Tears! Tears! Tears! Like dews upon the leaf That bursts at last--from out the years The blossom of a trust appears That blooms above the grief; And mother, brother, wife and child Will see it and be reconciled. IN THE DARK O In the depths of midnight What fancies haunt the brain! When even the sigh of the sleeper Sounds like a sob of pain. A sense of awe and of wonder I may never well define,-- For the thoughts that come in the shadows Never come in the shine. The old clock down in the parlor Like a sleepless mourner grieves, And the seconds drip in the silence As the rain drips from the eaves. And I think of the hands that signal The hours there in the gloom, And wonder what angel watchers Wait in the darkened room. And I think of the smiling faces That used to watch and wait, Till the click of the clock was answered By the click of the opening gate.-- They are not there now in the evening-- Morning or noon--not there; Yet I know that they keep their vigil, And wait for me Somewhere. THE IRON HORSE No song is mine of Arab steed-- My courser is of nobler blood, And cleaner limb and fleeter speed, And greater strength and hardihood Than ever cantered wild and free Across the plains of Araby. Go search the level desert land From Sana on to Samarcand-- Wherever Persian prince has been, Or Dervish, Sheik, or Bedouin, And I defy you there to point Me out a steed the half so fine-- From tip of ear to pastern-joint-- As this old iron horse of mine. You do not know what beauty is-- You do not know what gentleness His answer is to my caress!-- Why, look upon this gait of his,-- A touch upon his iron rein-- He moves with such a stately grace The sunlight on his burnished mane Is barely shaken in its place; And at a touch he changes pace, And, gliding backward, stops again. And talk of mettle--Ah! my friend, Such passion smolders in his breast That when awakened it will send A thrill of rapture wilder than E'er palpitated heart of man When flaming at its mightiest. And there's a fierceness in his ire-- A maddened majesty that leaps Along his veins in blood of fire, Until the path his vision sweeps Spins out behind him like a thread Unraveled from the reel of time, As, wheeling on his course sublime, The earth revolves beneath his tread. Then stretch away, my gallant steed! Thy mission is a noble one: Thou bear'st the father to the son, And sweet relief to bitter need; Thou bear'st the stranger to his friends; Thou bear'st the pilgrim to the shrine, And back again the prayer he sends That God will prosper me and mine,-- The star that on thy forehead gleams Has blossomed in our brightest dreams.