That name the kind apostle bore Who shames the sullen creeds, Not trusting less, but loving more, And showing faith by deeds.

What blending thoughts our memories share!

What visions yours and mine Of May-days in whose morning air The dews were golden wine,

Of vistas bright with opening day, Whose all-awakening sun Showed in life's landscape, far away, The summits to be won!

The heights are gained. Ah, say not so For him who smiles at time, Leaves his tired comrades down below, And only lives to climb!

His labors,--will they ever cease,-- With hand and tongue and pen?

Shall wearied Nature ask release At threescore years and ten?

Our strength the cl.u.s.tered seasons tax,-- For him new life they mean; Like rods around the lictor's axe They keep him bright and keen.

The wise, the brave, the strong, we know,-- We mark them here or there, But he,--we roll our eyes, and lo!

We find him everywhere!

With truth's bold cohorts, or alone, He strides through error's field; His lance is ever manhood's own, His breast is woman's shield.

Count not his years while earth has need Of souls that Heaven inflames With sacred zeal to save, to lead,-- Long live our dear Saint James!

WELCOME TO THE CHICAGO COMMERCIAL CLUB

January 14, 1880

CHICAGO sounds rough to the maker of verse; One comfort we have--Cincinnati sounds worse; If we only were licensed to say Chicago!

But Worcester and Webster won't let us, you know.

No matter, we songsters must sing as we can; We can make some nice couplets with Lake Michigan, And what more resembles a nightingale's voice, Than the oily trisyllable, sweet Illinois?

Your waters are fresh, while our harbor is salt, But we know you can't help it--it is n't your fault; Our city is old and your city is new, But the railroad men tell us we're greener than you.

You have seen our gilt dome, and no doubt you've been told That the orbs of the universe round it are rolled; But I'll own it to you, and I ought to know best, That this is n't quite true of all stars of the West.

You'll go to Mount Auburn,--we'll show you the track,-- And can stay there,--unless you prefer to come back; And Bunker's tall shaft you can climb if you will, But you'll puff like a paragraph praising a pill.

You must see--but you have seen--our old Faneuil Hall, Our churches, our school-rooms, our sample-rooms, all; And, perhaps, though the idiots must have their jokes, You have found our good people much like other folks.

There are cities by rivers, by lakes, and by seas, Each as full of itself as a cheese-mite of cheese; And a city will brag as a game-c.o.c.k will crow Don't your c.o.c.kerels at home--just a little, you know?

But we'll crow for you now--here's a health to the boys, Men, maidens, and matrons of fair Illinois, And the rainbow of friendship that arches its span From the green of the sea to the blue Michigan!

AMERICAN ACADEMY CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION

MAY 26, 1880

SIRE, son, and grandson; so the century glides; Three lives, three strides, three foot-prints in the sand; Silent as midnight's falling meteor slides Into the stillness of the far-off land; How dim the s.p.a.ce its little arc has spanned!

See on this opening page the names renowned Tombed in these records on our dusty shelves, Scarce on the scroll of living memory found, Save where the wan-eyed antiquarian delves; Shadows they seem; ab, what are we ourselves?

Pale ghosts of Bowdoin, Winthrop, Willard, West, Sages of busy brain and wrinkled brow, Searchers of Nature's secrets unconfessed, Asking of all things Whence and Why and How-- What problems meet your larger vision now?

Has Gannett tracked the wild Aurora's path?

Has Bowdoin found his all-surrounding sphere?

What question puzzles ciphering Philomath?

Could Williams make the hidden causes clear Of the Dark Day that filled the land with fear?

Dear ancient school-boys! Nature taught to them The simple lessons of the star and flower, Showed them strange sights; how on a single stem,-- Admire the marvels of Creative Power!-- Twin apples grew, one sweet, the other sour;

How from the hill-top where our eyes beheld In even ranks the plumed and bannered maize Range its long columns, in the days of old The live volcano shot its angry blaze,-- Dead since the showers of Noah's watery days;

How, when the lightning split the mighty rock, The spreading fury of the shaft was spent!

How the young scion joined the alien stock, And when and where the homeless swallows went To pa.s.s the winter of their discontent.

Scant were the gleanings in those years of dearth; No Cuvier yet had clothed the fossil bones That slumbered, waiting for their second birth; No Lyell read the legend of the stones; Science still pointed to her empty thrones.

Dreaming of orbs to eyes of earth unknown, Herschel looked heavenwards in the starlight pale; Lost in those awful depths he trod alone, Laplace stood mute before the lifted veil; While home-bred Humboldt trimmed his toy ship's sail.

No mortal feet these loftier heights had gained Whence the wide realms of Nature we descry; In vain their eyes our longing fathers strained To scan with wondering gaze the summits high That far beneath their children's footpaths lie.

Smile at their first small ventures as we may, The school-boy's copy shapes the scholar's hand, Their grateful memory fills our hearts to-day; Brave, hopeful, wise, this bower of peace they planned, While war's dread ploughshare scarred the suffering land.

Child of our children's children yet unborn, When on this yellow page you turn your eyes, Where the brief record of this May-day morn In phrase antique and faded letters lies, How vague, how pale our flitting ghosts will rise!

Yet in our veins the blood ran warm and red, For us the fields were green, the skies were blue, Though from our dust the spirit long has fled, We lived, we loved, we toiled, we dreamed like you, Smiled at our sires and thought how much we knew.

Oh might our spirits for one hour return, When the next century rounds its hundredth ring, All the strange secrets it shall teach to learn, To hear the larger truths its years shall bring, Its wiser sages talk, its sweeter minstrels sing!

THE SCHOOL-BOY

Read at the Centennial Celebration of the foundation of Phillips Academy, Andover.

1778-1878

THESE hallowed precincts, long to memory dear, Smile with fresh welcome as our feet draw near; With softer gales the opening leaves are fanned, With fairer hues the kindling flowers expand, The rose-bush reddens with the blush of June, The groves are vocal with their minstrels' tune, The mighty elm, beneath whose arching shade The wandering children of the forest strayed, Greets the bright morning in its bridal dress, And spreads its arms the gladsome dawn to bless.

Is it an idle dream that nature shares Our joys, our griefs, our pastimes, and our cares?

Is there no summons when, at morning's call, The sable vestments of the darkness fall?

Does not meek evening's low-voiced Ave blend With the soft vesper as its notes ascend?