Out of the night and the north;
Savage of breed and of bone,
Shaggy and swift comes the yelping band,
Freighters of fur from the voiceless land
That sleeps in the Arctic zone.

Laden with skins from the north,
Beaver and bear and raccoon,
Marten and mink from the polar belts,
Otter and ermine and sable pelts—
The spoils of the hunter's moon.

Out of the night and the north,
Sinewy, fearless and fleet,
Urging the pack through the pathless snow,
The Indian driver, calling low,
Follows with moccasined feet.

Open your gates for him
Eager and new!
All the world waits for him;
What will he do?

Dear incompletenesses
Blossoming hours!
Feed him with sweetnesses!
Heap him with flowers!

See how he crumbles them,
Shouts like a man!
Tosses and tumbles them
Wide as he can!

Vain is admonishment,
Sermons in vain:—
Gleeful astonishment!
At it again!

Wildness of babyhood!
Passion of play!
Who but a baby would
Wish it away?

Rapt from the Mystery,
Reft from the whole,
Hast thou a history,
Innocent soul?

Dear fold me once more in thine Armes;
And let me know,
Before I goe,
There is no blisse but in those charmes:
By thy faire selfe I sweare,
That here and only here
I would for ever ever stay
But cruel Fate calls me away.

How swiftly the light minutes slide;
The hours that hast
Away thus fast
By envyous flight my stay do chide:
Yet Dear, since I must go,
By this last kiss I vow
By all that sweetness which dwels with thee,
Time shall move slow, till next I see thee.

One word is too often profaned
For me to profane it,
One feeling too falsely disdained
For thee to disdain it;
One hope is too like despair
For prudence to smother,
And pity from thee more dear
Than that from another.

I can give not what men call love,
But wilt thou accept not
The worship the heart lifts above
And the Heavens reject not,--

The desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to something afar
From the sphere of our sorrow?

One sweetly solemn thought
—Comes to me o'er and o'er;
I am nearer home to-day
—Than I ever have been before;

Nearer my Father's house,
—Where the many mansions be;
Nearer the great white throne,
—Nearer the crystal sea;

Nearer the bound of life,
—Where we lay our burdens down;
Nearer leaving the cross!
—Nearer gaining the crown!

But lying darkly between,
—Winding down through the night,
Is the silent, unknown stream,
—That leads at last to the light.

Closer and closer my steps
—Come to the dread abysm:

Once, in a roostery
there lived a speckled hen, and when-
ever she laid an egg this hen
ecstatically cried:
‘O progeny miraculous, particular spectaculous,
what a wonderful hen am I!’

Down in a pond nearby
perchance a fat and broody carp
was basking, but her ears were sharp—
she heard Dame Cackle cry:
‘O progeny miraculous, particular spectaculous,
what a wonderful hen am I!’

‘Ah, Cackle,’ bubbled she,
‘for your single egg, O silly one,
I lay at least a million;
suppose for each I cried:

Once in a golden hour
—I cast to earth a seed.
Up there came a flower,
—The people said, a weed.

To and fro they went
—Through my garden-bower,
And muttering discontent
—Cursed me and my flower.

Then it grew so tall
—It wore a crown of light,
But thieves from o'er the wall
—Stole the seed by night;

Sowed it far and wide
—By every town and tower,
Till all the people cried,
—“Splendid is the flower.”

Read my little fable:
—He that runs may read.
Most can raise the flowers now,
—For all have got the seed.

On scent of game from town to town he flew,
The soldier's curse pursued him on his way;
Care in his eye, and anguish on his brow,
He seemed a sea-hawk watching for his prey.

With soothing words the widow's mite he gained,
With piercing glance watched misery's dark abode,
Filched paper scraps while yet a scrap remained,
Bought where he must, and cheated where he could;

Vast loads amassed of scrip, and who knows what;
Potosi's wealth seemed lodged within his clutch,—
But wealth has wings (he knew) and instant bought

On a white field,
black little seeds . . .
Let it rain! rain!

“Sower, what do you sow?”
How the furrow sings!
Let it rain! rain!

“I sow rainbows,
dawns and trumpets!”
Let it rain! rain!

On a hill near Petersburg,
Facing the old historic town,
There lives a model Negro—
One who's won renown.

A man we should be proud of—
President of a school;
He holds full sway in his modest way,
Of reserved and dignified rule.

'Tis just such men the world needs,
One whose record stands
Unblemished by a darkened deed,
Clear, wavering thro' the land.

Live on, thou brave and honored sire,
That many thy paths may retrace,
To keep them from the deepened mire
Of folly and disgrace.

Live on, thou noble son of Ham—