The Golden Treasury of American Songs and Lyrics Part 21

This is the Burden of the Heart, The Burden that it always bore: We live to love; we meet to part; And part to meet on earth No More: We clasp each other to the heart, And part to meet on earth No More.

There is a time for tears to start,-- For dews to fall and larks to soar: The Time for Tears, is when we part To meet upon the earth No More: The Time for Tears, is when we part To meet on this wide earth--No More.

B.F. WILLSON.

To a Young Girl Dying.

WITH A GIFT OF FRESH PALM-LEAVES.

This is Palm Sunday: mindful of the day, I bring palm branches, found upon my way: But these will wither; thine shall never die,-- The sacred palms thou bearest to the sky!

Dear little saint, though but a child in years, Older in wisdom than my gray compeers!

_We_ doubt and tremble,--_we_, with bated breath, Talk of this mystery of life and death: Thou, strong in faith, art gifted to conceive Beyond thy years, and teach us to believe!

Then take my palms, triumphal, to thy home, Gentle white palmer, never more to roam!

Only, sweet sister, give me, ere thou go'st, Thy benediction,--for my love thou know'st!

We, too, are pilgrims, travelling towards the shrine: Pray that our pilgrimage may end like thine!

T.W. PARSONS.

The Port of s.h.i.+ps.[6]

Behind him lay the gray Azores, Behind the Gates of Hercules; Before him not the ghost of sh.o.r.es, Before him only sh.o.r.eless seas.

The good mate said: "Now must we pray, For lo! the very stars are gone.

Brave Adm'ral speak,--what shall I say?"

"Why, say, 'Sail on! Sail on! and on!'"

"My men grow mutinous day by day; My men grow ghastly, wan and weak."

The stout mate thought of home; a spray Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek.

"What shall I say, brave Adm'ral, say, If we sight naught but seas at dawn?"

"Why, you shall say, at break of day, 'Sail on! Sail on! Sail on! and on!'"

They sailed, and sailed, as winds might blow, Until at last the blanched mate said: "Why, now not even G.o.d would know Should I and all my men fall dead.

These very winds forget their way, For G.o.d from these dread seas is gone.

Now speak, brave Adm'ral; speak, and say--"

He said: "Sail on! Sail on! and on!"

They sailed! They sailed! Then spake the mate: "This mad sea shows its teeth to-night; He curls his lip, he lies in wait With lifted teeth, as if to bite!

Brave Adm'ral, say but one good word,-- What shall we do when hope is gone?"

The words leaped as a leaping sword: "Sail on! Sail on! Sail on! and on!"

C.H. MILLER.

[6] From The Complete Poetical Works of Joaquin Miller.

Paradisi Gloria.

There is a city, builded by no hand, And unapproachable by sea or sh.o.r.e, And una.s.sailable by any band Of storming soldiery for evermore.

There we no longer shall divide our time By acts or pleasures,--doing petty things Of work or warfare, merchandise or rhyme; But we shall sit beside the silver springs

That flow from G.o.d's own footstool, and behold Sages and martyrs, and those blessed few Who loved us once and were beloved of old, To dwell with them and walk with them anew,

In alternations of sublime repose, Musical motion, the perpetual play Of every faculty that Heaven bestows Through the bright, busy, and eternal day.

T.W. PARSONS.

Ballad.

In the summer even, While yet the dew was h.o.a.r, I went plucking purple pansies, Till my love should come to sh.o.r.e.

The fis.h.i.+ng-lights their dances Were keeping out at sea, And come, I sung, my true love!

Come hasten home to me!

But the sea, it fell a-moaning, And the white gulls rocked thereon; And the young moon dropped from heaven, And the lights hid one by one.

All silently their glances Slipped down the cruel sea, And wait! cried the night and wind and storm,-- Wait, till I come to thee!

H.P. SPOFFORD.

BOOK THIRD.

The Fool's Prayer.