With the Reader

It should be stated that some of these verses, in a slightly different form, have previously appeared in various periodicals in Binghamton, Scranton, Philadelphia and New York City, but most of them appear here for the first time, and also, perhaps it should be mentioned that some of these stanzas were written during my school days. However, the majority of the following verses have been composed since the former booklet was published.

And if in any way you have been helped to see, that even here in this rugged country "the poetry of earth is never ceasing," however rude my interpretation of it may seem to the critical, the labor and expense of publishing this little volume will be fully justified.

Irving Dix.

[Pg 3]

ADVERTISEMENT

These booklets are not published as a financial venture—they are likely to be a failure in this direction, for the cost of printing alone equals the selling price, on account of the small number issued, only 250 copies, and fifty copies are not for sale. Five hundred copies of the Silent Life were printed in 1907, and I have left only 160 copies for sale. I desire to dispose of these and the small edition of "The Comet" during the present year, so that another booklet (containing, I hope still better material) may be issued during the year of 1911.

To those who may wish to send copies of either of these booklets to their friends, thereby assisting in the disposal of this edition, the following offer will be of interest.

Ten copies, assorted to suit—$1.00.

Address:

Irving Dix, Shehawken, Wayne Co., Penna.

[Pg 5]

Foreword

A few years ago, while recovering from an illness, I conceived the idea of writing some reminiscent lines on country life in the Wayne Highlands. And during the interval of a few days I produced some five hundred couplets,—a few good, some bad and many indifferent—and such speed would of necessity invite the indifferent. A portion of these lines were published in 1907. However, I had hoped to revise and republish them, with additions of the same type, at a later date as a souvenir volume of verses for those who spend the summer months among these hills—as well as for the home-fast inhabitants. But in substituting the following collection of verses I hope my judgment will be confirmed by those who chance to read these simple stanzas of one, who—

"Loves not man the less, but Nature more From those our interviews, in which I steal From all I may be or have been before, To mingle with the Universe and feel What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal."

I. S. D.

[Pg 6]

Copyright 1910 by Irving Dix

Verses in this booklet may be copied in the public prints by giving credit as above.

[Pg 7]

The Comet

wift circuit-rider of the endless skies, Thou wanderer of the outer, unknown air, Amid those dim, uncharted regions there, Imagination droops—in deep surprise Man doth behold thee, and the fearful speed At which thou spurrest on thy flaming steed.

Born of the dark and ever-deepening Past, Who nurs'd thee there in yonder viewless space Afar from earth—thy all-beholding face Hath gazed unspeakable, with clear eye cast Worldward on each magnificent return As if of human progress thou wouldst learn.

And thou hast seen each triumph and each plan By which the human race since human time Hath learned at last Earth's secrets all-sublime While rising from the elements to man— Hast seen it triumph over sea and air And universal knowledge hope to share.

Thy circuit measures well the age of man, The epoch of a life—and few there be Who seeing thee, thy face again may see, For human life is but a little span, With varying cycles of a different day, And in diffusion wears itself away.

Child of the Sun, when first the human eye Beheld thee coursing in the night afar Like an illumined spectre of a star— Beheld thy awful form against the sky Strong men fell earthward with a coward-cry On their pale lips, as if afraid to die—

And that brute King—Nero, the cruel King, When looking on thy fiery face unknown, [Pg 8]Sate trembling on his little human throne, And thought that thou didst evil tidings bring— That thou wert writing on the distant skies A doom from which no human king could rise.

Thy age is all unknown—man can but guess The time when first the Sun thy circle set— He can but guess thy secret birth—and yet Observing thee his knowledge is not less; He knows each cycle, each return to be A moment in that vast eternity.

Recording-comet of th' immortal space, What history thy eye hath look'd upon Since first thy airy, circling course was run! What fallen pride! What scatterings of race! Jerusalem and Nineveh and Rome Didst thou behold from thy almighty dome—

Didst thou behold—their birth, their rise, their fall— Low humbled by the under hordes at last, With glory and fair triumphs in the past, And footprints of destruction over all. While thou, fleet comet, with a light divine Continueth upon the earth to shine.

Speed on! swift comet—turn, wanderer, turn! And with thy flaming, god-like pen of light On heaven's scroll with burning letters write: Live but to love, O earth!—to love and learn, For while a comet's mighty cycles fail, Love,—love and truth forever shall prevail.

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Washington

t is forever so—when there is need Of some clear, clarion voice to forward lead God raiseth up a man from his own seed; Not from the soft, luxurious lap of earth, But from a nobler soil, so that from birth [Pg 9] The frame is moulded with a chosen food That has one only end—to make it good, Full generous, far-sighted, firm and keen, With strength to rise above the gross and mean— The sordid selfishness that like a curse Drives from the heart the virtues it would nurse— That love of country, freedom's holy cause, Justice, mercy, that eye for equal laws, Faith in the future and our fellow-men, Faith in the sword when shielded by the pen— And so it was with us—when there was need Of one commanding voice to forward lead, God rais'd up here a man from His own seed; And so came forth the gentle Washington, Fair child of Fate, the nation's noblest son, Whom Virtue fostered and whom Virtue won.

Some few there be whose feet knew rougher ground, But few indeed a loftier summit found— Nurtured in tender soil, he held a path Where others faltered, heeding not the wrath Of any king or potentate or power— His was the hero-heart—he saw the hour,— He knew the mighty odds, yet would not cower. And when the tyrant's heel touch'd on our shore And thrust itself unbidden to our door,— But Washington alone with eagle-eye Withstood the foe and taught him how to die; Repulsed, disheartened, driven to despair, He lifted up his voice in humble prayer, For in that awful night at Valley Forge He drank the bitter cup—he knew Fate's scourge, He felt her lash,—this tender-hearted George.

Father of Liberty—thou Child of Light, Columbia's first-born, who in thy might Restored to Freedom her enfeebled sight— If spirits of the nobler dead can hear, This day—thy natal day—press close thine ear And learn what we thy nation need to fear, [Pg 10] And if the immortal dead can truly speak, Show us, O Child of Light, where we are weak,— Grant us thy counsel (for thou art with God) And bear us wisdom where thy footsteps trod, And if thou seest aught of envious strife From virtue sapping all her sweeter life, Teach us, O Child of Light, a purer love, For thou hast learn'd of God—thou art above Thy weak and erring mortals here below Who see the light, yet forward fear to go— Guide us, if spirits of the dead may guide, So that in peace we ever may abide, So that from land to sea, from shore to shore, We shall be brothers now and evermore.

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The Storm

ll day long the sky was cloudless, Life was waiting for a breath, And the heat was more oppressive Than the fear of sudden death; All day long the sun was shining In a hot and windless sky, And the trees were weak for water— Earth and air were dead and dry.

But e'er Night her wings had folded Came a welcome western breeze, Moving idly through the forest, Prophesying to the trees, Till above that dim horizon Giant clouds like warring foes Marshalled far in battle numbers As the wild winds wilder rose.

Hark! O hear the double rumble As the thunder shakes the air, Like a thousand hoofs advancing [Pg 11]In yon cloudy corral there!— Look!—how red the lightning flashes! How the echoes roll and roll— Dirges from some demon goddess— How the bells of heaven toll!

Like a lance, a flash of lightning Cuts the foremost cloud in twain And the thunder's mighty echo Rolls athwart the drenching rain Till the landscape fades like shadows In the driving sheets of spray, And the wind wails through the forest, And the great trees rock and sway.

Soon the air is strangely solemn And the winds no longer blow To the thunder's distant drumming In the valley far below; And along the low horizon All the clouds are growing dim, While upon the western hilltops Rolls again the sun's red rim.

And away across the valley In the heavens arching high, Like a bed for fairy flowers Swings the rainbow in the sky— Swings until the shadows gather And the sun sinks out of sight, Seemingly to whisper softly To the world a fond good night.

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Jim, the Newsboy

im, the newsboy, died today, So the evening papers say— And the funeral will be In the afternoon at three— "Please" (the papers say) "a flow'r [Pg 12] Bring for Jim before the hour— Any color that you deem A true token of esteem, If you would remember him— The newsboy, Jim.

At his corner near Broad street, Jim, tho' lame, would smiling greet With a merry, winning call All his patrons, great and small, And his fellow newsboys say That they miss him much today, And they have a tablet bought, And upon it this is wrought: "In memory of Newsboy Jim, We all liked him."

Little toilers on Life's road To yon visionless abode, There was much of good in Jim Or the boys had disliked him; There was something in his heart That drew patrons to his mart, Something noble, something true— Strive that it be said of you As in eulogy of Jim, "We all liked him."

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March Wind Blow

itter March-wind, blow and blow; Drive away the drifting snow; Toss the tree-tops to and fro; Kiss the ice-bound lakes and streams And arouse them from their dreams.

Happy March-wind, blithely blow, Winter's heart is full of woe, [Pg 13] Winter's head is lying low; Bring, O bring the melting rain Back unto the earth again.

Weeping March-wind, blow and blow Till thy tears of sorrow flow Down thy dying cheeks of snow— Weep away! for man must wait Till those tearful winds abate.

Merry March-wind, softer blow, Let the little children know Where the sweetest flowers grow; Let thy tender accents ring From the joyous harp of Spring.

All ye wild-winds, blow and blow, Drive away the drifting snow, Bend the bushes, bend them low; Breathe upon the trembling sod Springtime's messages from God.

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The Rime of the Raftmen

I

he Delaware above the Rift Each bank is fast o'erflowing, And sweeping onward dark and swift, Wild and still wilder growing It hurls a heavy raft along Upon its rocking way, While the Captain's call the hills prolong At dawning of the day: Pull, lads, pull!—to Jersey side, The Rift is near! [Pg 14] Pull, lads, pull!—for the high floods hide The ragged rocks like an ocean tide, And the river's rush I hear.

II

Safely the Rift is left behind, A careful stearsman stearing; Swiftly we speed, only to find A dizzy eddy nearing, Where rolling in the river-lake, And whirling round and round A dozen rafts the circle make, And warning cries resound: Pull, lads, pull!—Sylvania's shore! The Eddy's near! Pull, lads, pull!—till the sweeping oar Bends like a bow and you hear the roar Of the river in the rear.

III

The luring eddy lies behind Where the dizzy rafts are whirling, And we speed along with the cutting wind, The foam like suds up-curling, When ahead a sharp curve comes in sight And we hear the Captain call As the raft swerves sudden to the right And the ridges tower tall: Pull, lads, pull!—to Jersey side! The Bend I fear! Pull, lads, pull!—and soon we'll ride On the rolling wave to Trenton's tide With river calm and clear.

IV

The Bend is past, but the Water-gap Of the Delaware up-rearing, Looms far ahead like a narrow trap As fast our raft is nearing, [Pg 15] And calm and deep the waters grow, And scarcely comes a sound Till the Captain's calling, to and fro Re-echoes far around: Rest, lads, rest!—a little while! Be of good cheer! Rest, lads, rest! till yonder isle We safely pass—a few more mile And all our course is clear.

V

Along the wave we smoothly glide Until the island clearing, When down we speed as with the tide, Now here, now there a veering, Until a great bridge lifts its form Against the evening sky, When like the rolling of a storm The crew repeats the cry: Pull, lads, pull!—Sylvania's shore! The Bridge is near! Pull, lads, pull!—the for'ard oar, And soon our dangerous task is o'er, And little need we fear.

VI

So on we speed; now fast, now slow; By isle and rift and eddy Until at length along we flow With movement firm and steady; And low and lower lie the hills, And wider spreads the vale, And soft the Captain's calling trills Upon the evening gale: Rest, lads, rest!—our work is done— The danger's o'er! Rest, lads, rest!—another sun Will see a haven safely won By Trenton's friendly shore.

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A Child's Elegy

e know her not whom once we knew, Who died it seems e'er death was due— We know her not; she is asleep; Our hearts are dumb—we can but weep That one so young must bid adieu, Must part so soon from earthly view.

Those tender feet we knew so late We hear no more; we can but wait To hear them in the House of God When dust to dust we tread the sod, For in that home of homes they wait For us beside the city's gate.

Those little hands out-held in love, That in such innocence did move To fondle each familiar face Are still—they cannot now embrace As once they did so like a dove That weary parents would approve.

Those little lips that met our own So sweetly when we were alone No more shall meet the lips of earth, Sealed up unto another birth; But when these larger lives have flown Our lips will meet; she will be known.

Springtime was here—the birds would soon Have re-appeared—the birds would soon Have warbled from a new-built nest, Would soon have felt beneath their breast The little ones—and such a boon Had taught them still a sweeter tune.

But of the little ones not all Will answer to the parent-call, Not all will learn to rise and fly— [Pg 17] Many are born, but some must die; Many will rise, but some must fall, And God knows best for each and all.

This is the hope—we know not how— This is the hope that lures us now, That makes the parting less of pain— The hope that we shall meet again, And so while unto grief we bow The road beyond seems brighter now.

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