Cross Roads | Page 6

land of mist --
JUST AS WE CAME
WHEN THE WORLD WAS YOUNG!
THE OLD SAILOR
I've crossed the bar at last, mates,
My longest voyage is done;
And I can sit here, peaceful,
And watch th' setting sun
A-smilin' kind of glad like
Upon the waves so free.
My longest voyage is done, mates,

But oh, the heart of me,
Is out where sea meets skyline!
My longest voyage is done. . . .
But -- can I sit, in peace, mates,
And watch the settin' sun?
For what's a peaceful life, mates,
When every breeze so free,
When every gale a-blowin',
Brings messages to me?
And is the sky so shinin',
For all it's golden sun,
To one who loves the sea, mates,
And knows his voyage is done?
And, can a year on land, mates,
Match with one day -- at sea?
Ah, every wind a-singin'
Brings memory to me!
I've crossed the bar at last, mates,
My longest voyage is past,
And I must watch the sunset,
Must see it fade, at last.
My steps are not so light, mates,
As they were, years ago;
And sometimes, when I'm tired,
My head droops kind of low --
Yet, though I'm old and -- weary,
The waves that dance so free,
Keep callin' to my soul, mates,
And thrill the heart of me!
THE RIVER AND THE TREE
"You are white and tall and swaying," sang the river

to the tree,
"And your leaves are touched with silver -- but you
never smile on me;
For your branches murmur love songs to the
sunkissed
turquoise sky,
And you seem so far above me that I always hurry
by!"
"You are laughing in your shallows, you are somber
in your deeps,
And below your shining surface there's a heart that
never sleeps;
But all day you pass me, dancing, and at evening
time you dream,
And I didn't think you liked me," sang the birchtree
to the stream.
So they got a bit acquainted on a glowing summer
day,
And they found they liked each other (which is often
times the way);
And the river got so friendly, and it ran so very slow,

That the birch-tree shone reflected in the water down
below!
AUTUMN SONG
Let's go down the road together, you and I,
Let's go down the road together,
Through the vivid autumn weather;

Let's go down the road together when the red leaves
fly.
Let's go searching, searching after
Joy and mirth and love and
laughter --
Let's go down the road together, you and I.

Let's go hunting for adventure, you and I,
For the romance we are knowing
Waits for us, alive and glowing,

For the romance that has always passed us by.
Let's have done with tears and sighing,
What if summer-time IS
dying?
Let's go hunting for adventure, you and I.
Let's go down the road together, you and I --
And if you are frightened lest you
Weary grow, my arms will rest you,

As we take the road together when the red leaves fly.
Springtime is the time for mating?
Ah, a deeper love is waiting

Down the autumn road that calls us, you and I!
THE CITY --
TOWERS AND CANYONS, AND SLUMS,
MAN
BUILT. . . .
AND SOULS,
GOD BUILT!
SCARLET FLOWERS
The window box across the street
Is filled with scarlet flowers;

They glow, like bits of sunset cloud,
Across the dragging hours.

What though the mist be like a shroud
What though the day be dreary?

The window box across the street
Is warm, and gay, and cheery!
The window box across the street
Is filled with scarlet flowers;
I
almost catch their perfume sweet. . . .
Above the sound of tramping
feet,
They sing of country bowers.
Against the house that looms so
gray,
They smile in -- well, a friendly way.
A tired shop girl hurries by;
Their color seems to catch her eye;
She
pauses, starts, and wistfully
She gazes up. It seems to me
That I can
hear her longing sigh. . . .
A little shop girl hurries by.

A newsboy stops to sell his wares;
The crowds brush by him; no one
cares
To buy his papers. But above
The scarlet flowers bravely
grow
In token of the Father's love. . . .
The crowds brush coldly by
below.
A blind man stumbles, groping past;
He cannot see their scarlet shine;

And yet some memory seems to twine
About his soul.
For, oh, he turns
As trusting as a child who yearns
For some vague
dream, and smilingly
He lifts the eyes that cannot see. . . .
A blind
man stumbles, groping past.
The window box across the street
Is filled with scarlet flowers;

They tell a secret, tender, sweet,
Through all the dreary hours.
And
folk who hurry on their way
Dream of some other brighter day. . . .

The window box across the street
Is filled with scarlet flowers.
ON FIFTH AVENUE
I walked down Fifth Avenue the other day
(In the languid
summertime everybody strolls down
Fifth Avenue);
And I passed women, dainty in their filmy frocks,

And much bespatted men with canes.
And great green busses
lumbered past me,
And impressive limousines, and brisk little
"lectrics.
I walked