We are moving shadows cast On the world’s great picture screen; Shadows in a drama vast, Filled with varied act and scene. Shadows flitting in the sun Like the bees among the flowers; Shadows hast’ning one by one Down the course of passing hours. Shadows in the sunny space; Shadows on the tangled grass; Shadows on the river’s face; Shadows in the winds that pass. Shadows playing in the lane; Shadows fighting battles brave; Shadows walking ways of pain; Shadows falling in the grave. Shadows moving in the grove, Falling on the summer lawn. On and off the screen they move, But the play goes ever on. The Sunbeam and the Shadow (1921) The sunbeam and the shadow Are met upon the screen. Each mingles in the making Of yonder lovely scene. If all were only shadow, A leaden cloud would pall. If it were only sunshine, ’Twould be no scene at all. In life are intermingled The sunshine and the rain. In each day strangely blended Are happiness and pain. Where’er is told life’s story, However grave or fair, The sunshine and the shadow Succeed each other there. The Teacher v1921 WHO shapes a mind doth shape the years That are to be, the joys and tears Of those unborn. He lays his hand Upon the future of the land And turns by thought’s resistless force The stream of hist’ry in its course. Who shapes a life, its hopes, its worth, Doth shape the future of the earth. His is a sculptor hand, to mold The periods as they unfold. His hand is laid upon the rod That speeds the purposes of God. After-Images (1922) The lights go low, the organ swells, And pours its rhythm everywhere-- Now thunder, now the ring of bells, Sounding at twilight o’er the dells, Now but a whisper in the air. The whisper and the thunder loud Are both reflected on the crowd. The pictures come, and pass away, As morn departs or evening stills. Ambition fights its fevered fray. The wrong and right have each their day. Love walks with love upon the hills Life’s long procession there appears. And hurries onward thru the years. The music dies. The crowds depart. Each goes his way, pursues his aim; But something in the thing of art Has left a mark upon his heart. Somehow the world is not the same. The music and the scenes so fair Have left their after-imagine there. Almost (1922) The fish we almost captured, The race we almost won, The task we almost finished Before the day was done. The plan almost accomplished, The dream almost come true-- These bring but little comfort Or help to me and you. Near heroes win no laurels; Near victories are cheap; And near achievements bring us No crowns we care to keep. To come but near is failure. A miss is like a mile. The word “almost” can rob us Of all that is worth while. Along the Road (1922)