Part 11

_So it's home again, and home again, America for me! My heart is turning home again, and there I long to be, In the land of youth and freedom beyond the ocean bars, Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars._

Oh, London is a man's town, there's power in the air; And Paris is a woman's town, with flowers in her hair; And it's sweet to dream in Venice, and it's great to study Rome; But when it comes to living there is no place like home.

I like the German fir-woods, in green battalions drilled; I like the gardens of Versailles with flashing fountains filled; But, oh, to take your hand, my dear, and ramble for a day In the friendly western woodland where Nature has her way!

I know that Europe's wonderful, yet something seems to lack: The Past is too much with her, and the people looking back. But the glory of the Present is to make the Future free,-- We love our land for what she is and what she is to be.

_Oh, it's home again, and home again, America for me! I want a ship that's westward bound to plough the rolling sea, To the blesséd Land of Room Enough beyond the ocean bars, Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars._

June, 1909.

THE BUILDERS

ODE FOR THE HUNDRED AND FIFTIETH ANNIVERSARY OF PRINCETON COLLEGE

October 21, 1896

I

Into the dust of the making of man Spirit was breathed when his life began, Lifting him up from his low estate, With masterful passion, the wish to create. Out of the dust of his making, man Fashioned his works as the ages ran; Fortress, and palace, and temple, and tower, Filling the world with the proof of his power. Over the dust that awaits him, man, Building the walls that his pride doth plan, Dreams they will stand in the light of the sun Bearing his name till Time is done.

II

The monuments of mortals Are as the glory of the grass; Through Time's dim portals A voiceless, viewless wind doth pass, The blossoms fall before it in a day, The forest monarchs year by year decay, And man's great buildings slowly fade away. One after one, They pay to that dumb breath The tribute of their death, And are undone. The towers incline to dust, The massive girders rust, The domes dissolve in air, The pillars that upbear The lofty arches crumble, stone by stone, While man the builder looks about him in despair, For all his works of pride and power are overthrown.

III

A Voice came from the sky: "Set thy desires more high. Thy buildings fade away Because thou buildest clay. Now make the fabric sure With stones that will endure! Hewn from the spiritual rock, The immortal towers of the soul At Death's dissolving touch shall mock, And stand secure while æons roll."

IV

Well did the wise in heart rejoice To hear the summons of that Voice, And patiently begin The builder's work within, Houses not made with hands, Nor founded on the sands. And thou, Reverèd Mother, at whose call We come to keep thy joyous festival, And celebrate thy labours on the walls of Truth Through sevenscore years and ten of thine eternal youth-- A master builder thou, And on thy shining brow, Like Cybele, in fadeless light dost wear A diadem of turrets strong and fair.

V

I see thee standing in a lonely land, But late and hardly won from solitude, Unpopulous and rude,-- On that far western shore I see thee stand, Like some young goddess from a brighter strand, While in thine eyes a radiant thought is born, Enkindling all thy beauty like the morn. Sea-like the forest rolled, in waves of green, And few the lights that glimmered, leagues between. High in the north, for fourscore years alone Fair Harvard's earliest beacon-tower had shone When Yale was lighted, and an answering ray Flashed from the meadows by New Haven Bay. But deeper spread the forest, and more dark, Where first Neshaminy received the spark Of sacred learning to a woodland camp, And Old Log College glowed with Tennant's lamp. Thine, Alma Mater, was the larger sight, That saw the future of that trembling light, And thine the courage, thine the stronger will, That built its loftier home on Princeton Hill.

"New light!" men cried, and murmured that it came From an unsanctioned source with lawless flame; It shone too free, for still the church and school Must only shine according to their rule. But Princeton answered, in her nobler mood, "God made the light, and all the light is good. There is no war between the old and new; The conflict lies between the false and true. The stars, that high in heaven their courses run, In glory differ, but their light is one. The beacons, gleaming o'er the sea of life, Are rivals but in radiance, not in strife. Shine on, ye sister-towers, across the night! I too will build a lasting house of light."

VI

Brave was that word of faith and bravely was it kept: With never-wearying zeal that faltered not, nor slept, Our Alma Mater toiled, and while she firmly laid The deep foundation-walls, at all her toil she prayed. And men who loved the truth because it made them free, And clearly saw the twofold Word of God agree, Reading from Nature's book and from the Bible's page By the same inward ray that grows from age to age, Were built like living stones that beacon to uplift, And drawing light from heaven gave to the world the gift. Nor ever, while they searched the secrets of the earth, Or traced the stream of life through mystery to its birth, Nor ever, while they taught the lightning-flash to bear The messages of man in silence through the air, Fell from their home of light one false, perfidious ray To blind the trusting heart, or lead the life astray. But still, while knowledge grew more luminous and broad It lit the path of faith and showed the way to God.

VII

Yet not for peace alone Labour the builders. Work that in peace has grown Swiftly is overthrown, When in the darkening skies Storm-clouds of wrath arise, And through the cannon's crash, War's deadly lightning-flash Smites and bewilders. Ramparts of strength must frown Round every placid town And city splendid; All that our fathers wrought With true prophetic thought, Must be defended!

VIII

But who could raise protecting walls for thee, Thou young, defenceless land of liberty? Or who could build a fortress strong enough, Or stretch a mighty bulwark long enough To hold thy far-extended coast Against the overweening host That took the open path across the sea, And like a tempest poured Their desolating horde, To quench thy dawning light in gloom of tyranny? Yet not unguarded thou wert found When on thy shore with sullen sound The blaring trumpets of an unjust king Proclaimed invasion. From the ground, In freedom's darkest hour, there seemed to spring Unconquerable walls for her defence; Not trembling, like those battlements of stone That fell when Joshua's horns were blown; But firm and stark the living rampart rose, To meet the onset of imperious foes With a long line of brave, unyielding men. This was thy fortress, well-defended land, And on these walls, the patient, building hand Of Princeton laboured with the force of ten. Her sons were foremost in the furious fight; Her sons were firmest to uphold the right In council-chambers of the new-born State, And prove that he who would be free must first be great In heart, and high in thought, and strong In purpose not to do or suffer wrong. Such were the men, impregnable to fear, Whose souls were framed and fashioned here; And when war shook the land with threatening shock, The men of Princeton stood like muniments of rock. Nor has the breath of Time Dissolved that proud array Of never-broken strength: For though the rocks decay, And all the iron bands Of earthly strongholds are unloosed at length, And buried deep in gray oblivion's sands; The work that heroes' hands Wrought in the light of freedom's natal day Shall never fade away, But lifts itself, sublime Into a lucid sphere, For ever calm and clear, Preserving in the memory of the fathers' deed, A never-failing fortress for their children's need. There we confirm our hearts to-day, and read On many a stone the signature of fame, The builder's mark, our Alma Mater's name.

IX

Bear with us then a moment, while we turn From all the present splendours of this place-- The lofty towers that like a dream have grown Where once old Nassau Hall stood all alone-- Back to that ancient time, with hearts that burn In filial gratitude, to trace The glory of our mother's best degree, In that "high son of Liberty," Who like a granite block, Riven from Scotland's rock, Stood loyal here to keep Columbia free. Born far away beyond the ocean's tide, He found his fatherland upon this side; And every drop of ardent blood that ran Through his great heart, was true American. He held no fealty to a distant throne, But made his new-found country's cause his own. In peril and distress, In toil and weariness, When darkness overcast her With shadows of disaster, And voices of confusion Proclaimed her hope delusion, Robed in his preacher's gown, He dared the danger down; Like some old prophet chanting an inspired rune In freedom's councils rang the voice of Witherspoon.

And thou, my country, write it on thy heart: _Thy sons are they who nobly take thy part; Who dedicates his manhood at thy shrine, Wherever born, is born a son of thine. Foreign in name, but not in soul, they come To find in thee their long desired home; Lovers of liberty and haters of disorder, They shall be built in strength along thy border._

Dream not thy future foes Will all be foreign-born! Turn thy clear look of scorn Upon thy children who oppose Their passions wild and policies of shame To wreck the righteous splendour of thy name. Untaught and overconfident they rise, With folly on their lips, and envy in their eyes: Strong to destroy, but powerless to create, And ignorant of all that made our fathers great, Their hands would take away thy golden crown, And shake the pillars of thy freedom down In Anarchy's ocean, dark and desolate. O should that storm descend, What fortress shall defend The land our fathers wrought for, The liberties they fought for? What bulwark shall secure Her shrines of law, and keep her founts of justice pure? Then, ah then, As in the olden days, The builders must upraise A rampart of indomitable men. And once again, Dear Mother, if thy heart and hand be true, There will be building work for thee to do; Yea, more than once again, Thou shalt win lasting praise, And never-dying honour shall be thine, For setting many stones in that illustrious line, To stand unshaken in the swirling strife, And guard their country's honour as her life.

X

Softly, my harp, and let me lay the touch Of silence on these rudely clanging strings; For he who sings Even of noble conflicts overmuch, Loses the inward sense of better things; And he who makes a boast Of knowledge, darkens that which counts the most,-- The insight of a wise humility That reverently adores what none can see. The glory of our life below Comes not from what we do, or what we know, But dwells forevermore in what we are. There is an architecture grander far Than all the fortresses of war, More inextinguishably bright Than learning's lonely towers of light. Framing its walls of faith and hope and love In souls of men, it lifts above The frailty of our earthly home An everlasting dome; The sanctuary of the human host, The living temple of the Holy Ghost.

XI

If music led the builders long ago, When Arthur planned the halls of Camelot, And made the royal city grow, Fair as a flower in that forsaken spot; What sweeter music shall we bring, To weave a harmony divine Of prayer and holy thought Into the labours of this loftier shrine, This consecrated hill, Where through so many a year Our Alma Mater's hand hath wrought, With toil serene and still, And heavenly hope, to rear Eternal dwellings for the Only King? Here let no martial trumpets blow, Nor instruments of pride proclaim The loud exultant notes of fame! But let the chords be clear and low, And let the anthem deeper grow, And let it move more solemnly and slow; For only such an ode Can seal the harmony Of that deep masonry Wherein the soul of man is framed for God's abode.

XII

O Thou whose boundless love bestows The joy of earth, the hope of Heaven, And whose unchartered mercy flows O'er all the blessings Thou hast given; Thou by whose light alone we see; And by whose truth our souls set free Are made imperishably strong; Hear Thou the solemn music of our song.

Grant us the knowledge that we need To solve the questions of the mind, And light our candle while we read, To keep our hearts from going blind; Enlarge our vision to behold The wonders Thou hast wrought of old; Reveal thyself in every law, And gild the towers of truth with holy awe.

Be Thou our strength if war's wild gust Shall rage around us, loud and fierce; Confirm our souls and let our trust Be like a shield that none can pierce; Renew the courage that prevails, The steady faith that never fails, And make us stand in every fight Firm as a fortress to defend the right.

O God, control us as Thou wilt, And guide the labour of our hand; Let all our work be surely built As Thou, the architect, hast planned; But whatso'er thy power shall make Of these frail lives, do not forsake Thy dwelling: let thy presence rest For ever in the temple of our breast.

SPIRIT OF THE EVERLASTING BOY

ODE FOR THE HUNDREDTH ANNIVERSARY OF LAWRENCEVILLE SCHOOL

June 11, 1910

I

The British bard who looked on Eton's walls, Endeared by distance in the pearly gray And soft aerial blue that ever falls On English landscape with the dying day, Beheld in thought his boyhood far away, Its random raptures and its festivals Of noisy mirth, The brief illusion of its idle joys, And mourned that none of these can stay With men, whom life inexorably calls To face the grim realities of earth. His pensive fancy pictured there at play From year to year the careless bands of boys, Unconscious victims kept in golden state, While haply they await The dark approach of disenchanting Fate, To hale them to the sacrifice Of Pain and Penury and Grief and Care, Slow-withering Age, or Failure's swift despair. Half-pity and half-envy dimmed the eyes Of that old poet, gazing on the scene Where long ago his youth had flowed serene, And all the burden of his ode was this: "Where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise."

II

But not for us, O plaintive elegist, Thine epicedial tone of sad farewell To joy in wisdom and to thought in youth! Our western Muse would keep her tryst With sunrise, not with sunset, and foretell In boyhood's bliss the dawn of manhood's truth.

III

O spirit of the everlasting boy, Alert, elate, And confident that life is good, Thou knockest boldly at the gate, In hopeful hardihood, Eager to enter and enjoy Thy new estate.

Through the old house thou runnest everywhere, Bringing a breath of folly and fresh air. Ready to make a treasure of each toy, Or break them all in discontented mood; Fearless of Fate, Yet strangely fearful of a comrade's laugh; Reckless and timid, hard and sensitive; In talk a rebel, full of mocking chaff, At heart devout conservative; In love with love, yet hating to be kissed; Inveterate optimist, And judge severe, In reason cloudy but in feeling clear; Keen critic, ardent hero-worshipper, Impatient of restraint in little ways, Yet ever ready to confer On chosen leaders boundless power and praise; Adventurous spirit burning to explore Untrodden paths where hidden danger lies, And homesick heart looking with wistful eyes Through every twilight to a mother's door; Thou daring, darling, inconsistent boy, How dull the world would be Without thy presence, dear barbarian, And happy lord of high futurity! Be what thou art, our trouble and our joy, Our hardest problem and our brightest hope! And while thine elders lead thee up the slope Of knowledge, let them learn from teaching thee That vital joy is part of nature's plan, And he who keeps the spirit of the boy Shall gladly grow to be a happy man.

IV

What constitutes a school? Not ancient halls and ivy-mantled towers, Where dull traditions rule With heavy hand youth's lightly springing powers; Not spacious pleasure courts, And lofty temples of athletic fame, Where devotees of sports Mistake a pastime for life's highest aim; Not fashion, nor renown Of wealthy patronage and rich estate; No, none of these can crown A school with light and make it truly great. But masters, strong and wise, Who teach because they love the teacher's task, And find their richest prize In eyes that open and in minds that ask; And boys, with heart aglow To try their youthful vigour on their work, Eager to learn and grow, And quick to hate a coward or a shirk: These constitute a school,-- A vital forge of weapons keen and bright, Where living sword and tool Are tempered for true toil or noble fight! But let not wisdom scorn The hours of pleasure in the playing fields: There also strength is born, And every manly game a virtue yields. Fairness and self-control, Good-humour, pluck, and patience in the race, Will make a lad heart-whole To win with honour, lose without disgrace. Ah, well for him who gains In such a school apprenticeship to life: With him the joy of youth remains In later lessons and in larger strife!

V

On Jersey's rolling plain, where Washington, In midnight marching at the head Of ragged regiments, his army led To Princeton's victory of the rising sun; Here in this liberal land, by battle won For Freedom and the rule Of equal rights for every child of man, Arose a democratic school, To train a virile race of sons to bear With thoughtful joy the name American, And serve the God who heard their father's prayer. No cloister, dreaming in a world remote From that real world wherein alone we live; No mimic court, where titled names denote A dignity that only worth can give; But here a friendly house of learning stood, With open door beside the broad highway, And welcomed lads to study and to play In generous rivalry of brotherhood. A hundred years have passed, and Lawrenceville, In beauty and in strength renewed, Stands with her open portal still, And neither time nor fortune brings To her deep spirit any change of mood, Or faltering from the faith she held of old. Still to the democratic creed she clings: That manhood needs nor rank nor gold To make it noble in our eyes; That every boy is born with royal right, From blissful ignorance to rise To joy more lasting and more bright, In mastery of body and of mind, King of himself and servant of mankind.

VI

Old Lawrenceville, Thy happy bell Shall ring to-day, O'er vale and hill, O'er mead and dell, While far away, With silent thrill, The echoes roll Through many a soul, That knew thee well, In boyhood's day, And loves thee still.

Ah, who can tell How far away, Some sentinel Of God's good will, In forest cool, Or desert gray, By lonely pool, Or barren hill, Shall faintly hear, With inward ear, The chiming bell, Of his old school, Through darkness pealing; And lowly kneeling, Shall feel the spell Of grateful tears His eyelids fill; And softly pray To Him who hears: God bless old Lawrenceville!

TEXAS

A DEMOCRATIC ODE [1]

I

THE WILD-BEES

All along the Brazos river, All along the Colorado, In the valleys and the lowlands Where the trees were tall and stately, In the rich and rolling meadows Where the grass was full of wild-flowers, Came a humming and a buzzing, Came the murmur of a going To and fro among the tree-tops, Far and wide across the meadows. And the red-men in their tepees Smoked their pipes of clay and listened. "What is this?" they asked in wonder; "Who can give the sound a meaning? Who can understand the language Of this going in the tree-tops?" Then the wisest of the Tejas Laid his pipe aside and answered: "O my brothers, these are people, Very little, winged people, Countless, busy, banded people, Coming humming through the timber. These are tribes of bees, united By a single aim and purpose, To possess the Tejas' country, Gather harvest from the prairies, Store their wealth among the timber. These are hive and honey makers, Sent by Manito to warn us That the white men now are coming, With their women and their children. Not the fiery filibusters Passing wildly in a moment, Like a flame across the prairies, Like a whirlwind through the forest, Leaving empty lands behind them! Not the Mexicans and Spaniards, Indolent and proud hidalgos, Dwelling in their haciendas, Dreaming, talking of tomorrow, While their cattle graze around them, And their fickle revolutions Change the rulers, not the people! Other folk are these who follow When the wild-bees come to warn us; These are hive and honey makers, These are busy, banded people, Roaming far to swarm and settle, Working every day for harvest, Fighting hard for peace and order, Worshipping as queens their women, Making homes and building cities Full of riches and of trouble. All our hunting-grounds must vanish, All our lodges fall before them, All our customs and traditions, All our happy life of freedom, Fade away like smoke before them. Come, my brothers, strike your tepees, Call your women, load your ponies! Let us take the trail to westward, Where the plains are wide and open, Where the bison-herds are gathered Waiting for our feathered arrows. We will live as lived our fathers, Gleaners of the gifts of nature, Hunters of the unkept cattle, Men whose women run to serve them. If the toiling bees pursue us, If the white men seek to tame us, We will fight them off and flee them, Break their hives and take their honey, Moving westward, ever westward, There to live as lived our fathers." So the red-men drove their ponies, With the tent-poles trailing after, Out along the path to sunset, While along the river valleys Swarmed the wild-bees, the forerunners; And the white men, close behind them, Men of mark from old Missouri, Men of daring from Kentucky, Tennessee, Louisiana, Men of many States and races, Bringing wives and children with them, Followed up the wooded valleys, Spread across the rolling prairies, Raising homes and reaping harvests. Rude the toil that tried their patience, Fierce the fights that proved their courage, Rough the stone and tough the timber Out of which they built their order! Yet they never failed nor faltered, And the instinct of their swarming Made them one and kept them working, Till their toil was crowned with triumph, And the country of the Tejas Was the fertile land of Texas.

II

THE LONE STAR