Rhymes Of A Rolling Stone Part 11

The Wanderl.u.s.t has taught me . . . it has whispered to my heart Things all you stay-at-homes will never know.

The white man and the savage are but three short days apart, Three days of cursing, crawling, doubt and woe.

Then it's down to chewing muclucs, to the water you can _EAT_, To fish you bolt with nose held in your hand.

When you get right down to cases, it's King's Grub that rules the races, And the Wanderl.u.s.t will help you understand.

_Haunting, taunting, that is the spell of it; Mocking, baulking, that is the h.e.l.l of it; But I'll shoulder my pack in the morning, boys, And I'm going because I must; For it's so-long to all When you answer the call Of the Wan-der-l.u.s.t._

The Wanderl.u.s.t has blest me . . . in a ragged blanket curled, I've watched the gulf of Heaven foam with stars; I've walked with eyes wide open to the wonder of the world, I've seen G.o.d's flood of glory burst its bars.

I've seen the gold a-blinding in the riffles of the sky, Till I fancied me a bloated plutocrat; But I'm freedom's happy bond-slave, and I will be till I die, And I've got to thank the Wanderl.u.s.t for that.

_Wild heart, child heart, all of the world your home.

Glad heart, mad heart, what can you do but roam?

Oh, I'll beat it once more in the morning, boys, With a pinch of tea and a crust; For you cannot deny When you hark to the cry Of the Wan-der-l.u.s.t._

The Wanderl.u.s.t will claim me at the finish for its own.

I'll turn my back on men and face the Pole.

Beyond the Arctic outposts I will venture all alone; Some Never-never Land will be my goal.

Thank G.o.d! there's none will miss me, for I've been a bird of flight; And in my moccasins I'll take my call; For the Wanderl.u.s.t has ruled me, And the Wanderl.u.s.t has schooled me, And I'm ready for the darkest trail of all.

_Grim land, dim land, oh, how the vastness calls!

Far land, star land, oh, how the stillness falls!

For you never can tell if it's heaven or h.e.l.l, And I'm taking the trail on trust; But I haven't a doubt That my soul will leap out On its Wan-der-l.u.s.t._

The Trapper's Christmas Eve

It's mighty lonesome-like and drear.

Above the Wild the moon rides high, And shows up sharp and needle-clear The emptiness of earth and sky; No happy homes with love a-glow; No Santa Claus to make believe: Just snow and snow, and then more snow; It's Christmas Eve, it's Christmas Eve.

And here am I where all things end, And Undesirables are hurled; A poor old man without a friend, Forgot and dead to all the world; Clean out of sight and out of mind . . .

Well, maybe it is better so; We all in life our level find, And mine, I guess, is pretty low.

Yet as I sit with pipe alight Beside the cabin-fire, it's queer This mind of mine must take to-night The backward trail of fifty year.

The school-house and the Christmas tree; The children with their cheeks a-glow; Two bright blue eyes that smile on me . . .

Just half a century ago.

Again (it's maybe forty years), With faith and trust almost divine, These same blue eyes, abrim with tears, Through depths of love look into mine.

A parting, tender, soft and low, With arms that cling and lips that cleave . . .

Ah me! it's all so long ago, Yet seems so sweet this Christmas Eve.

Just thirty years ago, again . . .

We say a bitter, _LAST_ good-bye; Our lips are white with wrath and pain; Our little children cling and cry.

Whose was the fault? it matters not, For man and woman both deceive; It's buried now and all forgot, Forgiven, too, this Christmas Eve.

And she (G.o.d pity me) is dead; Our children men and women grown.

I like to think that they are wed, With little children of their own, That crowd around their Christmas tree . . .

I would not ever have them grieve, Or shed a single tear for me, To mar their joy this Christmas Eve.

Stripped to the buff and gaunt and still Lies all the land in grim distress.

Like lost soul wailing, long and shrill, A wolf-howl cleaves the emptiness.

Then hushed as Death is everything.

The moon rides haggard and forlorn . . .

"O hark the herald angels sing!"

G.o.d bless all men -- it's Christmas morn.

The World's All Right

_Be honest, kindly, simple, true; Seek good in all, scorn but pretence; Whatever sorrow come to you, Believe in Life's Beneficence!_

The World's all right; serene I sit, And cease to puzzle over it.

There's much that's mighty strange, no doubt; But Nature knows what she's about; And in a million years or so We'll know more than to-day we know.

Old Evolution's under way -- What ho! the World's all right, I say.

Could things be other than they are?

All's in its place, from mote to star.

The thistledown that flits and flies Could drift no hair-breadth otherwise.

What is, must be; with rhythmic laws All Nature chimes, Effect and Cause.

The sand-grain and the sun obey -- What ho! the World's all right, I say.

Just try to get the Cosmic touch, The sense that "you" don't matter much.

A million stars are in the sky; A million planets plunge and die; A million million men are sped; A million million wait ahead.

Each plays his part and has his day -- What ho! the World's all right, I say.

Just try to get the Chemic view: A million million lives made "you".

In lives a million you will be Immortal down Eternity; Immortal on this earth to range, With never death, but ever change.

You always were, and will be aye -- What ho! the World's all right, I say.

Be glad! And do not blindly grope For Truth that lies beyond our scope: A sober plot informeth all Of Life's uproarious carnival.

Your day is such a little one, A gnat that lives from sun to sun; Yet gnat and you have parts to play -- What ho! the World's all right, I say.

And though it's written from the start, Just act your best your little part.

Just be as happy as you can, And serve your kind, and die -- a man.

Just live the good that in you lies, And seek no guerdon of the skies; Just make your Heaven here, to-day -- What ho! the World's all right, I say.

Remember! in Creation's swing The Race and not the man's the thing.

There's battle, murder, sudden death, And pestilence, with poisoned breath.

Yet quick forgotten are such woes; On, on the stream of Being flows.

Truth, Beauty, Love uphold their sway -- What ho! the World's all right, I say.

The World's all right; serene I sit, And joy that I am part of it; And put my trust in Nature's plan, And try to aid her all I can; Content to pa.s.s, if in my place I've served the uplift of the Race.