The Poems of Henry Van Dyke Part 43

That sudden rapture took them far away, Yet are they here with us to-day, Even as the heavenly stars we cannot see Through the bright veil of sunlight, Shed their influence still On our vexed life, and promise peace From G.o.d to all men of good will.

V

What wreaths shall we entwine For our dear boys to deck their holy shrine?

Mountain-laurel, morning-glory, Goldenrod and asters blue, Purple loosestrife, prince's-pine, Wild-azalea, meadow-rue, Nodding-lilies, columbine,-- All the native blooms that grew In these fresh woods and pastures new, Wherein they loved to ramble and to play.

Bring no exotic flowers: America was in their hearts, And they are ours For ever and a day.

VI

O happy warriors, forgive the tear Falling from eyes that miss you: Forgive the word of grief from mother-lips That ne'er on earth shall kiss you; Hear only what our hearts would have you hear,-- Glory and praise and grat.i.tude and pride From the dear country in whose cause you died.

Now you have run your race and won your prize, Old age shall never burden you, the fears And conflicts that beset our lingering years Shall never vex your souls in Paradise.

Immortal, young, and crowned with victory, From life's long battle you have found release.

And He who died for all on Calvary Has welcomed you, brave soldiers of the cross, Into eternal Peace.

VII

Come, let us gird our loins and lift our load, Companions who are left on life's rough road, And bravely take the way that we must tread To keep true faith with our beloved dead.

To conquer war they dared their lives to give, To safeguard peace our hearts must learn to live.

Help us, dear G.o.d, our forward faith to hold!

We want a better world than that of old.

Lead us on paths of high endeavor, Toiling upward, climbing ever, Ready to suffer for the right, Until at last we gain a loftier height, More worthy to behold Our guiding stars, our hero-stars of gold.

Ode for the Memorial Service, Princeton University, December 15, 1918.

IN THE BLUE HEAVEN

In the blue heaven the clouds will come and go, Scudding before the gale, or drifting slow As galleons becalmed in Sundown Bay: And through the air the birds will wing their way Soaring to far-off heights, or flapping low, Or darting like an arrow from the bow; And when the twilight comes the stars will show, One after one, their tranquil bright array In the blue heaven.

But ye who fearless flew to meet the foe, Eagles of freedom,--nevermore, we know, Shall we behold you floating far away.

Yet clouds and birds and every starry ray Will draw our heart to where your spirits glow In the blue Heaven.

For the American Aviators who died in the war.

March, 1919.

A SHRINE IN THE PANTHEON

FOR THE UNNAMED SOLDIERS WHO DIED IN FRANCE

Universal approval has been accorded the proposal made in the French Chamber that the ashes of an unnamed French soldier, fallen for his country, shall be removed with solemn ceremony to the Pantheon. In this way it is intended to honor by a symbolic ceremony the memory of all who lie in unmarked graves.

Here the great heart of France, Victor in n.o.ble strife, Doth consecrate a Poilu's tomb To those who saved her life!

Brave son without a name, Your country calls you home, To rest among her heirs of fame, Beneath the Pantheon's dome!

Now from the height of Heaven, The souls of heroes look; Their names, ungraven on this stone, Are written in G.o.d's book.

Women of France, who mourn Your dead in unmarked ground, Come hither! Here the man you loved In the heart of France is found!

IN PRAISE OF POETS

MOTHER EARTH

Mother of all the high-strung poets and singers departed, Mother of all the gra.s.s that weaves over their graves the glory of the field, Mother of all the manifold forms of life, deep-bosomed, patient, impa.s.sive, Silent brooder and nurse of lyrical joys and sorrows!

Out of thee, yea, surely out of the fertile depth below thy breast, Issued in some strange way, thou lying motionless, voiceless, All these songs of nature, rhythmical, pa.s.sionate, yearning.

Coming in music from earth, but not unto earth returning.

Dust are the blood-red hearts that beat in time to these measures, Thou hast taken them back to thyself, secretly, irresistibly Drawing the crimson currents of life down, down, down Deep into thy bosom again, as a river is lost in the sand.

But the souls of the singers have entered into the songs that revealed them,-- Pa.s.sionate songs, immortal songs of joy and grief and love and longing, Floating from heart to heart of thy children, they echo above thee: Do they not utter thy heart, the voices of those that love thee?

Long hadst thou lain like a queen transformed by some old enchantment Into an alien shape, mysterious, beautiful, speechless, Knowing not who thou wert, till the touch of thy Lord and Lover Wakened the man-child within thee to tell thy secret.

All of thy flowers and birds and forests and flowing waters Are but the rhythmical forms to reveal the life of the spirit; Thou thyself, earth-mother, in mountain and meadow and ocean, Holdest the poem of G.o.d, eternal thought and emotion.

December, 1905.

MILTON

I

Lover of beauty, walking on the height Of pure philosophy and tranquil song; Born to behold the visions that belong To those who dwell in melody and light; Milton, thou spirit delicate and bright!

What drew thee down to join the Roundhead throng Of iron-sided warriors, rude and strong, Fighting for freedom in a world half night?

Lover of Liberty at heart wast thou, Above all beauty bright, all music clear: To thee she bared her bosom and her brow, Breathing her virgin promise in thine ear, And bound thee to her with a double vow,-- Exquisite Puritan, grave Cavalier!

II

The cause, the cause for which thy soul resigned Her singing robes to battle on the plain, Was won, O poet, and was lost again; And lost the labour of thy lonely mind On weary tasks of prose. What wilt thou find To comfort thee for all the toil and pain?

What solace, now thy sacrifice is vain And thou art left forsaken, poor, and blind?