THEY sat in the cool of the day to rest, —
Adam and Eve, and a nameless guest.
The sky o’er the desert was hot and red,
But the palm boughs nestled overhead,
And the bubbling waters of the well
Up and down in their basin fell,
And the goats and the camels browsed at ease,
And the confident song birds sang and flew
In the shade of the thick mimosa trees;
For fear was not when the world was new.

In the early dawning had come the guest,
And whether from east or whether from west
They knew not, nor asked, as he stood and bent
At the entrance of the lowly tent:
He had dipped his hand in the bowl of food,
He had thanked and praised and called it good;
And now between his hosts he sat,
And talked of matters so deep and wise
That Eve looked up from her braiding mat
With wonderment in her beautiful eyes.

“All is not lost,” the stranger said,
“Though the garden of God be forfeited;
Still is there hope for the life of man,
Still can he struggle and will and plan,
Still can he strain toward the shining goal
Which tempts and beckons his sinewy soul;
Still there is work to brace his thews,
And love to sweeten the hard-won way,
And the power to give, and the right to choose, —
And – ” He paused; and the rest he did not say.

Then silence fell, for their thoughts were full
Of the fair lost garden beautiful;
A homesick silence, which neither broke
Till once again the stranger spoke:
“You are strong,” he said, “with the strength of heaven,
And the world and its creatures to you are given;
You shall win in the fight, though many oppose.
You shall tread on the young of the lion’s den,
And the desert shall blossom as the rose
’Neath your tendance.” And Adam asked: “And then?”

“Then, ripening with the riper age,
Your sons, a goodly heritage,
Like palm-trees in their stately strength,
Shall win to man’s estate at length.
Beside thee shall they take their stand,
To do thy will, uphold thy hand,
To speed thy errands with eager feet,
To quit them in their lot like men,
With tendance and obedience meet.”
Then once more Adam said, “And then?”

“Then, as mild age draws slowly on,
And faintly burns thy westering sun,
When on the pulse no longer hot
Falls quietude which youth knows not,
When patience rules the tempered will,
And strength is won by sitting still,
Then shall a new-born pleasure come
Into thy heart and arms again,
As children’s children fill thy home.”
Eve smiled; but Adam said, “And then?”

“Then” – and the guest rose up to go —
“The best, the last thing shalt thou know:
This life of struggle and of fight
Shall vanish like a wind-blown light;
And after brief eclipse shall be
Re-lit, to burn more gloriously.
Men by a strange, sad name shall call
The darkness, and with bated breath
Confront it, but of God’s gifts all
Are nothing worth compared with death.”

Even as he spoke his visage gleamed
With light unearthly, and it seemed
That radiant wings, unseen till then,
Lifted and bore him from their ken.
Awe-struck the solitary two
Beheld him vanish from their view.
“It was the angel of the Lord,”
They said. “How blind we were and dull!
He did not bear the fiery sword;
Surely the Lord is pitiful.”

And then? The unrelenting years
Surged tide-like on, with hopes and fears
And labors full, but nevermore
Brought any angel to their door.
But still his words within her heart
Eve kept, and pondered them apart.
And when one fatal day they brought
Her Abel to her, cold and dead,
She stayed her anguish with this thought:
“’Tis God’s best gift, the angel said.”

COMMONPLACE

“A COMMONPLACE life,” we say, and we sigh;
But why should we sigh as we say?
The commonplace sun in the commonplace sky,
Makes up the commonplace day;
The moon and the stars are commonplace things,
And the flower that blooms, and the bird that sings:
But dark were the world and sad our lot
If the flowers failed and the sun shone not;
And God, who studies each separate soul,
Out of commonplace lives makes his beautiful whole.

GOLD, FRANKINCENSE, AND MYRRH

GOLD, frankincense, and myrrh they brought the new-born Christ, —
Those wise men from the East, – and in the ox’s stall
The far-brought precious gifts they heaped, with love unpriced;
And Christ the babe looked on, and wondered not at all.

Gold, frankincense, and myrrh I, too, would offer thee,
O King of faithful hearts, upon thy Christmas Day;
And poor and little worth although the offering be,
Because thou art so kind, I dare to think I may.

I bring the gold of faith, which, through the centuries long,
Still seeks the Holy Child, and worships at his feet,
And owns him for its Lord, with gladness deep and strong,
And joins the angel choir, singing in chorus sweet.

The frankincense I bear is worship which can rise,
Like perfume floating up higher and higher still,
Till on the wings of prayer it finds the far blue skies,
And falls, as falls the dew, to freshen heart and will.

And last I bring the myrrh, half bitter and half sweet,
Of my own selfish heart, through sacrifice made clean,
And break the vase and spill the oil upon thy feet,
O Lord of Christmas Day, as did the Magdalene.

Gold, frankincense, and myrrh, – ’tis all I have to bring
To thee, O Holy Child, now throned in heaven’s mid!
Because thou art so kind, take the poor offering,
And let me go forth blessed, as once the Wise Men did.

A THOUGHT

GOD, in his power, keeps making more men,
Peopling the great world again and again;
Age after age, as the centuries roll,
Never he makes a mistake with a soul,
Never neglects them, and never forgets.
Atoms in space from their birth to their end,
Dead or alive, he is always their friend.

Those who lived first, when the world was all new,
Still are as dear in his sight as are you;
Perished their names from the earth that they trod,
But every name is remembered by God, —
All that they sought for, and all that they wrought.
Fixed in unlikeness each separate soul,
Brethren and kin in the infinite whole.

Is God not tired, though almighty He is,
As the long years form the slow centuries,
And the slow centuries linked in embrace
Make up the cycles and meet into space?
Wearies He never, nor ceaseth His toil,
Nor says, “It is finished; creation is done”? —
Men are so many, and God is but one!

Foolish and childish the thought that I frame.
Meteors fall in, but the sun is the same.
What are the birds to the air-spaces free?
What are the fish to the surge or the sea,
Grains to the desert sands, motes to the beam?
Time hides its face at Eternity’s call;
Men may be many, but God he is all.

AT FLOOD

ALL winter long it ebbed and ebbed, and left the cold earth bare.
No pulse of growth the bare boughs stirred, no hope the frozen air;
No twitters cheered the snow-heaped nests, no songs the vine and trees,
As outward, outward swept the tide, and left the world to freeze.

Then came a subtle change, – a time when for a moment’s space
Life seemed to stay its flying feet and cease its outward race,
And, poised as waves poise, turn its face toward the deserted shore,
And with a pitying rush come back to visit it once more.

We saw the freshening forces rise in every yellowing stem,
In budding oak and tasselled larch and scarlet maple gem.
Inch after inch, wave following wave, it rose on every side;
And now the tide is at its flood, the blessed summer-tide.

For every ebb there comes a flow; brave hearts can smile at both.
The waters come, the waters go; we watch them, nothing loath.
Led by a hand invisible, their bright waves seem to sing,
“The Lord who rules the winter is the Lord who sends the spring!”

THE ANGELS

ARE the angels never impatient
That we are so weak and slow,
So dull to their guiding touches,
So deaf to the whispers low
With which, entreating and urging,
They follow us as we go?

Ah no! the pitiful angels
Are clearer of sight than we,
And they note not only the thing that we are,
But the thing that we fain would be, —
The hint of gold in the cumbering dross,
Of fruit on the bare, cold tree.

And I think that at times the angels
Must smile as mothers smile
At the peevish babies on their knees,
Loving them all the while,
And cheating the little ones of their pain
With sweet and motherly wile.

And if they are so patient, the angels,
How tenderer far than they
Must the mighty Lord of the angels be,
Whom the heavenly hosts obey,
Who speeds them forth on their errands,
And cares for us more than they!

NOT YET

“NOT yet,” she cried, “not yet!
It is the dawning, and life looks so fair;
Give me my little hour of sun and dew.
Is it a sin that I should crave my share,
The common sunshine and the common air,
Before I go away, dark shade, with you?
Not yet!

“Not yet,” she cried, “not yet!
The day is hot, and noon is pulsing strong,
And every hour is measured by a task;
There is no time for sighing or for song.
Leave me a little longer, just so long
As till my work is done, – ’tis all I ask.
Not yet!

“Not yet,” she cried, “not yet!
Nightfall is near, and I am tired and frail;
Day was too full, now resting-time has come.
Let me sit still and hear the nightingale,
And see the sunset colors shift and pale,
Before I take the long, hard journey home.
Not yet!”

And to all these in turn,
Comes Death, the unbidden, universal guest,
With deep and urgent meanings in his eyes,
And poppied flowers upon his brow, his breast,
Whispering, “Life is good, but I am best;”
And never a parted soul looks back and cries,
“Not yet!”

TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW

TO-DAY is mine; I hold it fast,
Hold it and use it as I may,
Unmindful of the shadow cast
By that dim thing called Yesterday.

To-morrow hovers just before,
A bright-winged shape, and lures me on,
Till in my zeal to grasp and know her,
I drop To-day, – and she is gone.

The bright wings captured lose their light:
To-morrow weeps, and seems to say,
“I am To-day, – ah, hold me tight!
Erelong I shall be Yesterday.”

“THAT WAS THE TRUE LIGHT, THAT LIGHTETH EVERY MAN THAT COMETH INTO THE WORLD.”

THEY spy it from afar,
The beacon’s fiery star,
And storm-tossed birds, by fierce winds buffeted,
Rally with half-spent force,
And shape their struggling course
To where it rears its blazing, beckoning head.

Faintly the tired wings beat
That rhythmical repeat
Which was such joy in summer and in sun;
Glazed are the keen, bright eyes,
And heave with panting sighs
The soft and plumèd bosoms every one.

O’er the white, weltering waves,
Which yawn like empty graves,
Borne on the urgings of the wind, they fly;
They reach the luring glow,
They launch and plunge, and lo!
Are dashed upon the glass, and fall and die.

So through the storm and night,
Outwearied with long flight,
Our souls come crowding o’er the angry sea.
In North, in East, in West,
There is no place of rest,
Except, O kindly Light, except with thee.

No cold, unyielding glass
Bars and forbids to pass;
Thy dear light scorcheth not, nor burns in vain;
The soul that finds and knows
Such safe and sure repose
Need nevermore go out or roam again.

Ah, steadfast citadel!
Ah, lamp that burns so well
Upon the Rock of Ages, founded true!
Above the angry sea
We urge our flight to thee.
Shine, kindly Light, and guide us safely through!

THE STAR

THEY followed the Star the whole night through;
As it moved with the midnight they moved too;
And cared not whither it led, nor knew,
Till Christmas Day in the morning.

And just at the dawn in the twilight shade
They came to the stable, and, unafraid,
Saw the Blessed Babe in the manger laid
On Christmas Day in the morning.

We have followed the Star a whole long year,
And watched its beckon, now faint, now clear,
And it now stands still as we draw anear
To Christmas Day in the morning.

And just as the wise men did of old,
In the hush of the winter dawning cold,
We come to the stable, and we behold
The Child on the Christmas morning.

And just as the wise men deemed it meet
To offer him gold and perfumes sweet,
We would lay our gifts at his holy feet, —
Our gifts on the Christmas morning.

O Babe, once laid in the ox’s bed,
With never a pillow for thy head,
Now throned in the highest heavens instead,
O Lord of the Christmas morning! —

Because we have known and have loved thy star,
And have followed it long and followed it far,
From the land where the shadows and darkness are,
To find thee on Christmas morning, —

Accept the gifts that we dare to bring,
Though worthless and poor the offering,
And help our souls to rise and to sing
In the joy of thy Christmas morning.

HELEN

THE autumn seems to cry for thee,
Best lover of the autumn days!
Each scarlet-tipped and wine-red tree,
Each russet branch and branch of gold,
Gleams through its veil of shimmering haze,
And seeks thee as they sought of old;
For all the glory of their dress,
They wear a look of wistfulness.

In every wood I see thee stand,
The ruddy boughs above thy head,
And heaped in either slender hand
The frosted white and amber ferns,
The sumach’s deep, resplendent red,
Which like a fiery feather burns,
And over all, thy happy eyes,
Shining as clear as autumn skies.

I hear thy call upon the breeze
Gay as the dancing wind, and sweet,
And underneath the radiant trees,
O’er lichens gray and darkling moss,
Follow the trace of those light feet
Which never were at fault or loss,
But, by some forest instinct led,
Knew where to turn and how to tread.

Where art thou, comrade true and tried?
The woodlands call for thee in vain,
And sadly burns the autumn-tide
Before my eyes, made dim and blind
By blurring, puzzling mists of pain.
I look before, I look behind;
Beauty and loss seem everywhere,
And grief and glory fill the air.

Already, in these few short weeks,
A hundred things I leave unsaid,
Because there is no voice that speaks
In answer, and no listening ear,
No one to care now thou art dead!
And month by month, and year by year,
I shall but miss thee more, and go
With half my thought untold, I know.

I do not think thou hast forgot,
I know that I shall not forget,
And some day, glad, but wondering not,
We two shall meet, and face to face,
In still, fair fields unseen as yet,
Shall talk of each old time and place,
And smile at pain interpreted
By wisdom learned since we were dead.

LUX IN TENEBRIS

DARK falls the night, withheld the day,
Weary we fare perplexed and chill,
Led by one little guiding ray
Shining from centuries far away, —
Good-will and Peace: Peace and Good-will.

The torch of glory pales and wanes,
The lamp of love must know decease,
But still o’er far Judæan plains
The quenchless star-beam lives and reigns, —
Peace and Good-will: Good-will and Peace.

And clear to-day as long ago
The angel-chorus echoes still,
Above the clamor and the throe
Of human passion, human woe, —
Good-will and Peace: Peace and Good-will.

Through eighteen hundred stormy years
The dear notes ring, and will not cease;
And past all mists of mortal tears
The guiding star rebukes our fears, —
Peace and Good-will: Good-will and Peace.

Shine, blessed star, the night is black,
Shine, and the heavens with radiance fill,
While on thy slender, guiding track
The angel voices echo back, —
Good-will and Peace: Peace and Good-will.

LENT

IS it the Fast which God approves,
When I awhile for flesh eat fish,
Changing one dainty dish
For others no less good?

Do angels smile and count it gain
That I compose my laughing face
To gravity for a brief space,
Then straightway laugh again?

Does Heaven take pleasure as I sit
Counting my joys as usurers gold, —
This bit to give, that to withhold,
Weighing and measuring it;

Setting off abstinence from dance
As buying privilege of song;
Calling six right and seven wrong,
With decorous countenance;

Compounding for the dull to-day
By projects for to-morrow’s fun,
Checking off each set task as done,
Grudging a short delay?

I cannot think that God will care
For such observance; He can see
The very inmost heart of me,
And every secret there.

But if I keep a truer Lent,
Not heeding what I wear or eat,
Not balancing the sour with sweet,
Evenly abstinent,

And lay my soul with all its stain
Of travel from the year-long road,
Between the healing hands of God
To be made clean again;

And put my sordid self away,
Forgetting for a little space
The petty prize, the eager race,
The restless, striving day;

Opening my darkness to the sun,
Opening my narrow eyes to see
The pain and need so close to me
Which I had willed to shun;

Praying God’s quickening grace to show
The thing he fain would have me do,
The errand that I may pursue
And quickly rise and go; —

If so I do it, starving pride,
Fasting from sin instead of food,
God will accept such Lent as good,
And bless its Easter-tide.

PALM SUNDAY

THE multitude was crowding all the way,
But yesterday,
To see and touch the Lord as he rode by,
To catch his eye,
Or at the very least a palm-branch fling
Upon the pathway of the chosen King.

Faded and dry those palms lie in the sun,
Witherèd each one;
Those glad, rejoicing shouters presently
Will flock to see,
With never thought of pity or of loss,
The King of Glory on his cruel cross.

Lord, we would fain some little palm-branch lay
Upon thy way;
But we have nothing fair enough or sweet
For holy feet
To tread, nor dare our sin-stained garments fling
Upon the road where rides the Righteous King.

Yet thou, all-gracious One, didst not refuse
Those fickle Jews;
And even such worthless leaves as we may cull,
Faded and dull,
Thou wilt endure and pardon and receive,
Because thou knowest we have naught else to give.

So, Lord, our stubborn wills we first will break,
If thou wilt take;
And next our selfishness, and then our pride, —
And what beside?
Our hearts, Lord, poor and fruitless though they be,
And quick to change, and nothing worth to see.

If but the foldings of thy garment’s hem
Shall shadow them,
These worthless leaves which we have brought and strewed
Along thy road
Shall be raised up and made divinely sweet,
And fit to lie beneath thy gracious feet.

SOUL AND BODY

THE Soul said to the Body, in the watches of the night:
“I am the nobler part of thee, stronger and far more worth.
God gave me of his life of life a tiny point of light;
I show his glory to the world, but thou art of the earth.”

The Body answered to the Soul: “Lower I am, and yet
God made me in his image for angel eyes to see.
Thou art but viewless essence, whom all men would forget
Except for the abiding-place which thou hast found in me.”

The Soul said to the Body: “I guide thee at my will.
I am the wind within the sail, which else would lifeless swing;
I am the mainspring of the watch, which else, inert and still,
Would cumber all the universe, a dead and useless thing.”

“I too have rule,” the Body cried. “I curb thy higher flights;
I fetter all thy soarings, and I bind thee, and I grieve.
I can sting thee into wakefulness through long, unresting nights;
Can take the glory from thy noon, the splendor from thy eve.”

“And well can I return such wrong,” replied the eager Soul.
“How often hast thou laid thee down, to find thy sleep denied?
While I quickened in thy brain, robbed thy heart-beats of control,
And poured through every artery my warm, pulsating tide?

“Thou shalt lie down to sleep one day, and long that sleep shall last,
For I will shake thy shackles off and soar up to the skies;
What power shall avail thee then to break thy slumber fast?
What voice shall reach thy dreaming ear, to say to thee, ‘Arise’?”

“Ah, Soul!” the Body humbly urged, “be merciful, I pray;
Thou art the nobler part, but thou canst never let me go.
I have my certain share of all, thy best, thy worst, alway:
We are inextricably blent. God willed it should be so.

“Thou wilt reach heaven before me, but I may follow too.
There is a resurrection for the Body, as the Soul;
Comrades to all eternity, we should be comrades true
Who own one common fate and life, who seek the self-same goal.

“Forbear, then, to reproach me, O brother given by Heaven!
I wrong myself in wronging thee, dearest and closest friend!
Let all our variance and strife be buried and forgiven,
And let us work together in love unto the end.”

Then the Soul smiled on the Body, and the Body drank the smile,
As meadow pastures drink the flood of sunshine still and deep;
And the two embraced each other, and in a little while,
Close folded in the Body’s arms, the Soul had fallen asleep.