;<br />From +haunts of sin, from palaces, from homes,<br />From boudoirs, and from +churches.<br />They came like ghosts -<br /><i>The vast brigades of +women who had slain<br />Their helpless</i>, <i>unborn children</i>. +With them trailed<br />Lovers and husbands who had said, ‘Do this,’<br />And +those who helped for hire.<br />They stood before the Angels - before +the Revealing<br />Angels they stood.<br />And they heard the Angels +say,<br />And all the listening world heard the Angels say:<br />‘These +are the vilest sinners of all;<br />For the Lord of Life made sex that +birth might come;<br />Made sex and its keen compelling desire<br />To +fashion bodies wherein souls might go<br />From lower planes to higher,<br />Until +the end is reached (which is Beginning).<br />They have stolen the costly +pleasures of the senses<br />And refused to pay God’s price.<br />They +have come together, these men and these women,<br />As male and female +they have come together<br />In the great creative act.<br />They have +invited souls, and then flung them out into space;<br />They have made +a jest of God’s design.<br />All other sins look white beside +this sinning;<br />All other sins may be condoned, forgiven;<br />All +other sinners may be cleansed and shriven;<br />Not these, not these.<br />Pass +on, and meet God’s eyes.’</p> +<p>The vast brigade moved forward, and behind then walked the Angels,<br />Walked +the sorrowful Revealing Angels.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE WELL-BORN</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>So many people - people - in the world;<br />So few great souls, +love ordered, well begun,<br />In answer to the fertile mother need!<br />So +few who seem<br />The image of the Maker’s mortal dream;<br />So +many born of mere propinquity -<br />Of lustful habit, or of accident.<br />Their +mothers felt<br />No mighty, all-compelling wish to see<br />Their bosoms +garden-places<br />Abloom with flower faces;<br />No tidal wave swept +o’er them with its flood;<br />No thrill of flesh or heart; no +leap of blood;<br />No glowing fire, flaming to white desire<br />For +mating and for motherhood:<br />Yet they bore children.<br />God! how +mankind misuses Thy command,<br />To populate the earth!<br />How low +is brought high birth!<br />How low the woman; when, inert as spawn<br />Left +on the sands to fertilise,<br />She is the means through which the race +goes on!<br />Not so the first intent.<br />Birth, as the Supreme Mind +conceived it, meant<br />The clear imperious call of mate to mate<br />And +the clear answer. Only thus and then<br />Are fine, well-ordered, +and potential lives<br />Brought into being. Not by Church or +State<br />Can birth be made legitimate,<br />Unless<br />Love in its +fulness bless.<br />Creation so ordains its lofty laws<br />That man, +while greater in all other things,<br />Is lesser in the generative +cause.<br />The father may be merely man, the male;<br />Yet more than +female must the mother be.<br />The woman who would fashion<br />Souls, +for the use of earth and angels meet,<br />Must entertain a high and +holy passion.<br />Not rank, or wealth, or influence of kings<br />Can +give a soul its dower<br />Of majesty and power,<br />Unless the mother +brings<br />Great love to that great hour.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>SISTERS OF MINE</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Sisters, sisters of mine, have we done what we could<br />In all +the old ways, through all the new days,<br />To better the race and +to make life sweet and good?<br />Have we played the full part that +was ours in the start,<br />Sisters of mine?</p> +<p>Sisters, sisters of mine, as we hurry along<br />To a larger world, +with our banners unfurled,<br />The battle-cry on lips where once was +Love’s old song,<br />Are we leaving behind better things than +we find,<br />Sisters of mine?</p> +<p>Sisters, sisters of mine, through the march in the street,<br />Through +turmoil and din, without, and within,<br />As we gain something big +do we lose something sweet?<br />In the growth of our might is our grace +lost to sight?<br />As new powers unfold do we <i>love</i> as of old,<br />Sisters +of mine?</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>ANSWER</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>O well have we done the old tasks! in the old, old ways of earth.<br />We +have kept the house in order, we have given the children birth;<br />And +our sons went out with their fathers, and left us alone at the hearth!</p> +<p>We have cooked the meats for their table; we have woven their cloth +at the loom;<br />We have pulled the weeds from their gardens, and kept +the flowers in bloom;<br />And then we have sat and waited, alone in +a silent room.</p> +<p>We have borne all the pains of travail in giving life to the race;<br />We +have toiled and saved, for the masters, and helped them to power and +place;<br />And when we asked for a pittance, they gave it with grudging +grace.</p> +<p>On the bold, bright face of the dollar all the evils of earth are +shown.<br />We are weary of love that is barter, and of virtue that +pines alone;<br />We are out in the world with the masters: we are finding +and claiming our own!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE GRADUATES</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I saw them beautiful, in fair array upon Commencement Day;<br />Lissome +and lovely, radiant and sweet<br />As cultured roses, brought to their +estate<br />By careful training. Finished and complete<br />(As +teachers calculate).</p> +<p>They passed in maiden grace along the aisle,<br />Leaving the chaste +white sunlight of a smile<br />Upon the gazing throng.<br />Musing I +thought upon their place as mothers of the race.</p> +<p>Oh there are many actors who can play<br />Greatly, great parts; +but rare indeed the soul<br />Who can be great when cast for some small +rôle;<br />Yet that is what the world most needs; big hearts<br />That +will shine forth and glorify poor parts<br />In this strange drama, +Life! Do they,<br />Who in full dress-rehearsal pass to-day<br />Before +admiring eyes, hold in their store<br />Those fine high principles which +keep old Earth<br />From being only earth; and make men more<br />Than +just mere men? How will they prove their worth<br />Of years of +study? Will they walk abroad<br />Decked with the plumage of dead +bards of God,<br />The glorious birds? And shall the lamb unborn<br />Be +slain on altars of their vanity?<br />To some frail sister who has missed +the way<br />Will they give Christ’s compassion, or man’s +scorn;<br />And will clean manhood, linked with honest love,<br />The +victor prove,<br />When riches, gained by greed, dispute the claim?<br />Will +they guard well a husband’s home and name.<br />Or lean down from +their altitudes to hear<br />The voice of flattery speak in the ear<br />Those +lying platitudes which men repeat<br />To listening Self-Conceit?<br />Musing +I thought upon their place as mothers of the race,<br />As beautiful +they passed in maiden grace.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE SILENT TRAGEDY</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The deepest tragedies of life are not<br />Put into books, or acted +on the stage.<br />Nay, they are lived in silence, by tense hearts<br />In +homes, among dull unperceiving kin,<br />And thoughtless friends, who +make a whip of words<br />Wherewith to lash these hearts, and call it +wit.</p> +<p>There is a tragedy lived everywhere<br />In Christian lands, by an +increasing horde<br />Of women martyrs to our social laws.<br />Women +whose hearts cry out for motherhood;<br />Women whose bosoms ache for +little heads;<br />Women God meant for mothers, but whose lives<br />Have +been restrained, restricted, and denied<br />Their natural channels, +till at last they stand<br />Unmated and alone, by that sad sea<br />Whose +slow receding tide returns no more.<br />Men meet great sorrows; but +no man can grasp<br />The depth, and height, of such a grief as this.</p> +<p>The call of Fatherhood is from man’s brain.<br />Man cannot +know the answer to that call<br />Save as a woman tells him. But +to her<br />The call of Motherhood is from the soul,<br />The brain, +the body. She is like a plant<br />Which buds and blossoms only +to bear fruit.<br />Man is the pollen, carried by the wind<br />Of accident, +or impulse, or desire;<br />And then his role of fatherhood is played.<br />Her +threefold knowledge of maternity,<br />Through three times three great +months, is hers alone.</p> +<p>Man as an egotist is wounded when<br />He is not father. Woman +when denied<br />The all-embracing rôle of motherhood<br />Rebels +with her whole being. Oftentimes<br />Rebellion finds its only +utterance<br />In shattered nerves, and lack of self-control;<br />Which +gives the merry world its chance to cry<br />‘Old maids are queer.’<br /> In +far off Eastern lands</p> +<p>They think of God as Mother to the race;<br />Father and Mother of +the Universe.<br />And mayhap this is why they make their girls<br />Wives +prematurely, mothers over young,<br />Hoping to please their Mother +God this way.<br />Since everywhere in Nature sex is shown<br />For +procreative uses, they contend<br />Sterility is sinful. (Save +when one<br />Chooses a life of Saintship here on earth,<br />And so +conserves all forces to that end.)</p> +<p>Here in the West, our God is Masculine;<br />And while we say He +bade a Virgin bring<br />His Son to birth, we think of Him as One<br />Placing +false values on forced continence -<br />Preparing heavens for those +who live that life -<br />And hells for those who stray by thought or +act<br />From the unnatural path our laws have made.</p> +<p>Mother of Christ, thou being woman, thou<br />Knowing all depths +within the woman heart,<br />All joy, all pain, oh send the world more +light.<br />Enlarge our sympathies; and let our minds<br />Turn from +achievements of material things<br />To contemplation of Eternal truths.<br />Space +throbs with egos, waiting for rebirth;<br />And mother-hearted women +fill the earth.<br />Mother of Christ, show us the way to thin<br />The +ranks of childless women, without sin.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE TRINITY</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Much may be done with the world we are in,<br />Much with the race +to better it;<br />We can unfetter it,<br />Free it from chains of the +old traditions;<br />Broaden its viewpoint of virtue and sin;<br />Change +its conditions<br />Of labour and wealth;<br />And open new roadways +to knowledge and health.<br /><i>Yet some things ever must stay as they +are<br />While the sea has its tide and the sky has its star.<br /></i>A +man and a woman with love between,<br />Loyal and tender and true and +clean,<br />Nothing better has been or can be<br />Than just those three.</p> +<p>Woman may alter the first great plan.<br />Daughters and sisters +and mothers<br />May stalk with their brothers<br />Forth from their +homes into noisy places<br />Fit (and fit only) for masculine man.<br />Marring +their graces<br />With conflict and strife<br />To widen the outlook +of all human life.<br /><i>Yet some things ever must stay as they are<br />While +the sea has its tide and the sky has its star.<br /></i>A man and a +woman with love that strengthens<br />And gathers new force as its earth +way lengthens;<br />Nothing better by God is given<br />This side of +heaven.</p> +<p>Science may show us a wonderful vast<br />Secret of life and of breeding +it;<br />Man by the heeding it<br />Out of earth’s chaos may bring +a new order.<br />Off with old systems, old laws may be cast.<br />What +now seems the border<br />Of licence in creeds,<br />May then be the +centre of thoughts and of deeds.<br /><i>Yet some things ever must stay +as they are<br />While the sea has its tide and the sky has its star.<br /></i>A +man and a woman and love undefiled<br />And the look of the two in the +face of a child, -<br />Oh, the joys of this world have their changing +ways,<br />But this joy stays.<br />Nothing better on earth can be<br />Than +just those three.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE UNWED MOTHER TO THE WIFE</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I had been almost happy for an hour,<br />Lost to the world that +knew me in the park<br />Among strange faces; while my little girl<br />Leaped +with the squirrels, chirruped with the birds<br />And with the sunlight +glowed. She was so dear,<br />So beautiful, so sweet; and for +the time<br />The rose of love, shorn of its thorn of shame,<br />Bloomed +in my heart. Then suddenly you passed.<br />I sat alone upon the +public bench;<br />You, with your lawful husband, rode in state;<br />And +when your eyes fell on me and my child,<br />They were not eyes, but +daggers, poison tipped.</p> +<p>God! how good women slaughter with a look!<br />And, like cold steel, +your glance cut through my heart,<br />Struck every petal from the rose +of love<br />And left the ragged stalk alive with thorns.</p> +<p>My little one came running to my side<br />And called me Mother. +It was like a blow<br />Between the eyes; and made me sick with pain.<br />And +then it seemed as if each bird and breeze<br />Took up the word, and +changed its syllables<br />From Mother into Magdalene; and cried<br />My +shame to all the world.</p> +<p> It was your eyes<br />Which did +all this. But listen now to me<br />(Not you alone, but all the +barren wives<br />Who, like you, flaunt their virtue in the face<br />Of +fallen women): I do chance to know<br />The crimes you think are hidden +from all men<br />(Save one who took your gold and sold his skill<br />And +jeopardized his name for your base ends).</p> +<p>I know how you have sunk your soul in sense<br />Like any wanton; +and refused to bear<br />The harvest of your pleasure-planted seed;<br />I +know how you have crushed the tender bud<br />Which held a soul; how +you have blighted it;<br />And made the holy miracle of birth<br />A +wicked travesty of God’s design;<br />Yea, many buds, which might +be blossoms now<br />And beautify your selfish, arid life,<br />Have +been destroyed, because you chose to keep<br />The aimless freedom, +and the purposeless,<br />Self-seeking liberty of childless wives.</p> +<p>I was an untaught girl. By nature led,<br />By love and passion +blinded, I became<br />An unwed mother. You, an honoured wife,<br />Refuse +the crown of motherhood, defy<br />The laws of nature, and fling baby +souls<br />Back in the face of God. And yet you dare<br />Call +me a sinner, and yourself a saint;<br />And all the world smiles on +you, and its doors<br />Swing wide at your approach.<br /> I +stand outside.</p> +<p>Surely there must be higher courts than earth,<br />Where you and +I will some day meet and be<br />Weighed by a larger justice.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>FATHER AND SON</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>My grand-dame, vigorous at eighty-one,<br />Delights in talking of +her only son,<br />My gallant father, long since dead and gone.<br />‘Ah, +but he was the lad!’<br />She says, and sighs, and looks at me +askance.<br />How well I read the meaning of that glance -<br /> ‘Poor +son of such a dad;<br /> Poor weakling, dull and sad.’<br />I +could, but would not tell her bitter truth<br />About my father’s +youth.</p> +<p>She says: ‘Your father laughed his way through earth:<br />He +laughed right in the doctor’s face at birth,<br />Such joy of +life he had, such founts of mirth.<br /> Ah, what a +lad was he!’<br />And then she sighs. I feel her silent +blame,<br />Because I brought her nothing but his name.<br /> Because +she does not see<br /> Her worshipped son in me.<br />I +could, but would not, speak in my defence,<br />Anent the difference.</p> +<p>She says: ‘He won all prizes in his time:<br />He overworked, +and died before his prime.<br />At high ambition’s door I lay +the crime.<br /> Ah, what a lad he was!’<br />Well, +let her rest in that deceiving thought,<br />Of what avail to say, ‘His +death was brought<br /> By broken sexual laws,<br /> The +ancient sinful cause.’<br />I could, but would not, tell the good +old dame<br />The story of his shame.</p> +<p>I could say: ‘I am crippled, weak, and pale,<br />Because my +father was an unleashed male.<br />Because he ran so fast, I halt and +fail<br /> (Ah, yes, he was the lad),<br />Because +he drained each cup of sense-delight<br />I must go thirsting, thirsting, +day and night.<br /> Because he was joy-mad,<br /> I +must be always sad.</p> +<p>Because he learned no law of self-control,<br />I am a blighted soul.’<br /> Of +what avail to speak and spoil her joy.<br />Better to see her disapproving +eyes,<br />And silent, hear her say, between her sighs,<br /> ‘Ah, +but he was the boy!’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>HUSKS</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>She looked at her neighbour’s house in the light of the waning +day -<br />A shower of rice on the steps, and the shreds of a bride’s +bouquet.<br />And then she drew the shade, to shut out the growing gloom,<br />But +she shut it into her heart instead. (Was that a voice in the room?)</p> +<p>‘My neighbour is sad,’ she sighed, ‘like the mother +bird who sees<br />The last of her brood fly out of the nest to make +its home in the trees’ -<br />And then in a passion of tears - +‘But, oh, to be sad like her:<br />Sad for a joy that has come +and gone!’ (Did some one speak, or stir?)</p> +<p>She looked at her faded hands, all burdened with costly rings;<br />She +looked on her widowed home, all burdened with priceless things.<br />She +thought of the dead years gone, of the empty years ahead -<br />(Yes, +something stirred and something spake, and this was what it said:)</p> +<p><i>‘The voice of the Might Have Been speaks here through the +lonely dusk;<br />Life offered the fruits of love; you gathered only +the husk.<br />There are jewels ablaze on your breast where never a +child has slept</i>.’<br />She covered her face with her ringed +old hands, and wept and wept and wept.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>MEDITATIONS</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>HIS</p> +<p>I was so proud of you last night, dear girl,<br />While man with +man was striving for your smile.<br />You never lost your head, nor +once dropped down<br />From your high place<br />As queen in that gay +whirl.</p> +<p>(It takes more poise to wear a little crown<br />With modesty and +grace<br />Than to adorn the lordlier thrones of earth.)</p> +<p>You seem so free from artifice and wile:<br />And in your eyes I +read<br />Encouragement to my unspoken thought.<br />My heart is eloquent +with words to plead<br />Its cause of passion; but my questioning mind,<br />Knowing +how love is blind,<br />Dwells on the pros and cons, and God knows what.</p> +<p>My heart cries with each beat,<br />‘She is so beautiful, so +pure, so sweet,<br />So more than dear.’<br />And then I hear<br />The +voice of Reason, asking: ‘Would she meet<br />Life’s common +duties with good common sense?<br />Could she bear quiet evenings at +your hearth,<br />And not be sighing for gay scenes of mirth?<br />If, +some great day, love’s mighty recompense<br />For chastity surrendered +came to her,<br />If she felt stir<br />Beneath her heart a little pulse +of life,<br />Would she rejoice with holy pride and wonder,<br />And +find new glory in the name of wife?<br />Or would she plot with sin, +and seek to plunder<br />Love’s sanctuary, and cast away its treasure,<br />That +she might keep her freedom and her pleasure?<br />Could she be loyal +mate and mother dutiful?<br />Or is she only some bright hothouse bloom,<br />Seedless +and beautiful,<br />Meant just for decoration, and for show?’<br />Alone +here in my room,<br />I hear this voice of Reason. My poor heart<br />Has +ever but one answer to impart,<br />‘I love her so.’</p> +<p>HERS</p> +<p>After the ball last night, when I came home<br />I stood before my +mirror, and took note<br />Of all that men call beautiful. Delight,<br />Keen +sweet delight, possessed me, when I saw<br />My own reflection smiling +on me there,<br />Because your eyes, through all the swirling hours,<br />And +in your slow good-night, had made a fact<br />Of what before I fancied +might be so;<br />Yet knowing how men lie, by look and act,<br />I still +had doubted. But I doubt no more,<br />I know you love me, love +me. And I feel<br />Your satisfaction in my comeliness.</p> +<p>Beauty and youth, good health and willing mind,<br />A spotless reputation, +and a heart<br />Longing for mating and for motherhood,<br />And lips +unsullied by another’s kiss -<br />These are the riches I can +bring to you.</p> +<p>But as I sit here, thinking of it all<br />In the clear light of +morning, sudden fear<br />Has seized upon me. What has been your +past?<br />From out the jungle of old reckless years,<br />May serpents +crawl across our path some day<br />And pierce us with their fangs? +Oh, I am not<br />A prude or bigot; and I have not lived<br />A score +and three full years in ignorance<br />Of human nature. Much I +can condone;<br />For well I know our kinship to the earth<br />And +all created things. Why, even I<br />Have felt the burden of virginity,<br />When +flowers and birds and golden butterflies<br />In early spring were mating; +and I know<br />How loud that call of sex must sound to man<br />Above +the feeble protest of the world.<br />But I can hear from depths within +my soul<br />The voices of my unborn children cry<br />For rightful +heritage. (May God attune<br />The souls of men, that they may +hear and heed<br />That plaintive voice above the call of sex;<br />And +may the world’s weak protest swell into<br />A thunderous diapason +- a demand<br />For cleaner fatherhood.)<br /> Oh, +love, come near;<br />Look in my eyes, and say I need not fear.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE TRAVELLER</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Bristling with steeples, high against the hill,<br />Like some great +thistle in the rosy dawn<br />It stood; the Town-of-Christian-Churches, +stood.<br />The Traveller surveyed it with a smile.<br />‘Surely,’ +He said, ‘here is the home of peace;<br />Here neighbour lives +with neighbour in accord;<br />God in the heart of all. Else why +these spires?’<br />(Christmas season, and every bell ringing.)</p> +<p>The sudden shriek of whistles changed the sound<br />From mellow +music into jarring noise.<br />Then down the street pale hurrying children +came,<br />And vanished in the yawning Factory door.<br />He called +to them: ‘Come back, come unto Me.’<br />The Foreman cursed, +and caned Him from the place.<br />(Christmas season, and every bell +ringing.)</p> +<p>Forth from two churches came two men, and met,<br />Disputing loudly +over boundary lines,<br />Hate in their eyes, and murder in their hearts.<br />A +haughty woman drew her skirts aside<br />Because her fallen sister passed +that way.<br />The Traveller rebuked them all. Amazed,<br />They +asked in indignation, ‘Who are you,<br />Daring to interfere in +private lives?’<br />The Traveller replied, ‘My name is +CHRIST.’<br />(Christmas season, and every bell ringing.)</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I</p> +<p>What have you done, and what are you doing with life, O Man!<br />O +Average Man of the world -<br />Average Man of the Christian world we +call civilised?<br />What have you done to pay for the labour pains +of the mother who bore you?<br />On earth you occupy space; you consume +oxygen from the air:<br />And what do you give in return for these things?<br />Who +is better that you live, and strive, and toil?<br />Or that you live +through the toiling and striving of others?<br />As you pass down the +street does any one look on you and say,<br />‘There goes a good +son, a true husband, a wise father, a fine citizen?<br />A man whose +strong hand is ready to help a neighbour,<br />A man to trust’? +And what do women say of you?<br />Unto their own souls what do women +say?<br />Do they say: ‘He helped to make the road easier for +tired feet?<br />To broaden the narrow horizon for aching eyes?<br />He +helped us to higher ideals of womanhood’?<br />Look into your +own heart and answer, O Average Man of the world,<br />Of the Christian +world we call civilised.</p> +<p>II</p> +<p>What do men think of you, what do they think and say of you,<br />O +Average Woman of the world?<br />Do they say: ‘There is a woman +with a great heart,<br />Loyal to her sex, and above envy and evil speaking?<br />There +is a daughter, wife, mother, with a purpose in life:<br />She can be +trusted to mould the minds of little children.<br />She knows how to +be good without being dull;<br />How to be glad and to make others glad +without descending to folly;<br />She is one who illuminates the path +wherein she walks;<br />One who awakens the best in every human being +she meets’?<br />Look into your heart, O Woman! and answer this:<br />What +are you doing with the beautiful years?<br />Is your to-day a better +thing than was your yesterday?<br />Have you grown in knowledge, grace, +and usefulness?<br />Or are you ravelling out the wonderful fabric knit +by Time,<br />And throwing away the threads?<br />Make answer, O Woman! +Average Woman of the Christian world.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, POEMS OF PURPOSE ***</p> +<pre> + +******This file should be named ppur10h.htm or ppur10h.zip****** +Corrected EDITIONS of our EBooks get a new NUMBER, ppur11h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, ppur10ah.htm + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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