  THE OLD CEMETERYLo! half way up the hill I pause To turn within the ancient gate And enter ground now hallowÉd! The silent city where they wait In perfect rest till He shall bid Them rise who now in sleep are laid; Whose life, and death, and waiting e'en, On Him in childlike faith is stayed! No sound is heard within the spot Save the soft wind among the trees, Or song of insect's busy hum, Or low of herd upon the breeze. I walk 'mid graves of those long dead, Who lived and suffered, strove and won, And now have entered into life E'en while we say their life is done! I fain would take when I return Into the world's wild rush and roar, The peace of this fair autumn day, That it bide with me evermore! That I may learn from this blest spot Where sleep the dead—who in the Lord Now take their rest—that life is more Than idle jest, than passing word, Than anxious effort for the bread That perisheth! Yea, more! That life is as a vessel given Of precious ointment, that we bear And fear that we its freight may waste Ere we may yield it to His care! LINES ON IMMORTALITYPoor trembling soul within this frame of clay, That vainly questioneth, wouldst fain essay The problem that nor time nor man may solve, Around which cycles evermore revolve! Not till the light upon thy quest is born, That only beams in an immortal morn, Shalt thou be satisfied, thy fears allayed, And, freed from earth, a new creation made! A DREAMI dreamed, and lo! upon the silent earth (That ever swings, as from its misty birth), I kinless stood! and all the streams that erst In joyous measure sang me forth their tale Sank to a murmur; even while there burst Upon mine eyes that straightway turned me pale! I looked and wondered, and I grew as chill As though their fated touch had froze my blood; As far beyond that living, green-clad hill, In breathless awe, mine eyes were turned, I stood Appalled! Forth from the bosom of the deep There rose a wondrous chain of towering cliffs, Clear as the lake upon whose mirror sleep Light-poised, all tenderly the skiffs; While rays of light played o'er their polished sides, As slowly rose and sank they on the tides. Kissed by the sun they grew; their colors' sheen Of rose and emerald-touched tips; between The amethyst deepened to a royal tone Of purple, and I stood and gazed, alone! I knew that naught of earth was left save me To look upon that strange and glorious sea! And, as I gazed, wild flames leapt up to seize The iceberg's glow and melt it to their will: Naught could their hungry rage of greed appease, While luridly and sullen burned they still, What, then, does it portray—this onslaught fierce Of flames upon these sunlit cliffs of ice, If it be not that Evil seeks to pierce The armor thrown about the soul's device; The powers that wage unceasing war, And ever seek to gain what lies afar Above them! "Souls of just men perfect made," "Yield not," I cried, "for here a mortal stands "Alone and helpless in these alien lands; "And yet on mortal lips, I know, is laid "The burden of a knowledge far above "All thought of human gain or human love!" And crying thus, I woke, nor ever knew If to fruition my bright vision grew. ON EMPYREAN HEIGHTS(Read at Hardman Hall, New York City, before the International League of Press Clubs, June 3, 1897.) I stood on empyrean heights and saw, Outlined in figures bold, a vision there; Loud were the shouts of strife and deadly war, While Peace, remote, shone in her beauty fair. I heard the clash of arms; the martial tread; While nation warred with nation in their lust Of pride and power, until there lay the dead— The heroes of a decade—in the dust! I saw, in ranks that spread to either pole, Heroic deeds of great men and of true; The highest aspirations of the soul; The work wrought, through the many, by the few! I sped from rising sun unto the west; I read the stars that mirrored in the sky; And some in a resplendent light were dressed, And some through shadow I could scarce descry. I saw a Nation's rise and saw its fall; I learned a people's passing glory there; I heard the strident voice of Justice call, And answering cheer and joy were in the air. I passed through touching scenes of humble life, Where hearts were beating in their full content; Where far from peaceful hearth and home lay strife, And days of joy and gaiety were spent. I passed 'mid scenes of dark and dull despair, On, on, where bitter want and hunger raged; Where naught of holiness was pictured there, But man 'gainst man his cruel warfare waged! I heard the wail of childhood in its need, And saw the fearful shadow of Death's wing Pass swiftly on and through the darkness speed, And heard the joyous song the angels sing! I heard the deeds of woe—saw sins of ill; I knew Life's tragedy was played the while; That greed of gain—that selfish, restless will Was crushing out the tender youth's sweet smile. I also read of good and saw its scope Of radiance on a troubled world's dark web; And saw that trust and love and buoyant hope Outrode the spring-time tide ere it could ebb. Nay, tell me, then, whence came each passing scene, And why such widespread power vouchsafed to me, That time nor space held aught of bar between The shifting lights of land and distant sea? How could I realize the utmost span Of life and love, nay more, of silent death As meted out within the time of man, And passing o'er the wide world's pulsing breath? O puissant Press! what need have I to tell The power of thy great sceptre wielded here? When those, beneath whose brilliant, magic spell We've sat entranced, now in our midst appear! Each face familiar warms the brother's heart; Each hand extended meets an earnest clasp; Each friend is here, a living sentient part Of Brotherhood and seeks an honest grasp! O mighty power for good or yet for ill; For saving grace; mayhap for withering blight! Thy brimming cup of service should be still The draught to lift a weary world to light. Thy arm should raisÉd be in noble strife; Thy steady hand still wield the trenchant pen; Thus all of light and grace and noble life Shall call thee forth from hearts of fellowmen! |
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