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Page 28 - WE cross the prairie as of old The pilgrims crossed the sea, To make the West, as they the East, The homestead of the free...
Page 39 - Back of the canvas that throbs the painter is hinted and hidden; Into the statue that breathes the soul of the sculptor is bidden ; Under the joy that is felt lie the infinite issues of feeling; Crowning the glory revealed is the glory that crowns the revealing. Great are the symbols of being, but that which is...
Page 83 - EACH IN HIS OWN TONGUE A fire-mist and a planet, — A crystal and a cell, — A jelly-fish and a saurian, And caves where the cave-men dwell ; Then a sense of law and beauty, And a face turned from the clod, — Some call it Evolution, And others call it God. A haze on the far horizon, The infinite, tender sky, The ripe, rich tint of the cornfields, And the wild geese sailing high, — And all over upland and lowland The charm of the goldenrod, — Some of us call it Autumn, And others call it God.
Page 83 - Like tides on a crescent sea-beach When the moon is new and thin, Into our hearts high yearnings Come welling and surging in, — Come from the mystic ocean, Whose rim no foot has trod, — Some of us call it Longing, And others call it God.
Page 84 - A picket frozen on duty, A mother starved for her brood, Socrates drinking the hemlock, And Jesus on the rood; And millions, who, humble and nameless, The straight, hard pathway plod — Some call it Consecration, And others call it God.
Page 62 - Master of human destinies am I, Fame, love, and fortune on my footsteps wait. Cities and fields I walk : I penetrate Deserts and seas remote, and passing by Hovel, and mart, and palace — soon or late I knock unbidden once at every gate. If sleeping, wake — if feasting, rise before I turn away. It is the hour of fate, And they who follow me reach every state Mortals desire, and conquer every foe Save death : but those who doubt or hesitate, Condemned to failure, penury, and woe ; Seek me in vain...
Page 29 - Upbearing, like the Ark of old, The Bible in our van, We go to test the truth of God Against the fraud of man.
Page 33 - A BLUSH as of roses Where rose never grew ! Great drops on the bunch-grass, But not of the dew ! A taint in the sweet air For wild bees to shun ! A stain that shall never Bleach out in the sun...
Page 34 - Strong man of the prairies, Mourn bitter and wild ! Wail, desolate woman ! Weep, fatherless child ! But the grain of God springs up From ashes beneath, And the crown of his harvest Is life out of death.
Page 43 - Like desolation on a shipwrecked shore. There is no little child within me now, To sing back to the thrushes, to leap up When June winds kiss me, when an apple bough Laughs into blossoms, or a buttercup Plays with the sunshine, or a violet Dances in the glad dew. Alas ! alas ! The meaning of the daisies in the grass I have forgotten ; and if my cheeks are wet It is not with the blitheness of the child, But with the bitter sorrow of sad years.