The Poems of Henry Van Dyke Part 22

A HOME SONG

I read within a poet's book A word that starred the page: "Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage!"

Yes, that is true, and something more: You'll find, where'er you roam, That marble floors and gilded walls Can never make a home.

But every house where Love abides, And Friends.h.i.+p is a guest, Is surely home, and home-sweet-home: For there the heart can rest.

"LITTLE BOATIE"

A SLUMBER-SONG FOR THE FISHERMAN'S CHILD

Furl your sail, my little boatie; Here's the haven still and deep, Where the dreaming tides in-streaming Up the channel creep.

Now the sunset breeze is dying; Hear the plover, landward flying, Softly down the twilight crying; Come to anchor, little boatie, In the port of Sleep.

Far away, my little boatie, Roaring waves are white with foam; s.h.i.+ps are striving, onward driving, Day and night they roam.

Father's at the deep-sea trawling, In the darkness, rowing, hauling, While the hungry winds are calling,-- G.o.d protect him, little boatie, Bring him safely home!

Not for you, my little boatie, Is the wide and weary sea; You're too slender, and too tender, You must bide with me.

All day long you have been straying Up and down the sh.o.r.e and playing; Come to harbour, no delaying!

Day is over, little boatie, Night falls suddenly.

Furl your sail, my little boatie, Fold your wings, my weary dove.

Dews are sprinkling, stars are twinkling Drowsily above.

Cease from sailing, cease from rowing; Rock upon the dream-tide, knowing Safely o'er your rest are glowing, All the night, my little boatie, Harbour-lights of love.

1897.

A MOTHER'S BIRTHDAY

Lord Jesus, Thou hast known A mother's love and tender care: And Thou wilt hear, While for my own Mother most dear I make this birthday prayer.

Protect her life, I pray, Who gave the gift of life to me; And may she know, From day to day, The deepening glow Of joy that comes from Thee.

As once upon her breast Fearless and well content I lay, So let her heart, On Thee at rest, Feel fear depart And trouble fade away.

Ah, hold her by the hand, As once her hand held mine; And though she may Not understand Life's winding way, Lead her in peace divine.

I cannot pay my debt For all the love that she has given; But Thou, love's Lord, Wilt not forget Her due reward,-- Bless her in earth and heaven.

TRANSFORMATION

Only a little shrivelled seed, It might be flower, or gra.s.s, or weed; Only a box of earth on the edge Of a narrow, dusty window-ledge; Only a few scant summer showers; Only a few clear s.h.i.+ning hours; That was all. Yet G.o.d could make Out of these, for a sick child's sake, A blossom-wonder, fair and sweet As ever broke at an angel's feet.

Only a life of barren pain, Wet with sorrowful tears for rain, Warmed sometimes by a wandering gleam Of joy, that seemed but a happy dream; A life as common and brown and bare As the box of earth in the window there; Yet it bore, at last, the precious bloom Of a perfect soul in that narrow room; Pure as the snowy leaves that fold Over the flower's heart of gold.

RENDEZVOUS

I count that friends.h.i.+p little worth Which has not many things untold, Great longings that no words can hold, And pa.s.sion-secrets waiting birth.

Along the slender wires of speech Some message from the heart is sent; But who can tell the whole that's meant?

Our dearest thoughts are out of reach.

I have not seen thee, though mine eyes Hold now the image of thy face; In vain, through form, I strive to trace The soul I love: that deeper lies.

A thousand accidents control Our meeting here. Clasp hand in hand, And swear to meet me in that land Where friends hold converse soul to soul.

GRAt.i.tUDE

"Do you give thanks for this?--or that?" No, G.o.d be thanked I am not grateful In that cold, calculating way, with blessings ranked As one, two, three, and four,--that would be hateful.

I only know that every day brings good above My poor deserving; I only feel that in the road of Life true Love Is leading me along and never swerving.

Whatever gifts and mercies to my lot may fall, I would not measure As worth a certain price in praise, or great or small; But take and use them all with simple pleasure.

For when we gladly eat our daily bread, we bless The Hand that feeds us; And when we tread the road of Life in cheerfulness, Our very heart-beats praise the Love that leads us.

PEACE

With eager heart and will on fire, I strove to win my great desire.

"Peace shall be mine," I said; but life Grew bitter in the barren strife.

My soul was weary, and my pride Was wounded deep; to Heaven I cried, "G.o.d grant me peace or I must die;"

The dumb stars glittered no reply.

Broken at last, I bowed my head, Forgetting all myself, and said, "Whatever comes, His will be done;"

And in that moment peace was won.