I sat in that same sunny portico, Where I was sitting seven years ago When Vivian came. My eyes were full of tears, As I looked back across the checkered years.
How many were the changes they had brought!
Pain, death, and sorrow! but the lesson taught To my young heart had been of untold worth.
I had learned how to "suffer and grow strong" - That knowledge which best serves us here on earth, And brings reward in Heaven.
Oh! how long The years had been since that June morning when I heard his step upon the walk, and yet I seemed to hear its echo still.
Just then Down that same path I turned my eyes, tear-wet, And lo! the wanderer from a foreign land Stood there before me!--holding out his hand And smiling with those wond'rous eyes of old.
To hide my tears, I ran and brought his child; But she was shy, and clung to me, when told This was papa, for whom her prayers were said.
She dropped her eyes and shook her little head, And would not by his coaxing be beguiled, Or go to him.
Aunt Ruth was not at home, And we two sat and talked, as strangers might, Of distant countries which we both had seen.
But once I thought I saw his large eyes light With sudden passion, when there came a pause In our chit-chat, and then he spoke:
"Maurine, I saw a number of your friends in Rome.
We talked of you. They seemed surprised, because You were not 'mong the seekers for a name.
They thought your whole ambition was for fame."
"It might have been," I answered, "when my heart Had nothing else to fill it. Now my art Is but a recreation. I have THIS To love and live for, which I had not then."
And, leaning down, I pressed a tender kiss Upon my child's fair brow.
"And yet," he said, The old light leaping to his eyes again, "And yet, Maurine, they say you might have wed A noble Baron! one of many men Who laid their hearts and fortunes at your feet.
Why won the bravest of them no return?"
I bowed my head, nor dared his gaze to meet.
On cheek and brow I felt the red blood burn, And strong emotion strangled speech.
He rose And came and knelt beside me.
"Sweet, my sweet!"
He murmured softly, "God in Heaven knows How well I loved you seven years ago.
He only knows my anguish, and my grief, When your own acts forced on me the belief That I had been your plaything and your toy.
Yet from his lips I since have learned that Roy Held no place nearer than a friend and brother.
And then a faint suspicion, undefined, Of what had been--was--might be, stirred my mind, And that great love, I thought died at a blow, Rose up within me, strong with hope and life.
"Before all heaven and the angel mother Of this sweet child that slumbers on your heart, Maurine, Maurine, I claim you for my wife - Mine own, forever, until death shall part!"
Through happy mists of upward welling tears, I leaned, and looked into his beauteous eyes.
"Dear heart," I said, "if she who dwells above Looks down upon us, from yon azure skies, She can but bless us, knowing all these years My soul had yearned in silence for the love That crowned her life, and left mine own so bleak.
I turned you from me for her fair, frail sake.
For her sweet child's, and for my own, I take You back to be all mine, for evermore."
Just then the child upon my breast awoke From her light sleep, and laid her downy cheek Against her father as he knelt by me.
And this unconscious action seemed to be A silent blessing, which the mother spoke Gazing upon us from the mystic shore.
ALL ROADS THAT LEAD TO GOD ARE GOOD
All roads that lead to God are good.
What matters it, your faith, or mine?
Both centre at the goal divine Of love's eternal Brotherhood.
The kindly life in house or street - The life of prayer and mystic rite - The student's search for truth and light -
These paths at one great Junction meet.
Before the oldest book was writ, Full many a prehistoric soul Arrived at this unchanging goal, Through changeless Love, that leads to it.
What matters that one found his Christ In rising sun, or burning fire?
If faith within him did not tire, His longing for the Truth sufficed.
Before our modern hell was brought To edify the modern world, Full many a hate-filled soul was hurled In lakes of fire by its own thought.
A thousand creeds have come and gone, But what is that to you or me?
Creeds are but branches of a tree - The root of love lives on and on.
Though branch by branch proves withered wood, The root is warm with precious wine.
Then keep your faith and leave me mine - All roads that lead to God are good.
DUST-SEALED
I know not wherefore, but mine eyes See bloom, where other eyes see blight.
They find a rainbow, a sunrise, Where others but discern deep night.
Men call me an enthusiast, And say I look through gilded haze:
Because where'er my gaze is cast, I see something that calls for praise.
I say, "Behold those lovely eyes - That tinted cheek of flower-like grace."
They answer in amused surprise:
"We thought it a common face."
I say, "Was ever seen more fair?
I seem to walk in Eden's bowers."
They answer, with a pitying air, "The weeds are choking out the flowers."
I know not wherefore, but God lent A deeper vision to my sight.
On whatsoe'er my gaze is bent I catch the beauty Infinite; That underlying, hidden half That all things hold of Deity.
So let the dull crowd sneer and laugh - Their eyes are blind, they cannot see.
"ADVICE"
I must do as you do? Your way I own Is a very good way. And still, There are sometimes two straight roads to a town, One over, one under the hill.
You are treading the safe and the well-worn way, That the prudent choose each time;
And you think me reckless and rash to-day, Because I prefer to climb.
Your path is the right one, and so is mine.
We are not like peas in a pod, Compelled to lie in a certain line, Or else be scattered abroad.
'Twere a dull old world, methinks, my friend, If we all went just one way; Yet our paths will meet no doubt at the end, Though they lead a PART to-day.
You like the shade, and I like the sun; You like an even pace, I like to mix with the crowd and run, And then rest after the race.
I like danger, and storm and strife, You like a peaceful time; I like the passion and surge of life, You like its gentle rhyme.
