Bees in Amber | Page 4

Bells sing softly--softly--softly,

Soft--and sweet--and low,
The Silver Bells and the Golden Bells,--
Alow, and aloft,
and alow_.
THE LITTLE POEM OF LIFE
I;--
Thou;--
We;--
They;--
Small words, but mighty.
In their span
Are bound
the life and hopes of man.
For, first, his thoughts of his own self are full;
Until another comes his heart to rule.

For them, life's best is centred round their love;
Till younger lives come all their love to
prove.
CUP OF MIXTURE
For every Guest who comes with him to sup,
The Host compounds a strangely mingled
cup;--
Red Wine of Life and Dregs of Bitterness,
And, will-he, nil-he, each must
drink it up.
WEAVERS ALL

Warp and Woof and Tangle,--
Weavers of Webs are we.
Living and dying--and mightier dead,
For the shuttle, once
sped, is sped--is sped;--
Weavers of Webs are we.
White, and Black, and Hodden-gray,--
Weavers of Webs are we.
To every weaver one golden strand
Is given in trust by the
Master-Hand;--
Weavers of Webs are we.
And that we weave, we know not,--
Weavers of Webs are we.
The threads we see, but the pattern is known
To the
Master-Weaver alone, alone;--
Weavers of Webs are we.
THE CLEARER VISION
When, with bowed head,
And silent-streaming tears,
With mingled hopes and fears,

To earth we yield our dead;
The Saints, with clearer sight,
Do cry in glad accord,--

"_A soul released from prison
Is risen, is risen,--
Is risen to the glory of the Lord_."
SHADOWS
Shadows are but for the moment--
Quickly past;
And then the sun the brighter shines

That it was overcast.
For Light is Life!
Gracious and sweet,
The fair life-giving sun doth scatter blessings

With his light and heat,--
And shadows.
But the shadows that come of the
life-giving sun
Crouch at his feet.
No mortal life but has its shadowed times--
Not one!
Life without shadow could not
taste the full
Sweet glory of the sun.
No shadow falls, but there, behind it, stands
The Light
Behind the wrongs and
sorrows of life's troublous ways
Stands RIGHT.
THE INN OF LIFE
_As It was in the Beginning,--
Is Now,--
And...?
Anno Domini I_.

"No room!
No room!
The Inn is full,
Yea--overfull.
No room have we
for such
as ye--
Poor folk of Galilee,
Pass on! Pass on!"
"Nay then!--
Your charity
Will ne'er deny
Some corner mean,
Where she may lie
unseen.
For see!--
Her time is nigh."
"Alack! And she
So young and fair!
Place have we none;
And yet--how bid ye gone?

Stay then!--out there
Among the beasts
Ye may find room,
And eke a truss
To
lie upon."
Anno Domini 1913, etc., etc.

"No room!
No room!
No room for Thee,
Thou Man of Galilee!
The house is full,

Yea, overfull.
There is no room for Thee,--
Pass on! Pass on!
Nay--see!
The place is packed.
"We scarce have room
For our own selves,
So
how shall we
Find room for Thee,
Thou Man of Galilee,--
Pass on! Pass on!
But--if Thou shouldst
This way again,
And we can find
So much as one small
corner
Free from guest,
Not then in vain
Thy quest.
But now--
The house is full.
Pass on!"
Christ passes

On His ceaseless quest,
Nor will He rest
With any,
Save as Chiefest
Guest.
LIFE'S CHEQUER-BOARD
"'Tis all a Chequer-Board of Nights and Days,
Where Detiny with men for pieces plays,

Hither and thither moves, and mates and slays,
And one by one back in the Closet
lays."
Omar Khayyam.
A Chequer-Board of mingled Light and Shade?
And We the Pieces on it deftly laid?

Moved and removed, without a word to say,
By the Same Hand that Board and Pieces
made?

No Pieces we in any Fateful Game,
Nor free to shift on Destiny the blame;
Each Soul
doth tend its own immortal flame,
Fans it to Heaven, or smothers it in shame.
CROSS-ROADS
Oft, as he jogs along the Winding-Way,
Occasion comes for Every Man to say,--

"This Road?--or That?" and as he chooses them,
So shall his journey end in Night or
Day.
QUO VADIS?
Peter, outworn,
And menaced by the sword,
Shook off the dust of Rome;
And, as he
fled,
Met one, with eager face,
Hastening cityward,
And, to his vast amaze,
It was
The Lord.
"Lord, whither goest Thou?"
He cried, importunate,
And Christ replied,--

"_Peter, I suffer loss.
I go to take thy place,
To bear thy cross_."
Then Peter bowed his head,
Discomforted;
There, at the Master's feet,
Found grace
complete,
And courage, and new faith,
And turned--with Him,
To Death.
So we,--
Whene'er we fail
Of our full duty,
Cast on Him our load,--
Who suffered sore for us,
Who frail flesh wore for us,
Who all things bore for us,--

On Christ, The Lord.
TAMATE
Great-Heart is dead, they say,--
Great-Heart the Teacher,
Great-Heart the Joyous,
Great-Heart the Fearless,

Great-Heart the Martyr,
Great-Heart of Sweet White Fire.
Great-Heart is dead, they say,--
Fighting the fight,
Holding the Light,
Into the night.
Great-Heart is dead, they
say.--
But the Light shall burn the brighter.
And the night shall be the lighter,
For his going;

And a rich, rich harvest for his sowing.
Great-Heart is dead, they say!--
What is death to such an one as Great-Heart?
One sigh, perchance, for work unfinished here;--
Then a swift passing to a mightier
sphere,
New joys, perfected powers, the vision clear,
And all the amplitude of heaven
to work
The work he held so dear.
Great-Heart is dead, say they?

Nor dead nor sleeping! He lives on! His name
Shall kindle many a heart to equal flame.

The fire he lighted shall