III
For now the former things have passed away,
And man, forgetting that which lies behind,
And ever pressing forward, seeks to find
The prize of his high calling. Send a ray
From art’s bright sun to fortify the day,
And blaze the trail to every mortal mind.
The new religion lies in being kind;
Faith stands and works, where once it knelt to pray;
Faith counts its gain, where once it reckoned loss;
Ascending paths its patient feet have trod;
Man looks within, and finds salvation there.
Release the suffering Saviour from the Cross,
And give the waiting world its Radiant God.
AT BAY
Wife
Reach out your arms, and hold me close and fast.
Tell me there are no memories of your past
That mar this love of ours, so great, so vast.
Husband
Some truths are cheapened when too oft averred.
Does not the deed speak louder than the word?
(Dear God, that old dream woke again and stirred.)
Wife
As you love me, you never loved before?
Though oft you say it, say it yet once more.
My heart is jealous of those days of yore.
Husband
Sweet wife, dear comrade, mother of my child,
My life is yours by memory undefiled.
(It stirs again, that passion brief and wild.)
You never knew a happier hour than this?
We two alone, our hearts surcharged with bliss,
Nor other kisses, sweet as my own kiss?
Husband
I was a thirsty field, long parched with drouth;
You were the warm rain, blowing from the south.
(But, ah, the crimson madness of her mouth!)
Wife
You would not, if you could, go down life’s track
For just one little moment and bring back
Some vanished rapture that you miss or lack?
Husband
I am content. You are my life, my all.
(One burning hour, but one, could I recall;
God, how men lie when driven to the wall!)
THE BIRTH OF JEALOUSY
With brooding mien and sultry eyes,
Outside the gates of Paradise
Eve sat, and fed the faggot flame
That lit the path whence Adam came.
(Strange are the workings of a woman’s mind.)
His giant shade preceded him,
Along the pathway green, and dim;
She heard his swift approaching tread,
But still she sat with drooping head.
(Dark are the jungles of unhappy thought.)
He kissed her mouth, and gazed within
Her troubled eyes; for since their sin,
His love had grown a thousand fold.
But Eve drew back; her face was cold.
(Oh, who can read the cipher of a soul.)
‘Now art thou mourning still, sweet wife?’
Spake Adam tenderly, ‘the life
Of our lost Eden? Why, in thee
All Paradise remains for me.’
(Deep, deep the currents in a strong man’s heart.)
Thus Eve: ‘Nay, not lost Eden’s bliss
I mourn; for heavier woe than this
Wears on me with one thought accursed.
In Adam’s life I am not first.
(O woman’s mind! what hells are fashioned there.)
‘The serpent whispered Lilith’s name:
(’Twas thus he drove me to my shame)
Pluck yonder fruit, he said, and know,
How Adam loved her, long ago.
(Fools, fools, who wander searching after pain.)
‘I ate; and like an ancient scroll,
I saw that other life unroll;
I saw thee, Adam, far from here
With Lilith on a wondrous sphere.
(Bold, bold, the daring of a jealous heart.)
‘Nay, tell me not I dreamed it all;
Last night in sleep thou didst let fall
Her name in tenderness; I bowed
My stricken head and cried aloud.
(Vast, vast the torment of a self-made woe.)
‘And it was then, and not before,
That Eden shut and barred its door.
Alone in God’s great world I seemed,
Whilst thou of thy lost Lilith dreamed.
(Oh, who can measure such wide loneliness.)
‘Now every little breeze that sings,
Sighs Lilith, like thy whisperings.
Oh, where can sorrow hide its face,
When Lilith, Lilith, fills all space?’
(And Adam in the darkness spake no word.)
SUMMER’S FAREWELL
All in the time when Earth did most deplore
The cold, ungracious aspect of young May,
Sweet Summer came, and bade him smile once more;
She wove bright garlands, and in winsome play
She bound him willing captive. Day by day
She found new wiles wherewith his heart to please;
Or bright the sun, or if the skies were gray,
They laughed together, under spreading trees,
By running brooks, or on the sandy shores of seas.
They were but comrades. To that radiant maid
No serious word he spake; no lovers’ plea.
Like careless children, glad and unafraid,
They sported in their opulence of glee.
Her shining tresses floated wild and free;
In simple lines her emerald garments hung;
She was both good to hear, and fair to see;
And when she laughed, then Earth laughed too, and flung
His cares behind him, and grew radiant and young.
One golden day, as he reclined beneath
The arching azure of enchanting skies,
Fair Summer came, engirdled with a wreath
Of gorgeous leaves all scintillant with dyes.
Effulgent was she; yet within her eyes,
There hung a quivering mist of tears unshed.
Her crimson-mantled bosom shook with sighs;
Above him bent the glory of her head;
And on his mouth she pressed a splendid kiss, and fled.
THE GOAL
All roads that lead to God are good;
What matters it, your faith, or mine;
Both centre at the goal divine
Of love’s eternal Brotherhood.
The kindly life in house or street;
The life of prayer, and mystic rite;
The student’s search for truth and light;
These paths at one great junction meet.
Before the oldest book was writ,
Full many a prehistoric soul
Arrived at this unchanging goal,
Through changeless love, that led to it.
What matters that one found his Christ
In rising sun, or burning fire;
If faith within him did not tire,
His longing for the truth sufficed.
Before our ‘Christian’ hell was brought
To edify a modern world,
Full many a hate-filled soul was hurled
In lakes of fire by its own thought.
A thousand creeds have come and gone;
But what is that to you or me?
Creeds are but branches of a tree,
The root of love lives on and on.
Though branch by branch proves withered wood,
The root is warm with precious wine;
Then keep your faith, and leave me mine;
All roads that lead to God are good.
CHRIST CRUCIFIED
Now ere I slept, my prayer had been that I might see my way
To do the will of Christ, our Lord and Master, day by day;
And with this prayer upon my lips, I knew not that I dreamed,
But suddenly the world of night a pandemonium seemed.
From forest, and from slaughter house, from bull ring, and from stall,
There rose an anguished cry of pain, a loud, appealing call;
As man—the dumb beast’s next of kin—with gun, and whip, and knife,
Went pleasure-seeking through the earth, blood-bent on taking life.
From trap, and cage, and house, and zoo, and street, that awful strain
Of tortured creatures rose and swelled the orchestra of pain.
And then methought the gentle Christ appeared to me, and spoke:
‘I called you, but ye answered not’—and in my fear I woke.
Then next I heard the roar of mills; and moving through the noise,
Like phantoms in an underworld, were little girls and boys.
Their backs were bent, their brows were pale, their eyes were sad and old;
But by the labour of their hands greed added gold to gold.
Again the Presence and the Voice: ‘Behold the crimes I see,
As ye have done it unto these, so have ye done to me.’
Again I slept. I seemed to climb a hard, ascending track;
And just behind me laboured one whose patient face was black.
I pitied him; but hour by hour he gained upon the path;
He stood beside me, stood upright—and then I turned in wrath.
‘Go back!’ I cried. ‘What right have you to walk beside me here?
For you are black, and I am white.’ I paused, struck dumb with fear.
For lo! the black man was not there, but Christ stood in his place;
And oh! the pain, the pain, the pain that looked from that dear face.
Now when I woke, the air was rife with that sweet, rhythmic din
Which tells the world that Christ has come to save mankind from sin.
And through the open door of church and temple passed a throng,
To worship Him with bended knee, with sermon, and with song.
But over all I heard the cry of hunted, mangled things;
Those creatures which are part of God, though they have hoofs and wings.
I saw in mill, and mine, and shop, the little slaves of greed;
I heard the strife of race with race, all sprung from one God-seed.
And then I bowed my head in shame, and in contrition cried—
‘Lo, after nineteen hundred years, Christ still is Crucified.’
THE TRIP TO MARS
Oh! by and by we shall hear the cry,
‘This is the way to Mars.’
Come take a trip, on the morning Ship;
It sails by the Isle of Stars.
‘A glorious view of planets new
We promise by night and day.
Past dying suns our good ship runs,
And we pause at the Milky Way.’
I am almost sure we will take that tour
Together, my dear, my dear.
For, ever have we, by land and sea,
Gone journeying far and near.
Out over the deep—o’er mountain steep,
We have travelled mile on mile;
And to sail away to the Martian Bay,
Oh! that were a trip worth while.
Our ship will race through seas of space
Up into the Realms of Light,
Till the whirling ball of the earth grows small,
And is utterly lost to sight.
Through the nebulous spawn where planets are born,
We shall pass with sails well furled,
And with eager eyes we will scan the skies,
For the sights of a new-made world.
From the derelict barque of a sun gone dark,
Adrift on our fair ship’s path,
A beacon star shall guide us afar,
And far from the comet’s wrath.
Oh! many a start of pulse and heart
We have felt at the sights of land.
But what would we do if the dream came true,
And we sighted the Martian strand?
So, if some day you come and say,
They are sailing to Mars, I hear.
I want you to know I am ready to go,—
All ready, my dear, my dear.
FICTION AND FACT
In books I read, how men have lived and died,
With hopeless love deep in their bosoms hidden.
While she for whom they long in secret sighed,
Went on her way, nor guessed this flame unbidden.
In real life, I never chanced to see
The woman who was loved, and did not know it,
And observation proves this fact to me:
No man can love a woman and not show it.
PROGRESS
There is no progress in the world of bees,
However wise and wonderful they are.
Their wisdom makes not increase. Lies the bar,
To wider goals, in that tense strife to please
A Sovereign Ruler? Forth from flowers to trees
Their little quest is; not from star to star.
This is not growth; the mighty avatar
Comes not to do his work with such as these.
So in the world of men; when legions toil
To feed a Monarch, and begem a crown,
They build before high heaven a narrowing wall
And the great purpose of Creation spoil.
Not on, and upward, is the trend, but down;
The Race can rise but with the rise of all.
HOW THE WHITE ROSE CAME
The roses all were pink and red,
Before the Bumble Bee,
A lover bold, with cloak of gold,
Came singing merrily
Along the sunlit ways that led
From woodland, and from lea.
He paused beside an opening rose,
The garden’s pet and pride;
She burst in flower that very hour,
While wooing zephyrs sighed;
No smile had she for one of those,
And hope within them died.
The ardent butterfly in vain
On radiant wings drew near;
The hapless moth in vain grew wroth—
The fair rose leaned to hear
The deep-voiced stranger’s low refrain
That thrilled upon her ear.
She gave her heart in love’s delight
And let the whole world see;
Alas! one day, away, away,
Sped truant Bumble Bee;
’Twas then the red rose turned to white—
So was the tale told me.
I LOOK TO SCIENCE
I look to Science for the cure of Crime;
To patient righting of a thousand wrongs;
To final healing of a thousand ills.
Blind runner now, and cruel egotist
It yet leads on to more than mortal sight,
And the large knowledge that means humbleness,
And tender love for all created things.
I look to Science for the Coming Race
Growing from seed selected; and from soil
Love fertilised; and pruned by wisdom’s hand,
Till out of mortal man spring demi-gods,
Strong primal creatures with awakened souls
And normal passions, governed by the will,
Leaving a trail of glory where they tread.
I look to Science for the growth of faith.
That bold denier of accepted creeds—
That mighty doubter of accepted truths—
Shall yet reveal God’s secrets to the world,
And prove the facts it seeks to overthrow.
And a new name shall Science henceforth bear—
The Great Religion of the Universe.
APPRECIATION
They prize not most the opulence of June
Who from the year’s beginning to its close
Dwell, where unfading verdure tireless grows,
And where sweet summer’s harp is kept in tune.
We must have listened to the winter’s rune,
And felt impatient longings for the rose,
Ere its full radiance on our vision glows,
Or with its fragrant soul, we can commune.
Not they most prize life’s blessings, and delights,
Who walk in safe and sunny paths alway.
But those, who, groping in the darkness, borrow
Pale rays from hope, to lead them through the night,
And in the long, long watches wait for day.
He knows not joy who has not first known sorrow.
THE AWAKENING
I love the tropics, where sun and rain
Go forth together, a joyous train,
To hold up the green, gay side of the world,
And to keep earth’s banners of bloom unfurled.
I love the scents that are hidden there
By housekeeper Time, in her chests of air:
Strange and subtle and all a-rife,
With vague lost dreams of a bygone life.
They steal upon you by night and day,
But never a whiff can you take away:
And never a song of a tropic bird
Outside of its palm-decked land is heard.
And nowhere else can you know the sweet
Soft, ‘joy-in-nothing,’ that comes with the heat
Of tropic regions. And yet, and yet,
If in evergreen worlds my way were set
I would span the waters of widest seas
To see the wonder of waking trees;
To feel the shock of sudden delight
That comes when the orchard has changed in a night,
From the winter nun to the bride of May,
And the harp of Spring is attuned to play
The wedding march, and the sun is priest,
And the world is bidden to join the feast.
Oh, never is felt in a tropic clime,
Where the singing of birds is a ceaseless chime,
That leap o’ the blood, and the rapture thrill,
That comes to us here, with the first bird’s trill;
And only the eye that has looked on snows
Can see the beauty that lies in a rose.
The lure of the tropics I understand,
But ho! for the Spring in my native land.
MOST BLEST IS HE
Most blest is he who in the morning time
Sets forth upon his journey with no staff
Shaped by another for his use. Who sees
The imminent necessity for toil,
And with each morning wakens to the thought
Of tasks that wait his doing. Never yet
Has unearned leisure and the gift of gold
Bestowed such benefits upon the young
As need and loneliness; and when life adds
The burden of a duty, difficult,
And hard to carry, then rejoice, O soul!
And know thyself one chosen for high things.
Behind thee walk the Helpers. Yet lead on!
They only help the lifters, and they give
But unto those who also freely give.
Not till thy will, thy courage, and thy strength
Have done their utmost, and thy love has flowed
In pity and compassion, out to all
(The worthless, the ungrateful, and the weak,
As well as to the worthy and the strong)
Canst thou receive invisible support.
Do first thy part, and all of it, before
Asking the helpers to do aught for thee.
For this alone the Universe exists,
That man may find himself is Destiny.
NIRVANA
A drop of water risen from the ocean
Forgot its cause, and spake with deep emotion
Unto a passing breeze. ‘How desolate
And all forlorn is my unhappy fate.
I know not whence I came, or where I go.
Scorched by the sun, or chilled by winds that blow,
I dwell in space a little time, then pass
Out into the night and nothingness—alas!’
‘Nay,’ quoth the breeze, ‘my friend, that cannot be.
Thou dost reflect the Universe to me.
Look at thine own true self, and there behold
A world of light, all scintillant with gold.’
Just there the drop sank back into the wave
From whence it came. Nay, that was not its grave!
It lived, it moved, it was a joyous part
Of that strong palpitating ocean heart;
Its little dream of loneliness was done;
It woke to find, Self, and Cause, were one.
So shalt thou wake, sad mortal, when thy course
Has run its karmic round, and reached the Source,
And even now thou dost reflect the whole
Of God’s great glory in thy shining soul.
LIFE
Oh! I feel the growing glory
Of our life upon this sphere,
Of the life that like a river
Runs forever and forever,
From the somewhere to the here,
And still on and onward flowing,
Leads us out to larger knowing,
Through the hidden, to the clear.
And I feel a deep thanksgiving
For the sorrows I have known;
For the worries and the crosses,
And the grieving and the losses,
That along my path were sown.
Now the great eternal meaning
Of each trouble I am gleaning,
And the harvest is my own.
I am opulent with knowledge
Of the Purpose and the Cause.
And I go my way rejoicing,
And in singing seek the voicing
Of love’s never-failing laws.
From the now, unto the Yonder,
Full of beauty and of wonder,
Life flows ever without pause.
And I feel the exaltation
Of a child that loves its play,
Though the ranks of friends are thinning,
Still the end is but beginning
Of a larger, fuller day,
And the joy of life is spilling
From my spirit, as all willing
I go speeding on my way.
TWO MEN
So much one thought about the life beyond
He did not drain the waters of his pond;
And when death laid his children ’neath the sod
He called it—‘the mysterious will of God.’
He would not strive for worldly gain, not he.
His wealth, he said, was stored in God’s To Be.
He kept his mortal body poorly drest,
And talked about the garments of the blest.
And when to his last sleep he laid him down,
His only mourner begged her widow’s gown.
One was not sure there was a life to come,
So made an Eden of his earthly home.
He strove for wealth, and with an open hand
He comforted the needy in his land.
He wore new garments often, and the old
Helped many a brother to keep out the cold.
He said this life was such a little span
Man ought to make the most of it,—for man.
And when he died the fortune that he left
Gave succour to the needy and bereft.
ONLY BE STILL
‘Only be still, and in the silence grow,’
If thou art seeking what the gods bestow.
This is the simple, safe, and certain way
That leads to knowledge for which all men pray
Of higher laws to govern things below.
But in our restless discontent we go
With noisy importuning day on day—
Drowning the inner voice that strives to say
‘Only be still, and in the silence grow.’
We doubt, we cavil, and we talk of woe—
We delve in books, and waste our forces so;
We cling to creeds that were not meant to stay,
And close our ears to Truth’s immortal lay.
Oh wouldst thou see, and understand, and know?
‘Only be still, and in the silence grow.’
PARDONED OUT
I’m pardoned out. Again the stars
Shine on me with their myriad eyes.
So long I’ve peered ’twixt iron bars,
I’m awed by this expanse of skies.
The world is wider than I thought,
And yet ’tis not so wide, I know,
But into its remotest spot
My tale of shame can go.
I’m pardoned out. Old Father Time
Who seemed to halt in horror, when
I stained my manhood by a crime,
With steady step moves on again,
And through the black appalling night,
That walled me in a gloom accurst,
The wonder of the morning light
In sudden glory burst.
I’m pardoned out. I shall be known
No more by number, but by name.
And yet each whispering wind has blown
Abroad the story of my shame.
I dread to see men shrink away
With startled looks of scorn or fear,
When in life’s crowded marts some day,
That name falls on their ear.
I’m pardoned out, ah God! to roam
Like some whipped dog among my kind.
I have no friends, I have no home,
Save these bleak walls I leave behind.
How can I face the world of men,
My comrades in the days of yore?
Oh! hide me in my cell again,
And, warden, lock the door.
THE TIDES
Oh, vain is the stern protesting
Of winds, when the tide runs high;
And vainly the deep-sea waters
Call out, as the waves speed by;
For, deaf to the claim of the ocean,
To the threat of the loud winds dumb,
Past reef and bar, to shores afar,
They rush when the hour is come.
Vainly the tempest thunders,
Of unsexed waves that roam,
Away from the mid-sea calmness,
Where Nature made their home.
For the voice of the great Moon-Mother,
Has spoken and said, ‘Be free.’
And the tide must go to the strong full flow,
In the time of the perigee.
So vain is the cry of the masters,
And vain the plea of the hearth;
As the ranks of the strange New Woman
Go sweeping across the earth.
They have come from hall and hovel,
They have pushed through door and gate;
On the world’s highway they are crowded to-day,
For the hour is the hour of fate.
Many are hurt in the crowding,
The light of the home burns dim;
And man is aghast at the changes,
Though all can be traced to him.
They sat too long at the hearthstone,
And sat too oft alone:
And the silence spoke, and their souls awoke,
And now they must claim their own.
Let no man hope to hinder,
Let no man bid them pause:
They are moved by a hidden purpose,
They follow resistless laws.
And out of the wreck and chaos
Of the order that used to be,
A strong new race shall take its place
In a world we are yet to see.
Oh, ever has man been leader,
Yet failed as woman’s guide.
It is better that she step forward,
And take her place at his side.
For only from greater woman,
May come the greater man,
Through life’s long quest they should walk abreast—
As was meant by the primal plan.
PROGRESSION
To each progressive soul there comes a day
When all things that have pleased and satisfied
Grow flavourless, the springs of joy seem dried.
No more the waters of youth’s fountains play;
Yet out of reach, tiptoeing as they may,
The more mature and higher pleasures hide.
Life, like a careless nurse, fails to provide
New toys for those the soul has cast away.
Upon a strange land’s border all alone,
Awhile it stands dismayed and desolate.
Nude too, since its old garments are outgrown;
Till clothed with strength befitting its estate,
It grasps at length those raptures that are known
To souls who learn to labour, and to wait.
ACQUAINTANCE
Not we who daily walk the city’s
Not those who have been cradled in its heart,
Best understand its architectural art
Or realise its grandeur. Oft we meet
Some stranger who has staid his passing feet
And lingered with us for a single hour,
And learned more of cathedral, and of tower,
Than we who deem our knowledge quite complete.
Not always those we hold most loved and dear,
Not always those who dwell with us, know best
Our greater selves. Because they stand so near
They cannot see the lofty mountain crest,
The gleaming sun-kissed height, which fair and clear
Stands forth—revealed unto the some-time guest.
ATTAINMENT
There is no summit you may not attain,
No purpose which you may not yet achieve,
If you will wait serenely and believe.
Each seeming loss is but a step to’rd gain.
Between the mountain-tops lie vale and plain;
Let nothing make you question, doubt, or grieve;
Give only good, and good alone receive;
And as you welcome joy, so welcome pain.
That which you most desire awaits your word;
Throw wide the door and bid it enter in.
Speak, and the strong vibrations shall be stirred;
Speak, and above earth’s loud, unmeaning din
Your silent declarations shall be heard.
All things are possible to God’s own kin.
THE TOWER-ROOM
There is a room serene and fair,
All palpitant with light and air;
Free from the dust, world’s noise and fuss—
God’s Tower-room in each of us.
Oh! many a stair our feet must press,
And climb from self to selflessness,
Before we reach that radiant room
Above the discord and the gloom.
So many, many stairs to climb,
But mount them gently—take your time;
Rise leisurely, nor strive to run—
Not so the mightiest feats are done.
Well doing of the little things:
Repression of the word that stings;
The tempest of the mind made still
By victory of the God-like will.
The hated task performed in love—
All these are stairs that wind above
The things that trouble and annoy,
Up to the Tower-room of joy.
Rise leisurely; the stairs once trod
Reveal the mountain peaks of God;
And from its upper room the soul
Sees all, in one united whole.
FATHER
He never made a fortune, or a noise
In the world where men are seeking after fame;
But he had a healthy brood of girls and boys
Who loved the very ground on which he trod.
They thought him just a little short of God;
Oh you should have heard the way they said his name—
‘Father.’
There seemed to be a loving little prayer
In their voices, even when they called him ‘Dad.’
Though the man was never heard of anywhere,
As a hero, yet you somehow understood
He was doing well his part and making good;
And you knew it, by the way his children had
Of saying ‘Father.’
He gave them neither eminence nor wealth,
But he gave them blood untainted with a vice,
And the opulence of undiluted health.
He was honest, and unpurchable and kind;
He was clean in heart, and body, and in mind.
So he made them heirs to riches without price—
This father.
He never preached or scolded; and the rod—
Well, he used it as a turning pole in play.
But he showed the tender sympathy of God
To his children in their troubles, and their joys.
He was always chum and comrade with his boys,
And his daughters—oh, you ought to hear them say
‘Father.’
Now I think of all achievements ’tis the least
To perpetuate the species; it is done
By the insect and the serpent, and the beast.
But the man who keeps his body, and his thought,
Worth bestowing on an offspring love-begot,
Then the highest earthly glory he has won,
When in pride a grown-up daughter or a son
Says ‘That’s Father.’