The unknown from the known.
I mount what thought is near me
And soon I reach the place,

The tenuous rim where the Seen grows dim
And the sightless hides its face.

I have ridden the wind,

I have ridden the sea,

I have ridden the moon and stars,

I have set my feet in the stirrup seat
Of a comet coursing Mars.

And everywhere,

Thro' earth and air

My thought speeds, lightning-shod,

It comes to a place where checking pace
It cries, "Beyond lies God."

It calls me out of the darkness,

It calls me out of sleep,

"Ride, ride! for you must, to the end of Dust!" It bids—and on I sweep

To the wide outposts of Being

Where there is Gulf alone

And thro' a vast that was never passed

I listen for Life's tone.

I have ridden the wind

I have ridden the night,

I have ridden the ghosts that flee

From the vaults of death like a chilling breath

Over eternity.

And everywhere

Is the world laid bare

Ether and star and clod

Until I wind to its brink and find
But the cry, "Beyond lies God!"

It calls me and ever calls me!

And vainly I reply,

"Fools only ride where the ways divide

What Is from the Whence and Why!"

I'm lifted into the saddle

Of thoughts too strong to tame

And down the deeps and over the steeps

I find-ever the same.

I have ridden the wind,

I have ridden the stars

I have ridden the force that flies

With far intent through the firmament
And each to each allies.

And everywhere

That a thought may dare

To gallop, mine has trod—

Only to stand at last on the strand

Where just beyond lies God.

THE SEEKERS

VICTOR STARBUCK

One asked a sign from God; and day by day
The sun arose in pearl, in scarlet set,

Each night the stars appeared in bright array,
Each morn the thirsting grass with dew was wet.
The corn failed not its harvest, nor the vine.
And yet he saw no sign.

One longed to hear a prophet; and he strayed
Through crowded streets, and by the open sea.
He saw men send their ships for distant trade,
And build for generations yet to be.

He saw the farmer sow his acres wide,
But went unsatisfied.

One prayed a sight of heaven; and erewhile
He saw a workman at his noontime rest.
He saw one dare for honor, and the smile
Of one who held a babe upon her breast;
At dusk two lovers walking hand in hand;
But did not understand.

THE CATTLE OF HIS HAND

WILBUR UNDERWOOD

All night long, through the starlit air and the stillness, Through the wanness of dawn and the burning of noontide, Onward we strain with a mighty resounding of hoof-beats.

Heaven and earth are ashake with the terrible trampling;
Wild straying of feet of a vast and hastening army;
Wistful eyes that helplessly seek one another.

Hushed is the dark to hear the plaint of our lowing,
Mournful cry of the dumb-tired hearts within us,

Faint to death with thirst and the gnawing of hunger.

Day by day through the dust and the heat have we thirsted;

Day by day through stony ways have we hungered;

Naught but a few bitter herbs that grew by the wayside.

What we flee that is far behind in the darkness,

Where the place of abiding for us, we know not;
Only we hark for the voice of the Master Herdsman.

Many a weary day must pass ere we hear it,

Blown on the winds, now close, now far in the distance,
Deep as the void above us and sweet as the dawn-star.

He it is who drives us and urges us always,
Faint with a need that is ever present within us,
Struggling onward and toiling one by the other.

Ever we long and cry for rest, but it comes not;
Broke are our feet and sore and bruised by the climbing;
Sharp is his goad in our quivering flanks when we falter.

And some fall down with a plaintive moaning and perish;
But upward we strain nor stop, for the Voice comes to us,
Driving us on once more to the press and the struggle.

Then when we know His Presence the hard way lightens;
Turn we our piteous eyes to the far-stretching highway;
Struggle ahead in the dark as trusting as children.

What we flee that is far behind in the darkness,
Where the place of abiding for us, we know not;
Only we hark for the Voice-till hope fades from us.

Heaven and earth are ashake with the terrible trampling,
Wild straying feet of a vast and hastening army,
Wistful hearts that helplessly seek one another.

All night long through the star-lit air and the stillness,
Through the cool wanness of dawn and the burning of noontide,
Onward we strain with mighty resounding of hoof-beats.

c. THE SEARCH IS ITS OWN REWARD

A GRAMMARIAN'S FUNERAL

ROBERT BROWNING

(Shortly after the Revival of Learning in Europe)

Let us begin and carry up this corpse,

Singing together.

Leave we the common crofts, the vulgar thorpes,
Each in its tether

Sleeping safe on the bosom of the plain,

Cared-for till cock-crow:

Look out if yonder be not day again

Rimming the rock-row!

That's the appropriate country; there, man's thought,
Rarer, intenser,

Self-gathered for an outbreak, as it ought,

Chafes in the censer.

Till lo, the little touch, and youth was gone!
Cramped and diminished,

Moaned he, "New measures, other feet anon!
My dance is finished?"

No, that's the world's way; (keep the mountainside,
Make for the city!)

He knew the signal, and stepped on with pride

Over men's pity;

Left play for work, and grappled with the world

Bent on escaping:

"What's in the scroll," quoth he, "thou keepest furled? Show me their shaping,

Theirs who most studied man, the bard and sage,—
Give!"-So, he gowned him,

Straight got by heart that book to its last page:
Learned, we found him.

Yea, but we found him bald too, eyes like lead,
Accents uncertain:

"Time to taste life," another would have said,
"Up with the curtain!"

This man said rather, "Actual life comes next?
Patience a moment!

Grant I have mastered learning's crabbed text,
Still there's the comment.

Let me know all! Prate not of most or least,
Painful or easy!

Even to the crumbs I'd fain eat up the feast,
Ay, nor feel queasy."

Oh, such a life as he resolved to live,

When he had learned it,

When he had gathered all books had to give!

Quite, ere you build, ere steel strikes fire from quartz, Ere mortar dab brick!

(Here's the town-gate reached; there's the market-place Gaping before us.)

Yea, this in him was the peculiar grace

(Hearten our chorus!)