The Golden Treasury of American Songs and Lyrics Part 22

The royal feast was done; the King Sought some new sport to banish care, And to his jester cried: "Sir Fool, Kneel now, and make for us a prayer!"

The jester doffed his cap and bells, And stood the mocking court before; They could not see the bitter smile Behind the painted grin he wore.

He bowed his head, and bent his knee Upon the monarch's silken stool; His pleading voice arose: "O Lord, Be merciful to me, a fool!

"No pity, Lord, could change the heart From red with wrong to white as wool; The rod must heal the sin: but, Lord, Be merciful to me, a fool!

"'Tis not by guilt the onward sweep Of truth and right, O Lord, we stay; 'Tis by our follies that so long We hold the earth from heaven away.

"These clumsy feet, still in the mire, Go crus.h.i.+ng blossoms without end; These hard, well-meaning hands we thrust Among the heart-strings of a friend.

"The ill-timed truth we might have kept-- Who knows how sharp it pierced and stung?

The word we had not sense to say-- Who knows how grandly it had rung?

"Our faults no tenderness should ask, The chastening stripes must cleanse them all; But for our blunders--oh, in shame Before the eyes of heaven we fall.

"Earth bears no balsam for mistakes; Men crown the knave, and scourge the tool That did his will; but Thou, O Lord, Be merciful to me, a fool!"

The room was hushed; in silence rose The King, and sought his gardens cool, And walked apart, and murmured low, "Be merciful to me, a fool!"

E.R. SILL.

On The Life-mask Of Abraham Lincoln.

This bronze doth keep the very form and mold Of our great martyr's face. Yes, this is he: That brow all wisdom, all benignity; That human, humorous mouth; those cheeks that hold Like some harsh landscape all the summer's gold; That spirit fit for sorrow, as the sea For storms to beat on; the lone agony Those silent, patient lips too well foretold.

Yes, this is he who ruled a world of men As might some prophet of the elder day,-- Brooding above the tempest and the fray With deep-eyed thought and more than mortal ken.

A power was his beyond the touch of art Or armed strength: his pure and mighty heart.

R.W. GILDER.

Song.

Years have flown since I knew thee first, And I know thee as water is known of thirst: Yet I knew thee of old at the first sweet sight, And thou art strange to me, Love, to-night.

R.W. GILDER.

To A Dead Woman.[7]

Not a kiss in life; but one kiss, at life's end, I have set on the face of Death in trust for thee.

Through long years keep it fresh on thy lips, O friend!

At the gate of Silence give it back to me.

H.C. BUNNER.

[7] From "The Poems of H.C. Bunner," copyright, 1884, 1892, 1896, by Charles Scribner's Sons.

Destiny.

Three roses, wan as moonlight, and weighed down Each with its loveliness as with a crown, Drooped in a florist's window in a town.

The first a lover bought. It lay at rest, Like flower on flower, that night, on Beauty's breast.

The second rose, as virginal and fair, Shrunk in the tangles of a harlot's hair.

The third, a widow, with new grief made wild, Shut in the icy palm of her dead child.

T.B. ALDRICH.

The Kings.

A man said unto his angel: "My spirits are fallen thro', And I cannot carry this battle; O brother! what shall I do?

"The terrible Kings are on me, With spears that are deadly bright, Against me so from the cradle Do fate and my fathers fight."

Then said to the man his angel: "Thou wavering, foolish soul, Back to the ranks! What matter To win or to lose the whole,

"As judged by the little judges Who hearken not well, nor see?

Not thus, by the outer issue, The Wise shall interpret thee.

"Thy will is the very, the only, The solemn event of things; The weakest of hearts defying Is stronger than all these Kings.

"Tho' out of the past they gather, Mind's Doubt and bodily Pain, And pallid Thirst of the Spirit That is kin to the other twain,

"And Grief, in a cloud of banners, And ringletted Vain Desires, And Vice with the spoils upon him Of thee and thy beaten sires,

"While Kings of eternal evil Yet darken the hills about, Thy part is with broken sabre To rise on the last redoubt;