A Boys Will | Page 8

still the same;?And the awe passes wonder then,?And a hush falls for all acclaim.?And God has taken a flower of gold?And broken it, and used therefrom?The mystic link to bind and hold?Spirit to matter till death come.?'Tis of the essence of life here,?Though we choose greatly, still to lack?The lasting memory at all clear,?That life has for us on the wrack?Nothing but what we somehow chose;?Thus are we wholly stripped of pride?In the pain that has but one close,?Bearing it crushed and mystified.
In Equal Sacrifice
THUS of old the Douglas did:?He left his land as he was bid?With the royal heart of Robert the Bruce?In a golden case with a golden lid,?To carry the same to the Holy Land;?By which we see and understand?That that was the place to carry a heart?At loyalty and love's command,?And that was the case to carry it in.?The Douglas had not far to win?Before he came to the land of Spain,?Where long a holy war had been?Against the too-victorious Moor;?And there his courage could not endure?Not to strike a blow for God?Before he made his errand sure.?And ever it was intended so,?That a man for God should strike a blow,?No matter the heart he has in charge?For the Holy Land where hearts should go.?But when in battle the foe were met,?The Douglas found him sore beset,?With only strength of the fighting arm?For one more battle passage yet--?And that as vain to save the day?As bring his body safe away--?Only a signal deed to do?And a last sounding word to say.?The heart he wore in a golden chain?He swung and flung forth into the plain,?And followed it crying 'Heart or death!'?And fighting over it perished fain.?So may another do of right,?Give a heart to the hopeless fight,?The more of right the more he loves;?So may another redouble might?For a few swift gleams of the angry brand,?Scorning greatly not to demand?In equal sacrifice with his?The heart he bore to the Holy Land.
The Tuft of Flowers
I WENT to turn the grass once after one?Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.?The dew was gone that made his blade so keen?Before I came to view the leveled scene.?I looked for him behind an isle of trees;?I listened for his whetstone on the breeze.?But he had gone his way, the grass all mown,?And I must be, as he had been,--alone,?'As all must be,' I said within my heart,?'Whether they work together or apart.'?But as I said it, swift there passed me by?On noiseless wing a 'wildered butterfly,?Seeking with memories grown dim o'er night?Some resting flower of yesterday's delight.?And once I marked his flight go round and round,?As where some flower lay withering on the ground.?And then he flew as far as eye could see,?And then on tremulous wing came back to me.?I thought of questions that have no reply,?And would have turned to toss the grass to dry;?But he turned first, and led my eye to look?At a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook,?A leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared?Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared.?I left my place to know them by their name,?Finding them butterfly weed when I came.?The mower in the dew had loved them thus,?By leaving them to flourish, not for us,?Nor yet to draw one thought of ours to him.?But from sheer morning gladness at the brim.?The butterfly and I had lit upon,?Nevertheless, a message from the dawn,?That made me hear the wakening birds around,?And hear his long scythe whispering to the ground,?And feel a spirit kindred to my own;?So that henceforth I worked no more alone;?But glad with him, I worked as with his aid,?And weary, sought at noon with him the shade;?And dreaming, as it were, held brotherly speech?With one whose thought I had not hoped to reach.?'Men work together,' I told him from the heart,?'Whether they work together or apart.'
Spoils of the Dead
TWO fairies it was?On a still summer day?Came forth in the woods?With the flowers to play.?The flowers they plucked?They cast on the ground?For others, and those?For still others they found.?Flower-guided it was?That they came as they ran?On something that lay?In the shape of a man.?The snow must have made?The feathery bed?When this one fell?On the sleep of the dead.?But the snow was gone?A long time ago,?And the body he wore?Nigh gone with the snow.?The fairies drew near?And keenly espied?A ring on his hand?And a chain at his side.?They knelt in the leaves?And eerily played?With the glittering things,?And were not afraid.?And when they went home?To hide in their burrow,?They took them along?To play with to-morrow.?When you came on death,?Did you not come flower-guided?Like the elves in the wood??I remember that I did.?But I recognised death?With sorrow and dread,?And I hated and hate?The spoils of the dead.
Pan with Us
PAN came out of the woods one day,--?His skin