Music, and Other Poems Part 6

Heart, be glad, The little lad Will call some day to thee: "Father dear, "Heaven is here, "Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!"

January, 1900.

DULCIS MEMORIA

Long, long ago I heard a little song, (Ah, was it long ago, or yesterday?) So lowly, slowly wound the tune along, That far into my heart it found the way: A melody consoling and endearing; And still, in silent hours, I'm often hearing The small, sweet song that does not die away.

Long, long ago I saw a little flower,-- (Ah, was it long ago, or yesterday?) So fair of face and fragrant for an hour, That something dear to me it seemed to say: A thought of joy that blossomed into being Without a word; and now I'm often seeing The friendly flower that does not fade away.

Long, long ago we had a little child,-- (Ah, was it long ago, or yesterday?) Into his mother's eyes and mine he smiled Unconscious love; warm in our arms he lay.

An angel called! Dear heart, we could not hold him; Yet secretly your arms and mine infold him-- Our little child who does not go away.

Long, long ago? Ah, memory, make it clear-- (It was not long ago, but yesterday,) So little and so helpless and so dear Let not the song be lost, the flower decay!

His voice, his waking eyes, his gentle sleeping: The smallest things are safest in thy keeping.

Sweet memory, keep our child with us alway.

April, 1903.

AUTUMN IN THE GARDEN

When the frosty kiss of Autumn in the dark Makes its mark On the flowers, and the misty morning grieves Over fallen leaves; Then my olden garden, where the golden soil Through the toil Of a hundred years is mellow, rich, and deep, Whispers in its sleep.

'Mid the crumpled beds of marigold and phlox, Where the box Borders with its glossy green the ancient walks, There's a voice that talks Of the human hopes that bloomed and withered here Year by year,-- Dreams of joy, that brightened all the labouring hours, Fading as the flowers.

Yet the whispered story does not deepen grief; But relief For the loneliness of sorrow seems to flow From the Long-Ago, When I think of other lives that learned, like mine, To resign, And remember that the sadness of the fall Comes alike to all.

What regrets, what longings for the lost were theirs!

And what prayers For the silent strength that nerves us to endure Things we cannot cure!

Pacing up and down the garden where they paced, I have traced All their well-worn paths of patience, till I find Comfort in my mind.

Faint and far away their ancient griefs appear: Yet how near Is the tender voice, the careworn, kindly face, Of the human race!

Let us walk together in the garden, dearest heart, Not apart!

They who know the sorrows other lives have known Never walk alone.

October, 1903.

THE MESSAGE

Waking from tender sleep, My neighbour's little child Put out his baby hand to me, Looked in my face, and smiled.

It seemed as if he came Home from a happy land, To tell me something that my heart Would surely understand.

Somewhere, among bright dreams, A child that once was mine Had whispered wordless love to him, And given him a sign.

Comfort of kindly speech, And counsel of the wise, Have helped me less than what I read In those deep-smiling eyes.

Sleep sweetly, little friend, And dream again of heaven: With double love I kiss your hand,-- Your message has been given.

November, 1903.

LIGHT BETWEEN THE TREES

Long, long, long the trail Through the brooding forest-gloom, Down the shadowy, lonely vale Into silence, like a room Where the light of life has fled, And the jealous curtains close Round the pa.s.sionless repose Of the silent dead.

Plod, plod, plod away, Step by step in mouldering moss; Thick branches bar the day Over languid streams that cross Softly, slowly, with a sound In their aimless creeping Like a smothered weeping, Through the enchanted ground.

"Yield, yield, yield thy quest,"

Whispers through the woodland deep; "Come to me and be at rest; "I am slumber, I am sleep."

Then the weary feet would fail, But the never-daunted will Urges "Forward, forward still!

"Press along the trail!"

Breast, breast, breast the slope!

See, the path is growing steep.

Hark! a little song of hope When the stream begins to leap.

Though the forest, far and wide, Still shuts out the bending blue, We shall finally win through, Cross the long divide.

On, on, onward tramp!

Will the journey never end?

Over yonder lies the camp; Welcome waits us there, my friend.

Can we reach it ere the night?

Upward, upward, never fear!

Look, the summit must be near; See the line of light!

Red, red, red the shine Of the splendour in the west, Glowing through the ranks of pine, Clear along the mountain-crest!

Long, long, long the trail Out of sorrow's lonely vale; But at last the traveller sees Light between the trees!

March, 1904.

RELIANCE

Not to the swift, the race: Not to the strong, the fight: Not to the righteous, perfect grace: Not to the wise, the light.

But often faltering feet Come surest to the goal; And they who walk in darkness meet The sunrise of the soul.