The Kingdom of Love Part 3

TWO SINNERS

There was a man, it was said one time, Who went astray in his youthful prime.

Can the brain keep cool and the heart keep quiet When the blood is a river that's running riot?

And boys will be boys, the old folks say, And a man is the better who's had his day

The sinner reformed; and the preacher told Of the prodigal son who came back to the fold.

And Christian people threw open the door, With a warmer welcome than ever before.

Wealth and honour were his to command, And a spotless woman gave him her hand.

And the world strewed their pathway with blossoms abloom, Crying, "G.o.d bless ladye, and G.o.d bless groom!"

There was a maiden who went astray, In the golden dawn of her life's young day.

She had more pa.s.sion and heart than head, And she followed blindly where fond Love led.

And Love unchecked is a dangerous guide To wander at will by a fair girl's side.

The woman repented and turned from sin, But no door opened to let her in.

The preacher prayed that she might be forgiven, But told her to look for mercy--in heaven.

For this is the law of the earth, we know: That the woman is stoned, while the man may go.

A brave man wedded her after all, But the world said, frowning, "We shall not call."

THE PHANTOM BALL

You remember the hall on the corner?

To-night as I walked down street I heard the sound of music, And the rhythmic beat and beat, In time to the pulsing measure Of lightly tripping feet.

And I turned and entered the doorway-- It was years since I had been there-- Years, and life seemed altered: Pleasure had changed to care.

But again I was hearing the music And watching the dancers fair.

And then, as I stood and listened, The music lost its glee; And instead of the merry waltzers There were ghosts of the Used-to-be-- Ghosts of the pleasure-seekers Who once had danced with me.

Oh, 'twas a ghastly picture!

Oh, 'twas a gruesome crowd!

Each bearing a skull on his shoulder, Each trailing a long white shroud, As they whirled in the dance together, And the music shrieked aloud.

As they danced, their dry bones rattled Like shutters in a blast; And they stared from eyeless sockets On me as they circled past; And the music that kept them whirling Was a funeral dirge played fast.

Some of them wore their face-cloths, Others were rotted away.

Some had mould on their garments, And some seemed dead but a day.

Corpses all, but I knew them As friends, once blithe and gay.

Beauty and strength and manhood-- And this was the end of it all: Nothing but phantoms whirling In a ghastly skeleton ball.

But the music ceased--and they vanished, And I came away from the hall.

WORDS AND THOUGHTS

He said as he sat in her theatre box Between the acts, "What beastly weather!

How like a parrot the lover talks-- And the lady is tame, and the villain stalks-- I hope they finally die together."

He thought--"_You are fair as the dawn's first ray_; _I know the angels keep guard above you_.

_And so I chatter of weather_, _and play_, _While all the time I am mad to say_, _I love you_, _love you_, _love you_."

He said--"The season is almost run; How glad we are, when the whirl is over!

For the toil of pleasure is more than its fun, And what is it all, when all is done, But the stick of a rocket that has descended?"

He thought--"_Oh G.o.d_! _to be off somewhere_ _Afar with you_, _from this scene of fashion_; _To know you were mine_, _and to have you care_, _And to lose myself in the crimson snare_ _Of your lips_, _in a kiss of pa.s.sion_."

He said--"You are going abroad, no doubt, This land of Liberty coldly scorning.

I too shall journey a bit about, From Wall Street up by the L. Road out To Harlem, and down each morning."

He thought--"_It must follow on land or sea_, _This pent-up_, _pa.s.sionate_, _dumb devotion_, _Till the cry of a rapture that may not be_ _Shall reach your heart from the heart of me_ _And stir you with strange emotion_."

WANTED--A LITTLE GIRL

Where have they gone to--the little girls With natural manners and natural curls; Who love their dollies and like their toys, And talk of something besides the boys?

Little old women in plenty I find, Mature in manners and old of mind; Little old flirts who talk of their "beaux,"

And vie with each other in stylish clothes.

Little old belles who, at nine and ten, Are sick of pleasure and tired of men; Weary of travel, of b.a.l.l.s, of fun, And find no new thing under the sun.

Once, in the beautiful long ago, Some dear little children I used to know; Girls who were merry as lambs at play, And laughed and rollicked the livelong day.

They thought not at all of the "style" of their clothes, They never imagined that boys were "beaux"-- "Other girls' brothers" and "mates" were they, Splendid fellows to help them play.

Where have they gone to? If you see One of them anywhere send her to me.

I would give a medal of purest gold To one of those dear little girls of old, With an innocent heart and an open smile, Who knows not the meaning of "flirt" or "style."

THE SUICIDE

Vast was the wealth I carried in life's pack-- Youth, health, ambition, hope and trust; but Time And Fate, those robbers fit for any crime, Stole all, and left me but the empty sack.

Before me lay a long and lonely track Of darkling hills and barren steeps to climb; Behind me lay in shadows the sublime Lost lands of Love's delight. Alack! Alack!