No More Learning

Not by deeds that win the crowd's applauses,
Not by works that give thee world-renown,
Not by martyrdom or vaunted crosses
Canst thou win and wear the immortal crown.
Daily struggling, though unloved and lonely,
Every day a rich reward will give;
Thou wilt find by hearty striving only,
And truly loving, thou canst truly live.
Dost thou revel in the rosy morning,
When all nature hails the lord of light,
And his smile, the mountain tops adorning,
Robes yon fragrant fields in radiance bright?
Other hands may grasp the field and forest,
Proud proprietors in pomp may shine;
But with fervent love if thou adorest,
Thou art wealthier — all the world is thine.
Yet if through earth's wide domains thou rovest,
Sighing that they are not thine alone,
Not those fair fields, but thyself thou lovest,
And their beauty and thy wealth are gone.


## p. 16729 (#429) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16729
Nature wears the color of the spirit;
Sweetly to her worshiper she sings;
All the glow, the grace she doth inherit,
Round her trusting child she fondly flings.
HARRIET WINSLOW SEWALL.
LONGING
O
TROUBLED sea, that longest evermore
From out thy cold and sunless depths to rise
To the bright orb that draws thee toward the skies,
And beat'st thy breast against the unyielding shore,
In the vain struggle to unloose the bands
That bind thee down to earth; in thy despair,
With sullen roar now leaping high in air,
Now moaning, sobbing on the insatiate sands,-
Type of the soul art thou: she strives like thee,
By time and circumstance and law bound down;
She beats against the shores of the unknown,
Wrestles with unseen force, doubt, mystery,
And longs forever for the goal afar,
That shines and still retreats, like a receding star.
ANNE C. L. Botta.
AN ANTIQUE INTAGLIO
S°
INFINITELY small we scarce may trace
The magic touches of the graver's hand;
And yet so great that Time himself doth stand
With envious gaze, all powerless to efface.
Here lie the power and skill and wondrous grace
That might the stateliest palaces have planned;
And one soul's lifelong toil perchance is spanned
Within this little circle's narrow space.
Was he content, the artist ? Did he burn
With ardent pride and sweet creative bliss
O'er thy perfected loveliness, nor yearn
For wider spheres and mightier work than this?
Or from thy beauty would he sadly turn,
And sigh, and gaze on the Acropolis ?
SUSAN MARR SPALDING.


## p. 16730 (#430) ##########################################

16730
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
CARCASSONNE
1
'M GROWING old; I'm sixty years:
I've labored all my life in vain;
In all that time of hopes and fears
I've failed my dearest wish to gain:
I see full well that here below
Bliss unalloyed there is for none.
My prayer will ne'er fulfillment know:
I never have seen Carcassonne,
I never have seen Carcassonne !
You see the city from the hill –
It lies beyond the mountains blue;
And yet to reach it one must still
Five long and weary leagues pursue;
And, to return, as many more!
Ah! had the vintage plenteous grown!
The grape withheld its yellow store.
I shall not look on Carcassonne,
I shall not look on Carcassonne!
They tell me every day is there
Not more nor less than Sunday gay;
In shining robes and garments fair
The people walk upon their way;
One gazes there on castle walls
As grand as those of Babylon,
A bishop and two generals!
I do not know fair Carcassonne,
I do not know fair Carcassonne!
The curé's right: he says that we
Are ever wayward, weak, and blind;
He tells us in his homily
Ambition ruins all mankind:
Yet could I there two days have spent,
While still the autumn sweetly shone,
Ah me! I might have died content
When I had looked on Carcassonne,
When I had looked on Carcassonne!
Thy pardon, father, I beseech,
In this my prayer if I offend:


## p. 16731 (#431) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16731
One something sees beyond his reach
From childhood to his journey's end.
My wife, our little boy Aignan,
Have traveled even to Narbonne;
My grandehild has seen Perpignan:
And I have not seen Carcassonne,
And I have not seen Carcassonne!
»
So crooned one day, close by Limoux,
A peasant, double bent with age.
« Rise up, my friend,” said I: “with you
I'll go upon this pilgrimage. ”
We left next morning his abode,
But (Heaven forgive him) half-way on
The old man died upon the road :
He never gazed on Carcassonne.
Each mortal has his Carcassonne!
GUSTAVE NADAUD.
Translation of John R. Thompson.
A RADICAL
H*
E NEVER feared to pry the stable stone
That loving lichens clad with silvery gray:
Torn ivies trembled as they slipped away,
Their empty arms now loose and listless blown.
Then turning, with that ardor all his own,
“Behold my better building! ” he would say.
“I rear as well as raze: nor by decay
Nor foe nor fire can this be overthrown! »
What was it ? Had he keener sight than we?
We saw the ruin, more we could not see;
His blocks were jasper air, a dream his plan.
We called him Stormer: ever he replied,
« Unbroken calm within my breast I hide. ”
Now God be judge betwixt us and this man!
HELEN GRAY CONE.


## p. 16732 (#432) ##########################################

16732
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
FROM DUNSTAN; OR THE POLITICIAN)
«How long, O Lord, how long ? »
N"
ow poor Tom Dunstan's cold,
Our shop is duller:
Scarce a tale is told,
And our talk has lost its old
Red-republican color.
Though he was sickly and thin,
'Twas a sight to see his face,
While, sick of the country's sin,
With a bang of the fist, and chin
Thrust out, he argued the case!
He prophesied men should be free,
And the money-bags be bled!
«She's coming, she's coming! ” said he:
Courage, boys! wait and see!
Freedom's ahead! »
(
All day we sat in the heat,
Like spiders spinning,
Stitching full fine and fleet,
While old Moses on his seat
Sat greasily grinning;
And here Tom said his say,
And prophesied Tyranny's death;
And the tallow burned all day,
And we stitched and stitched away
In the thick smoke of our breath.
Weary, weary were we,
Our hearts as heavy as lead;
But “Patience! she's coming! ” said he:
Courage, boys! wait and see!
Freedom's ahead! »
(
And at night, when we took here
The rest allowed to us,
The paper came, and the beer,
And Tom read, sharp and clear,
The news out loud to us:
And then, in his witty way,
He threw the jests about;—
The cutting things he'd say
Of the wealthy and the gay!
How he turned 'em inside out!


## p. 16733 (#433) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16733
And it made our breath more free
To hearken to what he said -
“She's coming! she's coming! ” said he:
Courage, boys! wait and see!
Freedom's ahead! »
(
But grim Jack Hart, with a sneer,
Would mutter, “Master!
If Freedom means to appear,
I think she might step here
A little faster! »
Then, 'twas fine to see Tom flame,
And argue, and prove, and preach,
Till Jack was silent for shame,
Or a fit of coughing came
O' sudden, to spoil Tom's speech.
Ah! Tom had the eyes to see
When Tyranny should be sped -
«She's coming! she's coming! ” said he:
Courage, boys! wait and see !
Freedom's ahead ! »
But Tom was little and weak,-
The hard hours shook him;
Hollower grew his cheek;
And when he began to speak
The coughing took him:
Ere long the cheery sound
Of his chat among us ceased,
And we made a purse, all round,
That he might not starve, at least.
His pain was sorry to see,
Yet there, on his poor sick-bed,
«She's coming, in spite of me!
Courage, and wait ! » cried he:
"Freedom's ahead! »
A little before he died,
To see his passion!
« Bring me a paper,” he cried,
And then to study it tried,
In his old sharp fashion;
And with eyeballs glittering,
His look on me he bent,


## p. 16734 (#434) ##########################################

16734
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
And said that savage thing
Of the lords o' the Parliament.
Then, dying, smiling on me,
<< What matter if one be dead?
She's coming at last! ” said he:
“Courage, boy! wait and see!
Freedom's ahead! »
Ay, now Tom Dunstan's cold,
The shop feels duller:
Scarce a tale is told,
And our talk has lost the old
Red-republican color.
But we see a figure gray,
And we hear a voice of death,
And the tallow burns all day,
And we stitch and stitch away
In the thick smoke of our breath;
Ay, while in the dark sit we,
Tom seems to call from the dead
«She's coming! she's coming! ” says he:
“Courage, boys! wait and see!
Freedom's ahead! »
How long, O Lord! how long
Must thy handmaid linger-
She who shall right the wrong,
Make the poor sufferer strong ?
Sweet morrow, bring her!
Hasten her over the sea,
O Lord! ere hope be fled!
Bring her to men and to me! -
O slave, pray still on thy knee,
FREEDOM's ahead! »
ROBERT BUCHANAN.
DUTY
I
SLEPT and dreamed that life was Beauty;
I woke, and found that life was Duty.
Was thy dream then a shadowy lie?
Toil on, sad heart, courageously,
And thou shalt find thy dream to be
A noonday light and truth to thee.
ELLEN STURGIS HOOPER.


## p. 16735 (#435) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16735
A DISCOVERY
THE
HE languid world went by me as I found
A jewel on the ground,
Under a silent weed,
A nameless glory set for none to heed.
«Stoop, see, and wonder! ” was my joyful cry,
But still the languid world went only by.
I drew it forth, and set it on a hill:
They passed it still.
Some turned to look,
And said it was a pebble from the brook;
A dewdrop, only made to melt away;
A worthless mirror, with a bordered ray.
Then on my knees I shouted forth its praise
For nights and days.
«See with your eyes
A diamond shining only for the wise!
How is it that you love not at first sight
This unfamiliar treasure of pure light ? ”
I set it on my breast. Then, with a sneer,
The world drew near.
They knew the sign
And secret of my praise: the thing was mine.
They left it to me with a bland disdain,
And hugged their tinsel to their hearts again.
I showed it to the dearest soul I had:
“You are not mad;
Let them go by:
We know it is a diamond, you and I. ”
Coldly he answered, “If you love it so,
You need not me to praise it. Let me go. ”
»
“It is my sin,” I cried with bitter tears,
“That no man hears.
I'll Aling it down:
Some nobler hand shall set it in a crown.
I shall behold it honored ere I die;
But no one could have loved it more than I ! »
MENELLA BUTE SMEDLEY.


## p. 16736 (#436) ##########################################

16736
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
COMBATANTS
H :
E SEEMED to call me, and I shrank dismayed,
Deeming he threatened all I held most dear;
But when at last his summons I obeyed,
Perplexed and full of fear,
I found upon his face no angry frown -
Only a visor down.
Indignant that his voice, so calm and sweet,
In my despite unto my soul appealed,
I cried, “If thou hast courage, turn and meet
A foeman full revealed! »
And with determined zeal that made me strong,
Contended with him long.
.
But oh, the armor he so meekly bore
Was wrought for him in other worlds than ours!
In firm defense of what he battled for
Were leagued eternal powers!
I fell; yet overwhelmed by my disgrace,
At last I saw his face!
And in its matchless beauty I forgot
The constant service to my pledges due;
And with adoring love that sorrowed not,
Entreated, “Tell me who
Hath so o'erthrown my will and pride of youth ? ”
He answered, “I am Truth. ”
C
»
FLORENCE EARLE COATES.
TO-DAY
VOICE
JOICE, with what emulous fire thou singest free hearts of old
fashion,
English scorners of Spain sweeping the blue sea-way:
Sing me the daring of life for life, the magnanimous passion
Of man for man in the mean populous streets of To-day!
Hand, with what color and power thou couldst show in the ring hot-
sanded,
Brown Bestiarius holding the lean, tawn tiger at bay:
Paint me the wrestle of Toil with the wild-beast Want, bare-handed!
Shadow me forth a soul steadily facing To-day!
HELEN GRAY CONE.


## p. 16737 (#437) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16737
UNKNOWN IDEAL
WHOSE
HOSE is the voice that will not let me rest?
I hear it speak.
Where is the shore will gratify my quest,
Show what I seek?
Not yours, weak Muse, to mimic that far voice
With halting tongue;
No peace, sweet land, to bid my heart rejoice
Your groves among.
Whose is the loveliness I know is by,
Yet cannot place?
Is it perfection of the sea or sky,
Or human face?
Not yours, my pencil, to delineate
The splendid smile!
Blind in the sun, we struggle on with fate
That glows the while.
Whose are the feet that pass me, echoing
On unknown ways?
Whose are the lips that only part to sing
Through all my days?
Not yours, fond youth, to fill mine eager eyes
That still adore
Beauty that tarries not, nor satisfies
For evermore.
DORA SIGERSON.
THE SILENCE
From (Les Villages Illusoires)
VER since ending of the summer weather,
When last the thunder and the lightning brcke,
Shattering themselves upon it at one stroke,
The Silence has not stirred there in the heather.
E"
All round about stand steeples straight as stakes,
And each its bell between its fingers shakes;
All round about with their three-storied loads,
The teams prowl down the roads;
All round about where'er the pine woods end,
The wheel creaks on along its rutty bed,
XXVIII-1047


## p. 16738 (#438) ##########################################

16738
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
But not a sound is strong enough to rend
That space intense and dead.
Since summer, thunder laden, last was heard,
The Silence has not stirred;
And the broad heath-land where the nights sink down,
Beyond the sand-hills brown,
Beyond the endless thickets closely set,
To the far borders of the far-away,
Prolongs It yet.
Even the winds disturb not as they go
The boughs of those long larches, bending low
Where the marsh-water lies,
In which Its vacant eyes
Gaze at themselves unceasing, stubbornly;
Only sometimes, as on their way they move,
The noiseless shadows of the clouds above,
Or of some great bird's hovering flight on high,
Brush It in passing by.
Since the last bolt that scored the earth aslant,
Nothing has pierced the Silence dominant.
Of those who cross Its vast immensity,
Whether at twilight or at dawn it be,
There is not one but feels
The dread of the Unknown that It instills;
An ample force supreme, It holds Its sway,
Uninterruptedly the same for aye.
Dark walls of blackest fir-trees bar from sight
The outlook towards the paths of hope and light;
Great pensive junipers
Affright from far the passing travelers;
Long narrow paths stretch their straight lines unbent,
Till they fork off in curves malevolent;
And the sun, ever shifting, ceaseless lends
Fresh aspects to the mirage whither tends
Bewilderment.
Since the last bolt was forged amid the storm,
The polar Silence at the corners four
Of the wide heather-land has stirred no more.
Old shepherds, whom their hundred years have worn
To things all dislocate and out of gear,
And their old dogs, ragged, tired-out, and torn,
Oft watch It, on the soundless lowlands near,


## p. 16739 (#439) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16739
Or downs of gold beflecked with shadows' flight,
Sit down immensely there beside the night.
Then, at the curves and corners of the mere,
The waters creep with fear;
The heather veils itself, grows wan and white;
All the leaves listen upon all the bushes,
And the incendiary sunset hushes
Before Its face his cries of brandished light.
And in the hamlets that about It lie,
Beneath the thatches of their hovels small,
The terror dwells of feeling It is nigh;
And though It stirs not, dominating all,
Broken with dull despair and helplessness,
Beneath Its presence they crouch motionless,
As though upon the watch — and dread to see,
Through rifts of vapor, open suddenly
At evening, in the noon, the argent eyes
Of Its mute mysteries.
EMÉLE VERHÄEREN.
Translation of Alma Strettell.
THE HELMSMAN
W"
HAT shall I ask for the voyage I must sail to the end alone ?
Summer and calms and rest from never a labor done?
Nay, blow, ye life-winds all; curb not for me your blast:
Strain ye my quivering ropes, bend ye my trembling mast,
Then there can be no drifting, thank God! for boat or me, -
Strenuous, swift, our course over a living sea.
Mine is a man's right arm to steer through fog and foam;
Beacons are shining still to guide each farer home.
Give me your worst, () winds! others have met the stress :
E’en if it be to sink, give me no less, no less.
M. A. DE WOLFE HOWE.


## p. 16740 (#440) ##########################################

16740
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
SEALED ORDERS
From (Poems) by Julia C. R. Dorr. Copyright. 1874, 1885, 1892, by Charles
Scribner's Sons
"O"
H, WHITHER bound, my captain ?
The wind is blowing free,
And overhead the white sails spread
As we go out to sea.
»
He looked to north, he looked to south,
Or ever a word he spake;
«With orders sealed my sails I set -
Due east my course I take. ”
“But to what port ? ". — «Nay, nay,” he cried.
“This only do I know,-
That I must sail due eastward
Whatever wind may blow. ”
»
For many a day we sailed east; —
“O captain, tell me true,
When will our good ship come to port? " --
“I cannot answer you! ” —
« Then, prithee, gallant captain,
Let us but drift awhile!
The current setteth southward
Past many a sunny isle,
«Where cocoas grow, and mangoes,
And groves of feathery palm,
And nightingales sing all night long
To roses breathing balm. ” –
“Nay, tempt me not,” he answered:
« This only do I know,-
That I must sail due eastward
Whatever winds may blow! »
(
Then sailed we on, and sailed we east
Into the whirlwind's track;
Wild was the tempest overhead,
The sea was strewn with wrack.
“Oh, turn thee, turn thee, captain —
Thou’rt rushing on to death! ”
But back he answer shouted,
With unabated breath: --


## p. 16741 (#441) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16741
« Turn back who will, I turn not!
For this one thing I know,-
That I must sail due eastward
However winds may blow! ” –
« Oh, art thou fool or madman ?
Thy port is but a dream,
And never on the horizon's rim
Will its fair turrets gleam. ”
Then smiled the captain wisely,
And slowly answered he,
The while his keen glance widened
Over the lonely sea:-
“I carry sealed orders.
This only thing I know,-
That I must sail due eastward
Whatever winds may blow! ”
JULIA C. R. DORR.
THE STAR TO ITS LIGHT
"Gº
0," said the star to its light:
“Follow your fathomless Aight!
Into the dreams of space
Carry the joy of my face.
Go," said the star to its light:
« Tell me the tale of your flight. ”
As the mandate rang
The heavens through,
Quick the ray sprang,
Unheard it flew,
Sped by the touch of an unseen spur.
It crumbled the dusk of the deep
That folds the worlds in sleep,
And shot through night with noiseless stir.
Then came the day;
And all that swift array
Of diamond-sparkles died.
And lo! the far star cried,
“My light has lost its way! »
Ages on ages passed:
The light returned at last.


## p. 16742 (#442) ##########################################

16742
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
« What have you seen,
What have you heard
O ray serene,
O flame-winged bird,
I loosed on endless air ?
Why do you look so faint and white ? »
Said the star to its light.
« O star," said the tremulous ray,
“Grief and struggle I found;
Horror impeded my way.
Many a star and sun
I passed and touched on my round.
Many a life undone
I lit with a tender gleam;
I shone in the lover's eyes,
And soothed the maiden's dream.
But alas for the stifling mist of lies!
Alas, for the wrath of the battle-field
Where my glance was mixed with blood!
And woe for the hearts by hate congealed,
And the crime that rolls like a flood!
Too vast is the world for me,-
Too vast for the sparkling dew
Of a force like yours to renew.
Hopeless the world's immensity!
The suns go on without end;
The universe holds no friend:
And so I come back to you. "
«Go,” said the star to its light:
« You have not told me aright.
This you have taught: I am one
In a million of million others -
Stars, or planets, or men;
And all of these are my brothers.
Carry that message, and then
My guerdon of praise you have won!
Say that I serve in my place;
Say I will hide my own face
Ere the sorrows of others I shun.
So, then, my trust you'll requite.
Go! ” — said the star to its light.
GEORGE PARSONS LATHROP.


## p. 16743 (#443) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16743
THE GUIDE-POST
D"
'YE know the road to th' barrel o’ flour?
At break o' day let down the bars,
And plow y'r wheat-field, hour by hour,
Till sundown,— yes, till shine o' stars.
You peg away the livelong day,
Nor loaf about, nor gape around;
And that's the road to the thrashin'-floor,
And into the kitchen, I'll be bourd!
D'ye know the road where dollars lay ?
Follow the red cents, here and there;
For if a man leaves them, I guess
He won't find dollars anywhere.
D'ye know the road to Sunday's rest?
Jist don't o' week-days be afeard;
In field and workshop do y'r best,
And Sunday comes itself, I've heerd.
On Saturdays it's not fur off,
And brings a basketful o' cheer,-
A roast, and lots o' garden-stuff,
And, like as not, a jug o’ beer!
D'ye know the road to poverty?
Turn in at every tavern-sign;
Turn in,— 'tis temptin' as can be:
There's bran’-new cards and liquor fine.
In the last tavern there's a sack;
And when the cash y'r pocket quits,
Jist hang the wallet on y'r back —
You vagabond ! see how it fits!
D'ye know what road to honor leads,
And good old age ? a lovely sight!
By ways o' temperance, honest deeds,
And tryin' to do y'r dooty right.
And when the road forks, ary side,
And you're in doubt which one it is,
Stand still, and let y'r conscience guide:
Thank God, it can't lead much amiss!


## p. 16744 (#444) ##########################################

16744
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
And now, the road to church-yard gate
You needn't ask! Go anywhere!
For, whether roundabout or straight,
All roads, at last, 'll bring you there.
Go, fearin' God, but lovin' more!
I've tried to be an honest guide ;-
You'll find the grave has got a door,
And somethin' for you t'other side.
JOHANN PETER HEBEL
Translation of Bayard Taylor.
IF WE HAD THE TIME
IS
F I HAD the time to find a place
And sit me down full face to face
With my better if, that cannot show
In my daily life that rushes so,-
It might be then I should see my soul
Was stumbling still toward the shining goal.
I might be nerved by the thought sublime, -
If I had the time!
If I had the time to let my heart
Speak out and take in my life a part,
To look about and to stretch a hand
To a comrade quartered in no-luck land,
Ah, God! if I might but just sit still
And hear the note of the whippoorwill,
I think that my wish with God's would rhyme -
If I had the time!
If I had the time to learn from you
How much for comfort my word could do;
And I told you then of my sudden will
To kiss your feet when I did you ill;
If the tears aback of the coldness feigned
Could flow, and the wrong be quite explained, -
Brothers, the souls of us all would chime,
If we had the time!
RICHARD BURTON.


## p. 16745 (#445) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16745
THE ROSEMARY
M
Y SWEET maid Rosemary -
(Her gown it is so plain
E'en Vanity,
Dressed thus, could not be vain ! ) —
Doth preach to me,
When this my life doth seem
All small and mean,
And full of briers to be;
For in the rain or sun,
Cloaked all in modest gray,
This garden nun
Doth stand as though to pray!
Content, she never heeds
If flaunting Poppy scorns,
Nor marks that weeds
Do tear her gown with thorns;
She tells her beads,
And lives her life with joy,
Her one employ
To fill some small, sweet needs!
MARGARET DELAND.
BRINGING OUR SHEAVES WITH US
T"
HE time for toil has passed, and night has come,
The last and saddest of the harvest eves;
Worn out with labor long and wearisome,
Drooping and faint, the reapers hasten home,
Each laden with his sheaves.
Last of the laborers, thy feet I gain,
Lord of the harvest! and my spirit grieves
That I am burdened, not so much with grain,
As with a heaviness of heart and brain ;-
Master, behold my sheaves!
Few, light, and worthless, — yet their trifling weight
Through all my frame a weary aching leaves;
For long I struggled with my hopeless fate,
And stayed and toiled till it was dark and late,-
Yet these are all my sheaves.


## p. 16746 (#446) ##########################################

16746
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Full well I know I have more tares than wheat-
Brambles and flowers, dry stalks and withered leaves;
Wherefore I blush and weep, as at thy feet
I kneel down reverently and repeat,
“Master, behold my sheaves! ”
I know these blossoms, clustering heavily,
With evening dew upon their folded leaves,
Can claim no value or utility, -
Therefore shall fragrancy and beauty be
The glory of my sheaves.
So do I gather strength and hope anew;
For well I know thy patient love perceives
Not what I did, but what I strove to do, -
And though the full ripe ears be sadly few,
Thou wilt accept my sheaves.
ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN.
MOODS OF THE SOUL
I-IN TIME OF VICTORY
A
S SOLDIERS after fight confess
The fear their valor would not own
When, ere the battle's thunder-stress,
The silence made its mightier moan:
Though now the victory be mine,
'Tis of the conflict I must speak,
Still wondering how the Hand Divine
Confounds the mighty with the weak.
To-morrow I may flaunt the foe –
Not now; for in the echoing beat
Of fleeing heart-throbs well I know
The bitterness of near defeat.
O friends! who see but steadfast deeds,
Have grace of pity with your praise.
Crown if you must, but crown with weeds, –
The conquered more deserve your bays.
No, praise the dead! — the ancestral roll
That down their line new courage send,


## p. 16747 (#447) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16747
For moments when against the soul
All hell and half of heaven contend.
II — IN TIME OF DEFEAT
Yes, here is undisguised defeat;
You say, “No further fight to lose »:
With colors in the dust, 'tis meet
That tears should flow and looks accuse.
I echo every word of ruth
Or blame; yet have I lost the right
To praise with you the unfaltering truth,
— save in me — has might?
Whose power
Another day, another man;
I am not now what I have been:
Each grain that through the hour-glass ran
Rescued the sinner from his sin.
The future is my constant friend;
Above all children born to her
Alike her rich affections bend-
She, the unchiding comforter.
Perhaps on her unsullied scroll,
(Who knows? ) there may be writ at last
A fairer record of the soul
For this dark blot upon the past.
ROBERT UNDERWOOD JOHNSON.
ROYALTY
I
Am a princess royal, - child of a royal line;
All the broad moorlands I look on-lea, strand, and meadow
are mine!
Oh, I may wander at will over shores by the breakers kissed;
I may look seaward, skyward, though sunbeams fall as they list.
Mine is a race anointed, — mighty the name I bear;
Mine is the glory of giving, mine is the purple to wear.
Ay, mine to send, if I will it, ships to the end of the sea!
Mine to await their home-coming, the eyes of the people on
me.


## p. 16748 (#448) ##########################################

16748
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Sometimes the wind from the northlands, scourging the surf too
bold,
Blows the hair back from my forehead: purple seems all too
cold.
Woven
Sometimes my brows are wearied, - crown-gold seems
with rue;
Chanceth it then I remember purple is dark of hue.
Oye, my people, ye wist not that shadows, forgetting the
throne,
E'en as they fall upon your lives, darken the path of my own.
Nay, but to shrink from the thorn-sting, - turn, if a shadow be
seen,-
Maketh a princess less royal, maketh a queen not a queen.
Royalty? Nay, O my sisters! What doth it mean but to smile,-
Ay, and walk on, face unshadowed,- out of the sunlight the
while!
Crown ? Yea, there is one of fire: best it beseemeth a head
Bowed not to dark nor to tempest whither the way hath led.
Thorns spring low in the wayside, - and should a queen look
down?
Yet - 0 thou King, my Father, help me to wear my crown!
JOSEPHINE PEABODY.
THE RICHEST PRINCE
ALT
A ,
ll their wealth and vast possessions
Vaunting high in choicest terms,
Sat the German princes feasting
In the knightly hall of Worms.
"Mighty,” cried the Saxon ruler,
“Are the wealth and power I wield:
In my country's mountain gorges
Sparkling silver lies concealed. "
“See my land with plenty glowing,”
Quoth the Palgrave of the Rhine:
“Bounteous harvests in the valleys,
On the mountains noble wine. ”


## p. 16749 (#449) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16749
>
“Spacious towns and wealthy convents,"
Louis spake, Bavaria's lord,
“Make my land to yield me treasures
Great as those your fields afford. ”
Würtemberg's beloved monarch,
Eberard the Bearded, cried :-
“See, my land hath little cities;
Among my hills no metals bide:
« Yet one treasure it hath borne me!
Sleeping in the woodland free,
I may lay my head in safety
On my lowliest vassal's knee. ”
Then, as with a single utterance,
Cried aloud those princes three: -
« Bearded count, thy land hath jewels!
Thou art wealthier far than we ! »
JUSTINUS KERNER.
Translation of H. W. Dulcken.
LOUIS XV.
T"
HE King with all his kingly train
Had left his Pompadour behind,
And forth he rode in Senart's wood
The royal beasts of chase to find.
That day by chance the monarch mused;
And turning suddenly away,
He struck alone into a path
That far from crowds and courtiers lay.
He saw the pale-green shadows play
Upon the brown untrodden earth;
He saw the birds around him flit
As if he were of peasant birth;
He saw the trees that know no king
But him who bears a woodland axe:
He thought not, but he looked about
Like one who skill in thinking lacks.
Then close to him a footstep fell,
And glad of human sound was he;


## p. 16750 (#450) ##########################################

16750
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
For truth to say, he found himself
A weight from which he fain would fee.
But that which he would ne'er have guessed,
Before him now most plainly came:
The man upon his weary back
A coffin bore of rudest frame.
“Why, who art thou ? » exclaimed the King,
“And what is that I see thee bear? » —
“I am a laborer in the wood,
And 'tis a coffin for Pierre.
Close by the royal hunting-lodge
You may have often seen him toil;
But he will never work again,
And I for him must dig the soil. ”
The laborer ne'er had seen the King,
And this he thought was but a man;
Who made at first a moment's pause,
And then anew his talk began :-
“I think I do remember now,-
He had a dark and glancing eye,
And I have seen his slender arm
With wondrous blows the pick-axe ply.
“Pray tell me, friend, what accident
Can thus have killed our good Pierre ? ” –
“Oh! nothing more than usual, sir:
He died of living upon air.
'Twas hunger killed the poor good man,
Who long on empty hopes relied;
He could not pay gabel and tax,
And feed his children, so he died. ”
The man stopped short, and then went on,-
“It is, you know, a common thing:
Our children's bread is eaten up
By courtiers, mistresses, and King. ”
The King looked hard upon the man,
And afterwards the coffin eyed,
Then spurred to ask of Pompadour
How came it that the peasants died.
JOHN STERLING.


## p. 16751 (#451) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16751
THE PEOPLE'S PETITION
O
LORDS! ( rulers of the nation!
O softly clothed! O richly fed!
Omen of wealth and noble station!
Give us our daily bread.
For you we are content to toil,
For you our blood like rain is shed;
Then, lords and rulers of the soil,
Give us our daily bread.
Your silken robes, with endless care,
Still weave we; still unclothed, unfed,
We make the raiment that ye wear:
Give us our daily bread.
In the red forge-light do we stand;
We early leave, late seek, our bed,
Tempering the steel for your right hand:
Give us our daily bread.
Throughout old England's pleasant fields,
There is no spot where we may tread;
No house to us sweet shelter yields:
Give us our daily bread.
Fathers are we; we see our sons,
We see our fair young daughters, dead:
Then hear us, O ye mighty ones!
Give us our daily bread.
'Tis vain,-- with cold, unfeeling eye
Ye gaze on us, unclothed, unfed;
'Tis vain,- ye will not hear our cry,
Nor give us daily bread.
We turn from you, our lords by birth,
To him who is our Lord above;
We all are made of the same earth,
Are children of one love.
Then, Father of this world of wonders!
Judge of the living and the dead !
Lord of the lightnings and the thunders!
Give us our daily bread.
WATHEN MARK WILKS CALL.


## p. 16752 (#452) ##########################################

16752
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
W
THE SONG OF THE LOWER CLASSES
E PLOW and sow we're so very, very low
That we delve in the dirty clay,
Till we bless the plain with the golden grain,
And the vale with the fragrant hay.
Our place we know — we're so very low,
'Tis down at the landlord's feet:
We're not too low the bread to grow,
But too low the bread to eat.
Down, down we go — we're so very, very low –
To the hell of the deep-sunk mines,
But we gather the proudest gems that glow
When the crown of a despot shines.
And whenever he lacks, upon our backs
Fresh loads he deigns to lay:
We're far too low to vote the tax,
But not too low to pay.
We're low — we're low — mere rabble, we know;
But at our plastic power,
The mold at the lordling's feet will grow
Into palace and church and tower;
Then prostrate fall in the rich man's hall,
And cringe at the rich man's door:
We're not too low to build the wall,
But too low to tread the floor.
We're low,- we're very, very low,-
Yet from our fingers glide
The silken flow and the robes that glow
Round the limbs of the sons of pride.
And what we get, and what we give,
We know, and we know our share:
We're not too low the cloth to weave,
But too low the cloth to wear!
We're low — we're low — we're very, very low;
And yet when the trumpets ring,
The thrust of a poor man's arm will go
Through the heart of the proudest king.
We're low – we're low — our place we know.
We're only the rank and file:
We're not too low to kill the foe,
But too low to touch the spoil.
ERNEST CHARLES JONES.


## p. 16753 (#453) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16753
THE BALLAD OF THE COMMON FOLK
From (Gringoire)
K
INGS, in your turn that will be judged some day,
Think upon those that lack of all delight;
Have pity on the folk that love and pray,
That know no joy, that weary day and night,
That delve the soil, that die for you in fight.
Their life is like the damned souls' in fire,
That never know the taste of their desire.
The luckiest barefoot and anhungered go;
The scorching sun, the rain, the frost, the mire-
For poor folk all is misery and woe.
Like beasts that wear their lives in toil away,
Within his hovel is the wretched wight.
Will he for once make merry and be gay,
For harvest reaped or for a bridal night,
Thinking at least to mark one day with white,
Down swoops his lord upon the luckless sire,
With outstretched hand, and greed that yet more dire
From satisfaction of its lust doth grow,
And like a vulture empties barn and byre.
For poor folk all is misery and woe.
Have pity on the wretched fool whose play
Unknits your brow; the fisher that for fright
Starts, when the levin leaps athwart his way;
The dreamy blue-eyed maiden, humbly dight,
That spins before her door in the sunlight;
Have pity on the mother's void desire,
Clasping her starving infant nigh and nigher,
(Ah God! that little children should die so! )
To warm its frozen limbs for lack of fire.
For poor folk all is misery and woe.
ENVOI
For all poor folk I crave your pity, sire:
The peasant lying in the frozen mire,
The nun that telling o'er her beads doth go,
And for all those that lack their heart's desire.
For poor folk all is misery and woe.
THÉODORE DE BANVILLE.
Translation of John Payne.
XXVIII-1048


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