Poems of Cheer.

by Ella Wheeler Wilc.o.x.

This Volume contains the poems published under the t.i.tle "Poems of Life," with the exception of about half a dozen, which appear in my other volumes. I have also added a few new verses.

ELLA WHEELER WILc.o.x.

April 12th, 1910.

I step across the mystic border-land, And look upon the wonder-world of Art.

How beautiful, how beautiful its hills!

And all its valleys, how surpa.s.sing fair!

The winding paths that lead up to the heights Are polished by the footsteps of the great.

The mountain-peaks stand very near to G.o.d: The chosen few whose feet have trod thereon Have talked with Him, and with the angels walked.

Here are no sounds of discord--no profane Or senseless gossip of unworthy things - Only the songs of chisels and of pens, Of busy brushes, and ecstatic strains Of souls surcharged with music most divine.

Here is no idle sorrow, no poor grief For any day or object left behind - For time is counted precious, and herein Is such complete abandonment of Self That tears turn into rainbows, and enhance The beauty of the land where all is fair.

Awed and afraid, I cross the border-land.

Oh, who am I, that I dare enter here Where the great artists of the world have trod - The genius-crowned aristocrats of Earth?

Only the singer of a little song; Yet loving Art with such a mighty love I hold it greater to have won a place Just on the fair land's edge, to make my grave, Than in the outer world of greed and gain To sit upon a royal throne and reign.

WORTH WHILE

It is easy enough to be pleasant When life flows by like a song, But the man worth while is the one who will smile When everything goes dead wrong.

For the test of the heart is trouble, And it always comes with the years, And the smile that is worth the praises of earth Is the smile that shines through tears.

It is easy enough to be prudent When nothing tempts you to stray, When without or within no voice of sin Is luring your soul away; But it's only a negative virtue Until it is tried by fire, And the life that is worth the honour on earth Is the one that resists desire.

By the cynic, the sad, the fallen, Who had no strength for the strife, The world's highway is c.u.mbered to-day - They make up the sum of life; But the virtue that conquers pa.s.sion, And the sorrow that hides in a smile - It is these that are worth the homage on earth, For we find them but once in a while.

THE HOUSE OF LIFE

All wondering, and eager-eyed, within her portico I made my plea to Hostess Life, one morning long ago.

"Pray show me this great house of thine, nor close a single door; But let me wander where I will, and climb from floor to floor!

For many rooms, and curious things, and treasures great and small Within your s.p.a.cious mansion lie, and I would see them all."

Then Hostess Life turned silently, her searching gaze on me, And with no word, she reached her hand, and offered up the key.

It opened first the door of Hope, and long I lingered there, Until I spied the room of Dreams, just higher by a stair.

And then a door whereon the one word "Happiness" was writ; But when I tried the little key I could not make it fit.

It turned the lock of Pleasure's room, where first all seemed so bright - But after I had stayed awhile it somehow lost its light.

And wandering down a lonely hall, I came upon a room Marked "Duty," and I entered it--to lose myself in gloom.

Along the shadowy halls I groped my weary way about, And found that from dull Duty's room, a door of Toil led out.

It led out to another door, whereon a crimson stain Made sullenly against the dark these words: "The Room of Pain."

But oh the light, the light, the light, that spilled down from above And upward wound, the stairs of Faith, right to the Tower of Love!

And when I came forth from that place, I tried the little key - And lo! the door of Happiness swung open, wide and free.

A SONG OF LIFE

In the rapture of life and of living, I lift up my heart and rejoice, And I thank the great Giver for giving The soul of my gladness a voice.

In the glow of the glorious weather, In the sweet-scented, sensuous air, My burdens seem light as a feather - They are nothing to bear.

In the strength and the glory of power, In the pride and the pleasure of wealth (For who dares dispute me my dower Of talents and youth-time and health?), I can laugh at the world and its sages - I am greater than seers who are sad, For he is most wise in all ages Who knows how to be glad.

I lift up my eyes to Apollo, The G.o.d of the beautiful days, And my spirit soars off like a swallow, And is lost in the light of its rays.

Are you troubled and sad? I beseech you Come out of the shadows of strife - Come out in the sun while I teach you The secret of life.

Come out of the world--come above it - Up over its crosses and graves, Though the green earth is fair and I love it, We must love it as masters, not slaves.

Come up where the dust never rises - But only the perfume of flowers - And your life shall be glad with surprises Of beautiful hours.

Come up where the rare golden wine is Apollo distills in my sight, And your life shall be happy as mine is, And as full of delight.

PRAYER

I do not undertake to say That literal answers come from Heaven, But I know this--that when I pray A comfort, a support is given That helps me rise o'er earthly things As larks soar up on airy wings.

In vain the wise philosopher Points out to me my fabric's flaws, In vain the scientists aver That "all things are controlled by laws."

My life has taught me day by day That it availeth much to pray.

I do not stop to reason out The why and how. I do not care, Since I know this, that when I doubt, Life seems a blackness of despair, The world a tomb; and when I trust, Sweet blossoms spring up in the dust.

Since I know in the darkest hour, If I lift up my soul in prayer, Some sympathetic, loving Power Sends hope and comfort to me there.

Since balm is sent to ease my pain, What need to argue or explain?