Sleep, baby, sleep! Around thy rest a holier love doth flow, And He who all the babies' gold curls numbers THE TEST OF LOVE By PATTIE WILLIAMS GEE [The Palace of the Heart and Other Poems of Love,' 1904. By permission of Miss Gee.] Wherein is love? In that calm will content to toil at Poverty's behest, While twilight falls on fragile hands folded in well-won rest: Therein is love! Wherein is love? In that heroic soul aflame for camp and martial strife, Some humble burden bearing through a dull and care-worn life: Therein is love! Wherein is love? In that immortal thought the poet never could recall, Therein is love! Wherein is love? In that lone heart dwelling in heights above life's primal laws; Its human longings crushing to exalt a righteous cause: Therein is love! Wherein is love? Since Christ for man once paid on Calvary the bitter price, There hath been nothing holier than stern self-sacrifice: Wherein-wherein, indeed, is love! THE TWINS By J. M. GIBSON [Houston Chronicle, Houston, Texas, September 23, 1907.] There are two cities side by side, One racked with tumult, noise and riot; The other where Peace doth abide, In solemn quiet. In one we meet the sad and gay, With cries of woe, or shouts of laughter; In one is silence, night and day, Now and hereafter. In one fair mortals come and go, With dauntless mien and graceful traces; There are two nymphs who, side by side, Through earth's wide corridors are wending; One woos us with a lip of pride, With sorrow blending. One loudly calls us to her arms, With kisses warm and bright eyes beaming; And with cold lips the other charms To moveless dreaming. To one we rush with giddy brain, Although we know she doth dissemble; And to the last we go in pain The first is but a phantom beam, A constant sorrow and delusion; The other, one long Angel dream In sweet seclusion! With one we cling and pray to stay, Though all her ways are ways of sorrow, And say, "Oh, give me but today, Come thou tomorrow." To one we cling although the wine With one the bloody cross of pain, And our mad songs-and prayers in vain For her whose joy is but of shame, Whose smile is lust of shine and shower; And words but songs of moth and flame, 'Neath Death's watch tower. We seek not oft the silent maid, There softliest the moonbeams creep, No sound of bird in midnight singing, No merry sound of feast and riot, No timbrel note in gladness ringing, But Holy quiet. The cedar grove there rears its head, As though enwrapped in endless slumber Above the bosoms of the dead In countless number! Even the insect world is still The cheerful note of noisy cricket "Ne'er trills from out the rotting sill Of gate or wicket!" We see nearby the yew tree shade, No voice, no sigh-no whispered prayer, Only a spell of an unseen vision, Holding the breath of summer there— Strange indecision. No message from dead lips of dust, No dream beats back with shining wings, The silence ever grand and solemnThe shadow which unspeaking clings About the column. White sentries, marble slabs, around They keep the virtues of the dead Of each fair mortal gone before us, Who to the bride of death was led With sorrow's chorus. That carven slab in this fair place, Mark love's last hour. Those chiseled words are crumbling fast, Only a time the dream stands ward, A sculptured marble sentry keeping, Oh! side by side two cities stand, Two sisters who in turn must wed Or claim and kiss each wistful mortal, Through death's dark portal. And then all solemnly and last, We come to her whose lips are breathless, For death is deathless. THE BATTLE OF HAMPTON ROADS By OSSIAN D. GORMAN [The author of this poem, now Superintendent of the Public Schools of Talbot County, Georgia, was a witness of the scenes described. The battle was fought March 8, 1862, and was the first engagement between ironclads. The poem appeared shortly afterward in The Macon Daily Telegraph, of which Mr. Gorman was then a correspondent.] Ne'er had a scene of beauty smiled Beneath the sun's auspicious smile. |