The Feast of the Virgins and Other Poems Part 19

And the mother dreams of the by-gone years And their merry Christmas-bells, Till her cheeks are wet with womanly tears, And a sob in her bosom swells.

[Ill.u.s.tration: AND THE MOTHER DREAMS OF THE BY GONE YEARS, AND THEIR MERRY CHRISTMAS BELLS]

The child looked up; her innocent ears Had caught the smothered cry; She saw the pale face wet with tears She fain would pacify.

"Don't cry, mama," she softly said-- "Here's a Christmas gift for you,"

And on the mother's cheek a kiss She printed warm and true.

"G.o.d bless my child!" the mother cried And caught her to her breast-- "O Lord, whose Son was crucified, Thy precious gift is best.

"If toil and trouble be my lot While on life's sea I drift, O Lord, my soul shall murmur not, If Thou wilt spare Thy gift."

OUT OF THE DEPTHS

And the scribes and Pharisees brought unto him a woman taken in adultery, and when they had set her in the midst, they said unto him "Master, this woman was taken in adultery, in the very act. Now Moses in the law commanded us that such be stoned; but what sayest thou?"--[_St.

John_, Chap, viii; 3, 4, 5.

Reach thy hand to me, O Jesus; Reach thy loving hand to me, Or I sink, alas, and perish In my sin and agony.

From the depths I cry, O Jesus, Lifting up mine eyes to thee; Save me from my sin and sorrow With thy loving charity.

Pity, Jesus--blessed Savior; I am weak, but thou art strong; Fill my heart with prayer and praises, Fill my soul with holy song.

Lift me up, O sacred Jesus-- Lift my bruised heart to thee; Teach me to be pure and holy As the holy angels be.

Scribes and Pharisees surround me: Thou art writing in the sand: Must I perish, Son of Mary?

Wilt thou give the stern command?

Am I saved?--for Jesus sayeth-- "Let the sinless cast a stone."

Lo the Scribes have all departed, And the Pharisees are gone!

"Woman, where are thine accusers?"

(They have vanished one by one.) "Hath no man condemned thee, woman?"

And she meekly answered--"None."

Then he spake His blessed answer-- Balm indeed for sinners sore-- "Neither then will I condemn thee: Go thy way and sin no more."

FAME

Dust of the desert are thy walls And temple-towers, O Babylon!

O'er crumbled halls the lizard crawls, And serpents bask in blaze of sun.

In vain kings piled the Pyramids; Their tombs were robbed by ruthless hands.

Who now shall sing their fame and deeds, Or sift their ashes from the sands?

Deep in the drift of ages h.o.a.r Lie nations lost and kings forgot; Above their graves the oceans roar, Or desert sands drift o'er the spot.

A thousand years are but a day When reckoned on the wrinkled earth; And who among the wise shall say What cycle saw the primal birth

Of man, who lords on sea and land, And builds his monuments to-day, Like Syrian on the desert sand, To crumble and be blown away.

Proud chiefs of pageant armies led To fame and death their followers forth, Ere Helen sinned and Hector bled, Or Odin ruled the rugged North.

And poets sang immortal praise To mortal heroes ere the fire Of Homer blazed in Ilion lays, Or Brage tuned the Northern lyre.

For fame men piled the Pyramids; Their names have perished with their bones: For fame men wrote their boasted deeds On Babel bricks and Runic stones--

On Tyrian temples, gates of bra.s.s, On Roman arch and Damask blades, And perished like the desert gra.s.s That springs to-day--to-morrow--fades.

And still for fame men delve and die In Afric heat and Arctic cold; For fame on flood and field they vie, Or gather in the s.h.i.+ning gold.

Time, like the ocean, onward rolls Relentless, burying men and deeds; The brightest names, the bravest souls, Float but an hour like ocean weeds,

Then sink forever. In the slime-- Forgotten, lost forevermore, Lies Fame from every age and clime; Yet thousands clamor on the sh.o.r.e.

Immortal Fame!--O dust and death!

The centuries as they pa.s.s proclaim That Fame is but a mortal breath, That man must perish--name and fame.

The earth is but a grain of sand-- An atom in a sh.o.r.eless sea; A million worlds lie in G.o.d's hand-- Yea, myriad millions--what are we?

O mortal man of bone and blood!

Then is there nothing left but dust?

G.o.d made us; He is wise and good, And we may humbly hope and trust.

WINONA.

_When the meadow-lark trilled o'er the leas and the oriole piped in the maples, From my hammock, all under the trees, by the sweet-scented field of red clover, I harked to the hum of the bees, as they gathered the mead of the blossoms, And caught from their low melodies the air of the song of Winona_.

(In p.r.o.nouncing Dakota words give "a" the sound of "ah,"--"e" the sound of "a,"--"i" the sound of "e" and "u" the sound of "oo." Sound "ee" as in English. The numerals refer to Notes in appendix.)

Two hundred white Winters and more have fled from the face of the Summer, Since here on the oak-shaded sh.o.r.e of the dark-winding, swift Mississippi, Where his foaming floods tumble and roar o'er the falls and the white-rolling rapids, In the fair, fabled center of Earth, sat the Indian town of _Ka-tha-ga_. [86]

Far rolling away to the north, and the south, lay the emerald prairies, All dotted with woodlands and lakes, and above them the blue bent of ether.

And here where the dark river breaks into spray and the roar of the _Ha-Ha_, [76]

Where gathered the bison-skin _tees_[F]

of the chief tawny tribe of Dakotas; For here, in the blast and the breeze, flew the flag of the chief of _Isantees_, [86]

Up-raised on the stem of a lance-- the feathery flag of the eagle.

And here to the feast and the dance, from the prairies remote and the forests, Oft gathered the out-lying bands, and honored the G.o.ds of the nation.

On the islands and murmuring strands they danced to the G.o.d of the waters, _Unktehee_, [69] who dwelt in the caves, deep under the flood of the _Ha-Ha_; [76]