POEMS OF EXPERIENCE

BY

ELLA WHEELER WILCOX

GAY AND HANCOCK, LTD.

12 AND 13 HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN

LONDON

1917

[All rights reserved]

p. ivPublished 1910

Reprinted 1911, 1912, 1913, 1915, 1916, 1917

p. vAny edition of my poems published in England by any firm except Messrs. Gay and Hancock is pirated and not authentic.

ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.

April 12, 1910.

p. viiCONTENTS

PAGE

The Empty Bowl

1

Keep Going

2

A Prayer

4

The London ‘Bobby’

5

Read at the Benefit of Clara Morris

7

Two Ghosts

10

Woman

13

Battle Hymn of the Women

17

Memories

19

See?

21

The Purpose

23

The White Man

24

A Moorish Maid

26

Lincoln

28

I know not

29

p. viiiInterlude

30

Resurrection

31

The Voices of the City

32

If Christ came Questioning

36

England, Awake!

38

Be not attached

39

An Episode

41

The Voice of the Voiceless

43

Time’s Defeat

47

The Hymn of the Republic

49

The Radiant Christ

53

At Bay

56

The Birth of Jealousy

58

Summer’s Farewell

61

The Goal

63

Christ Crucified

65

The Trip to Mars

69

Fiction and Fact

71

Progress

72

How the White Rose Came

73

I look to Science

75

p. ixAppreciation

77

The Awakening

78

Most blest is he

80

Nirvana

82

Life

84

Two men

86

Only be still

88

Pardoned Out

89

The Tides

91

Progression

94

Acquaintance

95

Attainment

96

The tower-room

97

Father

99

The new Hawaiian girl

101

p. 1THE EMPTY BOWL

I held the golden vessel of my soul And prayed that God would fill it from on high. Day after day the importuning cry Grew stronger—grew, a heaven-accusing dole Because no sacred waters laved my bowl. ‘So full the fountain, Lord, wouldst Thou deny The little needed for a soul’s supply? I ask but this small portion of Thy whole.’ Then from the vast invisible Somewhere, A voice, as one love-authorised by Him, Spake, and the tumult of my heart was stilled. ‘Who wants the waters must the bowl prepare; Pour out the self, that chokes it to the brim, But emptied vessels, from the source are filled.’

p. 2KEEP GOING

Is the goal distant, and troubled the road, And the way long? And heavy your load? Then gird up your courage, and say ‘I am strong,’ And keep going.

Is the work weary, and endless the grind And petty the pay? Then brace up your mind And say ‘Something better is coming my way,’ And keep doing.

Is the drink bitter life pours in your cup— Is the taste gall? Then smile and look up And say ‘God is with me whatever befall,’ And keep trusting.

p. 3Is the heart heavy with hope long deferred, And with prayers that seem vain? Keep saying the word— And that which you strive for you yet shall attain. Keep praying.

p. 4A PRAYER

Just as I shape the purport of my thought, Lord of the Universe, shape Thou my lot. Let each ill thought that in my heart may be, Mould circumstance and bring ill luck to me.

Until I weed the garden of my mind From all that is unworthy and unkind, Am I not master of my mind, dear Lord? Then as I think, so must be my reward.

Who sows in weakness, cannot reap in strength, That which we plant, we gather in at length. Great God of Justice, be Thou just to me, And as my thoughts, so let my future be.

p. 5THE LONDON ‘BOBBY’ A TRIBUTE TO THE POLICEMEN OF ENGLAND’S CAPITAL

Here in my cosy corner, Before a blazing log, I’m thinking of cold London Wrapped in its killing fog; And, like a shining beacon Above the picture grim, I see the London ‘Bobby,’ And sing my song for him.

I see his stalwart figure, I see his kindly face, I hear his helpful answer At any hour or place. For, though you seek some by-way Long miles from his own beat, He tells you all about it, And how to find the street.

p. 6He looks like some bold Viking, This king of earth’s police— Yet in his voice lies feeling, And in his eye lies peace; He knows and does his duty— (What higher praise is there?) And London’s lords and paupers Alike receive his care.

He has a regal bearing, Yet one that breathes repose; It is the look and manner Of one who thinks and knows. Oh, men who govern nations, In old worlds or in new, Turn to the London ‘Bobby’ And learn a thing or two.

p. 7READ AT THE BENEFIT OF CLARA MORRIS

(AMERICA’S GREAT EMOTIONAL ACTRESS)

The Radiant Rulers of Mystic Regions Where souls of artists are fitted for birth Gathered together their lovely legions And fashioned a woman to shine on earth. They bathed her in splendour, They made her tender, They gave her a nature both sweet and wild; They gave her emotions like storm-stirred oceans, And they gave her the heart of a little child.

These Radiant Rulers (who are not human Nor yet divine like the gods above) Poured all their gifts in the soul of woman, That fragile vessel meant only for love. Still more they taught her, Still more they brought her, p. 8Till they gave her the world for a harp one day: And they bade her string it, They bade her ring it, While the stars all wondered to hear her play.

She touched the strings in a master fashion, She uttered the cry of a world’s despair: Its long hid secret, its pent-up passion, She gave to the winds in a vibrant air. For oh! the heart of her, That was the art of her. Great with the feeling that makes men kin. Art unapproachable, Art all uncoachable, Fragrance and flame from the spirit within.

The earth turns ever an ear unheeding To the sorrows of art, as it cries ‘encore.’ And she played on the harp till her hands were bleeding, And her brow was bruised by the laurels she wore. She knew the trend of it, She knew the end of it— p. 9Men heard the music and men felt the thrill. Bound to the altar Of art, could she falter? Then came a silence—the music was still.

And yet in the echoes we seem to hear it; In waves unbroken it circles the earth: And we catch in the light of her dauntless spirit A gleam from the centre that gave her birth. Still is the fame of her Felt in the name of her— But low lies the harp that once thrilled to her strain; No hand has taken it, No hand can waken it— For the soul of her art was her secret of pain.

p. 10TWO GHOSTS

Two dead men boarded a spectral ship In the astral Port of Space; On that ghost-filled barque, they met in the dark, And halted, face to face.

‘Now whither away’—called one of the ghosts, ‘This ship sets sail for Earth. On the astral plane you must remain, Where the newly dead have birth.’

‘But I could not stay and I would not stay,’ The other ghost replied; ‘I must hurry back to the old Earth track And stand at my loved one’s side.

‘She weeps for me in her lonely room, In the land from whence I came; Oh! stow me away in this ship, I pray, For I hear her call my name.’

p. 11‘You must not go, and you shall not go,’ The first ghost cried in wrath. ‘Your work is planned, in the astral land, And a guide will show you the path.’

‘But the one I love’—‘I loved her too,’ The first ghost stood and cried; ‘And year on year I waited here, Yea, waited till you died.

‘For I would not come between you two, Nor shadow her joy with fear, But mine is the right, I claim this night To visit the earthly sphere.

‘For you are dead, and I am dead, And you had her long—so long. And to look on the grace of her worshipped face, Ah! now it can do no wrong.

‘I am fettered to Earth by love of her, And hers is the spell divine, That can help me rise, to the realm that lies Just over the astral line.

p. 12‘I have kept to the laws of God and man, I have suffered and made no moan; Now my little share of joy, I swear I will have—and have it alone.’

A skeleton crew the anchor drew, And the ship from the port swung free; With a muffled clang the ghost bell rang, And the boat sailed out to sea.

And one ghost stood on the deck and laughed, As only a glad ghost can; While a swooning soul was dragged to his goal, To work out the astral span.

And a woman wept, and prayed ere she slept, For a dream to ease her pain; But she dreamed instead of a man long dead, Who had loved her all in vain.

p. 13WOMAN

Strange are the ways that her feet have trod Since first she was set in the path of duty, Finished and fair by the hand of God, To carry her message of love and beauty. Delicate creature of light and shade, She gleamed like an opal, on wide worlds under: And earth looked up to her half afraid, While heaven looked down at her, full of wonder.

Flame of the comet and mist of the moon, And ray of the sun all mingled in her. And the heart of her asked but a single boon— That love should seek her, and find her, and win her. She grasped the scope of the First Intent That made her kingdom for her, no other, And joyfully into her place she went— The primal mate, and the primal mother.

p. 14Large was that kingdom and vast her sphere, And lightly she lifted and bore each burden. Lightly she laughed in the eyes of fear, For love was her recompense, love her guerdon. And never in camp, or in cave, or in home, Rose voice of mother or mate complaining. And never the foot of her sought to roam, Till love in the heart of the man seemed waning.

In the broad rich furrows by woman turned Man, unwitting, set plough and harrow. For worlds to conquer she had not yearned, Till he spoke of her feminine sphere as ‘narrow.’ The lullaby changed to a martial strain— When he took her travail, and song for granted— And forth she forged in his own domain— Till the strange ‘new woman,’ the old supplanted.

‘Strange’ with the glow of a wakened soul, And ‘new’ with the purpose of large endeavour, She turned her face to the higher goal— To the higher goal it is turned for ever. p. 15Trade and science and craft and art, Have opened their doors to the call of woman; And greater she grows in her greater part, More tenderly wise, and more sweetly human.

Brave foremothers of freedom’s birth Smile through space on your splendid daughters. At one with liberty lighting the earth, Their torches flame o’er the darkest waters. They lend a lustre to sea and land: They sweeten the world with their wholesome graces: As out in the harbour of life they stand To cheer and welcome the coming races.

Brave forefathers and heroes who fought Under the flag of the Revolution, War was the price of the freedom you bought, But peace is the watchword of Evolution. The progress of woman means progress of peace, She wars on war, and its hosts alarming; And her great love battle will never cease, Till the glory is seen of a world disarming.

p. 16The woman wonder with heart of flame, The coming man of the race will find her. For petty purpose and narrow aim, And fault and flaw she will leave behind her. He grown tender, and she grown wise, They shall enter the Eden by both created; The broadened kingdom of Paradise, And love, and mate, as the first pair mated.

p. 17BATTLE HYMN OF THE WOMEN

They are waking, they are waking, In the east, and in the west; They are throwing wide their windows to the sun; And they see the dawn is breaking, And they quiver with unrest, For they know their work is waiting to be done.

They are waking in the city, They are waking on the farm; They are waking in the boudoir, and the mill; And their hearts are full of pity As they sound the loud alarm, For the sleepers, who in darkness, slumber, still.

In the guarded harem prison, Where they smother under veils, And all echoes of the world are walled away; Though the sun has not yet risen, Yet the ancient darkness pales, And the sleepers, in their slumber, dream of day.

p. 18And their dream shall grow in splendour Till each sleeper wakes, and stirs; Till she breaks from old traditions, and is free; And the world shall rise, and render Unto woman what is hers, As it welcomes in the race that is to be.

Unto woman, God the Maker Gave the secret of His plan; It is written out in cipher, on her soul; From the darkness, you must take her, To the light of day, O man! Would you know the mighty meaning of the scroll.