THE RIDDLE OF WRECK Dark hemlocks, seventy and seven, High on the hill-slope sigh in dream, With plumy heads in heaven; They silver the sunbeam. One broken body of a tree, Stabbed through and slashed by lightning keen, Unsouled, and grim to see, Hangs o’er the hushed ravine. A hundred masts, a hundred more, Crowd close against the sunset-fires. Their late adventure o’er, They mingle with the spires. But one is lying prone, alone, Where gleaming gulls to seaward sweep, White sand of burial blown In sheets about its sleep. When lightning’s leashed, and sea is still, Ye sacrificial mysteries dread, Scapegoats of shore and hill, Your riddle may be read. THE COMMON STREET The common street climbed up against the sky, Gray meeting gray; and wearily to and fro I saw the patient, common people go, Each with his sordid burden trudging by. And the rain dropped; there was not any sigh Or stir of a live wind; dull, dull and slow All motion; as a tale told long ago The faded world; and creeping night drew nigh. Then burst the sunset, flooding far and fleet, Leavening the whole of life with magic leaven. Suddenly down the long wet glistening hill Pure splendor poured--and lo! the common street, A golden highway into golden heaven, With the dark shapes of men ascending still. CALNAN’S CHRISTMAS When you hear the fire-gongs beat fierce along the startled street, See the great-limbed horses bound, and the gleaming engine sway, And the driver in his place, with his fixed, heroic face, Say a prayer for Calnan’s sake--he that died on Christmas day! Cling! Cling! Each to his station! Clang! Clang! Quick to clear the way! (Christ keep the soldiers of salvation, Fighting nameless battles in the war of every day!) In the morning, blue and mild, of the Mother and the Child, While the blessed bells were calling, thrilled the summons through the wire; In the morning, blue and mild, for a woman and a child Died a man of gentle will, plunging on to fight the fire. Ring, swing, bells in the steeple! Ring the Child and ring the Star, as sweetly as ye may! Ring, swing, bells, to tell the people God’s good will to earthly men, the men of every day! “Thirty-four” swung out agleam, with her mighty, bounding team; Horses’ honor pricked them on, and they leaped as at a goad; Jimmy Calnan in his place, with his clean-cut Irish face, Iron hands upon the reins, eyes a-strain upon the road. Clang! Clang! Quick to clear the way! (Sweetly rang, above the clang, the bells of Christmas day.)