We find it a safe and royal drink, And a cure for every pain; It helps us to love, and helps us to think, And strengthens body and brain.

And sitting here, with my Soul alone, Where the yellow sun-rays fall, Of all the friends I have ever known I find it the BEST of all.

We rarely meet when the world is near, For the World hath a pleasing art And brings me so much that is bright and dear That my Soul it keepeth apart.

But when I grow weary of mirth and glee, Of glitter, glow, and splendour, Like a tried old friend it comes to me, With a smile that is sad and tender.

And we walk together as two friends may, And laugh and drink G.o.d's wine.

Oh, a royal comrade any day I find this Soul of mine.

WHAT GAIN?

Now, while thy rounded cheek is fresh and fair, While beauty lingers, laughing, in thine eyes, Ere thy young heart shall meet the stranger, "Care,"

Or thy blithe soul become the home of sighs, Were it not kindness should I give thee rest By plunging this sharp dagger in thy breast?

Dying so young, with all thy wealth of youth, What part of life wouldst thou not claim, in sooth?

Only the woe, Sweetheart, that sad souls know.

Now, in this sacred hour of supreme trust, Of pure delight and palpitating joy, Ere change can come, as come it surely must, With jarring doubts and discords, to destroy Our far too perfect peace, I pray thee, Sweet, Were it not best for both of us, and meet, If I should bring swift death to seal our bliss?

Dying so full of joy, what could we miss?

Nothing but tears, Sweetheart, and weary years.

How slight the action! Just one well-aimed blow Here, where I feel thy warm heart's pulsing beat, And then another through my own, and so Our perfect union would be made complete: So, past all parting, I should claim thee mine.

Dead with our youth, and faith, and love divine, Should we not keep the best of life that way?

What shall we gain by living day on day?

What shall we gain, Sweetheart, but bitter pain?

TO THE WEST

[In an interview with Lawrence Barrett, he said: "The literature of the New World must look to the West for its poetry."]

Not to the crowded East, Where, in a well-worn groove, Like the harnessed wheel of a great machine, The trammelled mind must move-- Where Thought must follow the fashion of Thought, Or be counted vulgar and set at naught.

Not to the languid South, Where the mariners of the brain Are lured by the Sirens of the Sense, And wrecked upon its main - Where Thought is rocked, on the sweet wind's breath To a torpid sleep that ends in death.

But to the mighty West, That chosen realm of G.o.d, Where Nature reaches her hands to men, And Freedom walks abroad - Where mind is King, and fashion is naught, There shall the New World look for thought

To the West, the beautiful West, She shall look, and not in vain - For out of its broad and boundless store Come muscle, and nerve, and brain.

Let the bards of the East and the South be dumb - For out of the West shall the Poets come.

They shall come with souls as great As the cradle where they were rocked; They shall come with brows that are touched with fire Like the G.o.ds with whom they have walked; They shall come from the West in royal state, The Singers and Thinkers for whom we wait.

THE LAND OF CONTENT

I set out for the Land of Content, By the gay crowded pleasure-highway, With laughter, and jesting, I went With the mirth-loving throng for a day; Then I knew I had wandered astray, For I met returned pilgrims, belated, Who said, "We are weary and sated, But we found not the Land of Content."

I turned to the steep path of fame, I said, "It is over yon height - This land with the beautiful name - Ambition will lend me its light."

But I paused in my journey ere night, For the way grew so lonely and troubled; I said--my anxiety doubled - "This is not the road to Content."

Then I joined the great rabble and throng That frequents the moneyed world's mart; But the greed, and the grasping and wrong, Left me only one wish--to depart.

And sickened, and saddened at heart, I hurried away from the gateway, For my soul and my spirit said straightway.

"This is not the road to Content."

Then weary in body and brain, An overgrown path I detected, And I said "I will hide with my pain In this byway, unused and neglected."

Lo! it led to the realm G.o.d selected To crown with His best gifts of beauty, And through the dark pathway of duty I came to the land of Content.

WARNING

High in the heavens I saw the moon this morning, Albeit the sun shone bright; Unto my soul it spoke, in voice of warning, "Remember Night!"

AFTER THE BATTLES ARE OVER

[Read at Reunion of the G. A. T., Madison, Wis., July 4, 1872.]

After the battles are over, And the war drums cease to beat, And no more is heard on the hillside The sound of hurrying feet, Full many a n.o.ble action, That was done in the days of strife By the soldier is half forgotten, In the peaceful walks of life.

Just as the tangled gra.s.ses, In Summer's warmth and light, Grow over the graves of the fallen And hide them away from sight, So many an act of valour, And many a deed sublime, Fade from the mind of the soldier O'ergrown by the gra.s.s of time

Not so should they be rewarded, Those n.o.ble deeds of old!

They should live for ever and ever, When the heroes' hearts are cold.

Then rally, ye brave old comrades, Old veterans, reunite!

Uproot Time's tangled gra.s.ses - Live over the march, and the fight.

Let Grant come up from the White House, And clasp each brother's hand, First chieftain of the army, Last chieftain of the land.

Let him rest from a nation's burdens, And go, in thought, with his men, Through the fire and smoke of Shiloh, And save the day again.

This silent hero of battles Knew no such word as defeat.

It was left for the rebels' learning, Along with the word--retreat.

He was not given to talking, But he found that guns would preach In a way that was more convincing Than fine and flowery speech