But in the city--in the lighted city-- Where gilded spires point toward the sky, And fluttering rags and hunger ask for pity, Grey Loneliness in cloth-of-gold, goes by.

THE SLUMBER ANGEL

When day is ended, and grey twilight flies On silent wings across the tired land, The Slumber-Angel cometh from the skies,-- The Slumber-Angel of the peaceful eyes, And with the scarlet poppies in his hand.

His robes are dappled like the moonlit seas, His hair in waves of silver floats afar; He weareth lotus-bloom, and sweet heartsease, With ta.s.sels of the rustling, green fir trees, As down the dusk he steps from star to star.

Above the world he swings his curfew bell, And sleep falls soft on golden heads and white; The daisies curl their leaves beneath his spell,-- The prisoner who wearies in his cell Forgets awhile, and dreams throughout the night.

Even so, in peace, comes that great Lord of rest Who crowneth men with amaranthine flowers; Who telleth them the truths they have but guessed, Who giveth them the things they love the best, Beyond this restless, rocking world of ours.

AT MIDNIGHT

Turn Thou the key upon our thoughts, dear Lord, And let us sleep; Give us our portion of forgetfulness, Silent and deep.

Lay Thou Thy quiet hand upon our eyes, To close their sight; Shut out the shining of the moon, and stars, And candle-light.

Keep back the phantoms and the visions sad,-- The shades of grey,-- The fancies that so haunt the little hours Before the day.

Quiet the time-worn questions that are all Unanswered yet; Take from the spent and troubled souls of us Their vain regret;

And lead us far into Thy silent land, That we may go, Like children out across the field o' dreams, Where poppies blow.

So all Thy saints--and all Thy sinners, too-- Wilt Thou not keep, Since not alone unto Thy well-beloved Thou givest sleep?

DREAMS

Keep thou thy dreams--though joy should pa.s.s thee by; Hold to the rainbow beauty of thy thought; It is for dreams that men will oft-times die,-- And count the pa.s.sing pain of death as nought.

Keep thou thy dreams, though faith should faint and fail, And time should loose thy fingers from the creeds; The vision of the Christ will still avail, To lead thee on to truth and tender deeds.

Keep thou thy dreams, through all the winter's cold; When weeds are withered, and the garden grey, Dream thou of roses with their hearts of gold;-- Beckon to summers that are on their way!

Keep thou thy dreams;--the tissue of all wings Is woven first of them; from dreams are made The precious and imperishable things, Whose loveliness lives on, and does not fade.

A SOUTHERN LULLABY

Little honey baby, shet yo' eyes up tight;-- (Shadow-man is comin' from de moon!)-- You's as sweet as roses if dey _is_ so pink an white; (Shadow-man'll get here mighty soon.)

Little honey baby, keep yo' 'footses still!-- (Rocky-bye, oh, rocky, rocky-bye!) Hush yo' now, an listen to dat lonesome whip-po'-will; Don't yo fix yo' lip an start to cry!

Little honey baby, stop dat winkin' quick!

(Hear de hoot-owl in de cotton-wood!) Yess--I sees yo' eyes adoin' dat dere triflin' trick,-- (He gets chillun if dey isn't good.)

Little honey baby, what yo' think yo' see?-- (Sister keep on climbin' to de sky--) Dat's a June bug--it ain't got no stinger, lak a bee,-- (Reach de glory city by-an-by.)

Little honey baby, what yo' skeery at?-- (Go down, Moses--down to Phar-e-oh!)-- No--dat isn't nuffin but a furry fly-round bat;-- (Say, he'd betta let dose people go.)

Little honey baby, yo' is all ma own,-- Deed yo' is.--Yes,--dat's a fia-fly;-- If I didn't hab yo',--reckon I'd be all alone; (Rocky-bye--oh, rocky, rocky-bye.)

Little honey baby, shet yo' eyes up tight;-- (Shadow man is comin' from de moon,) You's as sweet as roses, if dey is so pink and white; (Shadow-man'll get here mighty soon.)

The lines in brackets are supposed to be sung or chanted. The Southern "Mammy" seldom sang a song through, but interlaced it with comments.--V.S.

WHEN JONQUILS BLOW

When jonquils blow I think of one Who sleeps beneath the green; And all the light and song of life And all the golden sheen, Turn cold and still before my eyes, While pearl-edged boughs of May Seen through a sudden mist of tears Are rimmed with ashen-gray.

LAMENT

Here in my garden where the tulips grow I walk alone; Dim are my eyes with tears, my feet are slow, My heart is stone; Though all the lovely earth again for me New sweetness yields It matters not,--only the dead I see On battlefields.

Only the dead I see,--and strangely bright Their faces shine As though the G.o.d of Glory in the night Had made them fine.

Place for the victors! Stoop my soul to touch Their tunics' hem,-- 'Tis those they loved who need tears overmuch O weep for them!

THE SEA

The sea is but a cradle wide and deep,-- A cradle that the moon rocks to and fro; What peace they find who there fall fast asleep, What lovely dreams,--'Tis not for us to know.

But G.o.d hath sent the angel of the sea To sing to them an endless lullaby; And that they may not dread night's mystery, He lights for them the candles of the sky.

They are infolded by the silken waves, And wrapped in shining blue, and emerald green; They drift through opalescent ocean caves, That only G.o.d Himself hath ever seen.

The great salt wind that no man holds in thrall, Touches them softly, as it pa.s.ses by;-- I think the silver sea gulls know them all, And greet them with their lonely tender cry.