DO you remember the cardinal’s call,
 Brother O’ mine?
 The hills that we climbed, be they ever so tall,
 With never a fear for a hurt or a fall,
 Wondering ever if skies did fall,
 Brother O’ mine.
Many a hill we’ve climbed since then,
 Brother O’ mine.
 Been pelted with roses and rinsed with the rain
 Of our sorrowing teardrops time and again;
 Despair in our hearts and a clutch of pain,
 Brother O’ mine.
And there were pebbles that hurt our feet
 Brother O’ mine.
 But the dust of the highway seemed velvet sweet
 Tho’ many a cross and trials we’d meet,
 With daisies and graves at our very feet,
 Brother O’ mine.
Father we had in the bygone days,
 Brother O’ mine.
 And mother to wipe all our tears away.
 Tho’ sodden the sky, and shadows be grey
 God will speak clear of the mist some day,
 Brother O’ mine.

Dream

THE flowers upon my lady’s hat,
 Kept bobbing so this way then that,
 Until the Church seemed faint and blurred
 The morning Psalms I scarcely heard.
 Unless I see I cannot hear,
 So, I just admired that flower so near.
 ’Twas unlike any bloom that blows
 On trees or waves in garden rows,
 Where clings the morning glory vine
 Or beds of phlox or columbine,
 Like nothing in the drowsy south
 With love songs oozing from its mouth,
 In all the languorous, summer noons
 Or riotous breaths of all perfumes,
 Like nothing in my garden bed
 Of flowers washed blue or drenched red;
 Peculiarly designed it sat
 And nodded on my lady’s hat.
 I summoned all my powers to wit
 But could not find a name for it.
I sought my couch with troubled breast,
 I could not from my memory wrest
The name of that tormenting bloom,
 Till wearied tossing, then I swooned
 Into forgetfulness and dreamed
 Of lands beyond where sunlight streamed,
 In gardens where an angel talked
 In soft glad whispers as he walked.
 And touched each blossoming bud and bell
 With pride and love ineffable.
 But one he loved beyond compare;
 He stooped and kissed the petals rare.
 With eagerness I did persist
 To see the flower the angel kissed.
 And there it grew a thing intact,
 The flower upon my lady’s hat.
 It stood a straight slim tossing flame
 And I had yet to learn its name.
 With this in mind I tried to talk,
 But the angel only sped his walk.
 I could have cried for very shame,
 Then someone called me by my name.
 The room was pink with morning light,
 Because dreams vanish with the night;
 And things are not what they seem,
 I called the little flower “dream.”

Shine and Shower

IT’S the cross that makes the triumph
 A glorious thing to share,
 It’s the sweet behind the bitter
 Makes the burden light to bear.
 It’s the shine past all the raining
 Of the heart-break and the tear,
 It’s the faith in dim tomorrow’s
 Clears the mist from yesteryears.
So I’ll take my shine and shower
 The bitter with the sweet,
 And I’ll make a friend of sorrow
 Every time we chance to meet.
 Give me triumph with disaster
 And my share of gain and loss
 And I’ll not be asking angels
 For a sweeter, gentler cross.

Lines to Death

THE harp like strings of destiny
 Stretched taut awhile, then broke,
 So life gives o’er the battle
 To death’s relentless stroke.
What’s wealth with all its glitter
 When the sands of life are spent?
 It cannot unfold the curtain
 Of that solitary tent.
Fame is just a tempting bauble
 That comes when least we call,
 And fate stands thus dividing
 Rain and roses ’mongst us all.
Life is just a few short summers,
 Breath of roses and a prayer.
 Then a little tent to sleep in
 When we grow too tired to care.
The high, the low, the haughty,
 The humble, too, meet here.
 And share like common brothers
 The sorrow and the tear.
But life must have its raining
 For the master wills it so;
 And broken harps are mended,
 After death has struck the blow.

To the New Year

THIS morning when I saw you
 Looking into my bedroom window,
 I thought that I disliked you very much,
 For all I could see
 You very much resembled other days
 Spotless and so wholesome,
 With all your tinsel bright,
 But, your beauty touched me not at all.
 But I decided to put up with you
 As one would with strange, unwelcome guests.
 I turned you around and about many, many times,
 As a child would a new toy.
 You were a lovely sight,
 And yet I felt a bit depressed,
 Till of a sudden I thought
 I saw you smile.
 Or was it only fancy?
 Then I gave you my profoundest thought
 For a short while.
 And way down in your remotest depths
 Great possibilities looked out at me,
And I thought of all the things you might do
 For this restless world.
 So I fell in love with you,
 Before you were a half hour old.

Homesickness

THE folks whom we visit, but once in a while
 Those friends who are far, far away,
 May be thoughtful and generous indeed to a fault
 And kindness itself every day.
 Not even the hills with the mist on the top
 And the sun shooting flames ’cross the loam,
 Can make me forget, nor still the wild fret
 In my heart for the place I call home.
The valleys like Eden are misty and deep:
 They are washed with the dews of the morn.
 They but serve to depress me and make me a prey
 To longings both sad and forlorn.
 The lilt of the trees and the song of the birds
 Once so cheery have sobered their tone,
 For my heartstrings are tied, to a little fireside
 In a place that I love to call home.

To Love

THO’ I am slow of speech, it matters not,
 For this I know you feel and understand.
 Tho’ break I at your nearness, yet I draw apart,
 With wonder at the touches of your hand.
Your eager eyes, so near my drooping lids
 Appraise my flushes, and you understand
 How fain I am to go, yet do draw near,
 And tremble at the touches of your hands.
Tho’ death should come and seal my eyelids shut,
 And tho’ I tremble at his cold commands,
 I could be drawn away e’en from the tomb, methinks
 If then, dear, you would touch me with your hands.

Your Friend

THO’ you’re a heathen to the core
 And cause him untold pain,
 He knows everything about you
 But loves you just the same.
You need not always seek him
 For he’s often seeking you.
 He has a welcome for the stranger
 But a warmer heart for you.
He is rather scarce on talking
 But at listening he is good.
 You love to be around him
 But respect his solicitude.
He is tactful of your failings,
 Well acquainted with your whim;
 And there’s nothing in this wide, wide world
 You would not do for him.

Draw Closer to the Fire

THE summer sweets have faded,
 The hedge, the vine, and briar,
 Come, put your hand in mine, my friend,
 Draw closer to the fire.
From footstools let us view the heights
 To which great minds aspire;
 Here’s Riley, Keats and Emerson,
 Draw closer to the fire.
A brave refrain from unknown bards
 And Byron’s brave satire,
 Frank Stanton’s tears and tenderness,
 Draw closer to the fire.
Tho’ cold the winds and fierce the blast,
 And thwarted our heart’s desire,
 We’ve Robert Frost to cheer the hearth,
 Draw closer to the fire.
Give me your hand, my steadfast friend;
 The words that friends require
 Stay with me thru the dying year,
 Draw closer to the fire.

What Love Is

LOVE is a magnetism
 That enables two people
 To see one another as
 No one else can see them,
 A compelling unresisting element
 Drawing them into each other’s arms.
 Love is an unselfish devotion,
 Giving service without reward,
 Sacrifice without compensation,
 Suffering without alleviation.
 It is a power, a force,
 The fundamental principle of life,
 Without which, the mere act of living
 Becomes a farce and a mockery.
 Love is the foundation of every
 Unselfish act, in this grey old world.
 It is the rosy amber hearthstone
 Of earth’s flaming paradise, and
 A stepping stone to a better world called heaven.