INSIDE THE BAR
I knows a town, an’ it’s a fine town,
And many a brig goes sailin’ to its quay;
I knows an inn, an’ it’s a fine inn,
An’ a lass that’s fair to see.
I knows a town, an’ it’s a fine town;
I knows an inn, an’ it’s a fine inn—
But Oh my lass, an’ Oh the gay gown,
Which I have seen my pretty in!
I knows a port, an’ it’s a good port,
An’ many a brig is ridin’ easy there;
I knows a home, an’ it’s a good home,
An’ a lass that’s sweet an’ fair.
I knows a port, an’ it’s a good port,
I knows a home, an’ it’s a good home—
But Oh the pretty that is my sort,
What’s wearyin’ till I come!
I knows a day, an’ it’s a fine day,
The day a sailor man comes back to town;
I knows a tide, an’ it’s a good tide,
The tide that gets you quick to anchors down.
I knows a day, an’ it’s a fine day,
I knows a tide, an’ it’s a good tide—
And God help the lubber, I say,
What’s stole the sailor man’s bride!
THE CHILDREN
Mark the faces of the children
Flooded with sweet innocence!
God’s smile on their foreheads glisten
Ere their heart-strings have grown tense.
And they know not of the sadness,
Of the palpitating pain
Drawn through arid veins of manhood,
Or the lusts that life disdain.
Little reek they of the shadows
Fallen through the steep world’s space
God hath touched them with His chrism
And their sunlight is His grace.
And the green grooves of the meadows
They are fair to look upon;
And the silver thrush and robin
Sing most sweetly on and on.
But the faces of the children—
They are fairer far than these;
And the songs they sing are sweeter
Than the thrushes’ in the trees.
Little hands, our God has given
All the flower-bloom for you;
Gather violets in the meadows,
Trailing your sweet fingers through.
The swift tears that sometimes glisten
On their faces dashed with pain
Weave a rosy bow of promise,
Like the afterglow of rain.
The soft, verdant fields of childhood,
Certes, are the softer for
The dissolving dew of morning,
Noon’s elate ambassador.
Looking skyward, do they wonder—
They, the children palm to palm—
What is out beyond the azure
In the infinite of calm?
Though they murmur soft “Our Father,”
Angel wings to speed it on
Past the bright wheels of the Pleiads,
Have they thought of benison?
Nay! the undefiled children
Say it bound by ignorance;
But the saying is the merit,
And the loving bans mischance.
Oh the mountain heights of childhood,
And the waterfalls of dreams,
And the sleeping in the shadows
Of the willows by the streams!
Toss your gleaming hair, O children,
Back in waving of the wind!
Flash the starlight ‘heath your eyelids
From the sunlight of the mind!
See, we strain you to our bosoms,
And we kiss your lip and brow;
Human hearts must have some idols,
And we shrine you idols now.
Time, the ruthless idol-breaker,
Smileless, cold iconoclast,
Though he rob us of our altars,
Cannot rob us of the past.
Dull and dead the gods’ bright nectar,
Disencrowned of its foam;
Duller, deader far the empty,
Barren hearthstone of a home.
Smile out to our age and give us,
Children, of the dawn’s desire;
We have passed morn’s gold and opal,
We have lost life’s early fire.
LITTLE GARAINE
“Where do the stars grow, little Garaine?
The garden of moons, is it far away?
The orchard of suns, my little Garaine,
Will you take us there some day?”
“If you shut your eyes,” quoth little Garaine,
“I will show you the way to go
To the orchard of suns and the garden of moons
And the field where the stars do grow.
“But you must speak soft,” quoth little Garaine,
“And still must your footsteps be,
For a great bear prowls in the field of the stars,
And the moons they have men to see.
“And the suns have the Children of Signs to guard,
And they have no pity at all—
You must not stumble, you must not speak,
When you come to the orchard wall.
“The gates are locked,” quoth little Garaine,
“But the way I am going to tell—
The key of your heart it will open them all:
And there’s where the darlings dwell!”