Part 6

Look at the honest faces, The quaint and homely dress, The strained and studied postures That once spelled loveliness. Look at the solemn features. They put away their jokes To have their pictures taken --The dear old-fashioned folks.

They carved trails through the forests. They seeded down the soil. They built the busy cities By unremitting toil. They laid the firm foundations, By honest, manly strokes, On which we build the future. --The dear old-fashioned folks.

The Problem (1927)

THOU God of little children, And Parent of us all, Who knowest all our struggles, And hearest every call, Disclose to us the secret, And tell us what to do To keep our children little And have them grow up, too.

We treasure the devotion, The little velvet hands, The tender little greetings Love always understands; And yet we want them coming To strength and prospects new. How can we keep them little And have them grow up, too?

[Illustration of a young girl looking at a distant castle. She’s standing next to a tree that frames the right and top. Her feet, in heels, stand in the midst of scattered leaves. Her skirt and scarf wave in the breeze coming from the castle’s direction. The middle ground is rolling hills. The sky behind the castle has billowing clouds. Art piece is signed “Harvey Fuller.”]

The Pupil (1927)

A father’s highest vision, A mother’s fondest prayer Are centered in the future Of that wee fellow there. They roused him from his slumber, And dressed him in his best. They sent him out, and trusted That you would do the rest.

The weary planet needs him, And patiently will wait For him to bring his service Down to the future’s gate. He is the hope it treasures. It wants him strong and true. It sends him to your classroom, And leaves the rest to you.

Requisition (1927)

Give me a quiet road to take Where roses deign to grow. Where sunbeams fall, and robins wake, And trees their shadows throw.

Give me a little place to try To do my human part, And make my work as days go by A picture of my heart.

Give me a hearth where I may be When twilight shrouds the West, With dear ones there to sit with me, And you may have the rest.

Sanctuary (1927)

GOD has a place, and it is never far, Where reach vast arches over golden gates, Where quiet aisles and vaulted ceilings are, And where a spacious altar always waits; A place where weary souls may freely come, Hearts torn by earth’s sharp thorns a refuge find, Sad, lonely spirits feel again at home, And all find rest and balm for heart and mind.

It is a house of walls not made with hands. None sees it save the broken child of care. In every place of woe and need it stands, Wherever sorrow dares to breathe a prayer. The weakest, poorest, farthest spirit, tried By grim pursuers of defeat and pain, May claim its shelter. Then when tears are dried It waits in silence till they fall again.

The Secret (1927)

OLD Uncle John is a success, And all his efforts have not hit it. One day we asked him to confess, To all of us just how he did it. “I hardly know, myself,” said he, “But my conviction still is growing, That there’s no fancy recipe. You just begin--and keep on going.”

“Don’t wait for things to come just right, For very seldom do they do it. Select a road, then day and night, Through storm and sunshine, still pursue it. Don’t stand debating what is best. The sands of life are swiftly flowing. Most any worthy course is blest, If you begin--and keep on going.”

Sight and Faith (1927)

I WALKED by sight along the sunlit way, Through pleasant fields and where the flow’rs were fair. By quiet streams, through restful vales it lay, And loveliness and joy were everywhere. I walked by sight, so confident my soul, Nor dreamed that it would ever diff’rent be, As I moved onward to the shining goal That through the distance seemed so clear to me.

But lo, there came the hour when dusk increased, And sunset slowly faded into night, As hour by hour the strength of vision ceased, And I no more could make my way by sight. But when the day had failed to shadows dim, Without a star to lend a flickering ray, I took God’s hand and travelled on with Him, And sudden glory flooded all my way.

Starting Things (1927)

THE ghost of Father Gutenberg Came back upon a visit. He saw a modern printing press, And cried, “Good sakes, what is it?” He saw a linotype at work On endless composition, And said, “It must be that my mind Is not in good condition.”

He heard the newsboys hawk their wares, And saw the bookstores busy, Found magazines on every stand Until it made him dizzy. He said, “Whoever could have thought All this I was imparting? One never guesses, after all, How much he may be starting.”

Success (1927)

SUCCESS is not the garnering of gold Wrung from the failing grasp of nerveless hands, Nor grim advantage where are bought and sold The cargoes of the fleets from distant lands. It is not deafness to the anguished cry Of blighting poverty or bitter need, Nor a triumphal march to victory Over pale lips and human hearts that bleed.

Success is living to the full each hour, Finding the richness of the joy it brings, Leaving unheard no song, unseen no flower, Unfelt no throbbing loveliness of things. Success is soothing human hearts that ache Breathing new hope into despairing ears, Serving with willing hands for love’s dear sake, And sowing happiness across the years.

The Bantams (1928)

We have got a bantam rooster with a funny little face, And he tells us by his swagger that he thinks he owns the place. He will lord it o’er the chickens with a mien and manner high, And the strangest thing about it is he generally gets by. We have Brahams, Rocks, and Cochins--big and strong and robust, all; But they let this bantam run the place because he has the gall. Big and lazy and good-natured, they seek out a shady spot, Nor dispute the bold assumption of his right to rule the lot.

And sometimes I think the whole world is a barnyard, wide and vast. With the selfsame situation, as the ages hurry past. People big and strong and able take the smooth and easy way, While the fussy little fellows feather in and win the day. Singular, at least, I call it that so oft the crown is worn. By some self-elected demagogue, so oft the scepter borne, Not by some one with the vision a commanding swath to cut, But some cocky little bantam who was born to preen and strut.

Charge Account (1928)

YOU may think you are getting by. You may get by awhile. But do not snap your fingers in the face of Fate and smile. Although she may not now demand of you the full amount, Some day you will discover that she keeps a charge account.

She never quarrels with us nor bestows unseemly looks, But no one ever yet has found an error in her books. She writes down every item very quietly, but still There certainly will come a day when she presents her bill.

She asks no more than is her due, for Fate is always square. No tradesman yet in all the world has ever been more fair. Good business methods, that is all. There is no other way. You may get by awhile, my friend, but some day you will pay.

The Close-Up (1928) [Transcriber’s note: All verses are italicized.]

There are many angel faces, Viewed from places far away, Which, upon a near vision, Very quickly turn to clay. There are many matchless heroes Who can hold us in their spell, But who fade away to weakness When we really know them well.

There are many hissing villians Who, on closer view, are found To possess a kindly spirit And an honor quite profound. So it runs throughout the picture, As it probably is best, That the close-up tells the story Whether one can meet the test.

Coming and Going (1928)

I GO down when the train comes in, No matter what the day, Where some arrive amid the din, And others go away.

I see glad faces looking down The track that rambles on Far from the quiet little town, Impatient to be gone.

But oh, the eyes most full of mirth I see upon the train Have seen the wonders of the earth And then come home again.

Blest is the road that leads away Where restless ones may roam; But each loves best of all, one day, The road that leads back home.

Ambition makes us all to dare The far, intriguing track; But when we’ve had enough of care The heart will bring us back.

The Day’s Success (1928)

When sunset falls upon your day And fades from out the West. When business cares are put away And you lie down to rest, The measures of the day’s success Or failure will be told In terms of human happiness And not in terms of gold.

Is there beside some hearth tonight More joy because you wrought? Does someone face the bitter strife With courage you have taught? Is something added to the store Of human happiness? If so, the day that now is o’er Has been a real success.

The Earth’s Plaint (1928)

From ages immemorial they’ve scratched my patient face With plow, and pick, and shovel, in all confidence and grace. They’ve dug their springs, and sunk their wells, and made their post holes, too, Wherever it has pleased their passing fancy so to do. But here of late they seem to feel that more is wrong with me Than to the specialists who came at first there seemed to be. They’ve stopped the minor surgery--it seemed to be too light --And started on a major scale to set my system right.

They sink a shaft a solid mile through rock, and sand, and clay. They go right into it with drills and bore the livelong day. They cut a tunnel through a hill, and make the two ends fit. They chop away as though they thought it didn’t hurt a bit. They change the course of rivers and the shape of waterfalls. They dig deep excavations for their bridges and their walls. A major operation of some kind has come to be A kind of daily diet, in these latter days, with me.

[Poem is surrounded by photos of earth-working equipment in action around the world (clockwise from top-right corner): Egypt, New Zealand, Formosa, Chile, Rhodesia, Sicily, Dutch East Indies, Honduras, Ireland, Nigeria, India, and U.S.A.]

Evolution (1928)

A shining automobile Was standing at the curb. A glib and crafty salesman Was handing out his blurb. A bicycle was leaning Its well-worn handle bar Against a post--the early Ancestor of the car.

Then, snorting down the pavement, A motorcycle flew, Pausing between the cycle And car so bright and new. “Aha,” the auto whispered, “I have evolved, I think, From that bicycle yonder, And here’s the missing link.”

Faith v1928

If you cast out Into the outer darkness of your mind All about which you can conceive a doubt, Or find some strange and vain excuse to flout, Or charge to ages credulous and blind, All about which the whole world is not sure, My friend, you will be pitifully poor.

If your faith clings To all the good, and beautiful, and right, That the experience of ages brings, And offers as the necessary things That stand forever by truth’s simple might, Believing each till it is found untrue, The heart’s unmeasured riches are for you.

Freedom v1928

Freedom to make the sturdy climb From sodden depths to heights sublime; Freedom to seek Truth’s ready aid In mastering a chosen trade; Freedom to play an honest part, And make some worthy work an art; Freedom to struggle with a smile-- That is the freedom worth the while.

Freedom to keep a heart that sings Amid the fret and drive of things; Freedom to serve with heart, and mind, And hand, the races of mankind; Freedom to meet the fiercest test Knowing that one has done his best; Freedom to trudge the upward mile-- That is the freedom worth the while.

The Harness (1928)

“What means all this mass of wiring?” Asked the visitor from Mars. “We have nothing that is like it In our section of the stars. All these conduits and cables, This machinery that sings With its whirring wheels and motors --What have they to do with things?”

“Very much,” the earth-child answered. “We’ve a giant, all unseen, Who serves every little household, Every factory and machine, Does our work, transports our people, Friendship’s kindly message bears. All this wiring you have noted Is the harness that he wears.”

His Great Hour (1928)

He headed the procession On many a parade. He heard the ringing echoes Where loud applause was made. But naught has ever equalled The time in early youth When first his folks discovered That he had cut a tooth.

He published learned volumes And speeches made galore. He traveled and was feted The land and ocean o’er. But never was the hero So praised and sung, forsooth, As on that vanished midnight When first he cut a tooth.

[Illustration of a heart overlaid with a young child. The child sits with legs straight out in front, right hand near mouth, and left hand holding what appears to be a rattle.]

“I held a sea shell to my ears” (1928)

I held a sea shell to my ears A little while today, And heard the echo of the years Sounding from far away. I heard ten thousand soft good-byes To hearts that needs must roam, Ten thousand weekly muffled cries For ships that came not home.

I heard the story of the dreams Of those who journeyed far, But brought not back Wealth’s shining gleams To the home harbor bar. I heard the story of the brave Who Freedom’s burdens bore, Who fought their battles on the wave But struggle now no more.

Imminence (1928)

Like to the circuit of a bright day’s glory, Like to a shadow moving on the grass, Like to the telling of an evening story, God’s purposes all shortly come to pass.

Like to the nearness of a dewdrop’s brushing, Like to the nearness of a breath of May, Like to the nearness of a wind uprushing, God’s promised kingdom is not far away.

Like to the vastness of the stars’ swift motion, Like to the vastness of the course they swing, Like to the vastness of a shoreless ocean, God’s love is here enfolding everything.

Iron (1928)

A piece of iron was refined By highest skill of hand and mind, To steel that formed the keenest blade, Or instruments of wonder made, Or strings awaking symphonies From far across the centuries.

Another piece lay dull and dead As days of hope and wonder sped. It felt no prompting of desire For the refiner’s purging fire. Passive it lay, nor ever wist The thrill and gladness it had missed.

I speak no word of praise or blame. I only say it is a shame That metal, made for wondrous things, Keen instruments, responsive strings, Should be, its aspiration spent, Arrested in development.

I Want (1928)

I WANT a deep mine where the gold knows no measure, A house with the widest and rarest of rooms, Replete with the objects of beauty and pleasure, With tapestries done on the finest of looms. I want a great fleet that will compass the ocean, And bring me the choicest of all the world’s store. I want a cortege, with the deepest devotion Performing my bidding, my wishes--and more.

I want a position of pow’r and of splendor, An empire to rule with the will of a king. I want the rich tribute that vassals can render, The praise that the lips of the loyal can bring. I want earth’s delights without limit or curbing, The richest that skill can conceive or design. One question alone is a little disturbing-- Just what shall I do with them when they are mine?

The Lucky Man (1928)

He struggled on and upward, Impelled by high ambition. He bent his strongest efforts To better his condition. He paid the price of labor, As others had before him. A rich and bounteous harvest His earnest efforts bore him.

Two loafers were exchanging Their shallow talk one morning, Their conversation ranging From filthiness to scorning. He passed. One said: “There’s Sweezy. My way was always rocky. But some folks have it easy. That fellow sure is lucky.”

Success and Failure (1928)

Whoever builds a mighty name And fills the country with his fame, Who seeks and uses earthly power To make a stately triumph hour, Who rears a mansion rich and high To frown against the kindly sky, If he has not found happiness Is still a failure none the less.

Whoever dwells in humble walls Where only toilsome care befalls, Who plans when dear ones are in bed Where shall be found to-morrow’s bread, To cheer whose heart Life only brings The humble joy of simple things, If happiness has crowned his name, He is successful just the same.

The Trouble with the Movies (1928) [Transcriber’s note: All verses are italicized.]

The trouble with the movies, As it appears to me, Is not what the wise people About me seem to see. But I do raise objection In accents bold and high To one outstanding evil The waste of custard pie.

If all that precious pastry Thrown with such ready grace, Such technique and precision, At some poor fellow’s face, Were gathered all together For my convenience, I Would just retire from labor And live on custard pie.

Walking with God (1928)

WHO walks with God must take his way Across far distances and gray To goals that others do not see, Where others do not care to be. Who walks with God must have no fear When danger and defeat appear, Nor stop when every hope seems gone, For God, our God, moves ever on.

Who walks with God must press ahead When sun or cloud is overhead, When all the waiting thousands cheer, Or when they only stop to sneer; When all the challenge leaves the hours And naught is left but jaded powers. But he will some day reach the dawn, For God, our God, moves ever on.

Wander Lust (1928)

“I want to go away somewhere,” Cries every human heart of care. “I want to go across the sea, And find a place where hearts are free. I want to look at bluer skies, And stand where higher mountains rise. To tropic scene, to arctic snow, I want to go, I want to go.”

And so we take our varied ways Across the miles and through the days. We see the wonders of the earth. We share its sorrow and its mirth. Time sends its snows upon our hair. We stumble with our loads of care. Then one day sounds a broken cry: “Please, won’t you take me home to die?”

The Divine Image (1929)

Something within me makes me love the roses; Something within me makes me search the sky; Something within me makes me roam the meadows; The woodlands where the trees are still and high. Something within me makes me sit at twilight Enraptured with the starlight on the sod; Something within me thrills at lovely music, That something in me makes me kin to God.

Something within me makes me like the brothers Who share with me the path that I must tread; Something within me wakens hope and longing To struggle on to summits far ahead. Something within me keeps me ever dreaming Of heavenly things amid the thorn and clod; Something within me speaks of light and beauty, That something in me makes me kin to God.

Domsie (1929)

Simple his habit, plain his wonted ration, Humble the roof that sheltered him at night. He sought no preferment of rank or station, Save but to be a bearer of the light. He dreamed out futures for the boys before him, And led them ever onward toward the goal. The heights they won the choicest gladness bore him Whose faces were enshrined within his soul.

In many a countryside and distant city Were lived strong lives to which the light he gave. Strong hearts beat and strong hands were reached in pity He taught to bless, to brighten, and to save. Upon a quiet hillside he is sleeping, Content to rest, the final school day o’er, But everywhere his boys the faith are keeping. They hold his torch aloft forevermore.

The Happy Ending (1929)

I LIKE to read a stirring tale of peril and of action. I follow every character with heartfelt satisfaction. If, truth and error, right and wrong, defeat and triumph blending, The story rambles steadily toward a happy ending.

No matter what vicissitudes the hero strong engages, No matter how the conflict runs across the crowded pages, If at the close all comes out right, with every wrong defeated, Each happy dream at last come true, each worthy task completed.

They tell me it is not the style in these days so to write it. The proper thing, they say, is with a smirch of wrong to blight it, To leave the tears unwiped, the wrong unrighted, and the error Unbanished in the general reign of trouble and of terror.

But I still have the faith to cling to childhood’s deep conviction That somehow justice does get done in life as well as fiction, That there is more of right than wrong, of pleasure than of weeping, And that a kindly Providence still has us in its keeping.

I think when all the years are through the world’s heart will be singing, That bells of bounding happiness will everywhere be ringing, And the great Author of the tale of life, His mercy lending, Will bring the story of the world down to a happy ending.

[Illustration of an armored knight riding a galloping horse and holding a woman seated in front of him. The knight’s right hand holds a long staff tipped with a small flag, while his left hand secures the woman. His cape flaps in the wind. The horse is dressed with coverings from head to hind quarters. They are centered in the frame with a billowing cloud rising behind them. The lower-right part of the frame has nearby vegetation. The upper-left part has a castle on a hill a small distance away. The artwork has a printed signature, but the stylized last letter of the last name is uncertain; an “R” would complete the name “Stanley Hunter.”]

Have You Tried? (1929)

Are you sure you cannot do it? Are you really satisfied That you never can go through it? Have you tried?

Do a thousand doubts assail you With their darts from every side Till your hope and courage fail you? Have you tried?

Have you ceased to dream of winning? Have your expectations died? Have you really had your inning? Have you tried?

Memorial Day v1929 Exodus 12:14. “And this day shall be unto you for a memorial.”

Their drums are still. Their banners all are furled. They feel no more the battle’s fiery breath. Theirs is the vastest army in the world, Encamped upon the silent fields of death.