Oklahoma and Other Poems Part 10

The pleasures in their soft robes fly With angel wings adown the sky, And rapture lulls to sweet repose, At eventide.

Ah, well-a-day! Life's weary cry, And all its curse and care shall die, When Age on downy couches throws His weary limbs and only knows The tender dreams of bye-and-bye, At eventide!

WHEN CHRISTMAS COMES.

When Christmas comes, what pleasures spring From drooping hearts on happy wing, Like joyous birds that soaring rise From hidden coverts to the skies.

And echo in the chimes that ring!

Glad millions in wild rapture sing Hosannaed hopes of welcoming, While praises blend in harmonies, When Christmas comes.

Ah, happy hours! Around them cling The dearest joys that life may bring, And all the world's despairing cries Are soothed to sleep with lullabies That banish every bitter thing, When Christmas comes!

WHEN THOU ART NEAR.

When thou art near, with gladdest grace My heart is held in fond embrace, For laughing lips with raptures bless The toils and tears of my distress, And woes within me have no place.

The halting hours with hurried pace Whirl wildly on through happy s.p.a.ce, And life is light with happiness, When thou art near.

Like mortals whom an angel race Renews with gladness face to face, I thrill with Love's unseen caress That holy hands upon me press, And Heaven's pleasures all I trace, When thou art near.

HE SLEEPS AT LAST.

He sleeps at last! The vales of rest Are waiting for the war-worn breast, And glorious angels fondly spread The sweetest roses for his bed.

While countless millions call him blest.

Fame welcomes him with glad behest, While garlands on his brow are pressed, And laurels cl.u.s.ter o'er his head; He sleeps at last.

O, deep the sorrows here confessed, Where Freedom makes eternal quest!

The wondrous chief that proudly led The long, blue lines that fought and bled, In peace is now no more distressed; He sleeps at last!

WHEN FORTUNES FROWN.

When fortunes frown, the woes, bedight With brooding shadows, bring the night, While dismal sorrows darkness dole, And disappointments rise and roll Above the longings for the light.

Despair, with hands that curse and blight, Sows weakness in the hearts of might Until they falter near the goal, When fortunes frown.

But onward still! The valleys white With Heaven's blossoms are in sight; The Holy Mountains, knoll on knoll, Are waiting for the Master Soul, And he shall conquer for the right, When fortunes frown!

WHEN WE SHALL MEET.

When we shall meet, I strangely know The mad emotions that shall flow Across my heart all quivering, Beneath the raptures he shall bring From angel years that gladdened so.

And I all shy and silent grow Beneath his glance of gladness, though Wild yearnings through my bosom spring, When we shall meet.

Till joyful tears of pa.s.sion show, And to his kind embrace I throw My heart unworthy, and I cling With deathless fondness to the king I wors.h.i.+pped in the Long Ago, When we shall meet!

SWEET EYES OF BLUE.

Sweet eyes of blue! The stars by night, That swoon the world with laughing light, And touch the hills with tender glow While all the vales are kissed below, Beside you would no more be bright.

My worlds ye are, and while I throw My heart to catch the beams that flow From your fair shrine, my woes take flight, Sweet eyes of blue!

Glad orbs of beauty! In your sight My soul mounts up with secret might, Till Eden's lovely bowers I know; And as through Heaven's gates I go, The pleasures all my sorrow smite, Sweet eyes of blue!

HAD WE NOT MET.

Had we not met, the brooding woe And all the griefs that greater grow, Might not have been, and happy-wise Our lives have laughed with lullabies And quaffed such joys as few may know.

Our days beneath embittered skies Where anguish moans and sorrow cries, Might not have wept and wandered so, Had we not met!

But ah, my darling! All we prize,-- Love and sweet trust that never dies, Wild yearnings that with constant flow From kindred heart to bosom go,-- Would never in our souls had rise, Had we not met!

A SONNET.

We gentler grow by sorrow; not the breast That never crouches in the nights of tears, That never bends beneath the loads of years, Has sympathies that are the kindliest.

There is a strength in agony that best Can link the careless heart with human fears, And teach it that fond kindness which endears The millions that with sadness are oppressed.