of

BY

CHICAGO
M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY
427-429 Dearborn Street

Copyright 1905.
M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY

The threat of war, with its destruction of life,
The threat of the ocean, when storms are strong,
The threat of jungles, where wild animals lurk,
The threat of avalanches in the mountains,--
Honestly, what are they but child's play,
Or just the careless fun of a summer day,
Compared to these battles that disrupt and trouble
The world endlessly, of one sex with another?

The warrior comes back from the captured fort,
The sailor reaches a calm harbor;
The wild beast flinches under the strong man's gaze,
The avalanche spares the traveler--
But who can save from passion's fire
The hearts that were given to fuel its blaze?
Ah! the one who survives that intense heat
Is marked with sadness or stained with shame.

Battle and turmoil, and predator,
They only pose a threat to the mortal body;
The free soul can soar;
But the risk of love is something else.
Once caught in the grip of Passion's rule,
It shatters body, heart, and soul.
An hour of joy, an eternity of sorrow,
Ah! these are the spoils of love's conflict.

And yet forever, since time started,
People have challenged each other and drawn each other in
To that thrilling risk that hides and waits
In the silent clash of glances;
That reckless danger, as immense as it is delightful,
Whose bitter conclusion is the loss of joy.
Ah! So it will always be, as long as time goes on,
Hearts must be offered on the altar of passion!

A small leaf on the edge of the forest,
All summer long, had listened to the flirting
Of love-struck birds that flew over the hedge,
Singing their cheerful sweet songs to win her over.
They said so many flattering things to her,
That the parent tree seemed way too small to hold her.

At last, one lonely day she saw them fly
Across the fields behind the charming summer,
They passed her with a cheerful, laughing goodbye,
When from the north, a strange newcomer arrived;
He was bold as he looked at her, saying,
"Why is it that you are left here sighing!

"Now, truly, you are a beautiful sight--
May I kiss that lovely, gentle cheek?"
Her wounded heart was filled with deep sorrow,
The harshness of his words didn’t hurt her,
She felt so sad, so alone, so abandoned,
Oh, if only she could escape her lonely fate.

"One little kiss," he sighed, "I want nothing more--"
His face was cold, his lips too pale for passion.
She smiled in agreement; and then daring Frost leaned lower, And held her tight, kissing her like a lover.
Her smooth cheek flushed with sudden guilty desire,
Another kiss, and then total surrender.

Just for a day, she was a beautiful sight,
The world watched, both pitying and admiring
This unassuming little leaf, that overnight
Had made the whole forest seem to blaze.
And then—this victim of a broken trust,
A withered thing, was crushed into the dust.

The day is coming soon, my love,
When you and I have to part;
But no matter how close or far we are,
Our hearts will always love,
Our hearts will always love.

O sweet, I will be true, and you
Must never fail or hesitate;
I hold a love like mine that's divine,
And yours—it must not change,
O, swear it will not change.

I will be honest. Crazy stars abandon their paths,
And, guided by wild meteors, veer off
From the routes set by Eternal Forces.
But my steadfast heart will never lose its way.
Like those calm worlds, whose sun-driven motion
Is undisturbed by the turmoil of wind or sea,
So will my unwavering and calm devotion
Continue on forever, loyal to you.

I will be true. Light boats may arrive late,
Or get pushed off course by every playful breeze;
While sturdy ships, well-staffed and fully loaded,
With large sails up, safely anchor in the bay.
Like a strong rock that stands firm and unyielding,
Unmoved while the receding waves rush away,
So will my heart remain, loyal if abandoned.
I will be true, even if you are false to me.

It's not the inexperienced soldier, unfamiliar with danger
  Who hesitates to jump into a fight.
Amidst the sound of drums and the boom of cannons,
  He seeks adventure and doesn't think about his life.

But the battle-worn veteran knows what glory costs,
He doesn’t seek out the fight or the chaos.
He has no desire to relive that bloody
And most intense scene, from war’s grim performance.

He who has always been a stranger to love
  All unafraid can stay in your enchantment.
My heart has experienced the battles and their risks.
  It wants no repeats—so goodbye.

In the early morning, when the sea and the land
  Reflected the sunrise above,
I set out, with a heart full of courage and joy,
  To search for the Kingdom of Love.
I asked a Poet I met along the way,
  Which path would lead me right.
And he said: "Follow me, and soon you'll see
  Its shining towers of Light."

And soon in the distance, a city sparkled brightly;
"Look over there," he said, "it shines!"
But sadly, for the hopes that were meant to fail,
it was just the Kingdom of Dreams.
Then the next guy I asked was a cheerful gentleman,
and he said: "Follow me, follow me,"
And with laughter and songs, we hurried along
by the shores of life's beautiful sea.

Till we arrived at a valley much more tropical,
  Than the amazing Vale of Kashmir.
And I saw from a shelter a face like a flower,
  Smile at the cheerful gentleman.
And he said: "We've reached humanity's destination—
  Here, love and joy are overwhelming."
But unfortunately! for the hope of my soul—
  It was just the realm of Sensation—

As I traveled slowly, I came across a carriage
  With attendants following behind,
And they said: "Follow us, for our lady's place
  Is in the land you're trying to find."
She was a stylish lady, a newlywed bride;
  I followed, feeling hopeful and brave.
But my hope faded away, like the last light of day,
  For we arrived at the Kingdom of Gold.

At the door of a cottage, I asked a lovely girl. "I've heard of that Realm," she replied, "But my feet never wander from the Kingdom of Home, So I don’t know the way," and she sighed. I looked at the cottage; it looked so peaceful! And the girl was as lovely as a dove. A great light filled my soul as I exclaimed, "Wow, home is the Kingdom of Love!"

When your love starts to fade,
  Save me from the hurtful pain
Of all the words that say it’s true--
  Spare me the talk, because I’ll know,

By the half-turned eyes,
By the heart that no longer sighs,
By the joy I’ll be without
From your oddly changed kiss;

By the arms that still hug me
  But have lost their tight grip,
And, too eagerly, let me go,
  I will know, love, I will know.

Bitter will the knowledge be,
  More bitter than death for me.
Yet, it'll come to me someday,
  Because that's how the sad world is.

Make no promises—promises can't hold
 Changing hearts or restless minds.
People get tired of happiness
 As passionate and loving as this.

Love will fade. But I will know,
  If you don’t tell me otherwise.
I know it, even if you smile and say
  That you love me more every day.

Know it by the inner vision
That always sees clearly.
Words would only add to my pain,
And without them, I will understand.

Somewhere I've read a thoughtful person's reflection:   "All perfect things come in threes"; and I know Our love has this rare symbol of perfection;   The mind's response, the warm blood's rapturous glow, The soul's sweet language, silent and unspoken.   All these connect us with an unending bond. For when our fragile, earthly bodies are gone,   Our spirits will still be lovers, up above.

My deepest desire, you express before I say it.
  You grasp the emotions of my heart.
The thoughts of my soul, whispered where only God has heard,
  You understand with your mysterious insight.
And like a fire that brings joy, warmth, and comfort,
  And fills a home with a blissful heat,
So does the gentle warmth of your touch
  Fill me with joy, sharp as it is sweet.

And so sometimes, as you and I together
  Rejoice in all the lovely joys of love,
I can't help but wonder a bit whether
  When our free souls reach their spiritual heights,
Even if we get to that higher place where God is,
  And discover the stories of heavenly glory are real,
I wonder if we won’t miss our bodies,
  And sometimes long for the hours we spent on earth.

As we do now, we sometimes pray to escape our confinement
  And rise above all physical needs,
So let’s not long for just one old-fashioned kiss and touch
  Once we’ve taken flight?
I know, my dear, this thought seems bold
  In light of God’s immense power above,
Yet, even _There_, I hesitate to entirely hold back
  One aspect of our Three-fold Love.

I’ve marked this day in my heart
  As the best day of the season;
I’ve set it apart from all the rest—
  But I won’t share the reason.
That’s my secret—I can’t say;
  But the skies are gentle and kind,
And never before, I know for sure,
  Has the earth been so divine.

I sing while I work all day long,
  And my heart feels light like a feather;
And there's a reason for my happy song
  Beyond just the nice weather.
But I won't share it with you; and even though
  That thrush in the maple heard it,
And would shout it out if he could, I know
  He just doesn't have the words for it.

Upstairs, where I was sewing, this morning a guy came by
  Who told me the sweetest stories.
He said I had taken my hair from the sun,
  And my eyes from the morning glories.
Grandma says I shouldn’t believe
  A word men say because they flatter;
But I’m sure he would never try to deceive
  Because he told me—but anyway, it doesn’t matter!

Last night I felt sad, and the world felt to me
  Like a lonely and gloomy place,
But someone hadn’t asked me to be—
  There, I’m almost revealing it.
Not another word will escape my lips,
  I’ll keep them tightly shut,
And no one will know today
  Why my heart feels as light as a feather.

It was just Helen’s style not to sing
The songs that everyone else sang; instead, she used
Sometimes a line from an ancient book—
Or a bit of something else she heard,
And matched those to old tunes,
Or created her own music. One of those
She sang that night, and Vivian picked up the tune.
And joined her in the chorus or refrain:

Oh you, my other, stronger half,
  Whom I still cannot hear or see,
Come and take this loving heart,
  That longs to give everything to you.
I call you mine, oh come to me—
Love, respond, "I'm coming to you,
   I'm coming to you!"

This eager heart, so warm, so big
  Is way too much for me to bear.
I've grown tired of this burden
  I hold so dearly for you.
So come and take my heart away—
Love, just reply, "I'm coming your way,
   I'm coming your way."

I’m tired of waiting here
  For someone who’s taking so long to come back to me.
Oh, are you far away, or are you close,
  And do I still have to be sad for you?
Love, just say, “I’m close to you,
   I’ve come for you!”

For many years without interruption
She was the friend and confidant of Art;
They walked together, heart to heart
In that sweet friendship that makes life dear.
Her deepest hopes, her sorrows and her fears
She shared with her friend, who would, in return, share
Important truths and secrets. But a dart,
Shot by that unskilled, mischievous boy, who lurks
In ambush, struck her heart one day,
And Love came forth to wipe away her tears.
She thought his brow glowed with a wonderful grace;
But, when she turned to introduce her guest
To Art, she found an empty space,
The goddess had fled, with a sad, turned face.

"Where the maid's shallows are
  No plumb line can measure;
Where the sunny islands are alive
  With the currents of the deep,
Lies the deceptive everglade."

"A wife is like an uncharted ocean,
  Least understood by the one who thinks he knows
Where all the shores of Promise are,
  And where the islands of Rest are—
And where the dangers he must avoid."

To Ms. Eva Russell.

The spring is ignoring our pleas,
  The meadows are as brown as can be.
The hilltops are dull and uninviting,
  No thrush is singing in the tree.
I hear many sensible people
  Trying to explain why spring is slow,
But, my dear, they're all wrong:
  The real reason, I alone know.

The South Wind, Spring's helper, told me
  Her mistress repeatedly said,
That until you arrived to say hello,
  She wouldn't come back to our prairies.
And all her huge household supports her!
  The thrush says he can't come here
And sing the old songs you loved so much,
  Unless you're hanging around.

The wild pinks that match your blushes,
The violets as blue as the sky,
Say it’s no fun to bloom
When your beautiful eye can’t see.
Oh darling! I hate to scold you,
So come without any more delay.
Each moment you wait, just remember
You’re keeping spring away.
So come! We’re ready to welcome
The birds and the flowers, it’s true;
But warmer than everything is the welcome,
Fair girl, that’s waiting for you.

Under the glow of the silver moon,
  We sat together when we were young;
The night was warm with the breath of June,
  And the cricket in the meadow sang loud,
And darker and deeper, oh love, than the sea,
Were your dear eyes, as they shone on me.

The moon was bright, and the night was calm;
  The water mirrored the sparkling sky;
The nightingale sang on a faraway hill;
  But sweeter than everything was the light in your eyes—
Your lovely, dark eyes, your eyes like the ocean—
And from the depths, love shone for me.

My heart, like a river, was crazy and untamed—
  And a river isn’t deep like the ocean;
But I said your love was like a child's love,
  Compared to the love I felt so strongly;
A river rushes loudly, embracing the shore,
But the ocean is endless, deep, and majestic.

I promised to love you forever;
I called you distant on that June night,
But my passionate love, like a wild river,
Was swept away too quickly;
While yours—oh, yours was deep like the ocean;
I let you down, love, but you sacrificed for me!

In all of Earth’s music, whether grand, sweet, or powerful,
To hear just one name, as if it were in a song.

In all my poems, written under the sun,
To find the praises, again and again, in one.

To feel like a smaller part of what
If you hadn't discovered, the earth would be nothing.

To believe that all beauty, perfection, and grace,
Are just the reflection of one adored face.

With that face's arrival, to soak up warmth and light
And with its departure to fumble, like in the dark.

To prefer the painful sting of a loved one's hand
Than any gentle touch someone else might give.

To sit in sadness and listen to one voice
Than to miss that and celebrate on mountain tops.

To lose all personal hope and purpose,
And have no desire, but for someone else's success.

To disregard grief, no matter how big, if someone is happy.
To feel no happiness if that loved one is sad.

Do your heartstrings, responding, answer this?
Then you have known true love in all its bliss.

One moment alone in the garden,
  Under the August skies;
The moon was gone, but the stars were shining—
  Shining like your beautiful eyes.
Away from the glitter and gaslight,
  All alone in the garden,
While the joy of the crowd, in laughter and song,
  Drifted out into the night.

You looked down through the starlight,
  And I looked up at you;
And a feeling came that I couldn't describe,--
  Something unusual and new.
Friends for just a few weeks,--
  Why should it hurt me
To know you would leave tomorrow,
  And wouldn't come back again?

Formal friends of a season,
  Does it really matter that we have to say goodbye?
But under the sky, with a sudden surprise,
  We both understood each other's feelings.
We didn't say a word, but your breath on my cheek
  Felt like a gentle southern breeze;
And your dark hair touched my forehead
  And your kiss landed on my lips.

Someone was looking for me,--
  Someone to say good-night;
And we walked in from the garden,
  Out of the beautiful starlight,
Back to the sparkle and music,
  And we said "Good-bye" in the hallway,
When a dozen people heard and repeated the word,
  And then--well, that was it.

The river that flows between us
  Can never be crossed, I know,
For the waters are deep and the banks are steep,
  And a whirlpool swirls below;
But I think we will always remember,
  Even if we both try to forget,
How you looked in my eyes, under the August skies,
  After the moon had set;--

How you kissed me in the garden,
  And we stood in a daze of happiness,
And our hearts felt like they were talking together
  In that one exciting kiss.

When you leave, my friend,
  When we say our final goodbye,
Then summer will come to an end,
  And winter will be close behind.

Though the green grass covers the heather,
  And the birds sing all day,
There will be no summer weather,
  After you've gone away.

When I look into your eyes,
  I’ll feel a sharp pain;
Thinking that under these skies,
  I might never look again.

You will feel a brief sadness—
  I will feel a lasting sorrow;
You’ll forget by tomorrow—
  I’ll be mourning with no escape.

When we say those final, sad words,
  And you’re no longer close,
All the winds and all the birds,
  Can’t hold on to the summer here.

Life will lose its full completeness,
  Not for you, but for me;
All the beauty and sweetness
  That the Earth holds, I won’t see.

It’s possible you’ve seen her eyes,
Dark and deep like midnight skies;
You might have noticed them sparkle
Underneath her long lashes,
And been amazed by the light
Of those orbs, so dark and bright;
But—have you seen her foot,
In its little gaiter boot?

You might have noticed how
The lily stretches from chin to brow.
You might think her cheek is prettier
Than if roses were hanging there;
(Roses would look out of place
On her pale, noble face)
But—let me ask you again,
Have you seen her tiny shoe?

You’ve probably imagined her mouth,
Like a blush-rose that’s just starting to bloom;
Small and sweet, yet beside that,
Touched with disdain and curved with confidence;
(Natural confidence—not meant to freeze)—
You’ve noticed it there, and still—
Please answer one more question—
Have you seen her boot? I ask.

Such a small, small thing,
Is that foot that I sing about;
No. 3 would hide it so
It couldn't be found, that's for sure.
No. 2 has to stand aside
Way too long and big and wide,
No. 1 _has_ to be the boot
For this girl's little foot.

You might envy, sir, the clerk
In the shoe store, busy at work,
Who tries the boot
On this clever little foot.
On his knee, holding it,
Saying, "It's a perfect fit,"
Buttoning the size 1,
Looking sad when it's done.

You’ve seen her, petite and tidy,
As she walked down the street,
You’ve _heard_ the light steps fall
Of that foot so very small.
That she’s lovely, innocent, and kind,
Bright and sweet, it’s clear in your mind,
But—have you noticed that foot—
In its cute little boot?

I knew there was a baby hidden in that house,
  Even though I didn’t see a crib or hear any cries,
But the husband was sneaking around like a mouse,
  And the good wife was softly humming a lullaby;
And there was a look on that mother’s face
That I knew could only mean one thing, nothing else.

The mother, I told myself; because I was certain
  That the woman in front of me was indeed that,
For there in the corner was a tiny cloth shoe,
  And I noticed on a stand such a little hat; And the husband’s beard clearly said,
"Two chubby little hands have been pulling at me."

And he pulled out a colorful picture book from his pocket,
  And a dog that would bark if you tugged on a string;
And his wife looked so happy as she put them away;
  And I thought to myself, "There's nothing else that could create this excitement, so
There's definitely a baby hiding around here somewhere, I know."

I stayed just a moment and saw nothing more,
  And didn’t hear a sound, but I know I was right;
What else could the shoe mean that was on the floor—
  The book and the toy, and the cheerful faces?
And what made the husband as quiet as a mouse?
I’m sure, very sure, there’s a baby in that house.

My baby was softly crying in its sleep,
  I leaned over and kissed them where they lay,
My pain was so great I couldn't cry,
  Oh, would God just take my child away?
He has so many gathered around him—
If He took mine—I would be all alone!

I held my child on my lap;
  It looked up with its father's eyes,
Before the baby came to me,
  He had traveled back home to the skies,
But through these eyes, so sad and gentle,
I found my husband, in my child.

It was such a comfort, night and day,
  To watch it sleep,--feel its breath--
And slow--so slow--it faded away,
  I didn't notice Death coming near
Until he stood right by my side,
And then my soul inside me died.

I held my baby with a sudden cry,
I said, "My sweet, you can't go
To join the children around the Throne,
Because I need you down here.
If God takes you, I'm lost—
No hope, joy, or comfort left."

My baby looked at me with desperation,
  It felt like my husband’s eyes instead,
And his voice echoed in the room,
  "I want my child in heaven," it said.
The little one lifted its tiny hands,
And seemed to reach for the heavenly places.

The tears that wouldn’t come
  Started rising from my heart,
I cried, "My child, you can go,
  Your angel father says it’s time to part.
I know in that heavenly place
He’s never seen such a sweet face."

"He kept going before you arrived--
  And for all these months, he's missed you,
How could I forget his need--
  And try to keep you close to me?
Go, sweet child--my child--and give him this--
With the kiss of both a wife and a mother."

My baby smiled and seemed to sleep,
  Its hand grew cold in my own.
Not completely sad were the tears I cried
  For even though I was truly alone
My baby, I knew, was safe at rest.
On its angel father's chest.

When the gentle, sweet breeze from the south blew by,
I was captivated by a dark brown eye;
And out where the robin sang his tune,
We lived and loved, while the days stretched on.

In the beautiful evenings, when the moon hung high,
We strolled beneath the starry sky;
Or sat on the porch, with the moon shining through
The lattice wall, where the roses bloomed.

My lips, which had never felt a lover's kiss,
You showed me how, and now they feel pure joy;
And the moon, the stars, and the roses all knew
That the heart you captured was genuine and true.

But true hearts tire out men, perhaps,
For you got tired of love, and of me.
The dead vines hang over the porch,
And a mourning dove cries where the robin sang.

In a warmer place, does someone else sigh
Under the glow of your dark brown eye?
Did you chase the gentle, sweet southern breeze
And are you kissing a mouth that’s even redder?

Lips may be redder, and eyes brighter;
The face may look fairer that you see tonight;
But never, my love, while the stars shine;
Will you find a heart that’s truer than mine.

Sometimes, maybe, when the south winds blow,
You'll remember a love you used to know;
Sometimes, maybe, when a robin sings,
Your heart will return to past things.

Sometimes you’ll get tired of the tricks of this world,
Of lies and change and empty hearts,
And, feeling worn out, you’ll long for the “way things were,”
And your feet will take you to the porch and to me.

I’ll be here waiting for you when the days get longer;
I’ll listen for your footsteps while the robins sing;
I’ll sit on the porch where the moon shines in,
And an empty chair will be waiting—for you.

You might wander, forget, and roam far away,
But my unchanging love, like the North Star,
Will eventually guide you across land and sea—
And I know you'll come back to me.

The years will come and go,
But someday again, when the south winds blow,
When roses bloom and the moon is high,
I will live in the glow of your dark brown eye.

I told you winter would end, my love,
  I told you winter would end.
That it would run away in shame when the southern wind blew,
  And you smiled when I said that.
You said the stubborn guy
  Would never give in to a breeze,
That his cold, icy breath had killed
  The flowers, and birds, and trees.

And I told you the snow would melt, love,
  In the passionate gaze of the sun;
And the leaves on the trees, and the flowers and bees,
  Would come back again, one by one.
That the big, gray clouds would disappear
  And the sky turn soft and blue
And the sweet birds would sing and talk about spring,
  And, love, it has all come true.

I told you that sadness would lessen love
  And you would forget some of your pain;
That the cheerful songbird would rise soon,
  And sing in your heart again;
That hope would emerge from the shadows,
  And return to its place in your heart,
And joy would arrive, finding its old home,
  And that sorrow would finally leave.

I told you that grief rarely takes a life, love,
  Though the heart might feel dead for a bit.
But the world is so bright, and so full of warm light
  That it would eventually wake up, smiling.
Ah, love! Wasn't I a true prophet?
  There's a sweet, happy smile on your face;
Your sadness has vanished—the snow is gone,
  And the buttercups are blooming in its place.

You left me in the fall;
  When winter cleared the trees of leaves,
Then covered everything in its pure frost;
  When the chill was in the air
You left me here and walked away.
The winds were cold; you couldn’t stay.

You looked for a warmer place, until
  The south wind, clever girl, should end
The winter's cold blasts, and should fill
  The air with bird songs; and wake
The sleeping flowers in the fields
And make the streams flow again.

I thought winter was bleak,
  And at all times I felt a sense of loss.
I taught my yearning heart to be patient,
  And said, "When spring arrives over the hills,
With blossoms in her wake,
Then she, our beloved, will return."

And now the hills covered in grass and moss
  Spring has spread with clever hands,
And still I feel my deep loss.
  My heart won't be comforted,
But cries every day, "Where is she
You promised would come back to me?"

Oh, love! Where are you! Day by day;
  I try to find you, but it’s no use.
People direct me to a grave and say:
  "There’s her resting place out in the field."
But even though I see no sign of you,
I can’t believe what they’re saying is true.

You were too kind to completely disappear
  From this world and leave no sign;
You were too beautiful to let the grass
  Grow thick and tall over your face.
Your voice, which rivaled the robin's song,
I can’t believe is quiet and gone.

I thought I saw your golden hair,
  One day, and reached out to touch a strand;
I found only yellow sunbeams there—
  The bright rays fell across my hand
And seemed to tease, with lights and shadows,
The silky threads of your braids.

Again, I thought I saw your hand
  Wave, as if calling out to me;
I discovered it was just a lily, fanned
  By the cool breezes from the sea.
Oh, love! I see no sign of you—
I wonder if what they said was true?

One day I heard a voice singing;
  A burst of music, trilling away.
It made my soul really happy;
  My heart felt an excited thrill.
I shouted, "Oh heart, we’ve found her—quiet!"
But no—it was just the silver-throated thrush.

And once I thought I saw your face,
  And overwhelmed with joy, I ran to you;
But when I got there, I found out,
  It was just a blush rose, covered in dew.
Ah, love! I think you must be gone;
And I believe what they said.

Only a mistake—a painful misstep;
All my fault and mine alone.
The saddest mistake a heart can make;
I was so young, or I would have understood.

Only his rare, sweet, tender smile;
Only a lingering touch of his hand.
I think I was dreaming the whole time,
The reason I didn’t understand.

Yet, somewhere, I've read that men court like this;
  That eyes communicate, sometimes, before words do.
And I was certain he would say something someday;
Forgive the naivety—I was so young.

Was I, for instance—now I'm old!
  So old, it feels like a hundred years
Since I felt my heart hardening and turning cold
  With a pain too bitter and deep for tears.

I saw him lean over the stranger's chair,
  With a warm, fresh glow in his beautiful eyes;
And I snapped out of my daydream, right then and there,
  And stepped out of my self-created Paradise.

He never loved me—I know, I see!
Such sad, sad mistakes that young hearts make.
She didn’t take him from me,
for he was never mine. It was my fault.

A woman should let a man talk
  Before she hopes for his love, I know;
But I was a girl—girls' hearts are fragile;
  And the hurt, just like the mistake, is mine alone.

Over my desk in a dark office,
  The sunlight looks dim and the day feels dull;
But as the afternoon comes to a close,
  My steel bike waits—I hop on and take off!
In the distance, I see silver strands like cobwebs,
  The shine of bright wheels that I have to chase down.
What a feeling in the air now! What excitement in living,
  As I speed faster and faster with the wind.

Down the smooth sidewalks, and out toward the heather--
Hey! friends, hey! I'm coming, you see!

Breast to breast, now let's hurry on together--
  Who dares to climb that hill with me?
I’m crossing the bridge now--past the green fields,
  Goodbye, guys, I'm going to ride on by myself!
Because in that cottage, partially hidden in the shadows,
  Waiting for me is my sweetheart--my own.

She watches my wheel as it sparkles and shines
  Down the steep edge of the daisy-filled hill.
Her face is beautiful as she stands there and listens
  For the clear signal blown softly and high.
Sweetheart, my sweetheart, I'm coming, I'm coming.
  Here, strong horse, you can wait by the wall.

A bird has quickly flown to its mate through the twilight,
Thank God for love, youth, and summer—grateful for them all.

The lovely and slim young New Moon,
  In flowing robes of pink and soft blue,
Drew near to Venus and whispered softly: "A favor
  A precious favor, I ask, dear friend, of you.

"O queen of light and beauty, you have experienced
  The heartaches of love--its passions and anxieties;
Then please grant me this one wish, let my own--
  My lost Old Moon be in my arms again."

Swift through the fog and the golden haze--
  The Full Moon's shadowy form lit up the night,
The New Moon stretched out its embracing arms and kissed
  Her ghostly lover in front of the whole world.

So we have to say goodbye for good. And even though
I have long tried to spread my wings and begged to break free
From your tight boundaries and control,
Out into the universe, the true home of the soul;

Yet now, now that hour is approaching,
I hesitated, not wanting to leave you.
All joys await me in the presence of God;
Must you, my friend, decay in the ground?

I was your captive, but you were my slave;
Your prisoner, yet you obeyed
All my sincere wishes and requests.
Now I leave these willing hands to the worm.

That worked for me, or held the book I read.
These feet that walked wherever I asked them to,
These arms that hugged my loved ones, and the chest
Where one loving heart found comfort and peace.

These lips through which my prayers to God have risen,
These eyes that were the windows of my prison.
From these, all these, Death's angel tells me to part,
Dear Comrade Body, goodbye forever.

I head towards my inheritance; and I go
With joy that only a liberated soul can feel;
Yet, in my spiritual journeys, I hope
I might sometimes stop near your hallowed ground.

I loved a girl, long ago,
  She had my fate in her hands;
And in the warm sunset glow
  We hung around the garden gate.

The beauty of the western skies
  Shone like a halo in her hair.
I looked at her with admiration,
  Believing she was genuine and knew she was beautiful.

"Good night," I said, and turned away;
She held me with her soft smile.
I saw her red lips whisper "stay,"
And so I hesitated for a while longer.

"I love you, love you, sweet!" I said,
She laughed and whispered, "I love you."
I kissed her small mouth, full and red,
And knew her beautiful and thought her sincere.

It was so long ago,
  And I was young, and so was she;
My belief in love was strong, because oh!
  She meant everything to me.

But as the sunset faded away
  And left the sky cold and blue,
So did my dream of love one day.
  The girl was pretty, but not true.

Strengthen me for every challenge,
  Let my prayers not be wasted,
I want to bless You in my sadness;
  I want to take pride in my pain;
Make my spirit pure for heaven;
  Let my soul be cleansed
In the blood that flowed so freely,
  From the wound in Jesus' side.

Gird my soul, oh God, for battle,
I am weak, so make me strong;
Don’t let my courage waver,
Though the fight be tough and long;
And in Your hand, my Father,
Let me hold on tight,
Until my feet have landed safely,
In the city made of gold.

A bouquet arrived from the city,
  Fragrant, lush, and elegant—
Sweet carnation and geranium,
  Heliotrope and rare roses.

Down by the clear river,
  Where the moss-covered rocks rise high,
And the ferns, from every nook and crack,
  Reach out to welcome the blue sky;

In the pure October sunlight,
  High above the path below,
A cluster of beautiful bluebells grew,
  Gently swaying back and forth.

Reached out a delicate hand to take them,
  Carried them home with loving care,
Gently and proudly set them
  Among the flowers so sweet and fair.

But my shy little blue-bells
  Children of the leafy wild,
Dazzled by their city sisters,
  Turned away and, tearfully, smiled.

When I was alone and leaned down to kiss them,
  They sighed at me, pleadingly,
"Please take us back, when we die,
  Under the beloved old tree."

"We would sleep where the sunshine first
  Kissed us in the dewy morning;
Where, while gentle, warm breezes fanned us,
  Leaves, buds, and flowers were born."

So I held them close as they faded,
  Back to where love longed for them;
Set them down beside the ferns and mosses
Under the cherished old parent stem;--

Deeply saddened that all beautiful things
  Must soon come to an end, --
That on the delicate bluebells
  Winter's harsh, deep snows must settle.

And I partly blamed the goodness
  That made Death the ruler everywhere—
Reaching out his cruel scepter—
  Lord of sea, land, and sky.

Summer arrived, and all the hillsides
  Wore a shimmering blanket of green;
And with gaps of sky and clouds
  Sparkled the river's golden glow.

I was walking down the old path,
  When I heard a little shout;
Listen! Was it an elfin fairy,
  Or some naughty mockingbird?

No! a family of bluebells
  Waved their delicate arms up high,
Clapped their tiny arms in victory,
  Shouting, "Look! we didn't die."

"Never again doubt the Master,
  Love and Truth follow His ways;
Death is just a shadowy doorway
  To a life that will never end."

"Loved ones, separated in sorrow,
  Your joyful eyes will see each other again,--
Brighter than the dreams you held dear
  Shall the joyful outcome be."

My soul feels like a trapped bird tonight,
  Flapping its wings against the cage,
Yearning to escape to the bright outside,
  And, free at last, fly among the stars.
Intense, powerful thoughts fight within me
To break free. Huge waves of emotion crash
Through my entire being. Just like lightning
Flashes through storm clouds, moments of bright light
Spark on my darkened mind—
Quick, sudden, blinding flashes that disappear
And leave me in a deeper, darker night.

Oh, poet souls! who struggle all in vain
  To live in peace and harmony with the world,
It can't be! They have to endure the pain
  Of conscience and unrecognized worth,
Moving and living with the ordinary crowd,
  Whose highest thoughts have never wandered far,
  Or never gone beyond the horizon's edge;
Whose narrow hearts and souls are never stirred
  By the deepest pleasures or sharpest pain;
  They wake, eat, sleep, and wake again,
Without questioning why or how. Men whose minds
Are never shaken by wild bursts of passion;
Women whose broadest, deepest thoughts
The bridal veil will cover.
   Who do not see
God's great work lying undone today,—
Work that a woman's hands can do just as well.
Oh, my soul; it's better to always live
In this turbulent inner pain and struggle,
Doing the work that is within your reach,
Weeping because you can't do it all;
Oh, it's better, my soul, to dwell in this unrest
Than to crawl as _they_ crawl through life:

Once as I walked down the street
I saw a face so lovely at the window;
The tiny face of a baby girl
With soft clear eyes and silky curls.
And I glanced over my shoulder again to see,
The sweet, sweet face that smiled at me,
With a look in her eyes that seemed to say
"I came from heaven but I won't stay."

As I walked down the street again
I looked for that sweet, sweet face in the window,
But the blinds were closed, and I heard someone say
As I passed by that the child had died.
A deep sense of longing washed over me
For the face that had smiled in its baby happiness
At me for a moment, before it was covered
By the harsh coffin lid.

O happy baby, O little angel!
Carried away from the noise and chaos,
Out of the sorrow and troubled times
That weigh down even the best of lives.
Out of the darkness and out of the sadness
A bud, to blossom in God's garden;
Safe from danger, and death and cold,
Protected forever within the fold.

What have you missed, oh delicate dove,
By flying away so quickly to the skies above?
Missed the troubles of the earth, and missed its fears;
A woman's struggles, and a woman's tears;
The pounding head, and the tired feet;
The bitter dregs of a cup that's too sweet;
Danger and illness, and death and loss—
And all the pleasures that are just worthless.

Sweet, sweet face, with those soulful eyes,
Look from the windows of God's beautiful skies,
Look with these lovely orbs of yours
And bring me closer to divine things.
As I walk along life's rough path,
Let me look up, just like I did that day,
And know that a lovely and angelic face
Smiles down on me from miles away.

Help me avoid the traps, my dear,
That lie countless around my feet.
Smile when I trip, so I can get back up
Encouraged by the light of your beautiful eyes.
Ask the Father to make me strong,
To keep my steps off the wrong path,
And when my journey in life is over
May I see your face, O sweet one.

These peaceful autumn days,
  My soul, like Noah's dove, on gentle wings
  Flies out and looks for the hidden things
  Beyond the hazy hills.

With mournful, pleading cries,
  Above the waters of the silent sea
  That touches the edge of endless Eternity,
Day after day, it flies,

Searching, but all in vain,
For some random leaf that it might land on,
And read the future, like in days gone by--
Its joys and its sorrows.

Listening patiently
  For some voice speaking from the vast deep,
  Revealing all the things it keeps
In secret there for me.

Come back and wait, my soul!
  Day after day your search has been useless.
  Silent and quiet over the future's landscape
Its mysterious waters flow.

God knows best,
  And in His time, the waters will calm,
  And you'll discover what’s hidden beneath the waves.
So wait, my soul, and find peace.

Sitting today in the sunshine,
  That touched me with hands of love,
I thought about the many blessings
  God spreads on earth from above;
And they seemed, as I counted them up,
  Much more than we deserve or need
And all that we’re missing are the angels
  To truly make earth a heaven.

The winter brings long, cozy evenings,
  The spring brings the promise of flowers
That summer brings to life,
  And autumn brings joyful, golden hours.
The woods echo with music,
  Moonlight shimmers on the sea;
There's sunlight and beauty all around us,
  And the world is as lovely as can be.

But people are always complaining. Each one thinks their own situation is unfortunate; and forgetting the good things they have, goes on lamenting what they don't. Instead of gazing at the starry heavens, we focus on the dirt beneath our feet; we empty the cup that’s bitter, forgetting the one that’s sweet.

We grieve over the thorn in the flower,
  Forgetting its scent and beauty;
We walk past a garden full of blossoms,
  To cry over the dust of the grave.
There are countless blessings around us,--
  Like the leaves in the forest they thrive;
And it's our fault--not the Giver's--
  That we don't have an Eden here on earth.

Walking today in the park,
  I heard a stranger say
To a friend who was standing close by,
  "Do you know I’m leaving soon?"
I had never seen their faces:
  I may never see them again,
But the words the stranger spoke,
  Filled me with an unexplainable ache.

For I knew someone would miss him,
  Would feel sad about his "goodbye!"
And the world would feel so dull,
  For a long, long time.
No matter how happy I feel,
  No matter how joyful my heart,
If I hear these two words spoken,
  Tears always start to fall.

They feel so sad and serious,
  So filled with a lonely sound:
Like dead leaves rustling down,
  And falling to the ground.
Oh, I feel for the bare branches,
  When the skies are dull and gray,
And the last leaf whispers softly,
  "Goodbye, I'm leaving today."

In the gloomy, rainy autumn,
  The wings of the birds in flight,
As they head off to the south,
  Always seem to say these words.
Wherever they’re spoken,
  They come with a sob and a sigh;
And heartaches follow the line,
  "I’m leaving, goodbye."

Oh God, in Your blessed kingdom
  No one will ever say,
No one will ever listen
  To the words "I'm leaving."
For no soul ever gets tired
  Of the dear, bright, angelic place,
And no saint ever strays
  From the sunny, golden land.

Sometimes, when I’m exhausted and worn out,
  Completely tired from working hard and long,
And the world feels dark, and the sky above is gloomy,
  And my heart and soul feel too sick to express,
These words come to me, like comforting hands,
  Gently closing my spirit’s eyes into sleep.
"Oh, let’s not get tired of doing good,
  Because in time, we will definitely see the rewards."

Oh, blessed promise! When I seem to hear it,
  Whispered by angelic voices in the air,
It fills my spirit with new life and courage,
  And gives me strength to endure and persevere.
And I can wait most patiently for the harvest,
  And plant my seeds, never fainting or weeping,
If I know for sure that my work matters,
  And in God's time, I will finally reap.

When my mind and body feel totally exhausted
  And I think my efforts are pointless,
These words come to me, so softly and sweetly,
  Whispering hope and encouraging me to keep going.
Even when my hard work seems useless,
  And all my struggles feel fruitless, I know the Lord
Keeps track of every little seed I plant,
  And someday, _someday_, I will reap the rewards.

Little by little, the year gets older,
  The red leaves fall from the maple branches;
The sun dims, and the winds turn cold,
  Blowing down from the far Arctic seas.

Out of the skies, the gentle light fades,
  And the autumn shadows start to creep in,
And the buzz of bees and the songs of birds are gone
  From groves, meadows, and fields of clover.

Slowly, our lives start to age,
  Our faces are no longer pleasant to look at;
For gray seeps into our golden hair,
  And the redness disappears from our cheeks, oh dear!

And the birds that sang until our hearts resonated
  With notes of hope, joy, and happiness,
Have flown away; and our hearts today
  Only hear the strange wind's solemn rhythm.

Youth and summer, beauty and bloom,
  fade and perish in the fall,
But from the darkness of winter's grave,
  they will rise, in God's good time, together.

Some day, when the golden beauty
  Of June is covering the earth,
And the birds are singing together
  In a wild, joyful burst of happiness;
When the skies are as clear and cloudless
  As they can be in June,
I would like to receive the call
  Sent down from God to me.

Some bright, golden morning
  In the middle of summer,
As I stand full of energy
  And strength in the joyful time of my youth;
When my heart feels light and happy,
  And everything looks bright to me,
I wish to leave this earthly life,
  Like a green leaf falling from a tree.

I wouldn't wait for the wrinkles—
  For the tired eyes and gray hair;
But move out quickly and suddenly,
  Before I get weighed down by worry;
I'd break into song one morning—
  Or stumble in my lively walk
Like a fully bloomed flower that sometimes
  Drops, all in bloom, from the stem.

I think the leaf would rather
  Be the first to let go,
Than to hang alone in the orchard
  On a cold November day.
And I believe the fate of the flower
  That drops in the middle of spring
Is better than if it stuck around
  To fade away in autumn's gloom.

And so, in the joyful morning of my youth,
  While summer strolls outside,
I would love to hear the call,
  That will surely come one day from God.
I would leave the beauty of the earth
  For the endless June above;
From the richness of living and loving,
  To the peak of Everlasting Love.

When the pleasures of this world satisfied my soul,
  Before the depths of pain weighed heavy on my heart,
  I turned to Reason to guide my thoughts,
  And I mocked that old tale of Christ.

But when I walked over scorching deserts,
  And my life felt empty with loss,
  With bleeding hands, I clung to the cross,
And shouted, "People need a suffering God!"

Now may God be with the men who stand
  In legislative halls today.
Those chosen leaders of our land—
  May God be with them all, I say,
And may His wisdom guide and protect them,
  For great is the responsibility we give them.

Oh, guys! who control the fate of the people,
  There in the palm of your hand.
Every word you say, sooner or later,
  Will leave its mark on our land,–
From the halls of lawmaking,
  It shall travel throughout the Nation.

Then may the Source of Truth and Light,
  Always be above you, always close by.
And may He guide every word correctly;
  May no false advice greet your ears,
No selfish love for money or group,
  Hold back Justice's hand or influence any action.

And may none of these men
  Lift the damning glass to their lips,
Let no one say, truthfully, again,
  What _has been said_, sadly,
"Men drink in places of legislation—
  So why shouldn't we, of lower status!"

Oh, men! You see and hear this monster,
  This evil that ravages the earth.
Its work is death—its constant feast,
  Is noble souls and valuable minds—
You see—and if you won’t control him,
  Or even try to stop him.

For goodness' sake, don't help him,
  Or push him forward. Oh, it seems so odd to me
That laws are created
  To punish all kinds of crimes, while he
Who brings down through Hell's wide openings
  The countless souls of people ruined by alcohol,

Is left to roam back and forth,
  In complete freedom across the land.
And those who should see and understand,
  Will not raise a warning voice or hand.
Oh, men in government halls,
  Stand up and fight, save the Nation!!

If I were chosen to represent
  A part of the country
I wouldn't just talk about random things
  In the legislative halls.
To prove my worth, I wouldn't spend any time
  On pointless discussions,
Nor waste a valuable day
  On trivial matters.

Whether the food a dog eats
Wouldn't make a pig fatter,
And about a thousand pointless things,
Of no importance or value;--
Whether every day a person should pray
For our well-being, or shouldn't.
Now I'm not saying people do it like this;
I’m just saying I wouldn't!

No! If I were sent to represent
  A state, or town, or county,
I’d do some good, and give my all,
  To earn the people’s support.
Instead of a dog or a fattening pig,
  I’d talk about people’s drinking!
And with passionate words, I would inspire
  The dull and unthinking.

And the time that I might waste doing nothing,
  (I’m not saying people do waste it,)
I’d spend fighting for my cause,
  And, with my voice and writing, I’d rush it
Across the country, until a strong group,
  With laws and regulations,
Could remove the stain and break the chains
  That hold our helpless nation.

And there wouldn't be much need for it then,
  When that bright sun has risen,
  For escape routes or construction sites—
  For county or state prisons.
The need is created by the alcohol industry!
  Oh you wise, learned lawmakers,
  It's the friend you welcome that causes
  Our crazy people and law violators.

"Two-thirds," says our State Report,
"Are driven insane by alcohol!"
And so I say, I wouldn’t waste a day
In pointless talk and arguing
If I were chosen to represent
A part of the country;
But I’d advocate for laws, until my goal
Was achieved through legislation.

Let people talk bad about her if they want—
  Call her a liar and criticize her actions.
It might all be true; and still
  I will speak well of her.
She has been a loyal friend to me,
  Truthful and steady until the very end.

Since I first saw her hand wave
  High above my humble spot,
I haven't needed to calculate
  What I've lost or what I've got.
She has made lovely flowers bloom
  In every path I choose to roam;
She has turned the dark roads bright,
  Made the gloomy places shine;
She has filled my empty cup
  To overflowing with joy,
And even though I might drink it all,
  She still refills it every time.

She has never promised anything
  That she hasn't actually delivered.
She has stood by me in tough times,
  Made friends out of many strangers—
Created a warm welcome for me
  Wherever I find myself;
Opened many doors
  That used to be closed to me;
Given me almost every gift and blessing—
  That is, those worth having.

All my life, I never knew
  Any other friend so genuine.
Youth and Love are temporary things;
  Wealth has light and airy wings—
Fame, once mine, will never go,
  She's been a friend to me.
Let whoever wants criticize her ways,
  I will always sing her praises.

The sweet young spring walks across the land,
  It brightens and shines on the fields and meadows;
The birds are singing joyfully and carefree—
  The brook flows happily on to the ocean.
And I know that the flowers are blooming now,
  Over my beautiful love's head;
Blooming and bursting with fragrance now
  Over my poor lost love's head.

The heat of the passionate summer changes
  The green on the hills to a richer shade.
The wind from the south blows hot;
  The sun turns red in the harsh sky;
And I realize that the tall, dark grasses sway
  Over my beautiful sweetheart's grave; They rise and fall, and lift and sway
   Over my sweetheart's small grave.

The days go by and summer fades away
  And beautiful autumn takes its place,
And the robin heads south,
  While the grass on the hill turns dull and brown,
And the leaves, in gold, purple, and red
  Float down over my dear one’s resting place.
Drifting and fluttering, all gold and red,
  Over my dear one’s lonely bed.

The winter arrives with its freezing snow
  And covers the world in a pure blanket
And the cold north wind blows wildly,
  And the storm rages fiercely and loudly.
It howls, and cries, and sighs, and weeps,
  Over the grave where my love rests;
In sorrow, it cries, and sighs, and weeps
  For the earth where my lost one sleeps.

He was so young, handsome, and brave,
  The pride of my heart, my greatest joy.
And now he lies in a drunkard’s grave—
  My beautiful darling—my only son.
But deep in my heart, I know
  He has gone to a place the tempter can never reach
His soul has gone to heaven, I’m sure,
  Where the souls of his tempters can never go.

They seduced him into his intentional misery,
  They gave him rum, and his eyes lit up with madness;
And lower and lower, he sank,
  Until they turned my precious child into a monster.
May God's curses fall on the soul
  Who gave my dear one the toxic drink;
Absolutely! Dark and heavy curses on the soul
  Who tempted my dear one to raise the drink.

Every day I live, I'm convinced all over again,
The saying I've always believed is true.
Each day I become more certain of this belief,
Alcohol creates half of the world's problems and pain.

Do I pick up a newspaper, I read about a fight,
Tom's fist in his eye left Jamie blind;
Both guys had been drinking before it started,
And alcohol turned a calm guy into a monster.

Next, Jones kills his wife, such a terrible thing!
She was choked, beaten, and dragged by the hair;
Because—"Jones had been drinking—not in his right mind."
(Few men _are_ when they hit the bottle, I find.)

Then, a man is attacked and stabbed in the dark
By two "fun guys" who are just out for a "good time;"
They’ve always been friendly guys—but, you know,
They drank, and "weren't really themselves" during this party.

Just across the street lives a guy who is known
To be honest and kind when he drinks alone;
But whenever he chugs from the full, flowing bowl,
He acts more like a beast than a man with a soul.

Next door lives a husband who stresses about his wife;
With his bad temper and complaints, she has no peace in her life.
Well, I know—do you? He messes with his mind
Every night with hot drinks before going to bed.

"We temperance advocates keep playing the same tune?"
Well—the reason is one story repeated over and over;
Fights—tragedy—troubles—all caused by alcohol,
Good reason we have to keep _playing_ it, I think.

We keep repeating these words; strong alcohol brings harm
To the heart of a friend, taking away his life;
It transforms sober boys into troublemakers and thieves—
It robs households to fill the graves.

Whoever loves it the most gets caught by its charm;
It first captures its victim—then goes for the heart.
But one thing is clear—it has never been shown
To hurt a person if they just leave it alone.

There’s nothing, I believe, in the way of work
  That a person can’t achieve
If they don’t waver, or retreat, or avoid,
  And above all, if they will _believe_.

Believe in himself and the power that supports him
That stands like a helper on firm ground,
With hope for the spirit and healing for the wounds,
Ready to empower the arm or mind.

When the motivation is right and the determination is strong
  There are no limits to human power;
For that great force behind us pushes forward
  And carries us along in times of struggle.

And no matter how high you want to go,
  Even if no one has ever set foot there,
  And no matter how tough it is—I say you _can_,
If you’re patient and make good use of your time.

The winds blew in from the west one day,
  And rushed the clouds along with them;
And chased away the shadows and fog,
  And carried them over the mountains.
And I cried, "Oh, wind, blow into my mind,
  Blow into my soul and heart,
And disperse the clouds that feel like shrouds,
  And make the shadows vanish."

The rain poured down from the heavy gray skies
  And drenched the cold earth.
It called to the sleeping grass, "Wake up,"
  And the young buds burst into bloom.
And I cried out in anguish, "Oh, wonderful rain,
  Come into my heart today;
Melt the icy snows that are freezing it,
  Until it flourishes with hope, I pray."

The sunlight shone on the bare trees,
  In a beautiful glow of glory;
And the young leaves rustled and sang to the breeze,
  And shared a love-filled story.
And "Sun, oh shine on my heart,
  And bring it to life," I called;
But the wind, and sun, and rain, each one
  Denied the wish I desired.

They stood at the garden gate.
By lifting a lid
She might have read her fate
In a small thing he did.

He picked a beautiful flower,
  Pulled it away from its spot
By the blooming thicket,
  And held it to his face.

Drank in its beauty and bloom,
  In the middle of his casual conversation;
Then threw it down into the gloom
  And dust of the garden path.

Yeah, he stepped on it with his foot,
  As it lay in his way;
Then kicked it aside with his boot,
  Because it had lost its beauty.

Ah! the girl could have seen
The fate of her young life then;
But she gazed into his eyes instead,
And considered him the greatest of men.

She looked into his eyes and blushed,
  She hid in the embrace of his strong arms;
And the story of the flower, crushed
  And rejected, was told again.

By the castle gate, my lady stands,
Looking over vast fields and expanding lands.

Hill, valley, meadow, and plain
All belong to her, with their abundance of grain.

In the finest, most luxurious robes, she is dressed,
A jewel shines brightly on her chest;

And her forehead is adorned with a crown
That sparkles with many precious gems.

But what matters to Lady Wendoline
Rich satin clothes or fine jewels?

Or ripening harvests, or expanding fields--
Look! She is wringing her pale hands!

And her finger is stained with red dew
Where the ring with the diamond star cut through.

And a look of pain and wild despair
Sits on the face, so young and beautiful.

Tomorrow will be her wedding day,
And she will trade herself away

For extra wealth and a title;
's the curse of her position, and who can we blame!

She hates the man who calls her his wife,
And complains about her unfortunate, loveless life.

The joys of flirting she can't understand;
My lord, her father, has made it this way.

She's just an object, traded for status and money.
For reputation, title, and piles of cash.

But people must marry within their own class,
Even if their hearts break in the pain.

Under the hill, in the castle's shade,
At a cottage door sits a humble maid;

In her cheek, the blushes come and go
As she sews away on a robe as white as snow;

And she sings out loud in her happiness--
In a joy she can’t hide or hold back.

Close by her side, her lover stands,
Watching the quick, sun-kissed hands

As they move the needle back and forth
Through the robe as white as fresh snow.

Both hearts are singing a wordless song,
For tomorrow will be their wedding day.

They only have their hands, their love, their health,
Instead of titles, positions, and wealth.

But who is rich, and who is poor,
The maid at the gate, or the maid at the door?

Here in my office, I sit and write
  Hour after hour, day after day,
With no one to talk to from morning till night,
  Even though there's a neighbor just across the way.
Across the alley that stretches between
  A girl sits sewing the whole day long;
A face more beautiful is rarely seen
  In any hall, castle, or crowded place.

Her curly hair is a golden brown;
  I think her eyes are violet blue,
Though her long, thick lashes are always down,
  Jealously hiding those beautiful eyes from view;
Her neck is slender, round, and pale,
  And her soft hair blows this way and that,
As she sits in the window, from morning till night,
  Singing and sewing, looking beautiful.

And here I am, sitting in my office chair, relaxing and dreaming,
  Casually thinking about a nice "what if,"
While the maid by her window stitches her fabric,
  Without a glance or a thought for me.
Maybe she’s annoyed because I stare
  So long and so often from across the room,
Over the top of my accounting book;
  But those sneaky looks make my day better.

And I’m innocent of any wrongdoing;--
  She’s the one at fault, sitting there
And making me look again and again
  At a face so delicate, pure, and beautiful.
Work is forgotten; the page is blank,
  Untouched by the pen, while hours pass.
Oh, girl with the thoughtful expression!
  Just give me a single glance from your violet eye.

Drop your thimble or spool of thread
  Down in the alley, I pray, my love,
  Or the comb or ribbon from that lovely hair,
  So I can follow with quick steps;
  For how can I say that my heart has drifted
  Across the alley, and stays there,
Till I know your name, my beautiful one?
  How could I take the chance, and how could I be brave?

Just one more day I'll wait and dream,
  And then, if you don't give me another option,
I'll write you a letter: "Girl of the needle,
  You have taken my heart; now it's time to pay,
Stunning thief and delightful bandit!
  Just a glance in return for what you've done."
That's how I'll share my loss and sorrow,
  Across the alley, my beautiful one.

Every morning, as I walk down
From my gloomy place, heading to town,
I spot at the window near the street,
The face of a woman, lovely and sweet,
With gentle brown eyes and chestnut hair,
And red lips, warm from the kiss still there.
And she stays as long as she can see
The man who walks just ahead of me.

At night, when I leave my office downtown,
There’s a woman with brown eyes,
Smiling through the window blind,
At the guy who’s strolling behind.
This guy and I look alike;
At least, that’s what I've heard from a few people.
(But I think I'm way better looking than he is.)
I don’t really know him, just a "how do you do,"
Or a nod when I see him. I think he works
In a department store as a salaried clerk.

And I'm a well-known lawyer;
I have a nice bank account and an office downtown.
But I can't help feeling a mix of envy and spite toward that guy:
(There's really no better term for it, so I’ll just say it plainly.)
There were signs before, but it’s gotten worse, I think,
Alarmingly fast, since one cloudy evening,
When I walked by the little house, right by the street,
And heard the sound of two tiny feet,
And a figure in pink fluttered down to the gate,
And a sweet voice called out, "Oh, Will, you’re late
And, darling, I’ve been watching at the window until—
Excuse me, sir! I thought you were Will."

I was walking by, feeling a strange little thrill
In my heart, like what's hidden in my vest pocket.
Because, as luck would have it, my name is also Will;
And that voice calling "darling" gave me such a weird chill
That washed over me completely. "How wonderful it would be,"
I thought, "if she really wanted me
Instead of that jerk." (I admit, I was a bit envious,
Because he’s a great guy, good-looking, you know!)
But it's just ridiculous that this amazing woman
Is searching for him,
Until she gives herself a headache and her eyes get tired,
While I head back to my empty, boring place,
With no one to greet me, no one to care
If I come home early or late—no soft brown eyes
To watch me when I leave or come back from town.

This sad, miserable bachelor life is coming to an end,
If I can say it that way—it's done.
Somewhere out there in this big world, I believe,
There's another lovely woman who wears pink.
And I know of a cottage for sale just down below,
With a French window in front, and—oh well,
I wonder how long it will be at most,
Before I come home from the office and see
A nice little woman waiting there for me.

Once, when summer was on the hilltops,
  And the sunshine shone like a golden flame,
Out from the city's dust and chaos
  A brave, good-looking stranger appeared—
Came to rest in our simple cottage
  Until the autumn winds would blow again,
To stroll in the meadow and lie by the stream,
  And regain the strength that the city had taken.

I was young, with the naïve heart of a girl
  Who had never been courted, and the charming stranger
 Awoke that heart from its idle dreaming,
  And played the strings with expert skill.
I remember the thrill, and the first wild shiver,
  That stirred its depths with a sweet surprise,
When I looked one day at the attractive stranger,
  And met the gaze of his deep, dark eyes.

My cheek flushed with embarrassment,
  And the knitting fell from my limp hands;
He bent down, and as he handed it to me,
  He held my hand in a tender grip;
We didn’t say anything, but he understood my secret,
  He saw what was in my young heart,
No more pretending was necessary
  To hide the shiver his voice would cause.

We strolled through the meadow and by the stream,
  My sun-kissed hand in his pale palm;
He said my blushes would embarrass the roses,
  And my heart froze in a joyful calm.
He ran his fingers through my dark curls,
  And wrapped them around his fair finger;
My eyes' deep beauty was full of risk,
  He said, because Cupid was hiding there.

And once he held me close to him,
  And pressed a loving kiss on my lips;
Oh! how I shake with shame and anger,
  Even now, as I think about it—
But in that moment, I thought that heaven
  Had suddenly opened and pulled me in,
And kissed passionately the lips so close to me,
  Not realizing I was tainting my soul with sin.

But one quiet evening, a letter arrived
  For the man who meant more to me than life—
"A picture," he said, as he tore it open,
  "Look, dear friend, at my beautiful young wife."
A horrible pain, a boiling rage,
  Filled my chest and drained the color from my face,
And he who stood there holding the letter,
  Watched me with a smile, but didn't say a word.

I took the picture and looked at it—
  A sweet young thing with sunny hair
And blue eyes. "May the good Lord watch over you,"
  I said out loud, "in His gentle care—
You who are married and tied forever
  To this man," and I met his gaze—
"This heartless villain, this shameless coward,
  Whose heart is darkened by lies."

My heart filled with a deep rage,    And something like murder was seething inside me,    But a kinder feeling crept in behind it    As I gazed at the beautiful picture before me;    I turned and walked away from him, and never saw him again—    Never looked upon his face again,    And over time, my shame and sorrow have softened,    Soothed and calmed my pain.

But I always shake with terrible anger,
  That wears me down and troubles my fading life,
When I remember how he held me tight to his chest,
  He--with a legally married wife.
When I think about how I responded to his loving touches,
  And wrapped my arms around his neck in a moment of joy,
And the tears of a lifetime and all my pain
  Can never erase the mark of his kiss.

If all the ships I have at sea
Were to sail back home to me,
Oh, the harbor couldn't contain
So many sails as there would be
If all my ships returned from sea.

If half my ships returned from the ocean,
And brought their valuable cargo to me,
Oh, well! I would have riches as great
As any king who rules in grandeur—
So valuable the treasures that would be
In half my ships currently at sea.

If just one ship I have out there
Ends up sailing back to me,
Ah, well! The storm clouds might scowl
Because if all the others sank,
I’d still feel rich, proud, and happy
If that one ship came back to me.

If that one ship sank at sea,
And all the others reached me,
Loaded with gems and endless riches,
With fame, honors, wealth, gold,
I’d feel like the poorest person alive
If that one ship didn’t make it to me.

O skies, be calm! O winds, blow freely—
Bring all my ships safely home to me!
But if you send some to wreck,
Never to return sailing back,
Send any—everyone that sails the sea,
But bring my love-ship home to me.

A carefree poem of summer,
  Sweet, serious, and gentle;
Beautiful with the mist of the moon's soft light,
  Radiant with the sunset's glory.

Summer and beauty across the land--
  Carefree moments of joy;
A glance exchanged and a gentle touch--
  A shift in the rhythm of life.

A richer shade in the blue skies,
   Tropical winds are blowing;
A gentler beauty on the moon's fair face,
   As summer fades, fading.

The leaves fall down, the green turns brown,
  And tears mix with smiles;
A twilight moment and a cherished bloom, --
  And now the poem comes to a close.

Written at the request of the owners of Windsor Cheese Factory.

Alas! my muse is fading fast;
  She’s using slang, that’s pretty clear.
Last night, as she was flying by,
  She whispered "Run!" in my ear.

I scolded her with words like these:
  "You dirty liar, get lost! Leave me alone!"
Again she said: "You'd better stop—
  You can’t deny the truth."

I hit her with my pen and shouted,
"Leave! You're filling me with sorrow
and deep shame." She just sighed,
"Oh, where, where can I go?"

"You talk more like a pilot, dude"    I said, "than like a poet's inspiration."  She replied, "I'll look for what I can,    But I will avoid that kind of mistreatment:"

I said, "What's got you all worked up?
  I was just joking, after all."
"I'm really upset right now," she replied.
  "But if you insist, I’ll stick around."

Some wise advice I gave her back then,
  And I slapped her ears, that wicked tease,
And I told her she could cut it;
  When I sat down to sing about cheese.

Cheese, the lively subject of a poet's dream,
My thoughts dance around this sweet theme.
A timeless topic, as old as the hills, I sing;
Yet always fresh and vibrant, like love and spring.

Cheese, what a tasty topic! Let me craft a song
From my talents, vibrant and strong.
Others might sing about green grass, if they want,
I celebrate it in the practical form of cheese.

The world keeps moving. Now, it's turned upside down.
There was a time when beautiful young women in every town
Made all the cheese; and while they pressed the curds,
Their boyfriends were making their feelings known with sincere words.

Now men make cheese and press it, while their wives
And daughters stress them out, nagging them endlessly,
About new spring outfits, insisting they need,
And asking for cash to dress in the latest trends.

Strong-minded sisters, what more could you want?
Men take on the burden of your responsibilities,
And you benefit from the rewards and your "rights,"
For which every woman of this time fights.

Hail! Windsorburgh; may your cheese be the foundation
You’ll stand on, in view of everyone.
And may Limburg's fame eventually fade,
Once your flag is raised.

Hail! Windsor enterprise, courage, pride, ambition
Ignoring sneers, defying competition.
Fate smiles upon your latest plan,
And soaks the grass, to support you all it can.

Three cheers for Windsor, factory and all,
May the best blessings come to its homes.
And so my song ends; if you don't mind,
Will Mr. Sherman--E. P.--pass the cheese?

Think about it, think about it over the water
  Thousands of men today march toward death,
Consider how the sun shines on fields stained with blood—
  How the air suffocates with the cannon's hot breath.

How in the shadows, perhaps, of this evening,
  Hundreds of hearts will have stopped beating,
Pale, ghostly faces will be turned up to the sky--
  Faces that were kissed by lips, gentle and sweet.

Think about the homes that these battles are leaving
 Empty, barren, bleak, and silent.
Think of the loving, patient hearts that are hurting,
 Breaking for loved ones who will never return.

Ah! we just recently felt this same pain,
Women--Oh! women who suffer and pray,
We can definitely cry with you, who weep and fade away,
We have endured everything you are going through today.

"God bless what's right," we say, "God be with Prussia,"
  Yet to the mourners of soldiers who die,
Whether their tears are shed in France or in Russia,
  Their losses are our losses, and we feel for them all.

Think about it, think about it, hearts that are breaking,
  Saddened, hurting, across the sea.
Think of the eyes that are blinded and aching
From waiting for those they will never see.

Gather them from the valley—
Bring them from the moors and hills,
And create wreaths and garlands.
On the city so quiet and calm—
So voiceless, so quiet, and calm;
Where neighbors never talk to each other,
Where the songs of birds and the buzzing of bees are heard,
But never the harsh sounds of work.

Bring them in from the woods and fields--
  As bright and beautiful as can be.
Bring them, all types, and all colors.
  That grow on the hills and meadows--
  That spring up with wild grace in the fields.
And gather from the warm earth's embrace
  Every flower, and blow, until "God's acre" shines
And blooms like a garden in full flower.

Bring them from the vase and from the greenhouse,
  And scatter them generously.
There’s nothing too special for the soldier,
  Who gave his life for his country—
  Who gave up _everything_ for his country;
And turned to the duty ahead of him,
  And how can we show our gratitude and love
But by showering him with these May flowers?

We know they will soon fade and wither--
  We know they will soon droop and die;
But once, I read about an angel
  Who came down from the heavens above--
  In the night, from God's kingdom up high--
He came down to where a poor wilting flower
  Lay crushed under harsh feet, in the dirt of the street,
And he took it up to God's garden;

And placed it before the Good Master,
  Who kissed it and handed it to Christ,
On the throne beside Him; and _He_ kissed it,
  And the impact of those kisses was enough—
  The embrace of the divine was enough—
And it blossomed in amazing beauty,
  A source of joy, and truly lovely in God's eyes—   It's a fable, I know; but it’s so tender;

So sweet that I want to believe it--
  And I've been thinking today,
That maybe these soldiers, now angels,
  Will come when these wreaths fade away--
  When they wither and shrivel--
And will carry the crushed things up to heaven,
  And God and His Son will kiss each one,
And new beauty and bloom will be given.

And it's a strange thought, maybe, but argue against it.
  And show me I'm wrong if you can.
There are odd, subtle ways in how God works
  That are hidden from human understanding,
  Blocked from human sight.--
By a dark veil of deep, mortal blindness;
  But when God thinks it's the right time, He will give us our sight,
And lift the heavy veil, out of His kindness;

And when we’ve entered His kingdom,
  And understand all His mysterious ways,
Who knows, but these same flowers,
  Might be blooming there, in His land,
  All fresh and beautiful, in His land;
And these soldiers who went ahead of us,
  As we roam through God's gardens, will say:
"These are the wreaths you laid over us."

Then, scatter the best and brightest
  Of buds and fully-blown blossoms,
Over the graves of our loved ones—
  Over those marked as "Unknown!"
  Oh! the sadness of that word, "Unknown!"
Bring here the brightest and rarest!
  We don't care if the earth wore blue or gray!
We will give them the best and finest.

For someone who grieves for the "missing,"
  And sheds hot, scalding tears,
And hopes against hope for their return;
  And watches and waits, month after month, year after year,
  So many long, desolate years!
But the hearts are _so_ patient that love them.
  And some now watch and cry for the soldiers who rest
With the headstone marked "Unknown" above them.

Then collect from the meadow and the woods,
  From gardens, greenhouses, and vases,
The brightest and best flowers,
  And spread them out here in this space;
  This sacred and treasured place—
This city of peace, not of work,
  Where only the birds and the brown bees are heard,
And neighbors never speak to each other.

God bless the hero of my song!
Six years as the leader of our State!
We've kept him in our hearts for so long,
And shown he’s good, true, and great.
Now, we couldn't let him go,
Even if he wanted that so.

I hear people praising his name
  From the east and west, and north and south,
His enemies are quiet out of shame:
  His actions have shut down Slander's talk,
And all the petty spirits of bitterness
He's crushed beneath the weight of what's right.

He dropped an arm one bloody day,
  In bringing down the walls of injustice,
But he didn’t lose any strength;
  His other arm grew three times as powerful.
Few men, using both hands, have accomplished
As many noble deeds as he did with one.

His soul shows through his blue eye,
  And everyone knows he’s someone to trust,
Because his heart is kind and genuine,
  And all his actions prove he’s fair.
I speak for many when I shout,
"The people's favorite forever!"

May God be with him every day--
  With him and everyone he loves most;
And if my little song of praise
  Happens to reach his ears,
May he accept this gift,
And know that I sing from my heart.

After the battles are over,
  And the war drums stop beating,
And no more do we hear on the hillside
  The sound of rushing feet,
So many noble actions,
  That were done in the days of conflict,
By the soldier are mostly forgotten,
  In the calm paths of life.

Just like the tangled grass,
  In the warmth and light of summer,
Grows over the graves of the fallen
  And hides them from view,
So many acts of bravery,
  And many remarkable deeds,
Fade from the soldier's memory,
  Covered over by the grass of time.

Not like that should they be rewarded,
  Those noble deeds of the past;
They should live on forever,
  When the heroes’ hearts are cold.
So gather, you brave old comrades,
  Old veterans, come together!
Clear away time's tangled grasses—
  Relive the march and the fight.

Let Grant come up from the White House,
  And shake hands with each brother,
The first leader of the army,
  The last leader of the land.
Let him take a break from the nation's burdens,
  And go, in his thoughts, with his men,
Through the fire and smoke of Shiloh,
  And save the day once more.

This quiet hero of wars,
  Didn’t know the word _defeat_.
It was up to the rebels to learn.
  Along with the word retreat.
He wasn’t one for _talking_,
  But he realized that guns could speak
In a way that was more powerful
  Than fancy and eloquent words.

Three cheers for the brave leader
  Of the grand old Tennessee!
Who won the first major battle—
  Achieved the first big victory.
His motto was always "Conquer,"
  "Success" was his password,
And "even if it took all summer,"
  He kept fighting on "that line."

Let Sherman, the tough old General,
  Answer the wake-up call,
Let him march with his soldiers through Georgia,
  From "Atlanta all the way to the sea."
Oh, that remarkable journey to Savannah!
  Three hundred miles to the coast!
It will be remembered in the heart of the Nation,
  Always its pride and glory.

As Sheridan rode into battle.
  When he was twenty miles away,
He arrived at the feast and banquet.
  By the iron horse today.
Its speed isn’t much faster
  Than that famous horse’s pace
That carried him to the fight
  And helped him win the day with its speed.

(When the verse above, which was created on the spot by Miss Wheeler during the exercises, was read, it sparked wild enthusiasm and led to loud calls for Sheridan, who came to the front of the platform, where he was met with loud applause and bowed in acknowledgment.)

Then walk through the area today, guys,
  Step on every familiar place.
It will be a fun journey,
  On the quick feet of your thoughts;
You can have a peaceful fight,
  You can explore along the way,
But it’s not worth searching for supplies,
  There’s plenty of food already.

Don't start when you hear the cannon;
It’s not a sign of disaster,
It’s not a call to fight—
To the smoke and darkness of battle.
"Let's have Peace," was said.
And look! peace reigned once more;
And now the country is cheering,
Through the cannon’s voice, "Amen."

Oh, boys, who surrounded old Vicksburg,
Can time ever erase
The victory of her surrender,
Nine years ago today?
Can you ever forget the moment,
When you saw that white flag,
That signaled how the tough old city
Had fallen in her strength?

Ah, it was a bold, courageous army,
  When the soldiers with great enthusiasm,
Went cheerfully marching and singing
  To the fight at Champion Hill.
They received a warm welcome,
  But the spirit of "Old John Brown"
Was present on that battlefield,
  And our flag did NOT go down.

Come, heroes of Look Out Mountain,
  Of Corinth and Donelson,
Of Kenesaw and Atlanta,
  And share how the day was won!
Shh! Bow your head for a moment—
  There are those who can’t join us.
No bugle call can wake them—
  No sound of fife or drum.

McPherson fell in battle,
  When the waves were crashing high.
Brave Ransom sank on the sidelines;
  It was a lonely death to die.
They walk through God's beautiful, green meadows,
  They live in a land of happiness,
Yet I believe their spirits are with us
  In moments like this.

Oh, boys who gave their lives for our country,
  Oh, dear and honored dead!
What can we say about you
  That hasn't already been said?
Whether you fell in the battle,
  Struck down by bullets and bombs,
Or suffered under illness,
  Or starved in a prison cell--

We know you died for Freedom,
  To save our land from disgrace,
To rescue a threatened Nation,
  And we honor you with enduring fame.
It was the cause of Truth and Justice
  That you fought and died for,
And we say it softly,
  "Our boys who died in the war."

Saviors of our Republic,
  Heroes in blue,
We owe the peace around us—
  And our Nation's strength, to you.
Because of you, our flag,
  The most beautiful flag in the world,
Is today clean and pure,
  Waving freely in the summer air.

We admire its stripes and sparkles,
  And our hearts fill up with love
For the brave leaders,
  And the soldiers in the ranks.
The greatest acts of bravery,
  Were never recorded,
The noblest acts of kindness,
  The world remains unaware.

And many ordinary soldiers,
  Who live their simple lives,
With no notable name or title,
  Unknown to the world today,
In God's eyes, they're heroes;
  All of them will be rewarded,
No act, no matter how hidden,
  Is unseen by the Lord.

Brave men of a great army,
  We offer you our hand in friendship!
I speak for the "Loyal Women,"
  The strong foundation of our land.
We give you a warm welcome,
  We’re proud that you’re here today
To share memories from the past
  On this brightest day of the year.

And if peace, with her pure white wings,
  Settles over our land today,
Should she ever leave us again,
  (God, let her always stay).
If our Nation calls for help in her time of danger
  For "Six hundred thousand more,"
The loyal women will respond,
  And send you out just like before.

We would bring out the cherished backpack.
We would take the sword from the wall,
And silencing our own hearts,
We would only hear the call of our country.
For next to our God is our Nation:
And we value the respected name,
Of the bravest of all brave armies
Who fought for that Nation's glory.

When night was low and dew fell damp,
  The camp's watchfires flickered through the shadows,
Like glow-worms in the meadows.
The guard kept a steady pace,
  While tired soldiers lay at his feet,
  As still as bronze statues, sleeping.

On some tired faces of the men
  There crept a longing for home,
Which made it feel like once again,
  The innocence of childhood was coming back.
While on many youthful brows,
  That had been unfamiliar with worry,
The early signs of aging showed how
  They had grown old through danger.

One, lost in sleep, laughed with joy,
  The echoes of his laughter teased him,
He thought he was next to his baby boy
  As he happily rocked him.
O compassionate angels! you were kind
  To conclude this short paradise,
He discovered what he could no longer find
  Except in a dreamer's imagination.

The clear sound of a mockingbird--
That star of sound--came drifting
Down through the night; one, wide awake, heard
And responded to the calling,
And then, in the ear, there broke
That sweet, moving tune,
That song that wakes--as it did then--
Such mixed pain and joy.

One voice at first, and then the sound
  Pulsed like a big bell ringing,
"Camping tonight on the old grounds,"
  The whole camp joined in singing.
The feeling of war's discontent
  Gave way to war's glory;
Time flew by quickly and happily
  With song, jokes, and stories.

They sang the song of Old John Brown,
  Whose march continues forever;
It made them crave recognition,
  It inspired them to strive.
So much of that great heart lives on,
  So much of that great spirit--
His very name sends a rush
  Through everyone when they hear it.

They discovered new courage in stories of battles and marches
  as they listened,
and while they observed the strange campfire light,
  and while the quiet stars sparkled,
like the voice of a tough comrade, it broke
  and swept from hill to valley
until all the sleeping echoes awakened,--
  the bugle's call to rally!

"To arms! to arms! the enemy is close!"
  Ah, brave hearts, were you strong enough
  To hear it all without any fear
  The entire bloody aftermath?
The laurel wreath, the victor's shout,
  These aren’t the only signs of glory;
The gaping wound, the glazing eye,
  They, too, are part of the story.

And when their tents were set up again,
  And they slept by the campfires,
The absent faces of the dead
  Were outnumbered by the living ones.
And still, their memories bring life
  To the hearts that remain,
And the task feels sacred and grand,
  For one hour to bring them back.

Columbia, beautiful queen in your glory!
  Columbia, the pride of the world!
We celebrate you with songs and stories;
  We honor the day you were born!

The anger of a king and his followers
  You faced, to be free, on that day;
And the eagle flew high on powerful wings,
  And scared the lion who was cornered.

Since the chains and shackles are broken.
And citizens now replace slaves,
Since the hearts of your heroes have spoken
How dearly they held freedom--by graves.

Your beautiful banner is flawless
  As it floats in the breeze, fully unfurled,
And except for one flaw, completely spotless
  Is the record you present to the world.

Like a blemish on beauty,
  Utah, cursed by sin, is out west.
Columbia! Columbia! your task
  Is to erase that stain along with the rest!

Not just in freedom, science,
  And knowledge, should you guide the world;
But let the world see your trust
  In honor and true moral value.
When Liberty's torch is lit,
  Let her brightest, farthest-reaching rays
Spot no wrong that's left uncorrected—
  Go confront the envious world's stare!

Columbia, your star is rising!
  Columbia, all lands acknowledge your power!
May your reign be just as proud and never-ending
  As your glory shines bright today.