Poems By John L. Stoddard Part 11

How dare you speak of Asian thought with pity or a sneer, When practically all you know originated here?

What had you been, if our ideals, in art and faith expressed, Had not come down through Greece and Rome to civilize your West?

The great religions of the world are all of Asian birth, And thence went forth resistlessly to dominate the earth.

Of six we granted one to you; and you profess its creeds, But what a sorry travesty you make of it in deeds!

The Christ taught love to enemies; His followers to-day Have trained the whole male Christian world their fellow men to slay!

The very Bible that you prize was writ by Asian hands; Your prophets, saints, and patriarchs were all of Eastern lands; The Son of G.o.d, as you believe, was born a humble Jew; The Virgin Mother equally no other parents knew; Yet you have robbed and tortured Jews, and murdered them at will Through eighteen Christian centuries,--are killing thousands still!

The "Star of Empire," as you claim, has "westward" made its way; But what if now in Eastern skies it heralds a new day?

You fondly dreamed its brilliant course had ended there with you, But on it moves, old lands to greet, and belt the globe anew!

Its kindling rays revivify our nations, which have slept While round the world our influence through you has slowly crept.

The coming century's great deeds lie not at Europe's doors; A grander stage awaits mankind,--the vast Pacific's sh.o.r.es; And we not only skirt that sea from Tokyo to Saigon, Our coastline fronts the western world from Syria to Ceylon!

Again shall we supply to you the part of life you need; Again your slaves of strenuous toil shall live at slower speed; Once more, as pilgrims to a shrine, your chiefs shall come to me, And learn of my philosophy, as children at my knee.

You cannot cut me from your past, nor cancel what you owe For all my sages gave to you two thousand years ago; For after twenty centuries you think, and speak, and pray Still much as I instructed you in Syria and Cathay.

Keep you, then, the material, I hold the mental, realm; For you the ship's machinery, for me the guiding helm!

THE CAPTIVE

I opened the cage of my pet canary; Timid, it faltered a moment there, Then, at my call, became less wary, And blithely sprang to the buoyant air.

Brief was its dream of freedom's rapture; A window barred its sunward flight; It beat its wings in fear of capture, But found no way to the world of light.

Out in the park two birds were mating, Building together their tiny nest; Keenly the captive watched them, waiting, Pressing the gla.s.s with its throbbing breast.

Leaving at length the window-casing, Lighting by chance on a neighboring shelf, It stood before a mirror, facing The pretty form of its own sweet self.

Falling in love with its own reflection, Thinking it always another bird, Bravely it tried to win affection, Warbling tones I had never heard.

Hopeless alas! its tender wooing, Vainly it trilled its sweetest note, Coldly received was its ardent sueing, Silent the mirrored songster's throat.

Wearied at last, it flew off sadly, Back to the cage's open door, Back to the home it left so gladly Only a little hour before.

Dead are the lovers so fondly mated!

Gone is their nest; it was blown away!

But safe in the narrow cage it hated The captive sings on its perch to-day.

WEARINESS

Snowy sails, silvery sails, Gleaming in the sun, Leaving scores of jewelled trails In the course you run,

On your white wings bear away All my care and pain; I would for at least to-day Be a child again.

Just to thrill with youthful fire, Kindling heart and brain, Just to know the old desire Lofty heights to gain;

Just to hold the simple faith Into which I grew, When my G.o.d was not a wraith, And all men were true!

Shadowed sails, clouded sails, Life hath made me know That you leave no jewelled trails, Proudly though you go;

Drops that floods of diamonds seem Are but dazzling spray, Fleeting as a happy dream, Swift to fade away.

Distant sails, waning sails, Waft me to some sh.o.r.e Where corroding care prevails Never, nevermore!

Where the flotsam of the deep Finds its wanderings cease, And the shipwrecked sink to sleep On the strand of peace.

A MAY MONODY

Beside my opened window pane, Each morning in this month of May A blackbird sings in dulcet strain Two liquid notes, which seem to say "Come again! Come again!"

Alike in sunshine and in rain, Now loud and clear, now soft and low, He warbles forth the same refrain, Which haunts me with its hint of woe,-- "Come again! Come again!"

What bird, whose absence gives him pain, Doth he thus tenderly recall?

What longed-for joy would he regain By those two words which rise and fall,-- "Come again! Come again!"

Sometimes, when I too long have lain And listened to his plaintive air, An impulse I cannot restrain Hath moved me too to breathe that prayer,-- "Come again! Come again!"

O vanished youth, when faith was plain, When hopes were high, and manhood's years Showed dazzling summits to attain; O days, ere eyes grew dim with tears,-- "Come again! Come again!"

O friends, whose memory leaves no stain, O dearly loved and early lost!

Do you your love for me retain Beyond the silent sea you crossed?

"Come again! Come again!"

Alas! sweet bird, all life moves on; The seed becomes the ripened grain, And what is past is gone, is gone!

Cease calling, therefore,--'tis in vain--, "Come again! Come again!"

MY LOST FRIENDS

One by one they have slipped from Earth, And vanished into the depths of s.p.a.ce, And I, beside my lonely hearth, Find none to take their place.

Never a word of fond farewell Fell from their lips ere they were gone; Never a hint since then to tell If after night came dawn!

Latest of all to thus depart, Still is thy hand-clasp warm in mine; Wilt thou not tell me where thou art?

Canst thou impart no sign?

Wild are the winds above thy grave; Cold is the form I loved so well; But what to thee are storms that rave, Or the snow that last night fell?

Out in the awful void of night, Numberless suns and planets roll; Has one of all those isles of light Received thy homeless soul?

Mute is the sky as an empty tomb; Trackless the path, and all unknown; What means this journey through its gloom, Which each must make alone?