The Poems of Henry Van Dyke Part 25

II

Long ago he left me, long and long ago; Now I wander thro' the world, seeking high and low.

Hidden safe and happy, in some pleasant place,-- If I could but hear his voice, soon I'd see his face!

Far away, Many a day, Where can Barney be?

Answer, dear, Don't you hear?

Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!

Birds that every spring-time sung him full of joy, Flowers he loved to pick for me, mind me of my boy.

Somewhere he is waiting till my steps come nigh; Love may hide itself awhile, but love can never die.

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

1898.

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,-- And the dreams 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 I 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 seems as if he came Home from a happy land, To bring a message to my heart And make me understand.

Somewhere, among bright dreams, A child that once was mine Has 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.

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 now, 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 wordless joy that blossomed into being; And now, in winter days, 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.

November, 1903.

THE WINDOW

All night long, by a distant bell The pa.s.sing hours were notched On the dark, while her breathing rose and fell; And the spark of life I watched In her face was glowing, or fading,--who could tell?-- And the open window of the room, With a flare of yellow light, Was peering out into the gloom, Like an eye that searched the night.

_Oh, what do you see in the dark, little window, and why do you peer?

"I see that the garden is crowded with creeping forms of fear: Little white ghosts in the locust-tree, wave in the night-wind's breath, And low in the leafy laurels the lurking shadow of death."_

Sweet, clear notes of a waking bird Told of the pa.s.sing away Of the dark,--and my darling may have heard; For she smiled in her sleep, while the ray Of the rising dawn spoke joy without a word, Till the splendour born in the east outburned The yellow lamplight, pale and thin, And the open window slowly turned To the eye of the morning, looking in.

_Oh, what do you see in the room, little window, that makes you so bright?

"I see that a child is asleep on her pillow, soft and white: With the rose of life on her lips, the pulse of life in her breast, And the arms of G.o.d around her, she quietly takes her rest."_

Neuilly, June, 1909.

CHRISTMAS TEARS

The day returns by which we date our years: Day of the joy of giving,--that means love; Day of the joy of living,--that means hope; Day of the Royal Child,--and day that brings To older hearts the gift of Christmas tears!

Look, how the candles twinkle through the tree, The children shout when baby claps his hands, The room is full of laughter and of song!

Your lips are smiling, dearest,--tell me why Your eyes are br.i.m.m.i.n.g full of Christmas tears?

Was it a silent voice that joined the song?

A vanished face that glimmered once again Among the happy circle round the tree?

Was it an unseen hand that touched your cheek And brought the secret gift of Christmas tears?