If you had never come into my life —
Had never let me look into your eyes,
Reading therein the hope that never dies
But glows resplendent through all bitter strife —
Then I had never known what Faith can do —
Had I not you!

If you had never walked close by my side,
And with those wondrous eyes, seen in my breast

When June gits here
I cal'culate t' take
A day or two, an' lay around th' farm,
Jest listenin' to the birds an' bees an' things
That work so hard — it won't do them no harm.
I 'm goin' to loaf a few days of the year
When June gits here!

When June gits here
Th' craps kin grow awhile
Without me gittin' up afore daylight

I'm tired, days and nights to me
Drag on in slow monotony,
With not a single star in sight
To lend a gleam of cheering light.

I'm tired, there are none to care
That I am drifting to despair:
O shadows! take me to your breast
For I am tired — I would rest.

VIKING SONG

In memory of Theodore Roosevelt

There was never rust on the oarlocks
When Thran was king;
Our ships were as swift as swallows
On dipping wing;
There was never rust on the spearhead
Nor on the sword
When Thran, that mighty viking,
Was over-lord.
How we shouted at the oar-sweeps
As down the day
Our beaked prows clove asunder
Their foamy way.…

Multitudinous as armies
That bivouac wide
The stars they camped about us,
And the great tide
Was powdered golden with them

A SONG to the man who says, " Old chap,
Your time is coming some day;
Just keep on hoping and doing your best,
For that is the only way! "
Mayhap he is talking straight through his hat,
Mayhap his words are not true.
But, nevertheless, a health to the chap
Who says he believes in you!

Knockers are numerous nowadays,
And flatterers seek their own ends;
You scorn the first, and the second, you know,
Are nothing but fair-weather friends.
But the man who helps is the man who sticks,
It matters not what you may do;

Alone! yes, evermore alone — isolate each his way,
Though hand is echoing to hand vain sophistries of clay,
Within that veiled, mystic place where bides the inmost soul,
No twain shall pass while tides shall wax, nor changing seasons roll.

Enisled, apart our pilgrimage, despite the arms that twine,
Despite the fusing kiss that wields the magic charm of wine,
Despite the interplay of sigh, the surge of sympathy,
We tread in solitude remote, the trail of destiny!

There are tears sweet, refreshing like dewdrops that rise,
There are tears far too deep for the lakes of the eyes.

There are kisses like thistledown, fitfully sped,
There are kisses that live in the hearts of the dead.

O Rainbow, Rainbow, on the livid height,
Softening its ashen outlines into dream,
Dewy yet brilliant, delicately bright
As pink wild-roses' leaves, why dost thou gleam
So beckoningly? Whom dost thou invite
Still higher upward on the bitter quest?
What dost thou promise to the weary sight
In that strange region whence thou issuest?
Speakest thou of pensive runlets by whose side
Our dear ones wander sweet and gentle-eyed,
In the soft dawn of some diviner Day?
Art thou a promise? Come those hues and dyes

Who cometh wandering hither in my need?
What gentle Ghost from Heaven cometh now? —
Oh, I am broken to the rod indeed —
Father, my earthly father, is it thou?
The stooping shape with piteous human brow,
The dear quaint gesture, and the feeble pace,
The weary-eyed, world-worn, belovid face,
Ev'n as they wildly faded, meet me now.
A gentle voice flows softly, saying plain:
" From death comes light, from pain beatitude;
Chide not at loss, for out of loss comes gain;
Chide not at grief, for 'tis the Soul's best food —

But He, the only One of mortal birth
Who raised the Veil and saw the Face behind,
While yet He wander'd footsore on the earth,
Beheld His Father's Eyes, — that they were kind.
Here in the dark I grope, confused, purblind;
I have not seen the glory and the peace;
But on the darken'd mirror of the mind
Strange glimmers fall, and shake me till they cease —
Then, wondering, dazzled, on Thy name I call,
And, like a child, reach empty hands and moan,
And broken accents from my wild lips fall,
And I implore Thee in this human tone; —