A Mile With Me

O who will walk a mile with me
Along life’s merry way?
A comrade blithe and full of glee,
Who dares to laugh out loud and free,
And let his frolic fancy play,
Like a happy child, through the flowers gay
That fill the field and fringe the way
Where he walks a mile with me.
And who will walk a mile with me
Along life’s weary way?
A friend whose heart has eyes to see
The stars shine out o’er the darkening lea,
And the quiet rest at the end o’ the day,–
A friend who knows, and dares to say,
The brave, sweet words that cheer the way
Where he walks a mile with me.
With such a comrade, such a friend,
I fain would walk till journeys end,
Through summer sunshine, winter rain,
And then?–Farewell, we shall meet again!

by Henry Van Dyke

A Mother's Birthday

Lord Jesus, Thou hast known
A mother’s love and tender care:
And Thou wilt hear,
While for my own
Mother most dear
I make this birthday prayer.
Protect her life, I pray,
Who gave the gift of life to me;
And may she know,
From day to day,
The deepening glow
Of joy that comes from Thee.
As once upon her breast
Fearless and well content I lay,
So let her heart,
On Thee at rest,
Feel fear depart
And trouble fade away.
Ah, hold her by the hand,
As once her hand held mine;
And though she may
Not understand
Life’s winding way,
Lead her in peace divine.
I cannot pay my debt
For all the love that she has given;
But Thou, love’s Lord,
Wilt not forget
Her due reward,-
Bless her in earth and heaven.

by Henry van Dyke

A November Daisy

Afterthought of summer’s bloom!
Late arrival at the feast,
Coming when the songs have ceased
And the merry guests departed,
Leaving but an empty room,
Silence, solitude, and gloom,-
Are you lonely, heavy-hearted;
You, the last of all your kind,
Nodding in the autumn wind;
Now that all your friends are flown,
Blooming late and all alone?
Nay, I wrong you, little flower,
Reading mournful mood of mine
In your looks, that give no sign
Of a spirit dark and cheerless!
You possess the heavenly power
That rejoices in the hour.
Glad, contented, free, and fearless,
Lift a sunny face to heaven
When a sunny day is given!
Make a summer of your own,
Blooming late and all alone!
Once the daisies gold and white
Sea-like through the meadow rolled:
Once my heart could hardly hold
All its pleasures. I remember,
In the flood of youth’s delight
Separate joys were lost to sight.
That was summer! Now November
Sets the perfect flower apart;
Gives each blossom of the heart
Meaning, beauty, grace unknown,-
Blooming late and all alone.

by Henry van Dyke

A Noon Song

There are songs for the morning and songs for the night,
For sunrise and sunset, the stars and the moon;
But who will give praise to the fulness of light,
And sing us a song of the glory of noon?
Oh, the high noon, the clear noon,
The noon with golden crest;
When the blue sky burns, and the great sun turns
With his face to the way of the west!
How swiftly he rose in the dawn of his strength;
How slowly he crept as the morning wore by;
Ah, steep was the climbing that led him at length
To the height of his throne in the wide summer sky.
Oh, the long toil, the slow toil,
The toil that may not rest,
Till the sun looks down from his journey’s crown,
To the wonderful way of the west!
Then a quietness falls over meadow and hill,
The wings of the wind in the forest are furled,
The river runs softly, the birds are all still,
The workers are resting all over the world.
Oh, the good hour, the kind hour,
The hour that calms the breast!
Little inn half-way on the road of the day,
Where it follows the turn to the west!
There’s a plentiful feast in the maple-tree shade,
The lilt of a song to an old-fashioned tune,
The talk of a friend, or the kiss of a maid,
To sweeten the cup that we drink to the noon.
Oh, the deep noon, the full noon,
Of all the day the best!
When the blue sky burns, and the great sun turns
To his home by the way of the west.

by Henry Van Dyke

A Prayer for a Mother's Birthday

Lord Jesus, Thou hast known
A mother’s love and tender care:
And Thou wilt hear, while for my own
Mother most dear I make this birthday prayer.

Protect her life, I pray,
Who gave the gift of life to me;
And may she know, from day to day,
The deepening glow of Life that comes from Thee.

As once upon her breast
Fearless and well content I lay,
So let her heart, on Thee at rest,
Feel fears depart and troubles fade away.

Her every wish fulfill;
And even if Thou must refuse
In anything, let Thy wise will
A comfort bring such as kind mothers use.

Ah, hold her by the hand,
As once her hand held mine;
And though she may not understand
Life’s winding way, lead her in peace divine.

I cannot pay my debt
For all the love that she has given;
But Thou, love’s Lord, wilt not forget
Her due reward,–bless her in earth and heaven.

by Henry Van Dyke

A Psalm Of The Unseen Altar

Man the maker of cities is also a builder of altars:
Among his habitations he setteth tables for his god.
He bringeth the beauty of the rocks to enrich them:
Marble and alabaster, porphyry, jasper and jade.
He cometh with costly gifts to offer an oblation:
He would buy favour with the fairest of his flock.
Around the many altars I hear strange music arising:
Loud lamentations and shouting and singing and sighs.
I perceive also the pain and terror of their sacrifices:
I see the white marble wet with tears and with blood.
Then I said, These are the altars of ignorance:
Yet they are built by thy children, O God, who know thee not.
Surely thou wilt have pity upon them and lead them:
Hast thou not prepared for them a table of peace?
Then the Lord mercifully sent his angel forth to lead me:
He led me through the temples, the holy place that is hidden.
Lo, there are multitudes kneeling in the silence of the spirit:
They are kneeling at the unseen altar of the lowly heart.
Here is plentiful forgiveness for the souls that are forgiving:
And the joy of life is given unto all who long to give.
Here a Father’s hand upholdeth all who bear each other’s burdens:
And the benediction falleth upon all who pray in love.
Surely this is the altar where the penitent find pardon:
And the priest who hath blessed it forever is the Holy One of God.

by Henry van Dyke

A Psalm Of The Distant Road

Happy is the man that seeth the face of a friend in a far country:
The darkness of his heart is melted in the rising of an inward joy.
It is like the sound of music heard long ago and half forgotten:
It is like the coming back of birds to a wood that winter hath made bare.
I knew not the sweetness of the fountain till I found it flowing in the desert:
Nor the value of a friend till the meeting in a lonely land.
The multitude of mankind had bewildered me and oppressed me:
And I said to God, Why hast thou made the world so wide?
But when my friend came the wideness of the world had no more terror:
Because we were glad together among men who knew us not.
I was slowly reading a book that was written in a strange language:
And suddenly I came upon a page in mine own familiar tongue.
This was the heart of my friend that quietly understood me:
The open heart whose meaning was clear without a word.
O my God whose love followeth all thy pilgrims and strangers:
I praise thee for the comfort of comrades on a distant road.

by Henry van Dyke

A Psalm Of Surrender

Mine enemies have prevailed against me, O God:
Thou hast led me deep into their ambush.
They surround me with a hedge of spears:
And the sword in my hand is broken.
My friends also have forsaken my side:
From a safe place they look upon me with pity.
My heart is like water poured upon the ground:
I have come alone to the place of surrender.
To thee, to thee only will I give up my sword:
The sword which was broken in thy service.
Thou hast required me to suffer for thy cause:
By my defeat thy will is victorious.
O my King show me thy face shining in the dark:
While I drink the loving-cup of death to thy glory.

by Henry van Dyke

A Scrap of Paper

“Will you go to war just for a scrap of paper?” – Question
of the German Chancellor to the British Ambassador,
August 5, 1914.
A mocking question! Britain’s answer came
Swift as the light and searching as the flame.
“Yes, for a scrap of paper we will fight
Till our last breath, and God defend the right!
“A scrap of paper where a name is set
Is strong as duty’s pledge and honor’s debt.
“A scrap of paper holds for man and wife
The sacrament of love, the bond of life.
“A scrap of paper may be Holy Writ
With God’s eternal word to hallow it.
“A scrap of paper binds us both to stand
Defenders of a neutral neighbor land.
“By God, by faith, by honor, yes! We fight
To keep our name upon that paper white.”

by Henry van Dyke

A Shrine In The Pantheon

FOR THE UNNAMED SOLDIERS WHO DIED IN FRANCE
Universal approval has been accorded the proposal made in the French Chamber that the ashes of an unnamed French soldier, fallen for his country, shall be removed with solemn ceremony to the Pantheon. In this way it is intended to honor by a symbolic ceremony the memory of all who lie in unmarked graves.
Here the great heart of France,
Victor in noble strife,
Doth consecrate a Poilu’s tomb
To those who saved her life!
Brave son without a name,
Your country calls you home,
To rest among her heirs of fame,
Beneath the Pantheon’s dome!
Now from the height of Heaven,
The souls of heroes look;
Their names, ungraven on this stone,
Are written in God’s book.
Women of France, who mourn
Your dead in unmarked ground,
Come hither! Here the man you loved
In the heart of France is found!

by Henry van Dyke

A Snow-Song

Does the snow fall at sea?
Yes, when the north winds blow,
When the wild clouds fly low,
Out of each gloomy wing,
Silently glimmering,
Over the stormy sea
Falleth the snow.
Does the snow hide the sea?
Nay, on the tossing plains
Never a flake remains;
Drift never resteth there;
Vanishing everywhere,
Into the hungry sea
Falleth the snow.
What means the snow at sea?
Whirled in the veering blast,
Thickly the flakes drive past;
Each like a childish ghost
Wavers, and then is lost;
In the forgetful sea
Fadeth the snow.

by Henry van Dyke

A Wayfaring Song

0 who will walk a mile with me
Along life’s merry way?
A comrade blithe and full of glee,
Who dares to laugh out loud and free
And let his frolic fancy play,
Like a happy child, through the flowers gay
That fill the field and fringe the way
Where he walks a mile with me.
And who will walk a mile with me
Along life’s weary way?
A friend whose heart has eyes to see
The stars shine out o’er the darkening lea,
And the quiet rest at the end o’ the day-
A friend who knows, and dares to say,
The brave, sweet words that cheer the way
Where he walks a mile with me.
With such a comrade, such a friend,
I fain would walk till journey’s end,
Through summer sunshine, winter rain,
And then? – Farewell, we shall meet again!

by Henry van Dyke

America's Welcome Home

Henry Van Dyke
Oh, gallantly they fared forth in khaki and in blue,
America’s crusading host of warriors bold and true;
They battled for the rights of man beside our brave Allies,
And now they’re coming home to us with glory in their eyes.
Oh, it’s home again, and home again, America for me!
Our hearts are turning home again and there we long to be,
In our beautiful big country beyond the ocean bars,
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.
Our boys have seen the Old World as none have seen before.
They know the grisly horror of the German gods of war:
The noble faith of Britain and the hero-heart of France,
The soul of Belgium’s fortitude and Italy’s romance.
They bore our country’s great word across the rolling sea,
“America swears brotherhood with all the just and free.”
They wrote that word victorious on fields of mortal strife,
And many a valiant lad was proud to seal it with his life.
Oh, welcome home in Heaven’s peace, dear spirits of the dead!
And welcome home ye living sons America hath bred!
The lords of war are beaten down, your glorious task is done;
You fought to make the whole world free, and the victory is won.
Now it’s home again, and home again, our hearts are turning west,
Of all the lands beneath the sun America is best.
We’re going home to our own folks, beyond the ocean bars,
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.

by Henry van Dyke

America's Prosperity

They tell me thou art rich, my country: gold
In glittering flood has poured into thy chest;
Thy flocks and herds increase, thy barns are pressed
With harvest, and thy stores can hardly hold
Their merchandise; unending trains are rolled
Along thy network rails of East and West;
Thy factories and forges never rest;
Thou art enriched in all things bought and sold!

But dost thou prosper? Better news I crave.
O dearest country, is it well with thee
Indeed, and is thy soul in health?
A nobler people, hearts more wisely brave,
And thoughts that lift men up and make them free,–
These are prosperity and vital wealth!

by Henry Van Dyke

America for Me

‘Tis fine to see the Old World and travel up and down
Among the famous palaces and cities of renown,
To admire the crumblyh castles and the statues and kings
But now I think I’ve had enough of antiquated things.

So it’s home again, and home again, America for me!
My heart is turning home again and there I long to be,
In the land of youth and freedom, beyond the ocean bars,
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.

Oh, London is a man’s town, there’s power in the air;
And Paris is a woman’s town, with flowers in her hair;
And it’s sweet to dream in Venice, and it’s great to study Rome;
But when it comes to living there is no place like home.

I like the German fir-woods in green battalions drilled;
I like the gardens of Versailles with flashing foutains filled;
But, oh, to take your had, my dear, and ramble for a day
In the friendly western woodland where Nature has her sway!

I know that Europe’s wonderful, yet something seems to lack!
The Past is too much with her, and the people looking back.
But the glory of the Present is to make the Future free–
We love our land for what she is and what she is to be.

Oh, it’s home again, and home again, America for me!
I want a ship that’s westward bound to plough the rolling sea,
To the blessed Land of Room Enough, beyond the ocean bars,
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.

by Henry Van Dyke

An Angler's Wish

I
WHEN tulips bloom in Union Square,
And timid breaths of vernal air
Go wandering down the dusty town,
Like children lost in Vanity Fair;
When every long, unlovely row
Of westward houses stands aglow,
And leads the eyes towards sunset skies
Beyond the hills where green trees grow,-
Then weary seems the street parade,
And weary books, and weary trade:
I ‘m only wishing to go a-fishing;
For this the month of May was made.
II
I guess the pussy-willows now
Are creeping out on every bough
Along the brook; and robins look
For early worms behind the plough.
The thistle-birds have changed their dun
For yellow coats, to match the sun;
And in the same array of flame
The dandelion show’s begun.
The flocks of young anemones
Are dancing round the budding trees:
Who can help wishing to go a-fishing
In days as full of joy as these?
III
I think the meadow-lark’s clear sound
Leaks upward slowly from the ground,
While on the wing the blue-birds ring
Their wedding-bells to woods around.
The flirting chewink calls his dear
Behind the bush; and very near,
Where water flows, where green grass grows,
Song-sparrows gently sing, “Good cheer.”
And, best of all, through twilight’s calm
The hermit-thrush repeats his psalm.
How much I ‘m wishing to go a-fishing
In days so sweet with music’s balm!
IV
‘T is not a proud desire of mine;
I ask for nothing superfine;
No heavy weight, no salmon great,
To break the record-or my line:
Only an idle little stream,
Whose amber waters softly gleam,
Where I may wade, through woodland shade,
And cast the fly, and loaf, and dream:
Only a trout or two, to dart
From foaming pools, and try my art:
No more I ‘m wishing-old-fashioned fishing,
And just a day on Nature’s heart.

by Henry van Dyke

An American in Europe

‘Tis fine to see the Old World, and travel up and down
Among the famous palaces and cities of renown,
To admire the crumbly castles and the statues of the kings, —
But now I think I’ve had enough of antiquated things.

So it’s home again, and home again, America for me!
My heart is turning home again, and there I long to be,
In the land of youth and freedom beyond the ocean bars,
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.

Oh, London is a man’s town, there’s power in the air;
And Paris is a woman’s town, with flowers in her hair;
And it’s sweet to dream in Venice, and it’s great to study Rome;
But when it comes to living there is no place like home.

I like the German fir-woods, in green battalions drilled;
I like the gardens of Versailles with flashing fountains filled;
But, oh, to take your hand, my dear, and ramble for a day
In the friendly western woodland where Nature has her way!

I know that Europe’s wonderful, yet something seems to lack:
The Past is too much with her, and the people looking back.
But the glory of the Present is to make the Future free, —
We love our land for what she is and what she is to be.

So it’s home again, and home again, America for me!
I want a ship that’s westward bound to plough the rolling sea,
To the blessed Land of Room Enough beyond the ocean bars,
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.

by Henry Van Dyke

An Hour

You only promised me a single hour:
But in that hour I journeyed through a year
Of life: the joy of finding you,-the fear
Of losing you again,-the sense of power
To make you all my own,-the sudden shower
Of tears that came because you were more dear
Than words could ever tell you,-then,-the clear
Soft rapture when I plucked love’s crimson flower.
An hour,-a year,-I felt your bosom rise
And fall with mystic tides, and saw the gleam
Of undiscovered stars within your eyes,-
A year,-an hour? I knew not, for the stream
Of love had carried me to Paradise,
Where all the forms of Time are like a dream.

by Henry van Dyke

Angler's Fireside Song

Oh, the angler’s path is a very merry way,
And his road through the world is bright;
For he lives with the laughing stream all day,
And he lies by the fire at night.
Sing hey nonny, ho nonny
And likewise well-a-day!
The angler’s life is a very jolly life
And that’s what the anglers say!
Oh, the angler plays for the pleasure of the game,
And his creel may be full or light,
But the tale that he tells will be just the same
When he lies by the fire at night.
Sing hey nonny, ho nonny
And likewise well-a-day!
We love the fire and the music of the lyre,
And that’s what the anglers say!

by Henry van Dyke

Another Chance

A DRAMATIC LYRIC
Come, give me back my life again, you heavy-handed Death!
Uncrook your fingers from my throat, and let me draw my breath.
You do me wrong to take me now-too soon for me to die-
Ah, loose me from this clutching pain, and hear the reason why.
I know I’ve had my forty years, and wasted every one;
And yet, I tell you honestly, my life is just begun;
I’ve walked the world like one asleep, a dreamer in a trance;
But now you’ve gripped me wide awake-I want another chance.
My dreams were always beautiful, my thoughts were high and fine;
No life was ever lived on earth to match those dreams of mine.
And would you wreck them unfulfilled? What folly, nay, what crime!
You rob the world, you waste a soul; give me a little time.
You’ll hear me? Yes, I’m sure you will, my hope is not in vain:
I feel the even pulse of peace, the sweet relief from pain;
The black fog rolls away from me; I’m free once more to plan:
Another chance is all I need to prove myself a man!
________________________________________
The world is full of warfare ‘twixt the evil and the good;
I watched the battle from afar as one who understood
The shouting and confusion, the bloody, blundering fight-
How few there are that see it clear, how few that wage it right!
The captains flushed with foolish pride, the soldiers pale with fear,
The faltering flags, the feeble fire from ranks that swerve and veer,
The wild mistakes, the dismal doubts, the coward hearts that flee-
The good cause needs a nobler knight to win the victory.
A man whose soul is pure and strong, whose sword is bright and keen,
Who knows the splendour of the fight and what its issues mean;
Who never takes one step aside, nor halts, though hope be dim,
But cleaves a pathway thro’ the strife, and bids men follow him.
No blot upon his stainless shield, no weakness in his arm;
No sign of trembling in his face to break his valour’s charm:
A man like this could stay the flight and lead the wavering line;
Ah, give me but a year of life-I’ll make that glory mine!
________________________________________
Religion? Yes, I know it well; I’ve heard its prayers and creeds,
And seen men put them all to shame with poor, half-hearted deeds.
They follow Christ, but far away; they wander and they doubt.
I’ll serve him in a better way, and live his precepts out.
You see, I waited just for this; I could not be content
To own a feeble, faltering faith with human weakness blent.
Too many runners in the race move slowly, stumble, fall;
But I will run so straight and swift I shall outstrip them all.
Oh, think what it will mean to men, amid their foolish strife,
To see the clear, unshadowed light of one true Christian life,
Without a touch of selfishness, without a taint of sin,-
With one short month of such a life a new world would begin!
________________________________________
And love!-I often dream of that-the treasure of the earth;
How little they who use the coin have realised its worth!
‘Twill pay all debts, enrich all hearts, and make all joys secure.
But love, to do its perfect work, must be sincere and pure.
My heart is full of virgin gold. I’ll pour it out and spend
My hidden wealth with open hand on all who call me friend.
Not one shall miss the kindly deed, the largess of relief,
The generous fellowship of joy, the sympathy of grief.
I’ll say the loyal, helpful things that make life sweet and fair,
I’ll pay the gratitude I owe for human love and care.
Perhaps I’ve been at fault sometimes-I’ll ask to be forgiven,
And make this little room of mine seem like a bit of heaven.
For one by one I’ll call my friends to stand beside my bed;
I’ll speak the true and tender words so often left unsaid;
And every heart shall throb and glow, all coldness melt away
Around my altar-fire of love-ah, give me but one day!
________________________________________
What’s that? I’ve had another day, and wasted it again?
A priceless day in empty dreams, another chance in vain?
Thou fool-this night-it’s very dark-the last-this choking breath-
One prayer-have mercy on a dreamer’s soul-God, this is death!

by Henry van Dyke