Poems.

BY
CORA C. BASS.
[Harley Vane.]

LOWELL, MASS.:
Lawler & Co., Printers, 36 Central Street.
1899.

Copyright by
CORA C. BASS.
1899.

PREFACE.

Thanks are due to The New York Observer, The Churchman, Zion's Herald, Christian Register, The Standard, Outing, Boston Transcript, Portland Transcript, The New England Home Magazine, and others, for permission to re-print poems of mine that have appeared in their columns.

CORA C. BASS.

CONTENTS.

Poems.

THE SWEETEST SONGS.

The sweetest songs are left unsung,

The sweetest themes unread,

The sweetest chords are left unstrung,

The sweetest words unsaid.

How strange it is, and yet how true,

Surpassing mortal ken,

We still can catch a blessed view

Of thought and times and men.

Though brightest paths remain unknown,

And few the heights we tread,

Though we must struggle on alone

With deepest tears unshed;

Although our hearts are anguish wrung

And ev'ry effort pain,

If we can keep another young,

We have not lived in vain.

'Tis said the fairest buds decay;

Perhaps they do, and yet,

Upon the darkest, dullest way

How many flowers are met.

The happy hours so quickly flee

We sigh to see them go,

When out upon life's troubled sea

The moments move so slow.

Shall sweetest songs be left unsung?

The sweetest themes unread?

The sweetest chords be left unstrung?

The sweetest words unsaid?

When we have but to do our best,

The very best we can,

To have the future richly blest

Of God and truth and man.

UNBIDDEN GUESTS.

Good thoughts are like the violet demure—

So sweet, so pure;

They ope their happy eyes

'Neath stormy skies,

Calm and secure.

As guests unbidden though perchance they come,

They make the dumb,

Pale silence blithely ring

And sad lips sing

Most frolicsome.

SEA AND CLIFF.

The lurid breakers dash in rifts of white

Upon the reef, rebounding to the sky,

And yet by yonder point the trembling surf

In distance dies; as darkness coils around

Our rugged path we pause, each nerve alert.

How grand the march majestic of the night

Amid the raging tempest's grim display

Of rain and hail and that too vivid flash

Which makes the inky blackness more intense!

But now the pall is riven and behold!

The beauteous sun, whose rich, prismatic glow

Illumes a jewelled curtain, poised thereon

A rainbow plumed for flight, while earth lies wrapped

In golden glory. Many a sail full set

Is homeward speeding, bearing happy hearts

To where love anxious waits and eager eyes

Will sweetest welcome give. O, World rejoice!

Confronted by the swift incoming tide,

With hurried step we scale the dizzy cliff,

Delivered by the one all-potent hand,

That ever waits to still life's sternest storms.

THE MARCH OF TIME.

Steadily marching, swift or slow,

Moments and months and days they go.

Moments and months and days and years

Laden with hope and love and tears.

Laden with hope that cheered the way

When earth lay wrapped in twilight gray,

In twilight gray, till shining through

The fair, sweet promise grew and grew.

Fair, sweet promise of joy, of bliss,

We should not, could not, would not, miss

Of bliss so perfect, bliss so true,

We fain would keep that bliss in view.

Steadily marching, swift or slow,

Moments and months and days they go,

Moments and months and days and years,

And then—eternity appears.

A GIFT.

It was given him in youth,

Bestowed by a kingly hand;

Sweet as the flower of truth,

When its first fair buds expand.

It was given him to prize,

To guard with a jealous care;

This gift in a humble guise

But precious beyond compare.

It was given him—he turned

From promise so close concealed,

Although in his soul he yearned

To follow the unrevealed.

He turned from a gift which came

In the flush of boyhood days,

It clung to him just the same

As he trod the world's wild maze.

It was given him—it slept,

But would not be cast aside;

Till into his heart it crept

A-quiver with love and pride.

Yes, into his heart it crept,

He worked with a new-born skill;

And whether he laughed or wept

He worked with a steadfast will.

It was given him—he caught

It close to his heaving breast

And a miracle was wrought,

For a genius stood confessed.

The gift which he held the least

Was the gift the Lord had sent;

Lo, the angel at the feast

He had misnamed, discontent.

WOULD WE DWELL ON THE MOUNTAIN
HEIGHT?

Would we dwell on the mountain height

Whence the world is lovely and bright.

Then we must be eager to climb,

Ready and willing to press

For the noble, the true, the sublime,

To comfort, to bless.

Would we stand like heroes of yore

When life's sternest conflicts are o'er,

Would we stand triumphant at last,

Or weep the chances we miss

As the tide of the battle sweeps past—

To conquer is bliss.

Would we see the foemen retreat,

The foemen we dreaded to meet,

Battalions of pain, of despair:—

On! it is never too late!

Let us strive for a heritage fair,

A royal estate.

CHILL NOT THE HEART THAT TRUSTS
THEE.

Chill not the heart that trusts thee, O, my soul!

Be brave to bear, to suffer, to forgive;

Life's tempestuous billows wildly roll

But love and live.

Chill not the heart that trusts thee, though thine eyes

With tears are dim, and ev'ry effort pain;

A day reveals, perchance, this sad surprise,

Eternal gain.

Chill not the heart that trusts thee, dark indeed

The way may seem, but sacred is the trust

Of faith, which while it may not stoop to plead

Is ever just.

Chill not the heart that trusts thee, cares defeat

The true, the good, the noble, who can tell?

Truth's eagle glance may yet direct thy feet

And all be well.

Chill not the heart that trusts thee, O, my soul!

Be brave to bear, to suffer—to forgive;

Life's tempestuous billows wildly roll

But love and live.

HE LIES IN STATE.

Frederic T. Greenhalge.

He lies in state

'Neath nature's peerless catafalque of snow,

The friend beloved, the good, the grand, the great,

He lies in state.

In silent state;

Well may the tide of feeling fuller flow,

While men upon his noble worth dilate,

He lies in state.

In silent state,

Our faithful Governor, the fearless foe

Of ev'ry wrong. By memory's pearly gate

He lies in state.

The regal state,

That only kingly souls can come to know,

Which truth and character alone create:

He lies in state.

HOPE-ON-RIVER.

Hope-On-River leads to bliss;

Who would such a journey miss?

O'er the waters, limpid, sweet,

Floating to the Saviour's feet.

Hope-On-River is divine,

Fairer than the storied Rhine;

On its bosom homeward glide,

Moving with the gentle tide.

Hope-On-River runs for all,

Runs beyond the jasper wall—

Runs to weary pilgrims bear

Past the portals of despair.

Hope-On-River ever flows,

Purest, sweetest, mortal knows,

On its waters float to rest

In the city of the blest.

AT SEA.

Afar the timid moonbeams shyly creep

Behind a purple pall of clouds so drear,

It smites the captain's loyal heart with fear;

Vainly would he a keener vigil keep,

Yet few would dream the traitor, Danger, near,

Till through yon misty curtain clean and clear

And swift the gleaming lights of death appear,

Twin-born. Alas! men waken from sweet sleep

Too late to seek escape; the vessel thrills

In ev'ry nerve, an almost human groan

Wells from her tortured breast; she reels, she fills.

A hundred anguished souls for mercy moan—

But kindly, Time, the storm of terror stills

And meek Diana treads the night alone.

MIRTH.

Who has not felt his pulses gaily leap

And throb and burn, the feeble step grow light

And freer speed to scale life's fairest height

As some sweet song, or merry jest or deep

Toned humorous note lulls lagging care to sleep.

Man may be mirthful built and yet contrite,

May bear a buoyant heart through darkest night

Whilst hope and love their angel vigil keep

Twin foes of fear and gloom. Oh, loyal soul

That dares to walk upright with dauntless tread;

Amid the din of battle and the roll

Of thunder-guns storm shattered o'er thy head,

Press on, press ever onward, to the goal,

And round thee joy-refulgent freely shed.

FLORA.

In a dainty robe of green

Comes the nodding daffadilly

And the stately Easter lily;

In the meadows cowslips shimmer,

Crocuses with dewdrops glimmer;

April's smile and May's soft splendor

Linger o'er us gentle, tender;

Fair forget-me-nots convene

In the most delightful places;

Mount and vale are wrapped in glory,

Greylock doffs his tippet hoary,

And Wachusett stands new crowned

Thanks to Flora, queen of graces;

Laurel draped and daisy gowned.

WHERE PASSACONAWAY WAS WONT TO
STAND.

Where Passaconaway was wont to stand,

Piercing the distance with intrepid eye,

The teeming mills their rhythmic shuttles ply.

Many knelt subservient to the hand

Of that good sachem of a noted band;

But labor like a chieftain, leads us high,

To fairer fields where richer guerdons lie

Than he aspired to win; the bold demand

Of Time is met by a triumphant throng

Which presses onward, upward, evermore;

And cities in their children true as strong

Live worthy the brave men who marched before,

Speeding the hum of Industry's glad song

O'er heights the noble red man trod of yore.

SPRING.

Wooed by thy balmy breath, O witching Spring.