The Blood Of Rachel Part 18

THE SECRET

Old Santa Claus came with his pack On his back Right down the chimney flue; His long flowing beard was ghostlike and weird But his cheeks had a ruddy hue; And his jacket was as red as a woodp.e.c.k.e.r's head But his breeches, I think, were blue.

I heard a soft step like a hoof On the roof, And I closed my outside eye; Then played-like I slept, but the other eye kept A watch on the jolly old guy; And I caught him in the act with his bundles all unpacked, But I'm not going to tell, not I.

When Santa comes again this year With his deer And a sled full of toys for me, I don't mean to keep either eye from its sleep While he climbs my Christmas tree; For I don't think it's right to the happy old wight To spy on his mystery.

A RHYMELESS SONNET

Sardonic _Death_, clothed in a scarlet shroud, Salutes his minions on the crumbling thrones Of Tyranny, and with malicious leer, He points a fleshless finger toward the fields Of Belgium: "No harvest since the days Of Bonaparte and Waterloo hath filled My flagons with a wine of such a taste; Your crowns ye hold by rights divine indeed!"

But _One_ has entered in at lowly doors And sits by every hearthstone where they will: "My _Word_ enthron-ed in Democracy Has twined the holly round Columbia's brow-- A crown of 'Peace on earth, good will to men.'

I am the _Resurrection_ and the _Life_!"

AMBITION

I covet not the warrior's flashing steel That drives the dreaded foe to headlong flight; I envy not the czar his ruthless might That grinds a state beneath an iron heel; I do not ask that I may ever feel The thrill that follows fame's uncertain light; And in the game of life I do not quite Expect always to hold a winning deal.

Grant me the power to help my fellow man To bear some ill that he may not deserve; Give me the heart that I may never swerve, In scorn of Death, to do what good I can; But most of all let me but light the fires Upon the altar of the _youth's_ desires.

OPPORTUNITY

I often met her in the days of youth Along the highway where the world goes by; And sometimes when I caught her wistful eye I wondered that it seemed so filled with ruth.

She was a modest maiden, plain, in truth, And unattractive, and I thought, "Now why Should one seek her companionship; not I-- At least, until I've had my fling, forsooth!"

And so I pa.s.sed her by and had my day, And met a thousand whom I thought more fair In tinsel gowns beneath electric glare-- A thousand, but they went their primrose way.

Now she's a queen, and boasts a score of sons-- Her consort he who shunned my charming ones!

HOLIDAY THOUGHTS

The night was like some monster omen ill, Whose shrieking froze the marrow of my bones; But day dawned calm, though white as polar zones, The bluebird shouting "Spring!" from every hill.

The world lay parching in the noonday grill, And blades of corn were twisting into cones; But night brought rain, and now, like golden thrones, The fruited shocks deride October's chill.

Dear Lord, I would that we might live by faith, However cold and dark the day may seem, And trust that every cloud is just a wraith, And every shadow but a fading dream.

Oh, grant our eyes may see the beacon lights That blaze forever on the peaks and heights!

THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW

Good-bye, Old Year; our journey has been brief; I'm sorry now to leave thee dying here, For thou hast borne my burdens with good cheer, And never murmured, but a.s.suaged my grief.

When buds of promise never came to leaf; When broken resolutions, doubt, and fear Did mock at my defeat, O good Gray Year, Thy rea.s.suring smile restored belief.

Good-bye--farewell! I trust thy dear young child, Who greets me at the gateway of the dawn, Will deal as gently with me and my friends, And lead our footsteps through the springtime mild, O'er summer's lawn, down autumn's slopes, and on To where the path of chill December ends.

FELLOW TRAVELERS

Old comrade, must we separate to-day?

Sometimes my feet have faltered, sore and tired, And sometimes in the sloughs and quicksands mired, But it has always helped to hear you say, "The road is fine a little further on."

Your optimism and your hearty cheer Have made the journey pleasant, good Old Year, And I, in truth, regret to see you gone.

Young New Year whom you leave me as a guide, In doubt, would have me pledge a lot of things Before we start, and make some offerings To G.o.ds whose love, I fear, will not abide.

And yet I like my new companion's face.

Old Year, lend him your wisdom and your grace.

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

Beloved Poet, thou hast taught our heart A sympathy it hardly knew before-- A yearning kinship and a spirit lore Of humble folk, a love transcending art!

The pulse of brotherhood throbs in thy song.

No mystic, blindly groping on the sh.o.r.e Of dark uncertainty; unlike Tagore, Thy faith is pure and definite and strong.

Consumpted Jim and thriftless c.o.o.n-dog Wess, The Girly Girl with eyes of limpid blue, The Raggedy Man that Orphant Annie knew; The Little Cripple, glad, though motherless; Poor hare-lip Joney and the Wandering Jew-- All these thy pen doth glorify and bless!

CALE YOUNG RICE

He loves the boom of breakers on the sh.o.r.e, And winds that lash the billows into foam; He loves the placid seas beneath the dome Of blue infinitudes--not less, but more; He loves to brood upon the mystic lore Of silent stars above the silent seas, And feel the pa.s.sion of infinities Beyond, where only Faith would dare explore.

Thus groping after G.o.d has helped him find Divinity in man (where only sin And brutal l.u.s.ts have seemed to hedge him in), And taught his heart that Fate is never blind.

That somehow, somewhere, now beyond our ken, One day we'll understand the wrongs of men.

PILATE'S MONOLOGUE

[_This monologue of Pilate to Herod takes place a few days after the resurrection at the home of Pontius Pilate. Pilate and Herod are standing on the east porch of the Governor's mansion in Jerusalem, looking toward the Mount of Olives. The time is just at sunset._]

Oh! Herod, couldst thou find no fault in Him-- The Man of Galilee? Clearly He Belonged within thy jurisdiction. Didst Thou fear to do thy duty? Still I blame Thee not--the mob was clamorous for blood!

I questioned Him, but like a lamb before His shearers He was dumb and answered me No word. Was not His silence proof of guilt?

But even then I offered to release Him, till the rabble shouted, "Crucify This Man: set free Barabbas, if thou wilt, But we demand the life of Jesus whom They call the _Christ_." Oh! dost thou think His blood Can be upon my head? I washed my hands Before the mult.i.tude and told them I Was innocent of any crime toward Him.

I scourged Him, it is true, but that was all.

They stripped Him and bedecked Him with a robe Of scarlet cloth, and placed a crown of thorns Upon His head, and then they mocked and jeered And spat upon Him, hailing Him as _King_!

I can not think that this was right, but still They say He blasphemed and deserved to die.

But what Is blasphemy?

Oh, Herod, I Can never rid my dreams of Jesus' look.

He turned His eyes upon me as I dipped My fingers in the bowl--a glance that seemed More fraught with love and pity than with hate.

He blessed the people as He hung upon The cross in agony of pain, and prayed His G.o.d to pardon them because they knew Not what they did. Thou canst not, Herod, think This Nazarene was more than man? It can't Be possible that He whom Pilate scourged Was _Christ_ indeed! But could a _man_ forgive His murderers? They say the tomb is burst And that His body is no longer there!

I might endure His curse. My pen has stabbed To death a thousand men and never felt Compunction for the deed, because I knew They hated me. But now the voice that haunts My sleep asks only blessings on my head.

They say He wept for men because of sin, And yet no guile was found in Him. If I Could close my eyes and see that face no more I might find peace again.

Three nights I have Not slept. I hear that Judas hanged himself!

And now no guard that watched before The sepulchre can anywhere be found.

Had I but set the Galilean free!

But did he not insult my majesty?

He must have known I ruled in Caesar's stead.