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Title: The sinking of the Titanic, and other poems

Author: Clarence Victor Stahl

Release date: January 10, 2023 [eBook #69761]

Most recently updated: October 19, 2024

Language: English

Original publication: United States: Sherman, French & Company, 1915

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/69761

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SINKING OF THE TITANIC, AND OTHER POEMS ***

The Sinking of the Titanic

AND OTHER POEMS

BY

C. VICTOR STAHL

Author of “Zorabella,” etc.

BOSTON

SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY

1915

COPYRIGHT, 1915

SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY

CONTENTS

PAGE

THE SINKING OF THE TITANIC

1

INSPIRATION

4

SPRING BALLAD

5

THE SPIRIT OF WAR

8

THE FLOWERETS’ COMMUNION

10

THE RIDDLE OF LIFE

12

COLUMBIA’S FLAG

13

THE BAR OF SCIENCE

14

THE CHORD UNSUNG

16

THE OASIS

17

PUSH ONWARD

18

SING IT

19

THE ORIOLE

20

SMILES AND TEARS

21

BE STRONG

22

THE CHILDREN’S DREAM

23

TO POPE PIUS X

25

ENMITY

26

WHY GRIEVE?

27

THE TOLL OF MAJESTY

28

AMBITION

29

KNOW THYSELF

30

BLESSINGS IN DISGUISE

31

DECEIVING MAIDENS

32

THE SOLUTION

33

A WOMAN’S HEART

34

LIFE’S MISSION

35

THE MAGNET

36

THE SWALLOW’S FLIGHT

37

THE POET’S REWARD

38

THE LOVER’S BENEDICTION

39

NATURE’S CHEER

40

THE WAR ETERNAL

41

ANGEL MUSIC

42

THREE NAMES

44

THE SMILES OF TRUTH

45

A TOKEN

46

THE PIRATE ANT

47

SKINKER ROAD

48

HUMOR

HIS LEGACY

53

THE WORD MISSPELLED

55

THE NABOB’S PRIDE

56

HUERTA’S DRINKING SONG

58

Hoch der Kaiser

59

A MASH IN COURT

60

HIS SEARCH FOR GOLD

62

THE SINKING OF THE TITANIC

AND OTHER POEMS

THE SINKING OF THE TITANIC

OH, Titan was her gorgeous armament

And Titan was her sail and crew;

A thing of pride to sweep the surging tide

And laugh to scorn the perilous blue.

Yet let us weep not for her treasured hulk

That sank leagues deep into the sea,

But for the toll of ill-starred voyagers

Who rode her to eternity.

I see the glory of that primal hour

When first her beams did breast the wave,—

Yea, owner, builder, seaman’s eyes did sparkle

As did the sea her huge side lave:—

How zealously the elite madly rushed

To trust their passage in her care,

To boast their presence on the maiden trip

Of that leviathan so rare.

She sailed.—The sky gleamed bright and azure clear,

The waves lashed gently at her side,

The moon that night shone down auspiciously

Upon that ship of gorgeous pride.

Her engines tore in frenzy o’er and o’er,

Her powerful shafts did heave and quake,

As loud and clear her captain’s voice rang out,

“Speed on! Fear not the iceberg’s brake.”

Ahead there floundered in the chilly sea

A huge and bristling wall of ice.

“What shall we do?” her helmsman tremulously cried.

Word came, “Let’s cleave it in a trice,”

Whereat the mighty engines creaked and strained

And madly sped the Titan hulk.

Ne’er moved nor stirred the ocean’s icy berg,

But braced against her speeding bulk.

“Dost thou defy me, master of the sea,

Thou untried artifice of man?

I’ll show thee, then, whose is the stronger hand,

For mine was here e’er thine began.”

Crash! Crash! The waters rushed. The ship’s side heaved.

The ponderous engines ceased to throb,

And there above the darkening drawbridge cried

A thousand souls in fear to God.

From peaceful slumbers wildly they uprose,

From games of whist, from dance and wine.

“Can it be so?” they cried in anguished pride—

“So sinking in the icy brine?”

But ah! alas! the hand of death hung o’er.

Alas for captain, ship and crew!

In headstrong haste they’d left the boats behind

That save men from the watery blue.

“Let there be women saved, and they alone!”

Rose up like steel the chivalrous cry,

While gallant men stood on the slippery deck

And brave resolved themselves to die.

Then solemn strains rose from the engulfing main,

“Nearer my God,” they sang, “to Thee,”

Till all that was left of the Titan’s envied hulk

Was a billowy gurgle in the sea.

Alas for man! Alas for vaunting boast!

Which seeks to conquer the fate of the sea,

Essays to raise proud hulks of iron and steel

And laugh to scorn God’s mastery!

Thus from their watery grave he lifts his voice;

“None tempt my power by craft malign.

Lo! all shall cleave unto the common end,

And none shall stand but I, divine!”

INSPIRATION

PROUD child of fortune, smile on thy better hope!

Let not thine arm swerve from thy great desire!

Stand not abashed, nor fear the tow’ring steep

Which thou wouldst climb, but bend thy will—

That magic wand of every earthly deed,

The power that peopleth worlds and raiseth thrones—

And upwards mount. Thou hast thy heart’s want now,

If thou but claim’st it!

SPRING BALLAD

SPRING, Spring, O gentle Spring, where hast thou been so long?

Why hast thou not come sooner to me?

Goddess of mirth,

Gay queen of the earth,

I am faint for thy smile, as I watched the long while

Thy merry, rollicksome face to see.

Spring, Spring, O gentle Spring, why wast thou silent so long?

Why didst thou not answer my reverent call?

Goddess of mirth,

Gay queen of the earth,

Come forth, from glade or glen, from vale or hill, from bog or fen,

And flutter thy magical wand high over all.

But lo! now thou art come, with thy wonderful train,

Never so bright and never so gay.

Goddess of mirth,

Gay queen of the earth,

Thy throne they prepare in the heights of the air

For thine inauguration day.

Thy wonderful reign has begun with the rise of the sun,

All heaven and earth but wait on thee now,

Goddess of mirth,

Gay queen of the earth,

I smell thy sweet flowers and thy odorous bowers

And see the green trees before thee to bow.

The robins have come from their faraway home,

And I hear their sweet songs to burst forth again.

Goddess of mirth,

Gay queen of the earth,

Thou mak’st their tones rise up to the azure skies

That they may encore thine orchestral train.

March spreads her boisterous clouds like Autumn’s silvery shrouds,

And whistles her winds through thy soft, balmy hair,—

Goddess of mirth,

Gay queen of the earth,

Then soon thy soft April showers make way for May’s bowers

And nature but waits for June time so fair.

Spring, Spring, O gentle Spring, thou art dearest of all to me,

A subject of thine, I kneel at thy shrine,—

Goddess of mirth,

Gay queen of the earth,

I shall wait for thy smile, as I watch the long while

To see thee return when again I shall call.

THE SPIRIT OF WAR

HO! ho! I come in fury as the storm

And seek earth’s nations east and west.

I breathe the breath of fire within them all,

And lure to arms the proud’st and best.

I swoop down on their gilded palaces,

And shake the monarchs of the world;

I rouse them from their cots of peace and ease

And set their boasting flags unfurled.

Upon the doors of happy homes I knock,

And men of valor do I call

To take the stand against their fellowmen,

To spill their blood and spill it all.

I wend my flight to peaceful, quiet fields

Where tillers ever tireless toil;

I bid them leave their plows and homes behind,

And steel themselves with arms of spoil.

Then nursing babes at mothers’ breasts I touch,

For loud their fathers do I call;

I reck not of their mothers’ tear-stained eyes

When those do in the battle fall.

I sweep o’er peaceful cities great and strong,

Whose towers outtop the blue-ribbed sky;

I give the word to grind out shot and shell

Until they lowly, humble lie.

The mighty nations to my wings I call,—

A hundred million men of war

To struggle helpless ’gainst the sword of death,—

Beneath my spell they fallen are.

O’er Asia’s strand I spread mine eaglet wings,

O’er Austria, England, France and Spain;

Then do I touch Japan and Mexico,

Then back to Europe’s soil again.

My maw is ever empty for their blood,

“On! on!” I cry for newer prey;

My master Mars doth urge me take the field

Myself to slaughter and to slay.

Away with peace and arbitration’s hand,

’Neath whose pale spell I envious quake:

They only dare to cross my boist’rous path;

Them can I never bend nor break.

But on I go, and when my wreak is o’er

And Mars requites me for my pain,

To war’s dead corps and sepulchres I cry:

“Great God, what fools have mortals been!”

THE FLOWERETS’ COMMUNION

THERE is a solitary hillside,

Where flow’rets, blooming gay,

Have watched the sky with eager pride

From dawn till close of day.

No wand’ring stranger do they see,

Who treads that silent place,

To look upon their majesty

Or view their radiant face.

But yet, unplaintive, do they bloom

And smile out ’gainst the sky,—

From them the birds do take their song

And bees their honey ply.

Then come the little sunbeams fair,

Leaping o’er the crumbled wall,

And gayly dancing here and there

Spring at the flow’rets’ call.

Then sweet communion do they hold,

The flowers and sunbeams there;

The sunbeams stoop to plant their lips

Upon the flow’rets fair.

They breathe into the sunbeams life

To trip athwart the plain,

To sparkle in their dazzling revelries

And round and round again.

Glad Hymen joins them there ’neath heaven

And seals them with her love:

And as the issue of their amity,

Joy rings to heaven above.

O ye who in earth’s lonely vales

Do struggling, plaintive go,

Think not thine humble merits less

Than in the world’s bright glow.

And ye who are most lonesome, sore,

Do not despairing wend,—

For every flower there darts a sunbeam fair,

For every soul, a helping friend.

THE RIDDLE OF LIFE

OH, what a weak, sporadic thing is man,

Burst forth upon life’s troublous sea!

Unasked he comes, unwished therefrom he goes,—

Oh, whither is his destiny?

I put my riddle to the flying breeze

That flurried past with airy wing;

My words were borne back on the fleecy clouds

Who laughed to scorn my questioning.

I asked it of the lordful mountain peak

Who lays his hoar face to the sky;

He only shrugged his Atlan shoulders bare,

And answered me a mournful sigh.

I plied it to the deep and surging sea

Where myriads slept in her watery grave;

She roared and spumed, and splashed her surges higher,

And answer none to me she gave.

Then to the heavens with upturned face I gazed,

And reverent asked my God in prayer;

A still, small voice breathed back to me in love,

“Wait, child; thou shalt know better there.”

COLUMBIA’S FLAG

LET’S raise Columbia’s banner to the clouds

And hoist her colors in the skies;

Let every patriot ’neath her azure stand;

Let never a foe upon her rise!

Let’s wear her emblem proudly on our breasts;

Let’s steel our hearts with valor true.

As long as she doth guard our liberty

With the tints of the red, white and blue!

Whether in peace or in the battle’s roar,

Be she the guardian of our soil!

Spare not our lives to save our country’s hearth;

Shirk not the havoc and the toil!

Dear flag, thou emblem of a nation’s pride,

Sail proudly o’er the scattered main,

And gather all Columbia’s sons to thee,

That never may our freedom wane!

Go raise Columbia’s banner to the clouds,

And hoist her colors in the skies!

Let every patriot ’neath her azure stand;

Let never a foe upon her rise!

THE BAR OF SCIENCE

WHO thwarts thy will?

O Science, who can stop thine onward sweep,

Or lay a bar ’fore thine ambitious ways?

Oh, who will fling the gauntlet down to thee

And dare estop thee in thy feats of skill

That thou so bold perform’st? None, none of man,

But God alone. He knows what mysteries

To scuttle from thy sight.

Were’t not for Him,

Thou would’st unmine the whole great globe of man;

Draw figures o’er the moon’s frail, verdant map;

Bind all the planets to our earth’s great orb;

And, cooling, freeze the sun’s most torrid heat,

Or give it greater fire. Thou’d’st chain the thunderbolt;

Catch heaven’s lightning in thine own great leash

For man’s devising smiths.

But let us praise thee

For what thy dare-all, do-all skill hath wrought

On earth alone. Thou’st built the flying planes,

The heaving ships—dark instruments of war;

Thou’st wrought the grafting of man’s hearts and brains,

The coinage of bright pearls and rubies rare,

The speeding trains, the horseless vehicles,—

But naught ’gainst God’s great will.

For thou’st not reached

Where thou can’st scorn our great Creator’s skill,

For thou know’st not the essence of the soul,

That which ’bove all he holds firm in his mighty hand.

Yea, yea, with all thy vaunted boast of power,

Thou canst not His great’st handiwork outdo,—

Thou canst not e’er make man!

THE CHORD UNSUNG

O LET me on some mystic height above

Compose, my soul, a perfect lay!

O let me rise and ever onward rise

Unto the fairest, perfect day!

My heart doth swell with sweet, concordant tones,

And I would fain burst out in song;

But my weak soul can never rise the height

Where such Æolian strains belong.

Oft have I sat upon the seashore’s strand

And strung my proud harp to the wave,

While the billows rolled in splendor at my feet

And the salt sea did my cushion lave.

Then struck I out upon the surging tide

My sweetest notes of harp and wand,—

But my weak themes fell most far short the minstrelsy

Of those celestial strains beyond.

THE OASIS

O WHAT mild ease these shadowy palms afford,—

The luscious figs, the palate tempting nuts,

The babbling rill, from whose unending source

Such cooling water gushes forth that it would quench

Ten thousand Stygian thirsts. What rarest joy!

What soft retreat is here! No flatt’ring court,

No vain and idle pomp beneath whose flow’ry hand

The vip’rous serpent creeps unseen!

PUSH ONWARD

NO matter if your heart be weary,

No matter if your hopes be dreary;

Through an avalanche of hopes, and fears, and ills,

And stubborn critics, and harsh opposing wills,—

Push onward; you will win at last!

No use to say you are defeated,—

You’ve fought too far to be retreated;

For you ahead a rose wreathed laurel lies,

Accomplished hopes and victory’s valiant prize,—

Push onward; you will win at last!

O soul of man, most burden laden,

Know thou that fortune stands, a coyish maiden

Who hides beneath her frowns that wished-for smile

She waits to shower on you just all the while,—

Push onward; you will win at last!

SING IT

IF you’ve a good song to be sung,—

A song of laughter or of rollicking cheer

To rouse to smiles this world so dark and drear,

A song that takes the grief from sorrow’s bitter cup

And turns the bloom of joy and pleasure up,—

Sing it!

If you’ve a good song to be sung,—

What matters how untuned your lyre may be,

What matters that it rings discordantly,

Only that your heart is welling o’er

With joyous strains that may fill out life’s score,—

Sing it!

THE ORIOLE

BIRD of thy pretty plumage, thou

Art thou no prouder than the crow?

If thou wert human, thou’dst surely be,—

Men’s envious ways would make thee so,

But ’tis much better as thou art;

Then art thou naught but satisfied,—

Thou feel’st no pain, nor aching heart;

Thou hast no want, nor blinding pride.

SMILES AND TEARS

O THAT these precious smiles we smile to-day

Were always smiles,—could last for aye and aye;

But ah! too soon the golden bowl will break,

And erst glad hearts shall then with sorrow quake.

Alas! that such dark clouds hide ’neath the sun

T’obscure him e’en before his race is done;

But ’tis most true,—a truth too sad to say,—

That we who smile, shall never smile alway.

BE STRONG

BE strong, O man of earth, be strong!

And rise to triumph through thy will;

Yea, drive the conquering tempter from thy soul

That he may do to thee no ill.

Be strong, O man of earth, be strong!

Let virtue’s sceptre guide thy hand;

From morn till night, from night till morn, do thou

Undaunted ’gainst brute evil stand.

Be strong, O man of earth, be strong!

Grip steadily to that noble task

To fight the want that argues in thy soul

To let each sinning be the last.

Be strong, O man of earth, be strong!

Not for thyself alone possess,

But let thy valiant trophies be a sign

Breathing valor in thy brother’s breast.

Be strong, O man of earth, be strong!

In mind and soul, in heart and brain.

Thou hast no loss, brave man, in combating,

But lo! thou hast the world to gain.

THE CHILDREN’S DREAM

FAST, fast asleep,—done are their earthly cares;

To realms of dreamland now they go,

Where sprightly elves and long beard goblins gay

Do dance around on light tiptoe.

Anon an elf doth stretch her silvery wand,

Made of the moonbeams bright and fair,

And lo! they ’gin their dreams of beauteous things

As she touches their soft downy hair.

The curtains of Nod are drawn aside,

And there is the fairies’ room,—

Gold tinseled Christmas trees, and dolls and toys,

Bright picture books and flowers in bloom.

Oases of delight! O blissful hours!

O happy, wished-for fairyland,

Where they may live in dreams the whole night long,

And hold communion with the elfish band.

Then to new joys they waken on the morrow,

From realms of dreams to realms of play.

O feasts of joys! Fairies’ fancies charm by night,

And real toys ’rapture them by day.

O to be a laughing child again tonight,—

Forever is the grown folk’s prayer,—

That our dreams be all of pleasures and of joys,

And our waking hours still find them there!

TO POPE PIUS X

O ILL-STARRED Pope! From thee all power was reft

To quell the slaughter of earth’s men.

Alone thou grieved’st their needless sufferings,

And racking qualms beyond all mortal ken.

Pontiff Supreme! Blest be thy reverent name

Who wroughtst great tasks most holily,

But couldst not make men think the thoughts of peace

When they in blood were steeped so mightily.

In ancient days thy predecessors swayed

The power earth’s horrid wars to quell,

But ah, alas! their might is but remembrance dim,

And now brute arms their triumphs tell.

O mighty monarchs! Yours, yours is the blame

That we have holy Pius lost,

For ye have stirred the wars that racked his frame,

And his great life is now th’atoning cost.

ENMITY

SAY, of what mortal use is enmity?

Hast thou not seen two midget ants in strife,

Contending o’er the petal in the vale,—

See how they toil and sweat, and struggle long,

And tumble zig-zag down the hilly slope,

And e’en do totter on the streamlet’s edge,

Until at length one Lilliput doth win

By one great stroke, when lo! a sudden gale

Doth whisk its great nose down the hilltop’s side,

And puffs the victor and the prize away.

So oft the giant world wrests from our grasp

The things we seek in tedious rivalry;

And like the foolish little ants a-tilt,

Great Justice ’bove, who loathes such noxious strife,

Doth make us lose the prize we strove to gain,

And to defeat doth add discomfiture.

WHY GRIEVE?

WHY weep we when a spirit flies away,

Why can we not cease crying,—

For life is but the soul’s full form,

And death is but the dying?

The pallid face and closed eye

Prove not the end of man’s career,

But only mark the spirit’s life

Uplifted to a higher sphere.

THE TOLL OF MAJESTY

POOR suffering king!

His misery is his friend. Him doth he guest

The whole day long. His subjects want not ease,

Nor eat their messes joyless round their boards

While he doth thrust aside the daintiest dish,

Whose hardness doth the peasant’s crust exceed,

Or bolts it down in tremulous haste and fear,

Eyes trained for secret enemies. Who knows?

Some sneak assassin’s steel may strike his heart,

Or some rude bomb may rend the castle’s base

But to attempt his life. God, save the king,

That he may use his throne and sceptre right,

And be not thus the nation’s trembling slave,

But be its strongest power!

AMBITION

AMBITION is a man-of-war,

And constant will her battery,

Hard pressing down upon the foe

Upon life’s wide and rolling sea.

No sturdy coils nor clanking chains

Can ever bind her to the shore;

Through storm and tempest, wind and wave,

She plows the waters o’er.

There is no craft she’ll not engage,

Nor cares how broad her bulk or mast,

For she will buckle to her side

And in the struggle win at last.

KNOW THYSELF

THERE is a key to every human life,

A door to every human heart;

And those who would our mysteries unbar

Do but essay the locksmith’s art.

Wise is the man who holds the keys that ope

What hidden thoughts our souls possess,

But he is still the wiser, nobler smith

Who can unlock his own heart best.

BLESSINGS IN DISGUISE

HOW can misfortune but a blessing be

And slight mishaps be called unkind?

Oft the lessons we learn in a single evil turn

Are more than all success combined.

If only we knew the lordly benisons

That come from the tempest, the winds and the rain,

We would not curse the cloud-reft heavens so,

Nor the cavernous depths of earth profane.

DECEIVING MAIDENS

AH! triumph is a summer’s flower,

And short-lived is success;

Their petals fade but in an hour

And wither into nothingness.

Two blushing maidens fair are they,—

The fairest of their kin,

So skilled in the art of a lover’s ruse

That we woo them, but rarely win.

THE SOLUTION

To be, or not to be,—that is the question.—SHAKESPEARE.

WHY should man struggle here?

Is’t not the hope of something yet in life,

Some great achievement, some heroic feat

Which worth’ly succors to humanity,

That lights the dimmed, expiring spark of life

And bids us still seek in adversity

The means to atone for all our erring past

And strive to gain the haven of the blest,

The soul’s most glorious prize,—that thing eterne?

Cut off by one weak, frail, ’gainst-nature act,—

By use of sword, or gun, or poisoned vial,—

What hope exists the prize of life to win,

When every means therefor is wrested ’way,

And our life’s strength ebbs out in the warping clay?

A WOMAN’S HEART

WHAT mystery!

It is to me a most strange questioning,

That man would hold what hearts he captivates

But for a little while,—then puffs them off,

As one by one they in his estimation wane,

And turns his mind to other victories,

Nor ever cares how infinite they are,—

Yea, like the proud Atilla doth he stand,

Who counts his victims captured by the sword,

And then, with conquest filled, whets o’er his steel

And, never sated, sighs for subjects more:

Yet woman, with her heart so guileless true,

Would hold but one, and him thereto she’d cling

Through life or death, and keep her virgin soul,

In memory of him, e’er spotless and unstained

By taint of foreign love.

LIFE’S MISSION

GO, seek your earthly mission, ye who toil,—

Discern why God hath placed you here.

Hide not the talent He hath given you

For idle sloth or cowardly fear!

Some worthy task but waits for each to do,

To aid the world’s great work to-day;

Put forth thy might upon life’s struggling field,

And thou mayst bear the prize away!

THE MAGNET

THE good alone are to be loved, adored,

For they are pure

And purity rather draws the eye of man

Than smoky soot, which gums the evil soul

And blacker grows until it doth beseem

Grim Pluto’s loathsome pit, which oft did drive

The Gods that dug’t away.

THE SWALLOW’S FLIGHT

O FOR swift wings!

O let me fly as are the swallows, free—

Free from the toil and turmoil of the world!

Let me away to some Elysian fields,

Where I may sing the swallow’s lay. O joy!

How heavenly to be flitting, nestling there,

Where one might sing unto the ambrosial sun;

Or stride her chariot, lined with fleecy clouds;

Taste such delights as ne’er hath mortal known,

From Hebe’s cup or Juno’s flowing bowl,

For all eternity!

THE POET’S REWARD

A POOR, neglected poet once there lived,

Who to the souls of millions sang;

He cheered their hearts and eased their restless minds

With ne’er discordant note nor twang.

Yet little of this world’s great goods he asked,

And littler still thereof did gain.

He left the world with joy and pleasure filled,

But took its sorrow and its pain.

Yet I do know he labored not in vain,

Though his reward to win was long,—

For God above, in His great charity,

Did make His angels sing his song.

THE LOVER’S BENEDICTION

JOY to you, my pretty one!

Fluffles, ruffles, all aglow,

Heart a-beating two-four time,—

Joy be yours, and joy be mine

To see you joyous so.

Life to you be full of cheer

In the love that you have found,

Every smile that he doth shew

Hath a meaning deep to you

As it sheds its radiance ’round.

May long annals bless your life,

May you never fret or fume!

May your joys be ever full,

And his love no lesser dull

Than its now most perfect bloom!

NATURE’S CHEER

OH, when I sigh and melancholy grow,

And all my hopes turn brown and sere,

It sends a thrill of gladness in my heart

To think that we have nature here.

Then in the fields I go a-roaming,

And in the high topped woods a-play:

Away with cares and melancholy now,

I know I’d like to live alway.

The birds do sing me sweet songs from the trees,

The bees and locusts hum their best.

Oh, can high heaven top these pure Elysian charms,

Can it be happier and more blest?

Then do I thank my dear Redeemer

That he hath giv’n this world of ours,

Where we may seek our souls’ full consolation

In realms of birds, and trees, and flowers.

THE WAR ETERNAL

THE strife of man will ne’er be over,

Though all earth’s wars be gone

And countless soldiers have departed

Unto the farther on,—

For life’s array must e’er be posing

Against the wiles of sin,

The devil and his mighty legions

Who strive the world to win.

Fight on! fight on! ’Tis only valor

Which wins the cov’ted prize;

’Tis only love and perfect service

That crowns us in the skies.

Within the distance arms are clashing

And fresh blood mars the sod,—

’Tis but the war of good and evil

On battlefields of God.

Oh, there is comfort in the struggle,

For Christ’s our aide-de-camp;

With hosts of God’s own saints and angels,

We battle not alone.

Go press amidst the foremost legion

Which marches on before;

Go draw thy sword against the evil one;

Prove thou a victor in the war!

ANGEL MUSIC

OH, I hear the sweetest music

Floating on the liquid air,

And my mind is lost in fancy—

’Tis my loved one sitting there.

Then I gaze upon her tresses,

Dream of fairy lands,

’Neath the spell of angel music

Played by angel hands.

Joyous thoughts dispel my sadness;

All is joy and mirthsome glee

As her fingers touch the heart notes

With enraptured minstrelsy;

And the earth is more a heaven

Than a barren, struggling strand,

’Neath the strains of angel music

Played by angel hands.

Then she glides to notes of sadness,

And my heart is struck with pain

As she plays some touching ballad

Or o’er some pathetic strain.

Yet the tears I shed are glad ones,

And I know she understands

That I am happy in the music

Played by angel hands.

Thus she runs the gamut over,

Swaying ceaseless to and fro

Till my heart is tuned and chorded

To the love that makes us glow:

Yes, she knows my heart is tempered,

Trebly lost in love’s demands,

In the charm of angel music

Played by angel hands.

Thus our hearts are sealed in union

In those joyous strains of love,

And I hard can wait the closing

My unbounded love to prove:

For I wait to clasp her in my arms

And a kiss—to make demands,—

Small payment for that heavenly music

Played by angel hands.

THREE NAMES

A BIRD, a child, and a bed of purple flowers,

I found in a garden so green and so bright.

With gentle step to them I moved and spoke,—

All three did tremble at my sight.

“Oh, come to me, my pretty little flowers;

And please, please breathe your name to me.

I want to know you better than I do;

I think we should not strangers be.

“Oh, come to me, my pretty blue-eyed child,

And lisp thine own sweet name to me;

Thy golden ringlets and thine angel smiles

Deserve a greater blazonry.

“Oh, come to me, my pretty caged bird,

And sing thy name in thy song to me;

Thou sing’st the sweetest songs I ever heard,

But I’d know more than that of thee.”

So one by one each gave her secret up

With a confidence I felt was true.

The flowers breathed violet; the child spoke the same;

And the bird thereat sang violet too.

THE SMILES OF TRUTH

OH, give to me the simple heart

Where there is meaning in its smile,—

The heart that proves ’twould do me good

Without a thought of fraud or guile.

Those are the smiles that glad my soul

’Bove all glad things on earth I know;

They give me faith in friendship yet,

When all the world seems false in show.

Oh, give to me the simple heart

Whose smiles have depth without an end,—

Those are the smiles that beam from God

And make our souls to heaven tend.

A TOKEN

OUR land’s first lady’s in her grave. She lives

Far from the tumult of the world,

Where those great deeds of love wreck not the health,

But are in tomes of gold impearled.

A noble sacrifice to life she made,

Wherein her tasks outdid her strength.

What pity, then, that she must leave so soon,

Ere that her life had reached its length.

A gracious mother and a loyal wife,

Cherished by all both far and near,

Let her rare life shine o’er our weeping land;

Let her great name be ever dear!

Dear President! With thee a nation mourns

And sheds kind teardrops on her bier,

For thou hast lost the goodliest wife of earth

And art left ’lone, disconsolate, here.

THE PIRATE ANT

OH, see her bear her heavy burden,

Undaunted ’gainst the stirring breeze;

The cordlet quakes and tremulous shakes

As the antlet quivers with the trees.

Yet still she keeps on plodding onward,

So light in heart and free of limb;

Muscling in her arms a captured fly,

She sails,—a pirate maritime.

O toil most great,—O distance infinite!

From tree to tree the cord is strung,

But naught dissuades the plucky ant

Who rides the rope the trees among.

Heave ho! the wind is rising higher,

And thief and prey are almost gone;

But stark she clingeth to the mast

And bears her priceless booty home.

Thus let men lesson from the tiny ant

Who doth unwearied to her task bend;

No toil too great, no task too long,

But she doth nobly bring’t to end!

SKINKER ROAD

Skinker Road was chosen as the Midway of the World’s Fair held in St. Louis, Missouri, in 1904.

O SKINKER Road, thou road of roads,

Thou way of wondrous ways,

The highway of the pioneers,

The “Midway” of the World’s Fair place,

The choicest of the chosen few,—

By thy rustic beauty wast thou crowned;

But now I hear the beat of toiling feet

That raise thy fabrics round.

O Skinker Road, thou road of roads,

Thou way of wondrous ways,

Great mighty men have passed thee o’er

In old Missouri’s earlier days.

Thy name be of the pioneer

Who first thy charming highway laid,

And gave thy name to be known of fame

By a world’s unparalleled parade.

O Skinker Road, thou road of roads,

Thou way of wondrous ways,

How soon shall all thy beauty fade

To fit thee for thy coming days!

The hand of progress soon shall snatch

The trees that hang thy grasses o’er,

And thy winding lane shall bear in train

Advancement’s fruitful store.

O Skinker Road, thou road of roads,

Thou way of wondrous ways,

All tongues on earth shall speak thy name,

All races there meet face to face.

Once wast thou highway of the pioneers

In the rugged days of toil and war,

But now the lane of a world-wide fame,

The “Midway” of the Fair.

HUMOR

HIS LEGACY

THE lavish legacy of Frank Legree

No doubt is sorrowing him yet;

For once he owned a million francs in gold,

But now he owes a million debt.

When first he eyed his huge inheritance

His uncle left to him in fee,

He smiled to see himself a millionaire,

And moved in best society.

He built a tomb for his dear uncle then,

And epitaphed him “grand old man,”

Though in his life he had ne’er thought of him

And liked him better dead than—

Alive. So then he called his friends around,—

Patrons of wine and song and ease;

Mild drinks did make him thirst for stronger gins,

And small jags grew protracted sprees.

He squandered thousands on the race course;

In dice he lost at every throw;

He scattered change like oatmeal fed to chickens;

His pile soon melted down like snow—

In July. His banker sent a gentle invitation

To straighten his o’erdrawn account.

He did. He sent a bullet in his brain

And never stopped to ask the amount.

The lavish legacy of Frank Legree

No doubt is sorrowing him yet;

Lieu of an earthly million francs in gold,

He’s serving time for soul lost debt.

THE WORD MISSPELLED

WHENE’ER you miss

A field of bliss,

It is not half so bad

As to presume

Your words are known,

When you but thought you had.

When you’ve planned up

A good stand up,

And fall to the other end,

It brings aroun’

A funny frown

Which judgment cannot mend.

Your playmates’ laugh

Is only half

The ugliness you feel;

You’d kick yourself

Like the Ghib the Guelf

If that the pang would heal.

So boys, I say,

Study away

And ever strive your best,

So you’ll be glad

Instead of sad,

And keep your level with the rest.

THE NABOB’S PRIDE

I PASSED him in his high-born mansion oft,

And lo! he would not speak to me,

For I was born of humble parentage

And my fortune lacked his dignity.

The days rolled by. We often met in face

Upon the highway of our town;

I hoped to see him cast a smile on me,

But only reaped a scowling frown.

I clenched my fist, and silent passed him by

With words—perhaps revenge or spite;

But they breathed inspiration to my soul

To strive and set our scores aright.

With such thought buried in mine aching breast,

I labored ceaseless at my task;

And saw my fortunes not unenvied rise

Until no greater could I ask.

But what of him? In some far distant place,

Again as oft we chanced to meet.

His wealth had flown, while mine tenfold had grown,—

Foul luck had made him indiscreet.

I picked him from the gutter,—a sorry sight,

Reeling with wine, and sick and sore:

And as I passed a snug goldpiece, he said,

“Beg pard’, that I knew you not before.”

HUERTA’S DRINKING SONG

On the day of the siege of Vera Cruz.

BE merry, let us drink wine,

And sip, sip, sip;

Full soon the days shall slip,

Gray hairs shall catch us,

Grim death will dispatch us

Long ere our pleasures be full.

Let not the soul be dull,—

Therefore be merry; let us drink wine.

Be merry, let us drink wine,

And quaff, quaff, quaff;

Loud ring your cheering laugh,—

Care we for Gringos?

Let ’em come, by Jingos!

Ne’er fear that all will be well,

We’ll lick ’em spite of hell,—

Therefore be merry; let us drink wine.

HOCH DER KAISER

Hoch der Kaiser! How he slapped his son,

When he saw the war begin!

Spoke the Kaiser in his wrath to the crown prince,

“What an awful mess you’ve got me in!”

“Squads of Russians, French, and Englishmen,

Swords a-tilt to quell us all;

Couldn’t you wait until we had grown stronger,

With more men and guns on which to fall?

“I’ll not say that I am so displeased,

That you’ve laid Mar’s spirit bare,—

’Tis the will of every noble Deutscher,—

But you should ’a used much greater care.

“Now we’ve got to battle,—we’re in for war!

But I guess I’ll let you fight.

’Sides, it’s just as good a time as any

Just to show them all our might.

“Let the drum beat to its martial tune;

Strike Wacht am Rhein and let’s begin;

Austria’s aid will go to help us some,

So I guess we’ll now stay in.”

A MASH IN COURT

A BASHFUL, blushing maiden fair it was

Who to the altar bent her way,

A-trembling on her future spouse’s arm,

To Justice Rome Van Rennsler Day.

The judge looked through his nose-pinched specs and smiled,

“Ah, ha! Two dollars for a fee.”

Then when the ceremony was over, rose,

“I guess I’ll kiss the bride,” says he.

The groom was game, and led the justice down

To where the wedding party sat;

But law! the judge was really so excited

He didn’t know just where he was at.

But on he stumbled, and the groom cried out,

“You’re making it fine, so hurry on.”

The bride just flinched and turned her pretty head,

While the judge picked out a dress of lawn.

Our blushing bride had worn a crepe de chene,—

The bride’s maid a lawn did grace,—

But the judge seized on the first he came to there,

And planted a smack on her ruby face.

“Why, what’s the matter?” all the guests did cry,

As the lawn flew through the questioning throng.

Alas! the judge had kissed the maid instead,

And the dad-blamed kiss went wrong.

Now what could the poor excited justice do?

The first kiss for the bride was lost—

“Impertinence! How dare you?” the maid did scream.

“I’ll get you arrested at any cost.”

The bride got angry, too, at such a muddle,

And said she’d aid the maid for spite—

But what was the legal remedy, I ask;

For the judge couldn’t pull himself by right?

HIS SEARCH FOR GOLD

HE came down from the Klondike

Brief days ago,

Bowed down by tribulations,

Weighted with human woe,—

Where he had cast his fortune

’Mid fields of ice and snow.

He left his friends and kinsmen

And a happy home

To fill his life with that adventure

Told of in a Wild West tome,

But wandered unsuccessfully

From Yukon to Cape Nome.

He searched the fields of Yukon

With few supplies,

And camped beside its shallows

Where little Yukons rise,

But missed that mine of nuggets

Which in that gold field lies.

He tramped amid the mountains

From Spring till Fall,

He strode the great crevasses

And crossed the rivers all,

The wealth he sought was spacious

But what he got was small.

He drank the wines of Dawson

And Behring’s Strait,

And stronger drinks did capture him

In camp on White Horse Lake;

He cursed the luck that sent him thither

A deep inebriate.

He felt the pangs of hunger

And northern cold,

As oft his comrades perished

Around the camp fires’ mold

And false guides led them to destruction

In their search for Yukon gold.

He came down from the Klondike

Brief days before,

Bearing the resolution,

Tested and tried of yore,

To earn a humble living

And search for gold no more.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE:

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Table of Contents

The Sinking of the Titanic AND OTHER POEMS

CONTENTS

THE SINKING OF THE TITANIC AND OTHER POEMS

THE SINKING OF THE TITANIC

INSPIRATION

SPRING BALLAD

THE SPIRIT OF WAR

THE FLOWERETS’ COMMUNION

THE RIDDLE OF LIFE

COLUMBIA’S FLAG

THE BAR OF SCIENCE

THE CHORD UNSUNG

THE OASIS

PUSH ONWARD

SING IT

THE ORIOLE

SMILES AND TEARS

BE STRONG

THE CHILDREN’S DREAM

TO POPE PIUS X

ENMITY

WHY GRIEVE?

THE TOLL OF MAJESTY

AMBITION

KNOW THYSELF

BLESSINGS IN DISGUISE

DECEIVING MAIDENS

THE SOLUTION

A WOMAN’S HEART

LIFE’S MISSION

THE MAGNET

THE SWALLOW’S FLIGHT

THE POET’S REWARD

THE LOVER’S BENEDICTION

NATURE’S CHEER

THE WAR ETERNAL

ANGEL MUSIC

THREE NAMES

THE SMILES OF TRUTH

A TOKEN

THE PIRATE ANT

SKINKER ROAD

HUMOR

HIS LEGACY

THE WORD MISSPELLED

THE NABOB’S PRIDE

HUERTA’S DRINKING SONG

HOCH DER KAISER

A MASH IN COURT

HIS SEARCH FOR GOLD

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