Man has explored all countries and all lands, And made his own the secrets of each clime.

Now, ere the world has fully reached its prime, The oval earth lies compa.s.sed with steel bands, The seas are slaves to ships that touch all strands, And even the haughty elements, sublime And bold, yield him their secrets for all time, And speed like lackeys forth at his commands.

Still, though he search from sh.o.r.e to distant sh.o.r.e, And no strange realms, no unlocated plains Are left for his attainment and control, Yet is there one more kingdom to explore.

Go, know thyself, O man! there yet remains The undiscovered country of thy soul!

THE UNIVERSAL ROUTE

As we journey along, with a laugh and a song, We see, on youth's flower-decked slope, Like a beacon of light, shining fair on the sight, The beautiful Station of Hope.

But the wheels of old Time roll along as we climb, And our youth speeds away on the years; And with hearts that are numb with life's sorrows we come To the mist-covered Station of Tears.

Still onward we pa.s.s, where the milestones, alas!

Are the tombs of our dead, to the West, Where glitters and gleams, in the dying sunbeams, The sweet, silent Station of Rest.

All rest is but change, and no grave can estrange The soul from its Parent above; And, scorning the rod, it soars back to its G.o.d, To the limitless City of Love.

UNANSWERED PRAYERS

Like some schoolmaster, kind in being stern, Who hears the children crying o'er their slates And calling, "Help me, master!" yet helps not, Since in his silence and refusal lies Their self-development, so G.o.d abides Unheeding many prayers. He is not deaf To any cry sent up from earnest hearts; He hears and strengthens when He must deny.

He sees us weeping over life's hard sums; But should He give the key and dry our tears, What would it profit us when school were done And not one lesson mastered?

What a world Were this if all our prayers were answered. Not In famed Pandora's box were such vast ills As lie in human hearts. Should our desires, Voiced one by one in prayer, ascend to G.o.d And come back as events shaped to our wish, What chaos would result!

In my fierce youth I sighed out breath enough to move a fleet, Voicing wild prayers to heaven for fancied boons Which were denied; and that denial bends My knee to prayers of grat.i.tude each day Of my maturer years. Yet from those prayers I rose alway regirded for the strife And conscious of new strength. Pray on, sad heart, That which thou pleadest for may not be given, But in the lofty alt.i.tude where souls Who supplicate G.o.d's grace are lifted, there Thou shalt find help to bear thy daily lot Which is not elsewhere found.

THANKSGIVING

We walk on starry fields of white And do not see the daisies, For blessings common in our sight We rarely offer praises.

We sigh for some supreme delight To crown our lives with splendour, And quite ignore our daily store Of pleasures sweet and tender.

Our cares are bold and push their way Upon our thought and feeling; They hang about us all the day, Our time from pleasure stealing.

So un.o.btrusive many a joy We pa.s.s by and forget it, But worry strives to own our lives, And conquers if we let it.

There's not a day in all the year But holds some hidden pleasure, And, looking back, joys oft appear To brim the past's wide measure.

But blessings are like friends, I hold, Who love and labour near us.

We ought to raise our notes of praise While living hearts can hear us.

Full many a blessing wears the guise Of worry or of trouble; Far-seeing is the soul, and wise, Who knows the mask is double.

But he who has the faith and strength To thank his G.o.d for sorrow Has found a joy without alloy To gladden every morrow.

We ought to make the moments notes Of happy, glad Thanksgiving; The hours and days a silent phrase Of music we are living.

And so the theme should swell and grow As weeks and months pa.s.s o'er us, And rise sublime at this good time, A grand Thanksgiving chorus.

CONTRASTS

I see the tall church steeples - They reach so far, so far; But the eyes of my heart see the world's great mart Where the starving people are.

I hear the church bells ringing Their chimes on the morning air; But my soul's sad ear is hurt to hear The poor man's cry of despair.

Thicker and thicker the churches, Nearer and nearer the sky - But alack for their creeds while the poor man's needs Grow deeper as years roll by!

THY SHIP

Hadst thou a ship, in whose vast hold lay stored The priceless riches of all climes and lands, Say, wouldst thou let it float upon the seas Unpiloted, of fickle winds the sport, And of wild waves and hidden rocks the prey?

Thine is that ship; and in its depths concealed Lies all the wealth of this vast universe - Yea, lies some part of G.o.d's omnipotence, The legacy divine of every soul.

Thy will, O man, thy will is that great ship, And yet behold it drifting here and there - One moment lying motionless in port, Then on high seas by sudden impulse flung, Then drying on the sands, and yet again Sent forth on idle quests to no-man's land To carry nothing and to nothing bring; Till, worn and fretted by the aimless strife And buffeted by vacillating winds, It founders on a rock, or springs a leak, With all its unused treasures in the hold.

Go save thy ship, thou sluggard; take the wheel And steer to knowledge, glory, and success.

Great mariners have made the pathway plain For thee to follow; hold thou to the course Of Concentration Channel, and all things Shall come in answer to thy swerveless wish As comes the needle to the magnet's call, Or sunlight to the prisoned blade of gra.s.s That yearns all winter for the kiss of spring.

LIFE

All in the dark we grope along, And if we go amiss We learn at least which path is wrong, And there is gain in this.

We do not always win the race By only running right; We have to tread the mountain's base Before we reach its height.

The Christs alone no errors made; So often had they trod The paths that lead through light and shade, They had become as G.o.d.

As Krishna, Buddha, Christ again, They pa.s.sed along the way, And left those mighty truths which men But dimly grasp to-day.

But he who loves himself the last And knows the use of pain, Though strewn with errors all his past, He surely shall attain.