Part 8 (1/2)
Wave your hand to him--call good-bye!
Faintly his answer echoes back; Voices of children eagerly Lure him on by the fairy track To the wonder-world, where all hearts are gay; He is not dead, he is just--away.
THE SANDMAN
When the long, hot day is over, And the sun drops down the west, And the childish hands are weary, And the childish feet must rest, The Sandman steals through the portals Where the dying sunlight gleams, And touches the tired eyelids And lulls them into dreams.
Even so, when life is over, And the long day's march is past, We wait in gathering shadows Till the Sandman comes at last.
Sad are our hearts and weary, And long the waiting seems; Lord, we are tired children; Touch Thou our eyes with dreams.
Take from the slackened fingers The toys so heavy grown, Give to Thy tired children Visions of Thee alone; Then, when at length the shadows Darken adown the west, Send to us Death, Thy Sandman, To call Thine own to rest.
THE REMITTANCE MEN
She stands in peace by her waters, Our Mother, fair and wise, And ever amid our dreaming We see her hills arise; We, who have sold our birthright, Sons, who have failed at need, Outcast, lost and dishonoured, We know her fair indeed.
Yes, we have sold our birthright-- Well have we learned the cost-- Drink-sodden, hateful bodies, And souls forever lost; We see the heights above us, The depths into which we fall, And we turn from that sight in horror, Drinking to drown it all.
Lo, we have lost her forever!
Exiled, unclean, alone; Yet she was once our Mother, Once we were sons of her own; We--who have failed her and shamed her, Cast from her sh.o.r.es so long, Still in our dreams we see her, n.o.ble and wise and strong.
Once in a far-off country We named her great and fair, They mocked us with scornful laughter, ”Lo, these are the sons she bare!”
Do we not feel our bondage, We, who have owned her name, When we dare not whisper her praises Lest we whelm her in our shame?
Yet do the outcasts love her, Who once were bone of her bone, Pray for her life and honour Who dare not pray for their own; Out of the h.e.l.l we have chosen Watch her, with longing eyes-- She, who was once our Mother, Excellent, just and wise.
THE LAST VOYAGE
When I loose my vessel's moorings, and put out to sea once more On the last and longest voyage that shall never reach the sh.o.r.e, O Thou Master of the Ocean, send no tranquil tides to me, But 'mid all Thy floods and thunders let my vessel put to sea.
Let her lie within no tropic sea, dead rotten to the bone, Till the lisping, sluggish waters claim my vessel for their own; Till the sun shall scar her timbers, and the slimy weed shall crawl O'er her planks that gape and widen, and the slow sea swallow all.
Let her not go down in darkness, where the smoking mist-wreaths hide The white signal of the breakers, dimly guessed at, overside; While her decks are in confusion, and the wreck drops momently, And she drifts in dark and panic to the death she cannot see.
But out in the open ocean, where the great waves call and cry, Leap and thunder at her taffrail, while the scud blows stinging by, With the life still strong within her, struggling onward through the blast, Till one last long wave shall whelm her, and our voyaging is past.
BALLADE OF DREAMS
We dreamed our dreams in full many lands, By mount and forest, by stream and lea, Dreams of the touch of old-time hands, Dreams of a future destiny, Dreams of battle and victory, Laughter and love and wealth and fame; Dreamers of dreams, indeed, were we-- Have the lichens yet o'ergrown our name?