



Produced by Al Haines.


                                 MATINS

                            Francis Sherman


                 [Illustration: Title page decoration]


                                 BOSTON
                            COPELAND AND DAY
                               MDCCCXCVI




                   COPYRIGHT 1896 BY COPELAND AND DAY




                                   TO
                               MY FATHER




                                CONTENTS


At the Gate
A Life
At Matins
Ave
The Foreigner
Cadences
Easter-Song
The Rain
A Memory
Among the Hills
To Summer
The Path
The Last Flower
After Harvest
Heat in September
On the Hillside
Summer Dying
A November Vigil
Nunc Dimittis
Between the Battles
The Quiet Valley
The Kingfisher
The Conqueror
The King's Hostel
Between the Winter and the Spring
The Mother
The Window of Dreams
The Relief of Wet Willows
The Builder
Te Deum Laudamus




AT THE GATE


    Swing open wide, O Gate,
    That I may enter in
    And see what lies in wait
    For me who have been born!
    Her word I only scorn
    Who spake of death and sin.

    I know what is behind
    Your heavy brazen bars;
    I heard it of the wind
    Where I dwelt yesterday:
    The wind that blows alway
    Among the ancient stars.

    Life is the chiefest thing
    The wind brought knowledge of,
    As it passed, murmuring:
    Life, with its infinite strength,
    And undiminished length
    Of years fulfilled with love.

    The wind spake not of sin
    That blows among the stars;
    And so I enter in
    (Swing open wide, O Gate!)
    Fearless of what may wait
    Behind your heavy bars.




A LIFE

                                   I.

    _Let us rise up and live!_  Behold, each thing
    Is ready for the moulding of our hand.
    Long have they all awaited our command;
    None other will they ever own for king.
    Until we come no bird dare try to sing,
    Nor any sea its power may understand;
    No buds are on the trees; in every land
    Year asketh year some tidings of some Spring.
    Yea, it is time,--high time we were awake!
    Simple indeed shall life be unto us.
    What part is ours?--To take what all things give;
    To feel the whole world growing for our sake;
    To have sure knowledge of the marvellous;
    To laugh and love.--_Let us rise up and live!_


                                  II.

    _Let us rule well and long_.  We will build here
    Our city in the pathway of the sun.
    On this side shall this mighty river run;
    Along its course well-laden ships shall steer.
    Beyond, great mountains shall their crests uprear,
    That from their sides our jewels may be won.
    Let all you toil!  Behold, it is well done;
    Under our sway all far things fall and near!
    All time is ours!  _Let us rule long and well!_
    So we have reigned for many a long, long day.
    No change can come....  What hath that slave to tell,
    Who dares to stop us on our royal way?
    "O King, last night within thy garden fell,
    From thine own tree, a rose whose leaves were gray."


                                  III.

    _Let us lie down and sleep!_  All things are still,
    And everywhere doth rest alone seem sweet.
    No more is heard the sound of hurrying feet
    Athrough the land their echoes once did fill.
    Even the wind knows not its ancient will,
    For each ship floats with undisturbed sheet:
    Naught stirs except the Sun, who hastes to greet
    His handmaiden, the utmost western hill.
    Ah, there the glory is!  O west of gold!
    Once seemed our life to us as glad and fair;
    We knew nor pain nor sorrow anywhere!
    O crimson clouds!  O mountains autumn-stoled!
    Across even you long shadows soon must sweep.
    We too have lived.  _Let us lie down and sleep!_


                                  IV.

    _Nay, let us kneel and pray!_  The fault was ours,
    O Lord!  No other ones have sinned as we.
    The Spring was with us and we praised not thee;
    We gave no thanks for Summer's strangest flowers.
    We built us many ships, and mighty towers,
    And held awhile the whole broad world in fee:
    Yea, and it sometime writhed at our decree!
    The stars, the winds,--all they were subject-powers.
    All things we had for slave.  We knew no God;
    We saw no place on earth where His feet trod--
    This earth, where now the Winter hath full sway,
    Well shrouded under cold white snows and deep.
    We rose and lived; we ruled; yet, ere we sleep,
    O Unknown God,--_Let us kneel down and pray!_




AT MATINS

    Because I ever have gone down Thy ways
    With joyous heart and undivided praise,
    I pray Thee, Lord, of Thy great loving-kindness,
    Thou'lt make to-day even as my yesterdays!"

    (At the edge of the yellow dawn I saw them stand,
    Body and Soul; and they were hand-in-hand:
    The Soul looked backward where the last night's blindness
    Lay still upon the unawakened land;

    But the Body, in the sun's light well arrayed,
    Fronted the east, grandly and unafraid:
    I knew that it was one might never falter
    Although the Soul seemed shaken as it prayed.)

    "O Lord" (the Soul said), "I would ask one thing:
    Send out Thy rapid messengers to bring
    Me to the shadows which about Thine altar
    Are ever born and always gathering.

    "For I am weary now, and would lie dead
    Where I may not behold my old days shed
    Like withered leaves around me and above me;
    Hear me, O Lord, and I am comforted!"

    "O Lord, because I ever deemed Thee kind"
    (The Body's words were borne in on the wind);
    "Because I knew that Thou wouldst ever love me
    Although I sin, and lead me who am blind;

    Because of all these things, hear me who pray!
    Lord, grant me of Thy bounty one more day
    To worship Thee, and thank Thee I am living.
    Yet if Thou callest now, I will obey."

    (The Body's hand tightly the Soul did hold;
    And over them both was shed the sun's red gold;
    And though I knew this day had in its giving
    Unnumbered wrongs and sorrows manifold,

    I counted it a sad and bitter thing
    That this weak, drifting Soul must alway cling
    Unto this Body--wrought in such a fashion
    It must have set the gods, even, marvelling.

    And, thinking so, I heard the Soul's loud cries,
    As it turned round and saw the eastern skies)
    "O Lord, destroy in me this new-born passion
    For this that has grown perfect in mine eyes!

    "O Lord, let me not see this thing is fair,
    This Body Thou hast given me to wear,--
    Lest I fall out of love with death and dying,
    And deem the old, strange life not hard to bear!

    "Yea, now, even now, I love this Body so--
    O Lord, on me Thy longest days bestow!
    O Lord, forget the words I have been crying,
    And lead me where Thou thinkest I should go!"

    (At the edge of the open dawn I saw them stand,
    Body and Soul, together, hand-in-hand,
    Fulfilled, as I, with strong desire and wonder
    As they beheld the glorious eastern land;

    I saw them, in the strong light of the sun,
    Go down into the day that had begun;
    I knew, as they, that night might never sunder
    This Body from the Soul that it had won.)




AVE!

    To-morrow, and a year is born again!
    (To-day the first bud wakened 'neath the snow.)
    Will it bring joys the old year did not know,
    Or will it burthen us with the old pain?
    Shall we seek out the Spring--to see it slain?
    Summer,--and learn all flowers have ceased to grow?
    Autumn,--and find it overswift to go?
    (The memories of the old year yet remain.)

    To-morrow, and another year is born!
    (Love liveth yet, O Love, we deemed was dead!)
    Let us go forth and welcome in the morn,
    Following bravely on where Hope hath led.
    (O Time, how great a thing thou art to scorn!)
    O Love, we shall not be uncomforted!




THE FOREIGNER

    He walked by me with open eyes,
    And wondered that I loved it so;
    Above us stretched the gray, gray skies;
    Behind us, foot-prints on the snow.

    Before us slept a dark, dark wood.
    Hemlocks were there, and little pines
    Also; and solemn cedars stood
    In even and uneven lines.

    The branches of each silent tree
    Bent downward, for the snow's hard weight
    Was pressing on them heavily;
    They had not known the sun of late.

    (Except when it was afternoon,
    And then a sickly sun peered in
    A little while; it vanished soon
    And then they were as they had been.)

    There was no sound (I thought I heard
    The axe of some man far away)
    There was no sound of bee, or bird,
    Or chattering squirrel at its play.

    And so he wondered I was glad.
    --There was one thing he could not see;
    Beneath the look these dead things had
    I saw Spring eyes agaze at me.




CADENCES

                               (Mid-Lent)

    The low, gray sky curveth from hill to hill,
    Silent and all untenanted;
    From the trees also all glad sound hath fled,
    Save for the little wind that moaneth still
    Because it deemeth Earth is surely dead.

    For many days no woman hath gone by,
    Her gold hair knowing, as of old,
    The wind's caresses and the sun's kind gold;
    --Perchance even she hath thought it best to die
    Because all things are sad things to behold.

                            (Easter Morning)

    She cometh now, with the sun's splendid shine
    On face and limbs and hair!
    Ye who are watching, have ye seen so fair
    A Lady ever as this one is of mine?
    Have ye beheld her likeness anywhere?

    See, as she cometh unrestrained and fleet
    Past the thrush-haunted trees,
    How glad the lilies are that touch her knees!
    How glad the grasses underneath her feet!
    And how even I am yet more glad than these!




EASTER-SONG

    Maiden, awake!  For Christ is born again!
    And let your feet disdain
    The paths whereby of late they have been led.
    Now Death itself is dead,
    And Love hath birth,
    And all things mournful find no place on earth.

    This morn ye all must go another way
    Than ye went yesterday.
    Not with sad faces shall ye silent go
    Where He hath suffered so;
    But where there be
    Full many flowers shall ye wend joyfully.

    Moreover, too, ye must be clad in white,
    As if the ended night
    Were but your bridal-morn's foreshadowing.
    And ye must also sing
    In angel-wise:
    So shall ye be most worthy in His eyes.

    Maidens, arise!  I know where many flowers
    Have grown these many hours
    To make more perfect this glad Easter-day;
    Where tall white lilies sway
    On slender stem,
    Waiting for you to come and garner them;

    Where banks of mayflowers are, all pink and white,
    Which will Him well delight;
    And yellow buttercups, and growing grass
    Through which the Spring winds pass;
    And mosses wet,
    Well strown with many a new-born violet.

    All these and every other flower are here.
    Will ye not draw anear
    And gather them for Him, and in His name,
    Whom all men now proclaim
    Their living King?
    Behold how all these wait your harvesting!

    Moreover, see the darkness of His house!
    Think ye that He allows
    Such glory of glad color and perfume,
    But to destroy the gloom
    That hath held fast
    His altar-place these many days gone past?

    For this alone these blossoms had their birth,--
    To show His perfect worth!
    Therefore, O Maidens, ye must go apace
    To that strange garden-place
    And gather all
    These living flowers for His high festival.

    For now hath come the long-desired day,
    Wherein Love hath full sway!
    Open the gates, O ye who guard His home,
    His handmaidens are come!
    Open them wide,
    That all may enter in this Easter-tide!

    Then, maidens, come, with song and lute-playing,
    And all your wild flowers bring
    And strew them on His altar; while the sun--
    Seeing what hath been done--
    Shines strong once more,
    Knowing that Death hath Christ for conqueror.




THE RAIN

    O ye who so unceasing praise the Sun;
    Ye who find nothing worthy of your love
    But the Sun's face and the strong light thereof;
    Who, when the day is done,
    Are all uncomforted
    Unless the night be crowned with many a star,
    Or mellow light be shed
    From the ancient moon that gazeth from afar,
    With pitiless calm, upon the old, tired Earth;
    O ye to whom the skies
    Must be forever fair to free your eyes
    From mortal pain;--
    Have ye not known the great exceeding worth
    Of that soft peace which cometh with the Rain?

    Behold! the wisest of you knows no thing
    That hath such title to man's worshipping
    As the first sudden day
    The slumbrous Earth is wakened into Spring;
    When heavy clouds and gray
    Come up the southern way,
    And their bold challenge throw
    In the face of the frightened snow
    That covereth the ground.
    What need they now the armies of the Sun
    Whose trumpets now do sound?
    Alas, the powerless Sun!
    Hath he not waged his wars for days gone past,
    Each morning drawing up his cohorts vast
    And leading them with slow and even paces
    To assault once more the impenetrable places,
    Where, crystal-bound,
    The river moveth on with silent sound?
    O puny, powerless Sun!
    On the pure white snow where are the lightest traces
    Of what thy forces' ordered ways have done?
    On these large spaces
    No footsteps are imprinted anywhere;
    Still the white glare
    Is perfect; yea, the snows are drifted still
    On plain and hill;
    And still the river knows the Winter's iron will.

    Thou wert most wise, O Sun, to hide thy face
    This day beneath the cloud's gray covering;
    Thou wert most wise to know the deep disgrace
    In which thy name is holden of the Spring.
    She deems thee now an impotent, useless thing,
    And hath dethroned thee from thy mighty place;
    Knowing that with the clouds will come apace
    The Rain, and that the rain will be a royal king.
    A king?--Nay, queen!
    For in soft girlish-wise she takes her throne
    When first she cometh in the young Spring-season;
    Gentle and mild,
    Yet with no dread of any revolution,
    And fearing not a land unreconciled,
    And unafraid of treason.
    In her dark hair
    Lieth the snow's most certain dissolution;
    And in her glance is known
    The freeing of the rivers from their chainings;
    And in her bosom's strainings
    Earth's teeming breast is tokened and foreshown.

    Behold her coming surely, calmly down,
    Where late the clear skies were,
    With gray clouds for a gown;
    Her fragile draperies
    Caught by the little breeze
    Which loveth her!
    She weareth yet no crown,
    Nor is there any sceptre in her hands;
    Yea, in all lands,
    Whatever Spring she cometh, men know well
    That it is right and good for her to come;
    And that her least commands
    Must be fulfilled, however wearisome;
    And that they all must guard the citadel
    Wherein she deigns to dwell!

    And so, even now, her feet pass swiftly over
    The impressionable snow
    That vanisheth as woe
    Doth vanish from the rapt face of a lover,
    Who, after doubting nights, hath come to know
    His lady loves him so!
    (Yet not like him
    Doth the snow bear the signs of her light touch!
    It is all gray in places, and looks worn
    With some most bitter pain;
    As he shall look, perchance,
    Some early morn
    While yet the dawn is dim,
    When he awakens from the enraptured trance
    In which he, blind, hath lain,
    And knows that also he hath loved in vain
    The lady who, he deemed, had loved him much.
    And though her utter worthlessness is plain
    He hath no joy of his deliverance,
    But only asketh God to let him die,--
    And getteth no reply.)
    Yea, the snows fade before the calm strength of the rain!

    And while the rain is unabated,
    Well-heads are born and streams created
    On the hillsides, and set a-flowing
    Across the fields.  The river, knowing
    That there hath surely come at last
    Its freedom, and that frost is past,
    Gathereth force to break its chains;
    The river's faith is in the Spring's unceasing rains!

    See where the shores even now were firmly bound
    The slowly widening water showeth black,
    As from the fields and