Acanthus and Wild Grape Part 3

THE NUN'S GARDEN

They have made me a lovely garden With walls that are rugged and gray; They have filled it with pinks and roses And lilies that bloom but a day; But the walls are so high and frowning, And the paths are so smooth and straight, And even their smallest winding Leads straight to the chapel gate.

I have planted a bed of pansies Along by the chapel wall, But though I have watered and weeded They never have blossomed at all.

The sunshine of G.o.d cannot fall there, For the chapel tower is too high; So under its cold, gray shadow My poor little blossoms die.

The Mother of G.o.d--in marble-- Gleams white where the willows toss, And at the far end of the pathway The dear Christ hangs on the cross; And when the vespers are over, If I have not sinned all day, I may walk to the end of the garden And kneel by the cross and pray.

But oh, for the wild, wild garden That I knew in the days gone by, Where the birches and elms and maples Stretched up to the wind-swept sky; Where, murmuring silver music, The brook through the ferny dell Ran down to the fields of clover,-- But hush, there's the vesper bell!

YOU WENT AWAY IN SUMMERTIME

You went away in summertime When leaves and flowers were young, And birds still lingered in the fields With many songs unsung.

I'm glad it was in summertime When skies were clear and blue, I could not say good-bye to you And bear the winter too.

TO A MODERN POET

Why must you sing of sorrow When the world is so full of woe?

Why must you sing of the ugly?

For the ugly and sad I know.

Why will you sing of railways, Of Iron and Steel and Coal, And the din of the smoky cities?

For these will not feed my soul.

But sing to me songs of beauty To gladden my tired eyes,-- The beauty of waving forest, Of meadows and sunlit skies; Sing me of childish laughter, Of cradles and painted toys, Of the sea and the brooks and the rivers, And the shouting of bathing boys.

For the earth has a store of beauty Deep hid from our blinded eyes, And only the true-born poet Knows just where the treasure lies.

So lead me from paths that are ugly, From the dust of the city street.

To paths that are fringed with flowers, Where the sky and the meadows meet.

And though Sorrow may walk beside me To the far, far end of the road, If Beauty but beckon me onward, Less heavy will seem my load; And led in the paths of beauty, The world from its strife will cease; For I know that the paths of beauty Lead on to the paths of peace.

THE MYSTIC

The mystic sits by the sacred stream Watching the sun as it mounts the sky; And life to him is a haunting dream Or a motley pageant pa.s.sing by.

Sorrow and joy go on their way, Pa.s.sion and l.u.s.t and love and hate; Only a band of mummers they, Blindly led by the hand of fate.

Though the pageant is real and himself the dream, Though men are born and strive and die, Yet the mystic sits by the sacred stream Watching the sun go down the sky.

AD EPISCOPI COLLEGIUM

Here in the beautiful valley, here where the fair rivers meeting, Mingle their waters in silence and wander afar to the sea, Now does thy son returning offer thee homage and greeting, Now do my wandering footsteps turn, O Mother, to thee.

Gleam in the light of the sunset cross and turret and tower, Mirrored majestic and silent down by the willow-clad sh.o.r.e; Far through the valley resounding, telling the evensong hour, Echoes the old bell's tolling, calling me back once more.

Here in the halls where I lingered, there in the woods where I wandered, On campus and river and hillside other young lives are aglow, Dreaming the dreams that I dreamed, thinking the thoughts that I pondered Deeming the pathway long and the swift-footed hours slow.

Rejoice young hearts in your youth, morn is the time for gladness, Time to sow for a harvest which all too soon you must reap; Bright be the hour of your noontide with never a shadow of sadness, Golden the gleam of your evening with silence and rest and sleep.

Glows the west crimson and gold far down the glorious river, Cross and tower and turret fade in the gloom of the night; Yet will my heart remember both Mother and sons forever, Far though the pathway may lead me, swift though the years in their flight.

A SONG OF THE HOMELAND

I'll sing you a song of the Homeland, Though the strains be of little worth, A song of our own loved Homeland, Of the n.o.blest land upon earth; Where the tide of the sea from oceans three Beats high in its triple might, Where the winds are born in a southern morn And die in a polar night.

I'll sing you a song of the Eastland, Of the land where our fathers died, Where Saxon and Frank, their feuds long dead, Are sleeping side by side; Where their sons still toil on the hard-won soil Of the mighty river plain, Where the censer swings and the Angelus rings, And the old faith lives again.

I'll sing you a song of the Westland Where the magic cities rise, And the prairies clothed with their golden grain Stretch under the azure skies; Where the mountains grim in the clouds grow dim Far north in the arctic land, And the northern light in its mystic flight Flares over the golden strand.

And I'll sing of the men of the Homeland From the north and east and west, The men who went to the Homeland's call, (Ah, G.o.d, we have given our best!) But not in vain are our heroes slain If under the darkened skies, All hand in hand from strand to strand A sin-purged nation rise.

THE MIRROR

Your mirror, love, reflects your smile As morn-flushed skies the coming dawn, But oh, how blank the weary while When you are gone!

My life's a mirror; with you near 'Tis filled with joy the live-long day, But oh, how meaningless and drear With you away!

I MADE A LITTLE SONG

I made a little song to-day, And then I wandered down Broadway, And saw the strange mad people run And dance about me in the sun, Or dive into the Underground Like rabbits frightened by the sound Of their own scampering through the gra.s.s; I watched a thousand people pa.s.s, But not a one did I hear say-- I made a little song to-day.

I made a little song to-day, It sang beside me all the way Until I reached the lower town, Where crowds went surging up and down.

Their eyes were hard and faces white, But some of them looked glad and bright, Because the Bulls--or was it Bears?-- Had brought them gold for worthless shares; But I was happier than they;-- I made a little song to-day.