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.

Henry Van Dyke

If All The Skies

IF all the skies were sunshine,

Our faces would be fain

To feel once more upon them

The cooling plash of rain.

If all the world were music,

Our hearts would often long

For one sweet strain of silence,

To break the endless song.

If life were always merry,

Our souls would seek relief,

And rest from weary laughter

In the quiet arms of grief.

Henry Van Dyke

When Tulips Bloom

I

WHEN tulips bloom in Union Aquare,

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 to sunset skies

Beyond the hills where green trees grow;

Then wearly 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 bluebirds 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 mush I'm wishing to go a-fishing

In days so sweet with music's balm!

IV

'Tis 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:

'Tis all I'm wishing--old-fashioned fishing,

And just a day on Nature's heart.

Henry Van Dyke

Four Things

FOUR things a man must learn to do

If he would make his record true:

To think without confusion clearly;

To love his fellow man sincerely;

To act from honest motives purely;

To trust in God and Heaven securely.

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.

Henry Van Dyke

Christ of Everywhere

"CHRIST of the Andes," Christ of Everywhere,

Great lover of the hills, the open air,

And patient lover of impatient men

Who blindly strive and sin and strive again, --

Thou Living Word, larger than any creed,

Thou Love Divine, uttered in human deed, --

Oh, teach the world, warring and wandering still,

Thy way of Peace, the foot path of Good Will!

Henry Van Dyke

Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee

JOYFUL, joyful we adore Thee, God of glory, Lord of love,

Hearts unfold like flowers before Thee, hail Thee as the sun above.

Melt the clouds of sin and sadness, drive the dark of doubt away;

Giver of immortal gladness, fill us with the light of day.

All Thy works with joy surround Thee, earth and heav'n reflect Thy rays,

Stars and agnels sing around Thee, center of unbroken praise;

Field and forest, vale and moutain, flow'ry meadow, flashing sea,

Chanting birds and flowing fountain call us to rejoice in Thee.

Thou art givind and forgiving, ever blessing, ever blest,

Wellspring of the joy of living, ocean depth of happy rest.

Thou our Father, Christ our Brother, all who live in love are Thine;

Teach us how to love each other, lift us to the Joy Divine.

Mortals, join the mighty chorus which the morning stars began,

Father love is reigning o'er us, brother love binds man to man.

Ever singing, march we onward, victors in the midst of strife;

Joyful music lifts us sunward, in the triumph song of life.

Henry Van Dyke

They Who Tread the Path of Labor

THEY who tread the path of labor follow where My feet have trod;

They who work without complaining, do the holy will of God;

Nevermore thou needest seek me; I am with thee everywhere;

Raise the stone, and thou shalt find Me, clease the wood and I am there.

Where the many toil together, there am I among My own;

Where the tired workman sleepeth, there am I with him alone:

I, the Peace that passeth knowledge, dwell amid the daily strife;

I, the Bread of Heav'n am broken in the sacrement of life.

Every task, however simple, sets the soul that does it free;

Every deed of love and mercy, done to man is done to Me.

Nevermore thou needest seek me; I am with thee everywhere;

Raise the stone, and thou shalt find Me; cleave the wood, and I am there.

Henry Van Dyke

Life

LET me but live my life from year to year,

With forward face and unreluctant soul;

Not hurrying to, nor turning from the goal;

Not mourning for the things that disappear

In the dim past, nor holding back in fear

From what the future veils; but with a whole

And happy heart, that pays its toll

To Youth and Age, and travels on with cheer.

So let the way wind up the hill or down,

O'er rough or smooth, the journey will be joy:

Still seeking what I sought when but a boy,

New friendship, high adventure, and a crown,

My heart will keep the courage of the quest,

And hope the road's last turn will be the best.

Henry Van Dyke