Homeward Bound
Home, for my heart still calls me; Home, through the danger zone; Home, whatever befalls me, I will sail again to my own! Wolves of the sea are hiding Closely along the way, Under
Reliance
Not to the swift, the race: Not to the strong, the fight: Not to the righteous, perfect grace: Not to the wise, the light. But often faltering feet Come surest to the goal; And
The Proud Lady
When Stiivoren town was in its prime And queened the Zuyder Zee, Its ships went out to every clime With costly merchantry. A lady dwelt in that rich town, The fairest in all the
Christ of Everywhere
“Christ of the Andes,” Christ of Everywhere, Great lover of the hills, the open air, And patient lover of impatient men Who blindly strive and sin and strive again, Thou Living Word, larger than
The Glory of Ships
The glory of ships is an old, old song, Since the days when the sea-rovers ran In their open boats through the roaring surf, And the spread of the world began; The glory of
Francis Makemie
(Presbyter of Christ in Americas 1683-1708) To thee, plain hero of a rugged race, We bring the meed of praise too long delayed! Thy fearless word and faithful work have made For God’s Republic
Arrival
Across a thousand miles of sea, a hundred leagues of land, Along a path I had not traced and could not understand, I travelled fast and far for this, to take thee by the
Peace
I IN EXCELSIS Two dwellings, Peace, are thine. One is the mountain-height, Uplifted in the loneliness of light Beyond the realm of shadows, fine, And far, and clear, where advent of the night Means
The Empty Quatrain
A flawless cup: how delicate and fine The flowing curve of every jewelled line! Look, turn it up or down, ‘t is perfect still, But holds no drop of life’s heart-warming wine.
To Julia Marlowe
Long had I loved this “Attic shape,” the brede Of marble maidens round this urn divine: But when your golden voice began to read, The empty urn was filled with Chian wine.
A Rondeau of College Rhymes
Our college rhymes, how light they seem, Like little ghosts of love’s young dream That led our boyish hearts away From lectures and from books, to stray By flowery mead and flowing stream! There’s
The White Bees
I LEGEND Long ago Apollo called to Aristæus, Youngest of the shepherds, Saying, “I will make you keeper of my bees.” Golden were the hives, and golden was the honey; Golden, too, the music,
The Sun-Dial at Wells College
The shadow by my finger cast Divides the future from the past: Before it, sleeps the unborn hour In darkness, and beyond thy power: Behind its unreturning line, The vanished hour, no longer thine:
Jeanne d'Arc
The land was broken in despair, The princes quarrelled in the dark, When clear and tranquil, through the troubled air Of selfish minds and wills that did not dare, Your star arose, Jeanne d’Arc.
The Price of Peace
Peace without Justice is a low estate, A coward cringing to an iron Fate! But Peace through Justice is the great ideal, We’ll pay the price of war to make it real.