1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
810
811
812
813
814
815
816
817
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917
918
919
920
921
922
923
924
925
926
927
928
929
930
931
932
933
934
935
936
937
938
939
940
941
942
943
944
945
946
947
948
949
950
951
952
953
954
955
956
957
958
959
960
961
962
963
964
965
966
967
968
969
970
971
972
973
974
975
976
977
978
979
980
981
982
983
984
985
986
987
988
989
990
991
992
993
994
995
996
997
998
999
1000
1001
1002
1003
1004
1005
1006
1007
1008
1009
1010
1011
1012
1013
1014
1015
1016
1017
1018
1019
1020
1021
1022
1023
1024
1025
1026
1027
1028
1029
1030
1031
1032
1033
1034
1035
1036
1037
1038
1039
1040
1041
1042
1043
1044
1045
1046
1047
1048
1049
1050
1051
1052
1053
1054
1055
1056
1057
1058
1059
1060
1061
1062
1063
1064
1065
1066
1067
1068
1069
1070
1071
1072
1073
1074
1075
1076
1077
1078
1079
1080
1081
1082
1083
1084
1085
1086
1087
1088
1089
1090
1091
1092
1093
1094
1095
1096
1097
1098
1099
1100
1101
1102
1103
1104
1105
1106
1107
1108
1109
1110
1111
1112
1113
1114
1115
1116
1117
1118
1119
1120
1121
1122
1123
1124
1125
1126
1127
1128
1129
1130
1131
1132
1133
1134
1135
1136
1137
1138
1139
1140
1141
1142
1143
1144
1145
1146
1147
1148
1149
1150
1151
1152
1153
1154
1155
1156
1157
1158
1159
1160
1161
1162
1163
1164
1165
1166
1167
1168
1169
1170
1171
1172
1173
1174
1175
1176
1177
1178
1179
1180
1181
1182
1183
1184
1185
1186
1187
1188
1189
1190
1191
1192
1193
1194
1195
1196
1197
1198
1199
1200
1201
1202
1203
1204
1205
1206
1207
1208
1209
1210
1211
1212
1213
1214
1215
1216
1217
1218
1219
1220
1221
1222
1223
1224
1225
1226
1227
1228
1229
1230
1231
1232
1233
1234
1235
1236
1237
1238
1239
1240
1241
1242
1243
1244
1245
1246
1247
1248
1249
1250
1251
1252
1253
1254
1255
1256
1257
1258
1259
1260
1261
1262
1263
1264
1265
1266
1267
1268
1269
1270
1271
1272
1273
1274
1275
1276
1277
1278
1279
1280
1281
1282
1283
1284
1285
1286
1287
1288
1289
1290
1291
1292
1293
1294
1295
1296
1297
1298
1299
1300
1301
1302
1303
1304
1305
1306
1307
1308
1309
1310
1311
1312
1313
1314
1315
1316
1317
1318
1319
1320
1321
1322
1323
1324
1325
1326
1327
1328
1329
1330
1331
1332
1333
1334
1335
1336
1337
1338
1339
1340
1341
1342
1343
1344
1345
1346
1347
1348
1349
1350
1351
1352
1353
1354
1355
1356
1357
1358
1359
1360
1361
1362
1363
1364
1365
1366
1367
1368
1369
1370
1371
1372
1373
1374
1375
1376
1377
1378
1379
1380
1381
1382
1383
1384
1385
1386
1387
1388
1389
1390
1391
1392
1393
1394
1395
1396
1397
1398
1399
1400
1401
1402
1403
1404
1405
1406
1407
1408
1409
1410
1411
1412
1413
1414
1415
1416
1417
1418
1419
1420
1421
1422
1423
1424
1425
1426
1427
1428
1429
1430
1431
1432
1433
1434
1435
1436
1437
1438
1439
1440
1441
1442
1443
1444
1445
1446
1447
1448
1449
1450
1451
1452
1453
1454
1455
1456
1457
1458
1459
1460
1461
1462
1463
1464
1465
1466
1467
1468
1469
1470
1471
1472
1473
1474
1475
1476
1477
1478
1479
1480
1481
1482
1483
1484
1485
1486
1487
1488
1489
1490
1491
1492
1493
1494
1495
1496
1497
1498
1499
1500
1501
1502
1503
1504
1505
1506
1507
1508
1509
1510
1511
1512
1513
1514
1515
1516
1517
1518
1519
1520
1521
1522
1523
1524
1525
1526
1527
1528
1529
1530
1531
1532
1533
1534
1535
1536
1537
1538
1539
1540
1541
1542
1543
1544
1545
1546
1547
1548
1549
1550
1551
1552
1553
1554
1555
1556
1557
1558
1559
1560
1561
1562
1563
1564
1565
1566
1567
1568
1569
1570
1571
1572
1573
1574
1575
1576
1577
1578
1579
1580
1581
1582
1583
1584
1585
1586
1587
1588
1589
1590
1591
1592
1593
1594
1595
1596
1597
1598
1599
1600
1601
1602
1603
1604
1605
1606
1607
1608
1609
1610
1611
1612
1613
1614
1615
1616
1617
1618
1619
1620
1621
1622
1623
1624
1625
1626
1627
1628
1629
1630
1631
1632
1633
1634
1635
1636
1637
1638
1639
1640
1641
1642
1643
1644
1645
1646
1647
1648
1649
1650
1651
1652
1653
1654
1655
1656
1657
1658
1659
1660
1661
1662
1663
1664
1665
1666
1667
1668
1669
1670
1671
1672
1673
1674
1675
1676
1677
1678
1679
1680
1681
1682
1683
1684
1685
1686
1687
1688
1689
1690
1691
1692
1693
1694
1695
1696
1697
1698
1699
1700
1701
1702
1703
1704
1705
1706
1707
1708
1709
1710
1711
1712
1713
1714
1715
1716
1717
1718
1719
1720
1721
1722
1723
1724
1725
1726
1727
1728
1729
1730
1731
1732
1733
1734
1735
1736
1737
1738
1739
1740
1741
1742
1743
1744
1745
1746
1747
1748
1749
1750
1751
1752
1753
1754
1755
1756
1757
1758
1759
1760
1761
1762
1763
1764
1765
1766
1767
1768
1769
1770
1771
1772
1773
1774
1775
1776
1777
1778
1779
1780
1781
1782
1783
1784
1785
1786
1787
1788
1789
1790
1791
1792
1793
1794
1795
1796
1797
1798
1799
1800
1801
1802
1803
1804
1805
1806
1807
1808
1809
1810
1811
1812
1813
1814
1815
1816
1817
1818
1819
1820
1821
1822
1823
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
1832
1833
1834
1835
1836
1837
1838
1839
1840
1841
1842
1843
1844
1845
1846
1847
1848
1849
1850
1851
1852
1853
1854
1855
1856
1857
1858
1859
1860
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. Be sure to check the
copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing
this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook.
This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project
Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the
header without written permission.
Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the
eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is
important information about your specific rights and restrictions in
how the file may be used. 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. Thus, we usually do not
keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
We are now trying to release all our eBooks one year in advance
of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing.
Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections,
even years after the official publication date.
Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til
midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement.
The official release date of all Project Gutenberg eBooks is at
Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A
preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment
and editing by those who wish to do so.
Most people start at our Web sites at:
http://gutenberg.net or
http://promo.net/pg
These Web sites include award-winning information about Project
Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new
eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!).
Those of you who want to download any eBook before announcement
can get to them as follows, and just download by date. This is
also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the
indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an
announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter.
http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext04 or
ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext04
Or /etext03, 02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90
Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want,
as it appears in our Newsletters.
Information about Project Gutenberg (one page)
We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The
time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours
to get any eBook selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright
searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. Our
projected audience is one hundred million readers. If the value
per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2
million dollars per hour in 2002 as we release over 100 new text
files per month: 1240 more eBooks in 2001 for a total of 4000+
We are already on our way to trying for 2000 more eBooks in 2002
If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total
will reach over half a trillion eBooks given away by year's end.
The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away 1 Trillion eBooks!
This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers,
which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users.
Here is the briefest record of our progress (* means estimated):
eBooks Year Month
1 1971 July
10 1991 January
100 1994 January
1000 1997 August
1500 1998 October
2000 1999 December
2500 2000 December
3000 2001 November
4000 2001 October/November
6000 2002 December*
9000 2003 November*
10000 2004 January*
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created
to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium.
We need your donations more than ever!
As of February, 2002, contributions are being solicited from people
and organizations in: Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Connecticut,
Delaware, District of Columbia, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Illinois,
Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts,
Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New
Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, Ohio,
Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South
Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West
Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming.
We have filed in all 50 states now, but these are the only ones
that have responded.
As the requirements for other states are met, additions to this list
will be made and fund raising will begin in the additional states.
Please feel free to ask to check the status of your state.
In answer to various questions we have received on this:
We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork to legally
request donations in all 50 states. If your state is not listed and
you would like to know if we have added it since the list you have,
just ask.
While we cannot solicit donations from people in states where we are
not yet registered, we know of no prohibition against accepting
donations from donors in these states who approach us with an offer to
donate.
International donations are accepted, but we don't know ANYTHING about
how to make them tax-deductible, or even if they CAN be made
deductible, and don't have the staff to handle it even if there are
ways.
Donations by check or money order may be sent to:
Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
PMB 113
1739 University Ave.
Oxford, MS 38655-4109
Contact us if you want to arrange for a wire transfer or payment
method other than by check or money order.
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been approved by
the US Internal Revenue Service as a 501(c)(3) organization with EIN
[Employee Identification Number] 64-622154. Donations are
tax-deductible to the maximum extent permitted by law. As fund-raising
requirements for other states are met, additions to this list will be
made and fund-raising will begin in the additional states.
We need your donations more than ever!
You can get up to date donation information online at:
http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html
***
If you can't reach Project Gutenberg,
you can always email directly to:
Michael S. Hart hart@pobox.com
Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message.
We would prefer to send you information by email.
**The Legal Small Print**
(Three Pages)
***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS**START***
Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers.
They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with
your copy of this eBook, even if you got it for free from
someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our
fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement
disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how
you may distribute copies of this eBook if you want to.
*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS EBOOK
By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
eBook, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept
this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive
a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this eBook by
sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person
you got it from. If you received this eBook on a physical
medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request.
ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM EBOOKS
This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBooks,
is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart
through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project").
Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright
on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and
distribute it in the United States without permission and
without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth
below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this eBook
under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark.
Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market
any commercial products without permission.
To create these eBooks, the Project expends considerable
efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain
works. Despite these efforts, the Project's eBooks and any
medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other
things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged
disk or other eBook medium, a computer virus, or computer
codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.
LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES
But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below,
[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may
receive this eBook from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook) disclaims
all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including
legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR
UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT,
INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE
OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE
POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES.
If you discover a Defect in this eBook within 90 days of
receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any)
you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that
time to the person you received it from. If you received it
on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and
such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement
copy. If you received it electronically, such person may
choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to
receive it electronically.
THIS EBOOK IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS
TO THE EBOOK OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A
PARTICULAR PURPOSE.
Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or
the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the
above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you
may have other legal rights.
INDEMNITY
You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation,
and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated
with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including
legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the
following that you do or cause: [1] distribution of this eBook,
[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the eBook,
or [3] any Defect.
DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm"
You may distribute copies of this eBook electronically, or by
disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this
"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg,
or:
[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this
requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the
eBook or this "small print!" statement. You may however,
if you wish, distribute this eBook in machine readable
binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form,
including any form resulting from conversion by word
processing or hypertext software, but only so long as
*EITHER*:
[*] The eBook, when displayed, is clearly readable, and
does *not* contain characters other than those
intended by the author of the work, although tilde
(~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may
be used to convey punctuation intended by the
author, and additional characters may be used to
indicate hypertext links; OR
[*] The eBook may be readily converted by the reader at
no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent
form by the program that displays the eBook (as is
the case, for instance, with most word processors);
OR
[*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at
no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the
eBook in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC
or other equivalent proprietary form).
[2] Honor the eBook refund and replacement provisions of this
"Small Print!" statement.
[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the
gross profits you derive calculated using the method you
already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you
don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are
payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation"
the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were
legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent
periodic) tax return. Please contact us beforehand to
let us know your plans and to work out the details.
WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO?
Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of
public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed
in machine readable form.
The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time,
public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses.
Money should be paid to the:
"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or
software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at:
hart@pobox.com
[Portions of this eBook's header and trailer may be reprinted only
when distributed free of all fees. Copyright (C) 2001, 2002 by
Michael S. Hart. Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be
used in any sales of Project Gutenberg eBooks or other materials be
they hardware or software or any other related product without
express permission.]
*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END*
</pre></body>
</html>
|
