Give Way!

Shall we not open the human heart, Swing the doors till the hinges start; Stop our worrying doubt and din, Hunting heaven and dodging sin? There is no need to search so wide, Open the door and stand aside— Let God in!

Shall we not open the human heart To loving labor in field and mart; Working together for all about, The glad, large labor that knows not doubt? Can He be held in our narrow rim? Do the work that is work for Him— Let God out!

Shall we not open the human heart, Never to close and stand apart? God is a force to give way to! God is a thing you have to do! God can never be caught by prayer, Hid in your heart and fastened there— Let God through!

THANKSGIVING HYMN. FOR CALIFORNIA.

Our forefathers gave thanks to God, In the land by the stormy sea, For bread hard wrung from the iron sod In cold and misery. Though every day meant toil and strife, In the land by the stormy sea, They thanked their God for the gift of life— How much the more should we!

Stern frost had they full many a day, Strong ice on the stormy sea, Long months of snow, gray clouds hung low, And a cold wind endlessly; Winter, and war with an alien race— But they were alive and free! And they thanked their God for his good grace— How much the more should we!

For we have a land all sunny with gold,— A land by the summer sea; Gold in the earth for our hands to hold, Gold in blossom and tree; Comfort, and plenty, and beauty, and peace, From the mountains down to the sea. They thanked their God for a year’s increase— How much the more should we!

CHRISTMAS CAROL. FOR LOS ANGELES.

On the beautiful birthday of Jesus, While the nations praising stand, He goeth from city to city, He walketh from land to land.

And the snow lies white and heavy, And the ice lies wide and wan, But the love of the blessed Christmas Melts even the heart of man.

With love from the heart of Heaven, In the power of his Holy Name, To the City of the Queen of the Angels The tender Christ-child came.

The land blushed red with roses, The land laughed glad with grain, And the little hills smiled softly In the freshness after rain.

Land of the fig and olive! Land of the fruitful vine! His heart grew soft within him, As he thought of Palestine,—

Of the brooks with the banks of lilies, Of the little doves of clay, And of how he sat with his mother At the end of a summer’s day,

His head on his mother’s bosom, His hand in his mother’s hand, Watching the golden sun go down Across the shadowy land,—

A moment’s life with human kind; A moment,—nothing more; Eternity lies broad behind, Eternity before.

High on the Hills of Heaven, Majestic, undefiled, Forever and ever he lives, a God; But once he lived, a Child!

And the child-heart leaps within him, And the child-eyes softer grow, When the land lies bright and sunny, Like the land of long ago;

And the love of God is mingled With the love of dear days gone, When he comes to the city of his mother, On the day her child was born!

NEW DUTY.

Once to God we owed it all,— God alone; Bowing in eternal thrall, Giving, sacrificing all, Before the Throne.

Once we owed it to the King,— Served the crown; Life, and love, and everything, In allegiance to the King, Laying down.

Now we owe it to Mankind,— To our Race; Fullest fruit of soul and mind, Heart and hand and all behind, Now in place.

Loving-service, wide and free, From the sod Up in varying degree, Through me and you—through you and me— Up to God!

SEEKING.

I went to look for Love among the roses, the roses, The pretty wingèd boy with the arrow and the bow; In the fair and fragrant places, ’Mid the Muses and the Graces, At the feet of Aphrodite, with the roses all aglow.

Then I sought among the shrines where the rosy flames were leaping— The rose and golden flames, never ceasing, never still— For the boy so fair and slender, The imperious, the tender, With the whole world moving slowly to the music of his will.

Sought, and found not for my seeking, till the sweet quest led me further, And before me rose the temple, marble-based and gold above, Where the long procession marches ’Neath the incense-clouded arches In the world-compelling worship of the mighty God of Love.

Yea, I passed with bated breath to the holiest of holies, And I lifted the great curtain from the Inmost,—the Most Fair,—

Eager for the joy of finding, For the glory, beating, blinding, Meeting but an empty darkness; darkness, silence—nothing there.

Where is Love? I cried in anguish, while the temple reeled and faded; Where is Love?—for I must find him, I must know and understand! Died the music and the laughter, Flames and roses dying after, And the curtain I was holding fell to ashes in my hand.

FINDING.

Out of great darkness and wide wastes of silence, Long loneliness, and slow untasted years, Came a slow filling of the empty places, A slow, sweet lighting of forgotten faces, A smiling under tears.

A light of dawn that filled the brooding heaven, A warmth that kindled all the earth and air, A thrilling tender music, floating, stealing, A fragrance of unnumbered flowers revealing A sweetness new and fair.

After the loss of love where I had sought him, After the anguish of the empty shrine, Came a warm joy from all the hearts around me, A feeling that some perfect strength had found me, Touch of the hand divine.

I followed Love to his intensest centre, And lost him utterly when fastened there; I let him go and ceased my selfish seeking, Turning my heart to all earth’s voices speaking, And found him everywhere.

Love like the rain that falls on just and unjust, Love like the sunshine, measureless and free, From each to all, from all to each, to live in; And, in the world’s glad love so gladly given, Came heart’s true love to me!

TOO MUCH.

There are who die without love, never seeing The clear eyes shining, the bright wings fleeing. Lonely they die, and ahungered, in bitterness knowing They have not had their share of the good there was going.

There are who have and lose love, these most blessed, In joy unstained which they have once possessed, Lost while still dear, still sweet, still met by glad affection,— An endless happiness in recollection.

And some have Love’s full cup as he doth give it— Have it, and drink of it, and, ah,—outlive it! Full fed by Love’s delights, o’erwearied, sated, They die, not hungry—only suffocated.

THE CUP.

And yet, saith he, ye need but sip; And who would die without a taste? Just touch the goblet to the lip, Then let the bright draught run to waste!

She set her lip to the beaker’s brim— ’Twas passing sweet! ’Twas passing mild! She let her large eyes dwell on him, And sipped again, and smiled.

So sweet! So mild! She scarce can tell If she doth really drink or no; Till the light doth fade and the shadows swell, And the goblet lieth low.

O cup of dreams! O cup of doubt! O cup of blinding joy and pain! The taste that none would die without! The draught that all the world must drain!