The Poems of Henry Van Dyke Part 32

AMERICA'S WAY

But thou, my country, though no fault be thine For that red horror far across the sea; Though not a tortured wretch can point to thee, And curse thee for the selfishness supine Of those great Powers that cowardly combine To shield the Turk in his iniquity; Yet, since thy hand is innocent and free, Arise, and show the world the way divine!

Thou canst not break the oppressor's iron rod, But thou canst help and comfort the oppressed; Thou canst not loose the captive's heavy chain, But thou canst bind his wounds and soothe his pain.

Armenia calls thee, Sovereign of the West, To play the Good Samaritan for G.o.d.

1896.

SICILY, DECEMBER, 1908

O garden isle, beloved by Sun and Sea, Whose bluest billows kiss thy curving bays, Whose light infolds thy hills with golden rays, Filling with fruit each dark-leaved orange-tree, What hidden hatred hath the Earth for thee, That once again, in these dark, dreadful days, Breaks forth in trembling rage, and swiftly lays Thy beauty waste in wreck and agony!

Is Nature, then, a strife of jealous powers, And man the plaything of unconscious fate?

Not so, my troubled heart! G.o.d reigns above, And man is greatest in his darkest hours.

Walking amid the cities desolate, Behold the Son of G.o.d in human love!

Tertius and Henry van d.y.k.e.

"COME BACK AGAIN, JEANNE D'ARC"

The land was broken in despair, The princes quarrelled in the dark, When clear and tranquil, through the troubled air Of selfish minds and wills that did not dare, Your star arose, Jeanne d'Arc.

O virgin breast with lilies white, O sun-burned hand that bore the lance, You taught the prayer that helps men to unite, You brought the courage equal to the fight, You gave a heart to France!

Your king was crowned, your country free, At Rheims you had your soul's desire: And then, at Rouen, maid of Domremy, The black-robed judges gave your victory The martyr's crown of fire.

And now again the times are ill, And doubtful leaders miss the mark; The people lack the single faith and will To make them one,--your country needs you still,-- Come back again, Jeanne d'Arc!

O woman-star, arise once more And shine to bid your land advance: The old heroic trust in G.o.d restore, Renew the brave, unselfish hopes of yore, And give a heart to France!

Paris, July, 1909.

NATIONAL MONUMENTS

Count not the cost of honour to the dead!

The tribute that a mighty nation pays To those who loved her well in former days Means more than grat.i.tude for glories fled; For every n.o.ble man that she hath bred, Lives in the bronze and marble that we raise, Immortalised by art's immortal praise, To lead our sons as he our fathers led.

These monuments of manhood strong and high Do more than forts or battle-ships to keep Our dear-bought liberty. They fortify The heart of youth with valour wise and deep; They build eternal bulwarks, and command Immortal hosts to guard our native land.

February, 1905.

THE MONUMENT OF FRANCIS MAKEMIE

(Presbyter of Christ in America, 1683-1708)

To thee, plain hero of a rugged race, We bring the meed of praise too long delayed!

Thy fearless word and faithful work have made For G.o.d's Republic firmer resting-place In this New World: for thou hast preached the grace And power of Christ in many a forest glade, Teaching the truth that leaves men unafraid Of frowning tyranny or death's dark face.

Oh, who can tell how much we owe to thee, Makemie, and to labour such as thine, For all that makes America the shrine Of faith untrammelled and of conscience free?

Stand here, gray stone, and consecrate the sod Where rests this brave Scotch-Irish man of G.o.d!

April, 1908.

THE STATUE OF SHERMAN BY ST. GAUDENS

This is the soldier brave enough to tell The glory-dazzled world that 'war is h.e.l.l': Lover of peace, he looks beyond the strife, And rides through h.e.l.l to save his country's life.

April, 1904.

"AMERICA FOR ME"

'Tis fine to see the Old World, and travel up and down Among the famous palaces and cities of renown, To admire the crumbly castles and the statues of the kings,-- But now I think I've had enough of antiquated things.

_So it's home again, and home again, America for me!

My heart is turning home again, and there I long to be, In the land of youth and freedom beyond the ocean bars, Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars._

Oh, London is a man's town, there's power in the air; And Paris is a woman's town, with flowers in her hair; And it's sweet to dream in Venice, and it's great to study Rome; But when it comes to living there is no place like home.

I like the German fir-woods, in green battalions drilled; I like the gardens of Versailles with flashing fountains filled; But, oh, to take your hand, my dear, and ramble for a day In the friendly western woodland where Nature has her way!

I know that Europe's wonderful, yet something seems to lack: The Past is too much with her, and the people looking back.

But the glory of the Present is to make the Future free,-- We love our land for what she is and what she is to be.

_Oh, it's home again, and home again, America for me!

I want a ship that's westward bound to plough the rolling sea, To the blessed Land of Room Enough beyond the ocean bars, Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars._

June, 1909.

THE BUILDERS