Part 14
O dear and holy sign, Lead onward like a star! The armies of the just are thine, And all we have and are.
October 20, 1918.
For the Red Cross Christmas Roll Call.
EASTER ROAD
1918
Under the cloud of world-wide war, While earth is drenched with sorrow, I have no heart for idle merrymaking, Or for the fashioning of glad raiment. I will retrace the divine footmarks, On the Road of the first Easter.
Down through the valley of utter darkness Dripping with blood and tears; Over the hill of the skull, the little hill of great anguish, The ambuscade of Death. Into the no-man's-land of Hades Bearing despatches of hope to spirits in prison, Mortally stricken and triumphant Went the faithful Captain of Salvation.
Then upward, swiftly upward,-- Victory, liberty, glory, The feet that were wounded walked in the tranquil garden, Bathed in dew and the light of deathless dawn.
O my soul, my comrades, soldiers of freedom, Follow the pathway of Easter, for there is no other, Follow it through to peace, yea, follow it fighting. This Armageddon is not darker than Calvary. The day will break when the Dragon is vanquished; He that exalteth himself as God shall be cast down, And the Lords of war shall fall, And the long, long terror be ended, Victory, justice, peace enduring! They that die in this cause shall live forever, And they that live shall never die, They shall rejoice together in the Easter of a new world.
March 31, 1918.
AMERICA'S WELCOME HOME
Oh, gallantly they fared forth in khaki and in blue, America's crusading host of warriors bold and true; They battled for the rights of man beside our brave Allies, And now they're coming home to us with glory in their eyes.
_Oh, it's home again, and home again, America for me! Our hearts are turning home again and there we long to be, In our beautiful big country beyond the ocean bars, Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars._
Our boys have seen the Old World as none have seen before. They know the grisly horror of the German gods of war: The noble faith of Britain and the hero-heart of France, The soul of Belgium's fortitude and Italy's romance.
They bore our country's great word across the rolling sea, "America swears brotherhood with all the just and free." They wrote that word victorious on fields of mortal strife, And many a valiant lad was proud to seal it with his life.
Oh, welcome home in Heaven's peace, dear spirits of the dead! And welcome home ye living sons America hath bred! The lords of war are beaten down, your glorious task is done; You fought to make the whole world free, and the victory is won.
_Now it's home again, and home again, our hearts are turning west, Of all the lands beneath the sun America is best. We're going home to our own folks, beyond the ocean bars, Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars._
November 11, 1918.
A sequel to "America For Me," written in 1909. Page 314.
THE SURRENDER OF THE GERMAN FLEET
Ship after ship, and every one with a high-resounding name, From the robber-nest of Heligoland the German war-fleet came; Not victory or death they sought, but a rendezvous of shame.
_Sing out, sing out, A joyful shout, Ye lovers of the sea! The "Kaiser" and the "Kaiserin," The "König" and the "Prinz," The potentates of piracy, Are coming to surrender, And the ocean shall be free._
They never dared the final fate of battle on the blue; Their sea-wolves murdered merchantmen and mocked the drowning crew; They stained the wave with martyr-blood,--but we sent our transports through!
What flags are these that dumbly droop from the gaff o' the mainmast tall? The black of the Kaiser's iron cross, the red of the Empire's fall! Come down, come down, ye pirate flags. Yea, strike your colors all.
The Union Jack and the Tricolor and the Starry Flag o' the West Shall guard the fruit of Freedom's war and the victory confest, The flags of the brave and just and free shall rule on the ocean's breast.
_Sing out, sing out, A mighty shout, Ye lovers of the sea! The "Kaiser" and the "Kaiserin," The "König" and the "Prinz," The robber-lords of death and sin, Have come to their surrender, And the ocean shall be free!_
November 20, 1918.
GOLDEN STARS
I
It was my lot of late to travel far Through all America's domain, A willing, gray-haired servitor Bearing the Fiery Cross of righteous war. And everywhere, on mountain, vale and plain, In crowded street and lonely cottage door, I saw the symbol of the bright blue star. Millions of stars! Rejoice, dear land, rejoice That God hath made thee great enough to give Beneath thy starry flag unfurled A gift to all the world,-- Thy living sons that Liberty might live.
II
It seems but yesterday they sallied forth Boys of the east, the west, the south, the north, High-hearted, keen, with laughter and with song, Fearless of lurking danger on the sea, Eager to fight in Flanders or in France Against the monstrous German wrong, And sure of victory! Brothers in soul with British and with French They held their ground in many a bloody trench; And when the swift word came-- _Advance!_ Over the top they went through waves of flame,-- Confident, reckless, irresistible, Real Americans,-- Their rush was never stayed Until the foe fell back, defeated and dismayed. O land that bore them, write upon thy roll Of battles won To liberate the human soul, Château Thierry and Saint Mihiel And the fierce agony of the Argonne; Yea, count among thy little rivers, dear Because of friends whose feet have trodden there, The Marne, the Meuse, and the Moselle.
III
Now the vile sword In Potsdam forged and bathed in hell, Is beaten down, the victory given To the sword forged in faith and bathed in heaven. Now home again our heroes come: Oh, welcome them with bugle and with drum, Ring bells, blow whistles, make a joyful noise Unto the Lord, And welcome home our blue-star boys, Whose manhood has made known To all the world America, Unselfish, brave and free, the Great Republic, Who lives not to herself alone.
IV
But many a lad we hold Dear in our heart of hearts Is missing from the home-returning host. Ah, say not they are lost, For they have found and given their life In sacrificial strife: Their service stars have changed from blue to gold! That sudden rapture took them far away, Yet are they here with us to-day, Even as the heavenly stars we cannot see Through the bright veil of sunlight, Shed their influence still On our vexed life, and promise peace From God to all men of good will.
V
What wreaths shall we entwine For our dear boys to deck their holy shrine? Mountain-laurel, morning-glory, Goldenrod and asters blue, Purple loosestrife, prince's-pine, Wild-azalea, meadow-rue, Nodding-lilies, columbine,-- All the native blooms that grew In these fresh woods and pastures new, Wherein they loved to ramble and to play. Bring no exotic flowers: America was in their hearts, And they are ours For ever and a day.
VI
O happy warriors, forgive the tear Falling from eyes that miss you: Forgive the word of grief from mother-lips That ne'er on earth shall kiss you; Hear only what our hearts would have you hear,-- Glory and praise and gratitude and pride From the dear country in whose cause you died. Now you have run your race and won your prize, Old age shall never burden you, the fears And conflicts that beset our lingering years Shall never vex your souls in Paradise. Immortal, young, and crowned with victory, From life's long battle you have found release. And He who died for all on Calvary Has welcomed you, brave soldiers of the cross, Into eternal Peace.
VII
Come, let us gird our loins and lift our load, Companions who are left on life's rough road, And bravely take the way that we must tread To keep true faith with our beloved dead. To conquer war they dared their lives to give, To safeguard peace our hearts must learn to live. Help us, dear God, our forward faith to hold! We want a better world than that of old. Lead us on paths of high endeavor, Toiling upward, climbing ever, Ready to suffer for the right, Until at last we gain a loftier height, More worthy to behold Our guiding stars, our hero-stars of gold.
Ode for the Memorial Service, Princeton University, December 15, 1918.
IN THE BLUE HEAVEN
In the blue heaven the clouds will come and go, Scudding before the gale, or drifting slow As galleons becalmed in Sundown Bay: And through the air the birds will wing their way Soaring to far-off heights, or flapping low, Or darting like an arrow from the bow; And when the twilight comes the stars will show, One after one, their tranquil bright array In the blue heaven.
But ye who fearless flew to meet the foe, Eagles of freedom,--nevermore, we know, Shall we behold you floating far away. Yet clouds and birds and every starry ray Will draw our heart to where your spirits glow In the blue Heaven.
For the American Aviators who died in the war.
March, 1919.
A SHRINE IN THE PANTHEON
FOR THE UNNAMED SOLDIERS WHO DIED IN FRANCE
Universal approval has been accorded the proposal made in the French Chamber that the ashes of an unnamed French soldier, fallen for his country, shall be removed with solemn ceremony to the Pantheon. In this way it is intended to honor by a symbolic ceremony the memory of all who lie in unmarked graves.
Here the great heart of France, Victor in noble strife, Doth consecrate a Poilu's tomb To those who saved her life!
Brave son without a name, Your country calls you home, To rest among her heirs of fame, Beneath the Pantheon's dome!
Now from the height of Heaven, The souls of heroes look; Their names, ungraven on this stone, Are written in God's book.
Women of France, who mourn Your dead in unmarked ground, Come hither! Here the man you loved In the heart of France is found!
IN PRAISE OF POETS
MOTHER EARTH
Mother of all the high-strung poets and singers departed, Mother of all the grass that weaves over their graves the glory of the field, Mother of all the manifold forms of life, deep-bosomed, patient, impassive, Silent brooder and nurse of lyrical joys and sorrows! Out of thee, yea, surely out of the fertile depth below thy breast, Issued in some strange way, thou lying motionless, voiceless, All these songs of nature, rhythmical, passionate, yearning. Coming in music from earth, but not unto earth returning.
Dust are the blood-red hearts that beat in time to these measures, Thou hast taken them back to thyself, secretly, irresistibly Drawing the crimson currents of life down, down, down Deep into thy bosom again, as a river is lost in the sand. But the souls of the singers have entered into the songs that revealed them,-- Passionate songs, immortal songs of joy and grief and love and longing, Floating from heart to heart of thy children, they echo above thee: Do they not utter thy heart, the voices of those that love thee?
Long hadst thou lain like a queen transformed by some old enchantment Into an alien shape, mysterious, beautiful, speechless, Knowing not who thou wert, till the touch of thy Lord and Lover Wakened the man-child within thee to tell thy secret. All of thy flowers and birds and forests and flowing waters Are but the rhythmical forms to reveal the life of the spirit; Thou thyself, earth-mother, in mountain and meadow and ocean, Holdest the poem of God, eternal thought and emotion.
December, 1905.
MILTON
I
Lover of beauty, walking on the height Of pure philosophy and tranquil song; Born to behold the visions that belong To those who dwell in melody and light; Milton, thou spirit delicate and bright! What drew thee down to join the Roundhead throng Of iron-sided warriors, rude and strong, Fighting for freedom in a world half night?
Lover of Liberty at heart wast thou, Above all beauty bright, all music clear: To thee she bared her bosom and her brow, Breathing her virgin promise in thine ear, And bound thee to her with a double vow,-- Exquisite Puritan, grave Cavalier!
II
The cause, the cause for which thy soul resigned Her singing robes to battle on the plain, Was won, O poet, and was lost again; And lost the labour of thy lonely mind On weary tasks of prose. What wilt thou find To comfort thee for all the toil and pain? What solace, now thy sacrifice is vain And thou art left forsaken, poor, and blind?
Like organ-music comes the deep reply: "The cause of truth looks lost, but shall be won. For God hath given to mine inward eye Vision of England soaring to the sun. And granted me great peace before I die, In thoughts of lowly duty bravely done."
III
O bend again above thine organ-board, Thou blind old poet longing for repose! Thy Master claims thy service not with those Who only stand and wait for His reward; He pours the heavenly gift of song restored Into thy breast, and bids thee nobly close A noble life, with poetry that flows In mighty music of the major chord.
Where hast thou learned this deep, majestic strain, Surpassing all thy youthful lyric grace, To sing of Paradise? Ah, not in vain The griefs that won at Dante's side thy place, And made thee, Milton, by thy years of pain, The loftiest poet of the English race!
1908.
WORDSWORTH
Wordsworth, thy music like a river rolls Among the mountains, and thy song is fed By living springs far up the watershed; No whirling flood nor parching drought controls The crystal current: even on the shoals It murmurs clear and sweet; and when its bed Deepens below mysterious cliffs of dread, Thy voice of peace grows deeper in our souls.
But thou in youth hast known the breaking stress Of passion, and hast trod despair's dry ground Beneath black thoughts that wither and destroy. Ah, wanderer, led by human tenderness Home to the heart of Nature, thou hast found The hidden Fountain of Recovered Joy.
October, 1906.
KEATS
The melancholy gift Aurora gained From Jove, that her sad lover should not see The face of death, no goddess asked for thee, My Keats! But when the scarlet blood-drop stained Thy pillow, thou didst read the fate ordained,-- Brief life, wild love, a flight of poesy! And then,--a shadow fell on Italy: Thy star went down before its brightness waned.
Yet thou hast won the gift Tithonus missed: Never to feel the pain of growing old, Nor lose the blissful sight of beauty's truth, But with the ardent lips Urania kissed To breathe thy song, and, ere thy heart grew cold, Become the Poet of Immortal Youth.
August, 1906.
SHELLEY
Knight-errant of the Never-ending Quest, And Minstrel of the Unfulfilled Desire; For ever tuning thy frail earthly lyre To some unearthly music, and possessed With painful passionate longing to invest The golden dream of Love's immortal fire With mortal robes of beautiful attire, And fold perfection to thy throbbing breast!
What wonder, Shelley, that the restless wave Should claim thee and the leaping flame consume Thy drifted form on Viareggio's beach? These were thine elements,--thy fitting grave. But still thy soul rides on with fiery plume, Thy wild song rings in ocean's yearning speech!
August, 1906.
ROBERT BROWNING
How blind the toil that burrows like the mole, In winding graveyard pathways underground, For Browning's lineage! What if men have found Poor footmen or rich merchants on the roll Of his forbears? Did they beget his soul? Nay, for he came of ancestry renowned Through all the world,--the poets laurel-crowned With wreaths from which the autumn takes no toll.
The blazons on his coat-of-arms are these: The flaming sign of Shelley's heart on fire, The golden globe of Shakespeare's human stage, The staff and scrip of Chaucer's pilgrimage, The rose of Dante's deep, divine desire, The tragic mask of wise Euripides.
November, 1906.
TENNYSON
In Lucem Transitus, October, 1892
From the misty shores of midnight, touched with splendours of the moon, To the singing tides of heaven, and the light more clear than noon, Passed a soul that grew to music till it was with God in tune.
Brother of the greatest poets, true to nature, true to art; Lover of Immortal Love, uplifter of the human heart; Who shall cheer us with high music, who shall sing, if thou depart?
Silence here--for love is silent, gazing on the lessening sail; Silence here--for grief is voiceless when the mighty minstrels fail; Silence here--but far beyond us, many voices crying, Hail!
"IN MEMORIAM"
The record of a faith sublime, And hope, through clouds, far-off discerned; The incense of a love that burned Through pain and doubt defying Time:
The story of a soul at strife That learned at last to kiss the rod, And passed through sorrow up to God, From living to a higher life:
A light that gleams across the wave Of darkness, down the rolling years, Piercing the heavy mist of tears-- A rainbow shining o'er a grave.
VICTOR HUGO
1802-1902
Heart of France for a hundred years, Passionate, sensitive, proud, and strong, Quick to throb with her hopes and fears, Fierce to flame with her sense of wrong! You, who hailed with a morning song Dream-light gilding a throne of old: You, who turned when the dream grew cold, Singing still, to the light that shone Pure from Liberty's ancient throne, Over the human throng! You, who dared in the dark eclipse,-- When the pygmy heir of a giant name Dimmed the face of the land with shame,-- Speak the truth with indignant lips, Call him little whom men called great, Scoff at him, scorn him, deny him, Point to the blood on his robe of state, Fling back his bribes and defy him!
You, who fronted the waves of fate As you faced the sea from your island home, Exiled, yet with a soul elate, Sending songs o'er the rolling foam, Bidding the heart of man to wait For the day when all should see Floods of wrath from the frowning skies Fall on an Empire founded in lies, And France again be free! You, who came in the Terrible Year Swiftly back to your broken land, Now to your heart a thousand times more dear,-- Prayed for her, sung to her, fought for her, Patiently, fervently wrought for her, Till once again, After the storm of fear and pain, High in the heavens the star of France stood clear!
You, who knew that a man must take Good and ill with a steadfast soul, Holding fast, while the billows roll Over his head, to the things that make Life worth living for great and small, Honour and pity and truth, The heart and the hope of youth, And the good God over all! You, to whom work was rest, Dauntless Toiler of the Sea, Following ever the joyful quest Of beauty on the shores of old Romance, Bard of the poor of France, And warrior-priest of world-wide charity! You who loved little children best Of all the poets that ever sung, Great heart, golden heart, Old, and yet ever young, Minstrel of liberty, Lover of all free, winged things, Now at last you are free,-- Your soul has its wings! Heart of France for a hundred years, Floating far in the light that never fails you, Over the turmoil of mortal hopes and fears Victor, forever victor, the whole world hails you!
March, 1902.
LONGFELLOW
In a great land, a new land, a land full of labour and riches and confusion, Where there were many running to and fro, and shouting, and striving together, In the midst of the hurry and the troubled noise, I heard the voice of one singing.
"What are you doing there, O man, singing quietly amid all this tumult? This is the time for new inventions, mighty shoutings, and blowings of the trumpet." But he answered, "I am only shepherding my sheep with music."
So he went along his chosen way, keeping his little flock around him; And he paused to listen, now and then, beside the antique fountains, Where the faces of forgotten gods were refreshed with musically falling waters;
Or he sat for a while at the blacksmith's door, and heard the cling-clang of the anvils; Or he rested beneath old steeples full of bells, that showered their chimes upon him; Or he walked along the border of the sea, drinking in the long roar of the billows;
Or he sunned himself in the pine-scented shipyard, amid the tattoo of the mallets; Or he leaned on the rail of the bridge, letting his thoughts flow with the whispering river; He hearkened also to ancient tales, and made them young again with his singing.
Then a flaming arrow of death fell on his flock, and pierced the heart of his dearest! Silent the music now, as the shepherd entered the mystical temple of sorrow: Long he tarried in darkness there: but when he came out he was singing.
And I saw the faces of men and women and children silently turning toward him; The youth setting out on the journey of life, and the old man waiting beside the last mile-stone; The toiler sweating beneath his load; and the happy mother rocking her cradle;
The lonely sailor on far-off seas; and the gray-minded scholar in his book-room; The mill-hand bound to a clacking machine; and the hunter in the forest; And the solitary soul hiding friendless in the wilderness of the city;
Many human faces, full of care and longing, were drawn irresistibly toward him, By the charm of something known to every heart, yet very strange and lovely, And at the sound of his singing wonderfully all their faces were lightened.
"Why do you listen, O you people, to this old and world-worn music? This is not for you, in the splendour of a new age, in the democratic triumph! Listen to the clashing cymbals, the big drums, the brazen trumpets of your poets."
But the people made no answer, following in their hearts the simpler music: For it seemed to them, noise-weary, nothing could be better worth the hearing Than the melodies which brought sweet order into life's confusion.
So the shepherd sang his way along, until he came unto a mountain: And I know not surely whether the mountain was called Parnassus, But he climbed it out of sight, and still I heard the voice of one singing.
January, 1907.
THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH
I
BIRTHDAY VERSES, 1906
Dear Aldrich, now November's mellow days Have brought another _Festa_ round to you, You can't refuse a loving-cup of praise From friends the fleeting years have bound to you.
Here come your Marjorie Daw, your dear Bad Boy, Prudence, and Judith the Bethulian, And many more, to wish you birthday joy, And sunny hours, and sky cerulean!
Your children all, they hurry to your den, With wreaths of honour they have won for you, To merry-make your threescore years and ten. You, old? Why, life has just begun for you!
There's many a reader whom your silver songs And crystal stories cheer in loneliness. What though the newer writers come in throngs? You're sure to keep your charm of only-ness.