title: Poems; something for everybody,
text: Zij stappen van den preekstoel af> — De domine staat alleen; Dus eindigde het kort tooneel, Dat toch zoo koddig scheen. 20 AprU, 1909. 52 NO h^ CD rn 3 o- <-t- (T> B ?r 3 p oro t3 P ^ P 13 <-h N l-j sa ►T3 ^ 3 O < O ^ o EENE NAJAARS MEDITATIE Geeindigd is de zomer, En al zijn fleur verdwenen; Vervlogen zijn de vogelen, Die met zijn komst verschenen. Ga met mij naar de velden, Waar staat het rijpe koren; Het schoon gezang des leeuweriks Kan men daar niet meer hooren. Ga met mij naar den appel hof : Daar zien wij nu geen rood-borst, Neen, niets dan doode bladeren, Verkleurd door lichte vorst. Gaan wij nu in de hooi-schuur, En liggen neer in 't hooi-vak, En kijken eens naar boven, Wij zien iets onder 't dak: Het is een nest van modder, Door zwaluwen gebouwd; Helaas! waar zijn de eigenaars? — Vervlogen, jong en oud. Het geeft ons stof tot peinzen En ernstig overleg; — Gelijk het gaan der vogelen, Gaan vele kinderen weg. Het leven is een jaargang: De lente is de jeugd, Wanneer het alles groeizaam is, En alles vol van vreugd. 53 De zomer van ons leven Is vol van zwaren arbeid; Wij zwoegen en wij streven Tot 't naderen van den herfst tijd; Dan rusten wij een weinig, En leven van den schat, Totdat wij 't stervens uur genaken, "Oud, en der dagen zat." Ik kende eens een huisgezin : De kinderen waren zeven, De ouders waren beide reeds In 't najaar van hun leven. De vader deed zijn dagelijksch werk Alleen, en niet geheel tevreden : Waar waren nu zijn groote zonen? — Vertrokken naar de steden. De jongste dochter bleef bij moeder, Haar ouders tot een troost; Zij was de eenigste tehuis Van al het teeder kroost. Zij was gelijk de musschjes, Die altijd bij ons blijven, 't Zij zomer, herfst, of winter, Toch nimmer van ons wij ken. Gaf 't ons niet stof tot peinzen En ernstig overleg? Gaan ook, gelijk de vogelen, Niet vele kinderen weg ? Voorjaar, 1909. 54 PETER LOQUACIOUS AND WILLIAM THE SILENT There once was a welltodo farmer Who had ceased from his labors and toil, And had left it all to his servants To gather the harvests and till the soil. Sturdy and strong were these servants, Ever ready and willing to work; Honest and true were they also, And never their tasks would they shirk. The older was always so quiet (Now William was his name) That all called him William the Silent, Like the William of Netherland's fame. The younger one^s tongue was so busy (Now Peter was his name) That some called him Peter Loquacious, And we shall call him the same. One night, when they went to a meeting Which both of them always attended, Loquacious returned not with William, And William ne'er knew where he ended. Next day, as they went to their labor, And the work was in earnest begun, "I'm going to town this evening When all the work is done." 55 Thus spoke Loquacious to William, Who looked at him in surprise And asked, "What for are you going?" And upward glanced with his eyes. But the face of Loquacious grew crimson As he slowly made reply, '*To buy me a linen collar And a different kind of tie." And when he came back from the village. Where most of their shopping was done. Loquacious had also a toothbrush And several sticks of gum! On this remarked William the Silent, "Toothbrushes for ladies are. And to chew on those sticks you have purchased You are too old by far." Then answered Peter to William, "If others chew Rob Roy or Yum Yum, Why ridicule me as childish If I chew my sticks of gum ?" Again, when that meeting was over. Said Peter, still honest and true, "I won't walk home with you this time, I have something different in view." "Do as you please," answered William With a somewhat indifferent tone, " Twill surely be lonely without you, But still, I can walk it alone." 56 Next day, as they worked in the beet field And onward they patiently toiled, Loquacious wore gloves o'er his fingers That they might not by labor be soiled ! But William disdainfully mocked him: "Away with those bothersome things! Those gloves are naught but a nuisance;" And down Loquacious them flings! Ashamed was he to confess there The reason he virtually had For thus protecting his fingers, And so to his comrade he said, "I know they are much of a bother. And the truth I might just as well tell, But since you yourself never wore them How did you know that so well?" "Today you are working more slowly Than youVe been accustomed to do. For today I keep up with you easily Though by nature I'm slower than you." Thus answered William to Peter, Loquacious returned not a word. And both labored on in silence Until they the dinner bell heard. At dusk their task was completed. But their hands, through the toil of the day, With mud and sap were discolored, No water could wash it away. 57 Alas for fastidious Peter: Though he washed and polished away, Though he scrubbed them hard with sapoHo, Yet at last he sat down in dismay. But old Father Time came to help him, And after a few days were o'er No trace was left on his fingers Of aught that was on them before. One evening this Peter Loquacious, Since he loved to be tidily dressed, Went with his suit to the tailor To have it mended and pressed. And when he returned to his comrade There was on his finger what seemed A precious diamond or jewel, So in the sunlight it gleamed. Poor William oft silently wondered What force thus wrought in his friend That made him indulge in these fancies. Which he feared in folly would end. One evening Loquacious supped early. For that night he was going away. But where he was going, or wherefore. This he would rather not say. Whither? my friends, do you wonder? The mystery I'll shortly unfurl: The cause of it all is found herein, Loquacious had — a GIRL! Autumn, 1909. 58 FREAKS OF THE FROST ON A WINDOW PANE The dawning light of many a wintry morn Presents most wondrous scenes, depicted by The noiseless painter. On one window pane We have a view of one whole nation: Here Are cities beautiful, with shady trees ; And smaller towns are interspersed among The larger centers. All connected are With railroad lines, some short and straight, some long And winding. Farther on, a vast expanse Of treeless waste reveals a desert drear; No beauteous sight Jack Frost has painted here. Winter, 1912. A LIMERICK POOR CLASS SPIRIT Whenever the class has a party. Some members ne'er show themselves hearty: But they ask, "What's the use?"— 'Tis their only excuse: — Next day they recite like a smarty! February, 1910. 59 SONNET. SORROW Dread Sorrow! like a purging fire thou art, Sweeping o'er all the land, and leaving few Unscathed by thy fierce flame, which oft anew Bursts forth, reviving all the poignant smart. Chaste Sorrow! thou refinest many a heart, Removing all the dross, leaving the true And giving us a beatific view Of Him who bade our friends from earth depart. Kind Sorrow ! though our tender hearts may plain For those we loved, whom long we mourn and weep Though oft in vain for human balm we yearn. Through thee we greater likeness shall obtain To Him, the Man of Sorrows ; reverence deep For Him shall grow ; our hearts within us burn. From the Anchor of March, 1910. 60 SORROW AUTHOR AT NINETEEN YOUTH AND SPRING Spring ! how like to youth thou art ! Now rejoicing fills the heart: Fragrant, balmy is the air ; Nature now seems young and fair, Like a maiden in her teens, Who devises every means How she may delight her friends: On her breast a red rose lends Fragrance to the air around; Or perchance a flower is found Fastened in her tresses fair, Adding beauty to her hair; She's the cynosure of all, — Many a heart doth she enthrall. So doth Nature use her art To enrapture every heart; Lavishly her breath she yields In the orchards, gardens, fields; Never does she count the cost. Yet she wastes not, — naught is lost. Everywhere are odors sweet: From the flowers at our feet. From the blossoms on the tree, Where the bustling, busy bee Hums and buzzes by each sprig. Darting oft from twig to twig; — From the garden, where the rose With the pink and pansy grows. How delightful is their smell Words like ours can scarcely tell. 61 Beauteous prospects we discern Wheresoever our look we turn; Far away, the bluey haze Turns our thoughts to halcyon days ; Or when Helios hides his face 'Neath Horizon's wide embrace, — His ethereal course all run. And his daily duty done, — Brilliant then becomes the sky. Gorgeous colors greet the eye. Such as dewy Iris wore When upon the Libyan shore She alighted, to release Dido's soul at her decease. Nearer by, the blossoming trees Form a picture as one sees Painted by no human hand: Soft the mixture, mild and bland ; Petals white, and buds of red Rising from their downy bed. And the leaves, soft, fresh, and green,- All unite to make the scene Equalled by no other sight — Naught there is to mar or blight. High above, some straggling cloud Vainly struggles to enshroud The delightful, cozy sun. Who, his victory easily won, 62 Blithe emerges from behind, And again his smile most kind Sends adown from his high throne To the earth, all lovely grown. Now, upon the joyful earth, Carpets green, of priceless worth. Greet us. Here are meadows wide, With the dandelions pied; There, a field of winter wheat Smiling lies at Ceres' feet; Yonder, clover, red and white. Where the bees direct their flight. Such is Nature's comely dress; — Who would not this maid caress? Who would not long hours spend With this best and truest friend? Youth! How much art thou like spring! Now our souls delight to sing Ditties soft, and songs of mirth, While of gladness there's no dearth; Life is now a pleasant dream. Which with myriad joys doth teem. Friends are many, foes are few, Few are false, but many true. All the youthful friendships made. Afterward will seldom fade, But their memory will cling In our minds, and sweet thoughts bring, 63 Even though we're sundered far By relentless Distance' bar. Happy we, if in these days, When we walk in pleasant ways, We acquire hosts of friends Whose remembrance never ends. Ah! how happy are those hours When the children early flowers Seek upon the hillsides green, Where the air is mild, serene. Hear the shrill, exultant cry When a new one they espy Hidden in some sheltered nook. Then, with zeal renewed they look For some others of its kind. Leaving older flowers behind. And ye schooldays, full of glee, From all needless worry free, What a host of joys ye give! 'Tis a pleasure then to live. Every morning, fresh and bright, Just to master and recite Lessons from the thumb-worn page; Or, with heart and soul engage In the pastimes of recess; — Homeward then at eve to press. Loitering oft along the way, Eager yet for still more play. 64 Who can tell the joys of health? Tis a, mine of untold wealth Such as Pluto ne'er can give, Though for years we slave and strive To obtain his grudging gold. Happy we, if we can hold Mind and heart in due restraint, Free from reckless Passion's taint! Happy, if with scrupulous care We protect this treasure rare. Which was given us to use, Not to waste in self -abuse! All too soon, from dreams of youth We must wake to higher truth; Then, when simple joys are fled. Be there deeper joys instead. In our life, oh glorious spring! May thy blossoms rich fruit bring; May no killing frosts destroy Any youthful buds of joy; May no chilly, lingering rain Overcloy the tender grain Sown upon hope's fertile soil. And our patient labors foil; May we sow no worthless weeds In amongst the precious seeds; May our gardens always be From unsightly rubbish free. 65 Who would through life's springtime go Ne'er enjoying flowers that grow All along his pleasant path? Pass absorbed, so that he hath No delight in pleasures true, No desire earth's joys to view? Soon enough will come the day And the year, when we shall say, 'If I could be young once more. How much better than before Would I spend each fleeting year!" Prudence, be thou ever near. Be our faithful, cautious guide, Always walking by our side. Climb with us the mountains steep, Guard us from the chasms deep, Show us every beauteous sight, Till we've reached the giddy height In the regions bright and clear. Far above the storms of fear. Far above the lightning's flash. Far above the thunder's crash: There shall be the final goal Of each high aspiring soul. Read at the Class-Day exercises of the class of 1910, Preparatory Department, Hope College. 66 SWEETHEARTS In my garden there's a melon that I always like the best. In its beauty, size, and flavor it surpasses all the rest. Though the others may be earlier I never am in haste To investigate their ripeness or their lusciousness to taste: If I ate of all the first ones, which are never very sweet. Later on the Sweetheart melon would no longer be a treat. Let the others eat the earlies, be they bitter, small, or green, — I shall fast until my favorite has fully ripened been. No more fasting then, but feasting, every day until the end; — Oh! the Sweetheart watermelon is a very pleasant friend. But alas! sometimes the thieves dare lurk around at night. And the rising sun next morning shows a sorry, gruesome sight: Green ones smashed to pieces, and the ripe without a heart; Some I find upon the roadway scattered here and there a part. If a righteous indignation ever harbors in my mind It is when I look for melons, and my patch demolished find. Late Summer, 1910. 67 SONNET A NEW YEAR'S MEDITATION When I contemplate how I have defaced The image of the year gone by, and spoiled Its plastic form and features, now disgraced, Disfigured, mutilated, marred, and soiled, — With shamefacedness I seek myself to hide. My harrowed mind is vexed with vain regrets. My better nature doth severely chide My carelessness, the sense of guilty besets My troubled conscience. How dare I appear Before my Master thus? — But now, behold! He comes to me, and gives another year For me with greater carefulness to mold; — Resolves oft broken I again renew, While He remains indulgent, patient, true. New Year's, 1911. 68 PSALM 121 INVERSE Unto the mountains high, To thee, Creator, King, I, weary, lift mine anxious eye: Help thou alone canst bring. Thy foot from harm he'll keep ; Jehovah slumbereth ne'er, The God of Israel will not sleep: On him be all thy care. He is a grateful shade From scorching rays at noon; By night his mercy will not fade, Though fade the stars and moon. No evil shall befall While God goes on before. He'll keep thy life, thy soul, thine all, Now and forevermore. March, 1911. 69 THE AMBITIOUS LUMP OF CLAY I stood beside a river's bank, Where was a bed of clay; I saw a man who dug with spade, And bore some clay away. Long had it waited, hoped, and dreamed That some day it might be A cup or vase of beauty rare, And now it sang with glee. Although the grinding, pressing mill Was painful, hard to bear, The clay complained and murmured not: It hoped a future fair. I saw it placed above a fire, It felt the burning heat. By which 'twas hardened, scorched, and dried; Now wa« its form complete. A gardener placed it by a pond, Its image it could see: '*A homely, ugly, flower- pot! No beauty is in me!" It gave no heed while it was filled With rubbish, mud, and dirt; The feeling of disgrace was worse Than all the burning hurt. 70 The days now passed in gloominess, No more it hoped and dreamed. But pitied self, cast down so low, Unbearable it seemed. A dry and shriveled bulb was pressed Into its heart of earth; That bulb contained a germ of life. That life was given birth. A beautiful and tender plant, An Easter lily pure, Grew up and blossomed from the pot, Its sadness soon to cure. For it was carried to a church, The pulpit to adorn, And all was music, light, and joy That sunny Easter morn. The flower-pot no eyes despise, But all with joy behold The lovely blossom, pure and white. With its bright heart of gold. "They toil not, neither do they spin," Someone was heard to say, **Yet Solomon was never clad In such a bright array." 71 They brought it to a hospital, The sick and lone to cheer ; In many an eye new luster came, Or glistened oft a tear. Bewildered was the flower-pot: It could not understand Why it was softly, fondly stroked By many a thin, white hand. At last the secret was revealed, A mirror told the tale. It saw what from its heart had grown: The lily, fair and frail. No more it murmured, or desired To be a costly vase. Contented now with such a flower Its lowliness to grace. Far better than its fondest dreams That lump of clay now lived; With pride it held the fertile soil, In which the lily thrived. The Easter lily beautiful. The lowly pot of clay, Have brought good cheer to weary souls Each in its own good way. — This story of Henry Van Dyke was suggested to the author by an article in the New Century Teacher of March, 1911. 72 "The lily, fair and frail" PRESIDENT EMERITUS of HOPE COLLEGE SONNET ON THE RESIGNATION OF PRESIDENT KOLLEN Thou goest, yet reluctantly we part With thee; we cannot calmly acquiesce In this departure; thy kind watchfulness And tender care endeared thee to each heart. Thou goest, but thy noble soul must smart To leave the youth whom thou didst richly bless With counsels wise and warnings numberless ; Nigh indispensable to us thou art. And yet thou art not gone. Although deprived Of thee, who after years of anxious toil Retirest from the vast, oft traversed field. We linger still where we have grown and thrived, And oft when burdened with our mental moil. We'll seek thy counsel with experience sealed. From Anchor of June, 1911. 73 PRESENTING A BIBLE TO A FRIEND Eighteen Lines Written on the Fly-leaf of a Bible Presented to a Friend on her Eighteenth Birthday. Friends from far and near are sending Gifts today, and greetings kind; This, of all those gifts, the rarest. Best, most precious may you find; Ties of friendship woven 'round us May it still more closely bind. Not for costliness nor beauty Not for newness hold it dear: 'Tis the old and trusty Bible, Changeless, faithful, ever near; May it be your best companion. Filling you with hope and cheer. Tis a gift, in love presented. Telling of a love divine. Of God's love, eternal, holy. Which can human love refine. May that love, which passeth knowledge, Sanctify your love and mine. July, 1911. 74 A PARODY ON HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY IN ANTICIPATION OF THE COSMOPOLITAN BANQUET To go — or not to go! — that is the question: — Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The stings and arrows of unfeeHng ladies, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And, by opposing, end them ? — To ask — be stung — No more! — and, by refraining, say we end The worry, and the thousand natural shocks That would torment us, — 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To ask a friend, — To ask! perchance be stung! — ay, there's the rub!- For, in this delicate task, what ills may come, When we dare make this hazardous attempt. Must give us serious pause. There's the respect That makes calamity of such a deed; For who would bear the awful dread to ask. Or, having asked, receive a scornful "No!" — Endure the pangs of cold rejection, The laughs of fellow students, and the thought Of going friendless to the banquet hall, — When he might easily prevent these ills By mere inaction? Who would wretched be. To groan and sweat under such anxious thoughts. But that the fear of losing the respect, The estimation, and the high regard Of fellow students, stimulates our grit; And makes us rather undertake the risk, Than suffer to be mocked as bashful cowards? 75 Thus, social pride makes heroes of us all, And thus the inward fear of cold refusals Is overcome by firmer resolution; Thus find we ladies, willing, glad, yea eager! To spend with us a night of gayety: — Thus, we attend the banquet. January, 1912. ORIGINAL TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GREEK DACTYLIC HEXAMETER LINES FROM HOMER'S ILIAD Sing of the wrath of Achilles, the great son of Peleus, oh goddess ! Wrath most destructive, that myriad woes on the Achaeans inflicted. Many brave souls of the valiant heroes hurling to Hades, Leaving their corpses as prey to the birds and the canines voracious; Zeus nevertheless his inexorable will and decree thus accomplished, — Sing of the doleful events that occurred since there quarreled and parted 76 Atreus' son the great ruler of men, and the noble Achilles. Who of the gods brought these heroes together in loud altercation? Offspring of Leto and Zeus. For, provoked by the king, he inflicted Noisome disease on the army, destroying the innocent people, — Angered, since Atreus' son Agamemnon had rudely dishonored Chryses the priest, who had come to the swift- sailing ships of the Achaeans, Seeking to ransom his daughter, and bearing innumerable presents: Chaplets he bore on a sceptre of gold of far-darting Apollo; All the Achaeans he entreated, but mostly the people's two leaders: "Atreus' sons, and ye other Achaeans well-greaved, may the rulers Dwelling on lofty Olympus permit you to sack Priam's city; Then to arrive home in safety ; but ransom my daughter beloved, Here is the price of the ransom: I pray you, be pleased to accept it. Holding in reverence the far-darting son of Zeus, Phoebus Apollo." Winter Term, 1912. 77 THE SAME IN IAMBIC PENTAMETER Sing, goddess, of the wrath, destructive wrath, Of Peleus' son Achilles, which did bring Upon the Achaeans countless woes, and sent To Hades many valiant heroes' souls. And made them prey for dogs and all the birds. Although the will of Zeus accomplished was, — When first the son of Atreus, king of men, In quarrel from divine Achilles went. What god brought them together to contend? The son of Zeus and Leto. For, provoked Against the king, he sent into the camp An evil plague which carried off the folk. Since Atreus' son had not in honor held The priest of Chryse. To the Achaean ships He came, his daughter's ransom to obtain. With countless gifts and chaplets in his hands From far-darting Apollo, on a staff Of gold, — and all the Achaeans he besought, But Atreus' sons especially, the two Who led the troops : *'Ye sons of Atreus, And other Achaeans, well equipped with greaves,- May the gods of Mt. Olympus grant to you To plunder Priam's city, and arrive In safety home. Give me my darling child, Accept this ransom, with due reverence To Apollo, the far-darting son of Zeus." 78 ODE TO APHRODITE FROM SAPPHO; IN THE ORIGINAL SAPPHIC METER Deathless Aphrodite! enthroned midst riches, Child of Zeus, and weaver of wiles, I pray thee. Sentence not my soul to satieties and Sorrows, mistress! Hither come, if ever at any other Time thou answ'redst, hearing my voice afar off, When thy father's home thou didst leave, the golden Chariot thou mountedst; Sparrows, swift and beautiful, brought thee hither Over darksome lands from thy home in heaven. Whirling wings of closely packed feathers through the Midst of the ether ; Straightway they arrived. Then,0 blessed, thou askedst, Smiling with thy fair and immortal countenance. Why I'd suffered time and again, and why so Often I sought thee ; Also what most strongly I wished my frenzied Spirit. "Whom do you now desire that Peitho Bring to you for fondest affection ; — who Sappho, offends you? Even if she flees, she will quickly follow ; Gifts if she receives not, yet she will give them ; If she loves not, quickly she'll love you, e'en though She be unwilling." Come to me e'en now, and from grievous troubles Me release ; and all that my soul desires to Have completed, end it, — and thou thyself shalt Be my strong helper. Spring term, 1912. 79 A MYTH OF OSTORA, OR EASTER Benignant Ostora, in ancient times, Was hailed as goddess of the welcome spring ; The folk who dwelt in wintry northern climes Besought her warmth and fruitfulness to bring. Each year she came, with birds upon the wing Proclaiming her approach with joyful song, Though often wintry blasts delayed her long. Unaided she could not dispel the snow. Nor break the fetters which held nature bound, Nor cause the grass, the flowers, the trees to grow, — For this, a willing servant soon she found — The sun. With rays more warm he pierced the ground Each morn he rose more early; and each night He later hid his face, with glory bright. Though Ostora each year the earth released From winter's deadly grip and icy chain, Another foe, more fearful, never ceased To gripe her people with disease and pain. For many a year no help could she obtain To quell this mortal foe ; at length she found A greater Sun, who did with strength abound. Aroused by her, this Sun of Righteousness Arose, as victor over death, — dread foe. With healing in his wings, He 'gan redress Man's fatal injuries, his heavy woe. And light and life most glorious to bestow On all. The name of Ostora we give To the glad day on which He rose to live. From The Anchor of April, 1912. 80 SEPTEMBER WHEN EVERYTHING'S JUST RIGHT Welcome! thou month when everything's just right; Now shade and sunshine both afford delight; Now Summer's sultry, stifling heat has passed, Not yet has come the chilly autumn blast. Nocturnal frosts and constant showers by day Have not appeared to make a permanent stay. Of equal length are now both day and night, — This is the month when everything's just right. No heat or cold at night prevents our sleep, Refreshing now our slumber, sound and deep. No dust nor mud upon the road is found. While soft, new grass again bedecks the ground ; The orchard trees a heavy burden bear Of luscious, mellow fruit, and still they wear Their summer garb of leaves, fresh, green, and bright,- All hail the month when everything's just right! The hurry of the harvest days has ceased. From sweat and toil the farmer is released ; His barns are filled with plenty for his flocks And herds. Next winter's month of need he mocks. For on his farm he's grown a bounteous store Of fruits and greenstuff s for his cellar floor. The apples, melons, grapes, a tempting sight, All crown the month when everything's just right. 81 Now school-bells ring again their ''dong, ding, dong" To call the children back where they belong; Now mothers from a load of care are freed, And teachers labor for their monthly meed. Each student now resumes his proper place, Refreshed and strengthened for the mental race; Each one is eager to renew the fight In this glad month when everything's just right. Now pastors to their charges have returned From summer trips and holidays well-earned. Attending service wearies us no more Since hot and sultry summer days are o'er. Soon Autumn's chilly rains will come and go, Soon Winter will be here with ice and snow. September's days will soon have reached their height; — Then farewell! month, when everything's just right. First days of autumn, September, 1912. (Voted into the Archives of the Cosmopolitan Society) 82 MY CHRISTMAS GIFT O soul of mine ! while angels sing Their praises to the new-born King, And mother Mary, meek and mild, In awe adores her Holy Child, — What canst thou do to voice thy joy? Thine earthly notes would but destroy The music of the heavenly song: Thou canst not join the angel throng. soul of mine! while Wise Men bring Their tribute to the new-born King, To Him their treasures they unfold, Of myrrh and frankincense and gold, — What worthy gift canst thou present? Thou could'st but gaze in wonderment And stand aloof with empty hand ; Thou canst not join the Magi band. My soul, I hear the clear air ring With shoutings for the new-born King; 'Mong shepherds' voices, rude but strong, 'Mong these poor folk dost thou belong. Go, join them quickly, for they haste. No time for waiting will they waste ; Behold the Babe; return, and raise With them thy voice to God in praise. From Anchor of December, 1912. 83 A STUDENT'S GREETING Each Hopeite*s heart was made to grieve To see his former president leave The side of Alma Mater; For us who knew him when he left 'Twas bitter to be thus bereft Of him, our Almus Pater; His memory is with us still, Though other men his place must fill. For Alma Mater ever needs A helpmeet at her side, who feeds Her children, large and small; She finds a man whose worth is sure. Whose heart is sound, whose love is pure, Who is true whatever befall; He promises to be her stay And both wait for the wedding day. The days of test and trial sore With manly fortitude he bore, Victorious at last; With joy we met, the high and low. And saw him make the solemn vow. By which his lot was cast — Through years of stress to guide Hope's youth In search of pure and priceless truth. 84 AME VENNEMA, D. D. President of Hope College As sons and stepsons welcome we Hope's President our guide to be Throughout our college days; Obedient to his wish and will, His heart with inward joy we'll fill — He'll walk in pleasant ways. While sons and daughters come and go, Full streams of love 'round him will flow. From Anchor of March, 1913. W. G. Through open windows sounds the voice of sprinQ Ho^rf often do I pass a sleepless night To hear the pied frogs' chorus que E^ly sing, Or In the full moon watch the geese in flight. No end of pleasure in the homBly sight I find, when Legs and necks above me "honk!" And curiously deviSe a letter right; E'en when they've © isappeared from view, their "honk" Re-echoes still within my Bars with "honk, honk, honk." From the Anchor of May, 1913. 85 THE SNOWFLAKES Behold! great oaks from little acorns grow, And mighty snowstorms from a flake of snow, A storm so grievous that the mightiest force On earth fights hopelessly against its course: The locomotive with its powerful steam Halts like a horse before a torrent stream, When hosts of tiny crystals block its way: — The strong still bows before the weak today. While grownups dread the tiny snowflake's sight And are rejoiced when again it takes its flight. The youngster shouts for joy when it appears And hails the wintry blast with happy cheers. Out come the sleds, the coasting down the hills. No matter if the frost the fingers chills. And great the day when snow begins to melt, When each live urchin can his fellows pelt With balls. No less enjoyment does he find In building forts of snow, whose walls behind He seeks safe shelter from the enemies* shot. Yea, never can we find a happier lot Than when the myriad snowflakes flurry down, When all the summer birds from us have flown, When nature gives the children snow to mold The image of a man. Then young and old Delight to hear the merry sleigh bells chime. Forget the rigor of our northern clime. March, 1913 (The Bombast, of which this poem forms a part, was voted into the Archives of the Cosmo- politan Society.) 86 JUN 2 1S13. 