Regret

- 1869-1944

I said a thoughtless word one day,
A loved one heard and went away;
I cried: “Forgive me, I was blind;
I would not wound or be unkind.”
I waited long, but all in vain,
To win my loved one back again.
Too late, alas! to weep and pray,
Death came; my loved one passed away.
Then, what a bitter fate was mine;
No language could my grief define;
Tears of deep regret could not unsay
The thoughtless word I spoke that day.

Morning on Shinnecock

The rising sun had crowned the hills,
            And added beauty to the plain;
O grand and wondrous spectacle!
            That only nature could explain.

I stood within a leafy grove,
            And gazed around in blissful awe;
The sky appeared one mass of blue,
            That seemed to spread from sea to shore.

Far as the human eye could see,
            Were stretched the fields of waving corn.
Soft on my ear the warbling birds
            Were heralding the birth of morn.

While here and there a cottage quaint
            Seemed to repose in quiet ease
Amid the trees, whose leaflets waved
            And fluttered in the passing breeze.

O morning hour! so dear thy joy,
            And how I longed for thee to last;
But e’en thy fading into day
            Brought me an echo of the past.

 ‘Twas this,—how fair my life began;
            How pleasant was its hour of dawn;
But, merging into sorrow’s day,
            Then beauty faded with the morn.

The Plains of Peace

Again my fancy takes its flight,
And soars away on thoughtful wing,
Again my soul thrills with delight,
And this the fancied theme, I sing,
From Earthly scenes awhile, I find release,
And dwell upon the restful Plains of Peace.

The Plains of Peace are passing fair,
Where naught disturbs and naught can harm,
I find no sorrow, woe or care,
These all are lost in perfect calm,
Bright are the joys, and pleasures never cease,
For those who dwell on the Plains of Peace.

No scorching sun or blighting storm,
No burning sand or desert drear,
No fell disease or wasting form,
To mar the glowing beauty here.
Decay and ruin ever must decrease,
Here on the fertile, healthful Plains of Peace.

What rare companionship I find,
What hours of social joy I spend,
What restfulness pervades my mind,
Communing with congenial friend.
True happiness seems ever to increase,
While dwelling here upon the Plains of Peace.

Ambitions too, are realized,
And that which I have sought on earth,
I find at last idealized,
My longings ripen into worth,
My fondest hopes no longer fear decease,
But bloom forth brightly on the Plains of Peace.

'Tis by my fancy, yet 'tis true,
That somewhere having done with Earth,
We shall another course pursue,
According to our aim or worth,
Our souls from mortal things must find release,
And dwell immortal on the Plains of Peace.

A Picture

I drew a picture long ago—
    A picture of a sullen sea; 
A picture that I value now
    Because it clears Life’s mystery. 

My sea was dark and full of gloom; 
   I painted rocks of sombre hue. 
My sky alone bespoke of light, 
    And that I painted palest blue.

But e’en across my sky of blue
    Stretched troubled clouds of sodden gray, 
Through which the sun shone weak and dim, 
    With only here and there a ray. 

Around my rocks the yellow foam 
   Seemed surging, moaning in despair
As if the waves, their fury spent, 
   Left naught but desolation there. 

Three crafts with fluttering sails I drew, 
    And one sailed near the rocks of gray, 
The other on its westward course, 
   Went speeding out of danger’s way.

The other still outdistanced them 
    Where sky and water seemed to met. 
I painted that with sails full set, 
    And then my picture was complete.

My life was like the sullen sea, 
   Misfortunes, woes, my rocks of gray, 
The crafts portrayed Life’s changing scenes, 
   The clouded sky Life’s troubled Day.

I longed to paint that picture o’er
   Without the rocks of sombre hue; 
Without the troubled clouds of gray,
  I’ll paint the sky of brightest blue.

My sea shall lay in calm repose, 
    No hint of surging, moaning sigh.
My crafts, unhindered by the rocks,
  Shall speed in joyous swiftness by.

But this shall be when brightest hours
  Of hope and cheer are given me.
I’ll paint this picture when Life’s sun 
   Shines clear upon Prosperity