The Cornflower, and Other Poems Part 6

Well, if it is heresy to believe In the promise of the Father, "Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard,"

I am heretical, rather.

I believe when the last loud trump shall sound, The old flag again unfurling, My highland lads will come marching home To the bagpipes grandly skirling.

THE STABLE-BOY'S GUEST.

The Wise Men came to the inn that night, "Now open to us," they cried, "We have journeyed far that we might kneel To One who doth here abide."

The door was opened with eager haste.

"Of whom do ye come in quest?

Can it be that a lord of high degree Is with us this night as guest?"

The Wise Men answered: "The eastern sky Is luminous still, and clear, With the radiance of a golden star That hath led our footsteps here.

"Blessed, O keeper, this inn of thine, Both thatch and foundation stone, For the open door and hearth-fire warm When the King came to His own!"

"The King! the King!" loud the keeper's cry, "The King in this house of mine!

Lights ho! lights ho! set the place aglow, Bring forth the meat and the wine!

"The King! let the guest-room be prepared-- Honor and homage we pay To royal son of a royal line Who tarries with us to-day!"

From room to room of the inn they went, The Wise Men and keeper proud, But not a trace of the One they sought Found they in that motley crowd.

"You have other guests?" the Wise Men asked, And the keeper's face flamed red; "But a straggling pair who came so late They found neither room nor bed."

"My masters," a lad said timidly, "As I gave the cattle feed, Came creeping down to the stable door A woman in sorest need.

"I made her a bed in the manger low, At head of the oxen mild, And, masters, I heard a moan of pain, Then the cry of a new-born child."

"A prince shalt thou be!" the Wise Men cried, "For hearkening to that moan, A prince shalt thou be for succor given When the King came to His own!"

"Nay, I'm but a stable-boy," he smiled, With his eager eyes aglow; "No King, but a little naked child, Sleeps out in my manger low."

Hast come to these homes of ours, O Christ, In quest of a meal or bed, And found no welcoming cheer set forth, Nor place to pillow thine head?

Give us a heart aflame with love, Filled with a pity divine, Then come Thou as beggar, or babe, or king, The best that we have is Thine.

SOLDIERS ALL.

They're praying for the soldier lads in grim old London town; Last night I went, myself, and heard a bishop in his gown Confiding to the Lord of Hosts his views of this affair.

"We do pet.i.tion Thee," he said, "to have a watchful care Of all the stalwart men and strong who at their country's call Went sailing off to Africa to fight, perchance to fall!"

"Amen!" a thousand voices cried. I whispered low: "Dear Lord, A host is praying for the men, I want to say a word For those who stay at home and wait--the mothers and the wives.

Keep close to them and help them bear their cheerless, empty lives!"

The Bishop prayed: "Our cause is good, our quarrel right and just; The G.o.d of battles is our G.o.d, and in His arm we trust."

He never got that prayer of his in any printed book, It came straight from the heart of him, his deep voice, how it shook!

And something glistened in his eye and down his flushed cheek ran.

I like a Bishop best of all when he is just a man.

"Amen!" they cried out louder still, but I bent low my head; "Dear Christ, be kind to hearts that break for loved ones dying--dead; Keep close to women folk who wait beset with anxious fears, The wan-faced watchers whose dim eyes are filled with bitter tears!

I know, dear Christ, how hard it is," I whispered as I kneeled, "For long ago my bonnie boy fell on the battlefield.

Find comfort for the broken hearts of those weighed down to-day With love and longing for the ones in danger far away."

"They will not shrink," the Bishop prayed, "nor fear a soldier's grave; Nay, each man will acquit himself like Briton true and brave.

G.o.d of battles, march with them, keep guard by day and night, And arm them with a trust in Thee when they go up to fight!"

"Amen!" a sound of m.u.f.fled sobs. The deep voice trembled some, But I, with hot tears on my face, prayed hard for those at home: "Keep watch and ward of all that wait in fever of unrest, Who said good-bye and let them go, the ones they loved the best!

O comfort, Christ! Above the din of martial clamor, hark!

The saddest sound in all G.o.d's world--a crying in the dark."

AS GOOD AS A GIRL.

Oh, a big broad-shouldered fellow was Ben, And homely as you would see, Such an awkward walker and stammering talker, And as bashful as he could be.

The son of a lone, widowed mother was he, And right well did he act his part, A giant at sowing and reaping and mowing-- His farm was the pride of his heart.

His mother depended on his strong arm; In the cottage so neat and trim He kept the fires burning, did sweeping and churning-- Oh, the odd jobs saved up for him!

"My Ben's a comfort," she said every day, With pride that made his head whirl, "As handy at sweeping as he is at reaping-- Ben is just as good as a girl!"

"A six-foot fellow to work round the house!

We'll call him 'Miss Ben,'" said the girls; But Ben, heaven bless him, never let this distress him Till there came a day when the curls

And blue eyes of Gladys, the prettiest girl, And the proudest in all the place, His young heart set beating at every chance meeting-- Though she only laughed in his face.

"I'll have none but a gay and a gallant man"-- Her lips took a scornful curl-- "Your pride is in hearing your mother declaring, 'Ben is just as good as a girl!'"

But sweet little Marjory laughed not at Ben; He was homely, awkward, shy, But she liked the fellow whose voice was so mellow, And she smiled as she pa.s.sed him by.

He went to the front when the war broke out, And filled his post like a man; The good-natured giant was bold and defiant As soon as the battle began.

You'd never have thought of the broom and the churn, Nor of the nickname "Miss Ben,"

Had you heard his voice cheering, seen his arm clearing A path for his own gallant men.

Capt. Benjamin Brooks he came riding home When the war was over and done, As homely and backward, as shy and as awkward, As tender and loyal a son.