POEMS OF EXPERIENCE
by
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
who lived in America during the early part of the 20th century, and went to London and tasted fame there, as well as in her native country. She died in 1919.
Strange are the ways that her feet have trod
Since first she was set in the path of duty,
Finished and fair by the hand of God,
To carry her message of love and beauty.
Delicate creature of light and shade,
She gleamed like an opal, on wide worlds under;
And the world looked up to her, half afraid,
While heaven looked down at her, full of wonder.
Flame of the comet and mist of the moon,
And ray of the sun, all mingled in her.
And the heart of her asked but a single boon--
That love should seek her, and find her, and win her.
She grasped the scope of the First Intent
That made her kingdom for her, no other,
And joyfully into her place she went--
The primal mate, and the primal mother.
Large was that kingdom and vast her sphere,
And lightly she lifted and bore each burden.
Lightly she laughed in the eyes of fear,
For love was her recompense, love her guerdon.
And never in camp or in cave or in home,
Rose voice of mother or mate complaining.
And never the foot of her sought to roam,
Till love in the heart of the man seemed waning.
In the broad rich furrows by woman turned,
Man unwitting set plough and harrow.
For worlds to conquer she had not yearned,
Till he spoke of her feminine sphere as 'narrow'.
The lullaby changed to a martial strain--
When he took her travail and song for granted--
And forth she forged in his own domain--
Till the strange 'new woman', the old supplanted.
'Strange' with the glow of a wakened soul,
And 'new' with the purpose of large endeavour,
She turned her face to the higher goal--
To the higher goal it is turned forever.
Trade and science and craft and art,
Have opened their doors to the call of woman;
And greater she grows in her greater part,
More tenderly wise and more sweetly human.
Brave foremothers of freedom's birth,
Smile through space on your splendid daughters.
At one with liberty lighting the earth,
Their torches flame o'er the darkest waters.
They lend a lustre to sea and land:
They sweeten the world with their wholesome graces:
As out in the harbour of life they stand
To cheer and welcome the coming races.
Brave forefathers and heroes who fought
Under the flag of Revolution,
War was the price of the freedom you bought,
But peace is the watchword of Evolution.
The progress of woman means progress of peace,
She wars on war and its hosts alarming;
And her great love battle will never cease,
Till the glory is seen of a world disarming.
The woman wonder with heart of flame,
The coming man of the race will find her.
For petty purpose and narrow aim,
And fault and flaw she will leave behind her.
He grown tender and she grown wise,
They shall enter the Eden they both created;
The broadened kingdom of Paradise,
And love, and mate, as the first pair mated.
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THE EMPTY BOWL
I held the golden vessel of my soul
And prayed that God would fill it from on high.
Day after day the importuning cry
Grew stronger--grew, a heaven-accusing dole,
Because no sacred waters laved my bowl.
'Oh full the fountain, Lord, wouldst thou deny
The little needed for a soul's supply?
I ask but this small portion of thy whole.'
Then from the vast invisible Somewhere,
A voice, as one love-authorised by Him,
Spake, and the tumult of my heart was stilled.
'Who wants the waters must the bowl prepare;
Pour out the self that chokes it to the brim,
For emptied vessels from the source are filled.'
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A PRAYER
Just as I shape the purport of my thought,
Lord of the Universe, shape thou my lot.
Let each ill thought that in my heart may be,
Mould circumstance and bring ill luck to me.
Until I weed the garden of my mind
From all that is unworthy and unkind,
Am I not master of my mind, dear Lord?
Then as I think, so must be my reward.
Who sows in weakness, cannot reap in strength;
That which we plant, we gather in at length.
Great God of Justice, be thou just to me,
And as my thoughts, so let my future be.
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BATTLE HYMN OF THE WOMEN
They are waking; they are waking;
In the east and in the west;
They are throwing wide their windows to the sun;
And they see the dawn is breaking,
And they quiver with unrest,
For they know their work is waiting to be done.
They are waking in the city;
They are waking on the farm;
They are waking in the boudoir, and the mill;
And their hearts are full of pity
As they sound the loud alarm,
For the sleepers who in darkness, slumber still.
In the guarded harem prison,
Where they smother under veils,
And all echoes of the world are walled away;
Though the sun has not yet risen,
Yet the ancient darkness pales,
And the sleepers in their slumber, dream of day.
And the dream shall grow in splendour
Till every sleeper wakes, and stirs;
Till she breaks from old traditions and is free;
And the world shall rise and render
Unto woman what is hers,
As it welcomes in the race that is to be.
Unto woman, God the maker
Gave the secret of his plan;
It is written out in cypher on her soul;
From the darkness you must take her,
To the light of day, oh man!
Would you know the mighty meaning of the scroll.
.......................................
SEE?
If one proves weak whom you fancied strong,
Or false whom you fancied true,
Just ease the smart of your wounded heart
By the thought that it is not you.
If many forget a promise made,
And your faith falls into the dust,
Then look meanwhile in your mirror and smile,
And say, 'I am the one to trust.'
If you search in vain for an ageing face
Unharrowed by fretful fears,
Then make right now, and keep a vow
To grow in grace with the years.
If you lose your faith in the word of man
As you go from the port of youth,
Just say as you sail, 'I will not fail
To keep to the course of truth.'
For this is the way, and the only way--
At least it seems so to me.
It is up to you, to be and to do,
What you look for in others.
SEE?
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THE PURPOSE
Over and over the task was set,
Over and over I slighted the work,
But ever and always I knew that yet
I must face and finish the toil I shirk.
Over and over the whip of pain
Has spurred and punished with blow on blow;
As ever and always I tried in vain
To shun the labour I hated so.
Over and over I came this way
For just one purpose, oh stubborn soul!
Turn with a will to your work today,
And learn the lesson of self control.
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THE WHITE MAN
Wherever the white man's feet have trod
(Oh far does the white man stray)
A bold road rifles the virginal sod,
And the forest wakes out of its dream of God,
To yield him the right of way.
For this is the law: By the power of thought,
For worse or for better, are miracles wrought.
Wherever the white man's pathway leads,
(Far, far has that pathway gone)
The Earth is littered with broken creeds--
And always the dark man's tent recedes,
And the white man pushes on.
For this is the law: Be it good or ill,
All things must yield to the stronger will.
Wherever the white man's light is shed,
(Oh far has that light been thrown)
Though nature has suffered and beauty bled,
Yet the goal of the race has been thrust ahead,
And the might of the race has grown.
For this is the law: Be it cruel or kind,
The Universe sways to the power of mind.
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A MOORISH MAID
Above her veil a shrouded Moorish maid
Showed melting eyes, as limpid as a lake;
A brow untouched by care, a band of jetty hair.
And nothing more. The all-concealing haik
Fell to her high arched instep. At her side
An old duenna walked; her withered face
Half covered only, since no lingering grace
Bespoke the beauty, once her master's pride.
Above her veil, the Moorish maid beheld
The modern world; in Paris-decked Algiers;
Saw happy lad and lass in love's contentment pass,
Or in sweet wholesome friendship, free from fears.
She saw fair matrons walking arm in arm
With lifelong lovers, time-endeared, and then
She saw the ardent look in eyes of men,
And thrilled and trembled with a vague alarm.
Above her veil she saw the stuccoed court
That led to dim secluded rooms within.
She followed, dutiful, the dame unbeautiful,
Who told her that the Christian world means sin.
Some day, full soon, she should go forth a bride--
Of one whose face she never had beheld.
Something within her wakened, and rebelled;
She flung aside her veil, and cried and cried...
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I KNOW NOT
Death! I know not what room you are abiding in,
But I will go my way
Rejoicing day by day,
Nor will I flee or stay
For fear I tread the path you may be hiding in.
Death! I know not if my small barque be nearing you;
But if you are at sea
Still there my sails float free;
'What is to be, will be.'
Nor will I mar the happy voyage by fearing you.
Death! I know not what hour or spot you wait for me;
My days untroubled flow,
Just trusting, on I go,
For oh, I know, I know,
Death is but life that holds some glad new fate for me.
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INTERLUDE
The days grow shorter, the nights grow longer;
The headstones thicken along the way,
And life grows sadder, but love grows stronger,
For those who walk with us day by day.
The tear comes quicker, the laugh comes slower;
The courage is lesser to do and dare;
And the tide of joy in the heart falls lower,
And seldom covers the reefs of care.
But all true things in the world seem truer;
And the better things of earth seem best,
And friends are dearer as friends are fewer,
And love is all as our sun dips west.
Then let us clasp hands as we walk together,
And let us speak softly in love's sweet tone;
For no one knows on the morrow whether
We two pass on--or but one alone.
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RESURRECTION
Pausing a moment ere the day was done,
While yet the earth was scintillant with light,
I backward glanced.
From valley, plain and height,
At intervals, where my lifepath had run,
Rose cross on cross.
And nailed upon each one, was my dead self.
And yet that gruesome sight lent sudden splendour
To the falling night,
Showing the conquests that my soul had won.
Up to the rising stars I looked, and cried,
'There is no death! For year on year, reborn
I wake to larger life;
To joy more great.
So many times have I been crucified,
So often seen the resurrection morn,
I go triumphant, though new Calvaries await.'
.......................................
THE VOICES OF THE CITY
The voices of the city merged and swelled
Into a mighty dissonance of sound.
And from the medley rose these broken strains,
In changing time and ever changing keys.
I
Pleasure seekers, silken clad,
Led by cherub Day,
Ours the duty to be glad,
Ours the toil of play.
Sleep has bound the commonplace;
Pleasure rules the dawn.
Small hours set the merry pace,
And we follow on.
We must use the joys of earth,
All its cares we'll keep;
Night was made for youth and mirth;
Day was made for sleep.
Time has cut his beard, and Lo!
He is but a boy.
Singing, on with him we go.
Ah! But life is joy
II
We are the vendors of beauty;
We the purveyors for hell;
The carnal bliss of a purchased kiss
And the pleasures that blight, we sell.
God pity us. God pity the world.
We are the sad race-victims
Of the misused force in man,
Of the great white flame burned black with shame,
And lost to the primal plan.
God pity us. God pity the world.
We are the Purpose of Being
Gone wrong in the thought of the world.
The torch for its hand made a danger brand
And into the darkness, hurled.
God pity us. God pity the world.
III
We are the toilers in the realm of night
(Long, long the hours of night),
We are the human lever, wheel, and bolt,
That keeps the civic vehicle from jolt and jar,
Upon the shining track of day
(The unremembered day).
We sleep away the sunlit hours of life
(Unsatisfied, sad life),
We wake in shadow, and we rise in gloom,
False as a wanton's artificial bloom,
Is that false light we labour in till dawn
(The lonely laggard dawn).
Like visions half remembered from a dream
(A strange and broken dream),
Our children's faces, seen but while they sleep,
We are the toilers in the realm of night
(Long, long the hours of night).
Chorus
We are hope, and faith, and sorrow;
We are peace and pain and passion;
We are ardent lovers kissing;
We are happy mothers crooning;
We are rosy children dreaming;
We are honest labour sleeping;
We are wholesome pleasure laughing;
We are wakeful riches feasting;
We are lifted spirits praying;
We, the voices of the city.
Out of the medley rose these broken strains
In changing time and ever changing keys.
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