Poems of Experience | Page 4

you fancied strong,
Or false who you fancied true,
Just ease the smart of your wounded
heart
By the thought that it is not you!
If many forget a promise made,
And your faith falls into the dust,
Then look meanwhile in your
mirror and smile,

And say, '_I_ am one to trust!'
If you search in vain for an ageing face
Unharrowed by fretful fears,
Then make right now (and keep) a vow
To grow in grace with the years.
If you lose your faith in the word of man
As you go from the port of youth,
Just say as you sail, '_I_ will not
fail
To keep to the course of truth!'
For this is the way, and the only way -
At least so it seems to me.
IT IS UP TO YOU, TO BE, AND DO,
WHAT YOU LOOK FOR IN OTHERS. SEE?
THE PURPOSE
Over and over the task was set,
Over and over I slighted the work,
But ever and alway I knew that yet
I must face and finish the toil I shirk.
Over and over the whip of pain
Has spurred and punished with blow on blow;
As ever and alway I
tried in vain
To shun the labour I hated so.
Over and over I came this way
For just one purpose: O stubborn soul!
Turn with a will to your work

to-day,
And learn the lesson of SELF-CONTROL.
THE WHITE MAN
Wherever the white man's feet have trod
(Oh far does the white man stray)
A bold road rifles the virginal sod,

And the forest wakes out of its dream of God,
To yield him the right of way.
For this is the law: BY THE POWER
OF THOUGHT,
FOR WORSE, OR FOR BETTER, ARE
MIRACLES WROUGHT.
Wherever the white man's pathway leads,
(Far, far has that pathway gone)
The Earth is littered with broken
creeds -
And alway the dark man's tent recedes,
And the white man pushes on.
For this is the law: BE IT GOOD OR
ILL,
ALL THINGS MUST YIELD TO THE STRONGER WILL.
Wherever the white man's light is shed,
(Oh far has that light been thrown)
Though Nature has suffered and
beauty bled,
Yet the goal of the race has been thrust ahead,
And the might of the race has grown.
For this is the law: BE IT
CRUEL OR KIND,
THE UNIVERSE SWAYS TO THE POWER
OF MIND.
A MOORISH MAID
Above her veil a shrouded Moorish maid
Showed melting eyes, as limpid as a lake;
A brow untouched by care;

a band of jetty hair,
And nothing more. The all-concealing haik
Fell to her high arched
instep. At her side
An old duenna walked; her withered face
Half covered only, since no
lingering grace
Bespoke the beauty once her master's pride.
Above her veil, the Moorish maid beheld
The modern world, in Paris-decked Algiers;
Saw happy lad and lass,
in love's contentment pass,
Or in sweet wholesome friendship, free from fears.
She saw fair
matrons, walking arm-in-arm
With life-long lovers, time-endeared, and then
She saw the ardent
look in eyes of men,
And thrilled and trembled with a vague alarm.
Above her veil she saw the stuccoed court
That led to dim secluded rooms within.
She followed, dutiful, the
dame unbeautiful,
Who told her that the Christian world means sin.
Some day, full soon,
she would go forth a bride -
Of one whose face she never had beheld.
Something within her,
wakened, and rebelled;
She flung aside her veil, and cried, and cried.
LINCOLN
When God created this good world
A few stupendous peaks were
hurled
From His strong hand, and they remain
The wonder of the
level plain.
But these colossal heights are rare,
While shifting sands
are everywhere.

So with the race. The centuries pass
And nations fall like leaves of
grass.
They die, forgotten and unsung;
While straight from God
some souls are flung,
To live immortal and sublime.
So lives great
Lincoln for all time.
I KNOW NOT
Death! I know not what room you are abiding in,
But I will go my way,
Rejoicing day by day,
Nor will I flee or stay

For fear I tread the path you may be hiding in.
Death! I know not, if my small barque be nearing you;
But if you are at sea,
Still there my sails float free;
'What is to be
will be.'
Nor will I mar the happy voyage by fearing you.
Death! I know not, what hour or spot you wait for me;
My days untroubled flow,
Just trusting on, I go,
For oh, I know, I
know,
Death is but Life that holds some glad new fate for me.
INTERLUDE
The days grow shorter, the nights grow longer;
The headstones thicken along the way,
And life grows sadder, but
love grows stronger,
For those who walk with us day by day.
The tear comes quicker, the laugh comes slower;
The courage is lesser to do and dare;
And the tide of joy in the heart
falls lower,
And seldom covers the reefs of care.

But all true things in the