Part 18

AT FONTAINEBLEAU

At Fontainebleau, I saw a little bed Fashioned of polished wood, with gold ornate, Ambition, hope, and sorrow, ay, and hate Once battled there, above a childish head, And there in vain, grief wept, and memory plead It was so small! but Ah, dear God, how great The part it played in one sad woman’s fate. How wide the gloom, that narrow object shed.

The symbol of an over-reaching aim, The emblem of a devastated joy, It spoke of glory, and a blasted home: Of fleeting honours, and disordered fame, And the lone passing of a fragile boy.

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It was the cradle of the King of Rome.

THE MASQUERADE

Look in the eyes of trouble with a smile, Extend your hand and do not be afraid. ’Tis but a friend who comes to masquerade. And test your faith and courage for awhile.

Fly, and he follows fast with threat and jeer. Shrink, and he deals hard blow on stinging blow, But bid him welcome as a friend, and lo! The jest is off—the masque will disappear.

SYMPATHY

Is the way hard and thorny, oh, my brother? Do tempests beat, and adverse wild winds blow? And are you spent, and broken, at each nightfall, Yet with each morn you rise and onward go? Brother, I know, I know! I, too, have journeyed so.

Is your heart mad with longing, oh, my sister? Are all great passions in your breast aglow? Does the white wonder of your own soul blind you, And are you torn with rapture and with woe? Sister, I know, I know! I, too, have suffered so.

Is the road filled with snare and quicksand, pilgrim? Do pitfalls lie where roses seem to grow? And have you sometimes stumbled in the darkness, And are you bruised and scarred by many a blow? Pilgrim, I know, I know! I, too, have stumbled so.

Do you send out rebellious cry and question, As mocking hours pass silently and slow, Does your insistent ‘wherefore’ bring no answer, While stars wax pale with watching, and droop low? I, too, have questioned so, But now I know, I know! To toil, to strive, to err, to cry, to grow, To love through all—this is the way to know.

INTERMEDIARY

When from the prison of its body free, My soul shall soar, before it goes to Thee, Thou great Creator, give it power to know The language of all sad, dumb things below. And let me dwell a season still on earth Before I rise to some diviner birth: Invisible to men, yet seen and heard, And understood by sorrowing beast and bird— Invisible to men, yet always near, To whisper counsel in the human ear: And with a spell to stay the hunter’s hand And stir his heart to know and understand; To plant within the dull or thoughtless mind The great religious impulse to be kind.

Before I prune my spirit wings and rise To seek my loved ones in their paradise, Yea! even before I hasten on to see That lost child’s face, so like a dream to me, I would be given this intermediate role, And carry comfort to each poor, dumb soul: And bridge man’s gulf of cruelty and sin By understanding of his lower kin. ’Twixt weary driver and the straining steed On wings of mercy would my spirit speed. And each should know, before his journey’s end, That in the other dwelt a loving friend. From zoo and jungle, and from cage and stall, I would translate each inarticulate call, Each pleading look, each frenzied act and cry, And tell the story to each passer-by; And of a spirit’s privilege possessed, Pursue indifference to its couch of rest, And whisper in its ear until in awe It woke and knew God’s all-embracing law Of Universal Life—the One in All.

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Lord, let this mission to my lot befall.

LIFE’S CAR

‘Hurry up!’ No lingering by old doors of doubt— No loitering by the way, No waiting a To-morrow car, When you can board To-day. Success is somewhere down the track; Before the chance is gone Accelerate your laggard pace, Swing on, I say, swing on— Hurry up!

‘Step lively!’ Belated souls are following fast, They shout and signal, ‘Wait.’ Conductor Time brooks no delay, He rings the bell of Fate. But you can give the man behind, With one hand on the bar, A final chance to brook defeat, And board the moving car. Step lively!

‘Move up!’ Make way for others as you sit Or stand. This crowded earth Has room for every journeying soul En route to higher birth. Ay, room and comfort, if no one Took double share or space, Nor let his greed and selfishness Absorb another’s place. Move up!

‘Hold fast!’ The jolting switch of obstacles With jarring rails is near. Stand firm of foot, be strong of grip, Brace well and have no fear. The Maker of the Car of Life Foresaw that curve—Despair, And hung the straps of faith, and hope So you might grasp them there. Hold fast!

OPPORTUNITY

Send forth your heart’s desire, and work and wait; The opportunities of life are brought To our own doors, not by capricious fate, But by the strong compelling force of thought.

THE AGE OF MOTORED THINGS

The wonderful age of the world I sing— The age of battery, coil and spring, Of steam, and storage, and motored thing.

Though faith may slumber and art seem dead, And all that is spoken has once been said, And all that is written were best unread;