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Thinkin’ back, I even hear
Them a-callin’, high and clear,
Up the crick-banks, where they seem
Still hid in there—­like a dream—­
And me still a-pantin’ on
The green pathway they have gone! 
Still they hide, by bend er ford—­
Still they hide—­but, thank the Lord,
(Thinkin’ back, as I have said),
I hear laughin’ on ahead!

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NOT ALWAYS GLAD WHEN WE SMILE

We are not always glad when we smile: 
  Though we wear a fair face and are gay,
    And the world we deceive
    May not ever believe
  We could laugh in a happier way.—­
Yet, down in the deeps of the soul,
  Ofttimes, with our faces aglow,
    There’s an ache and a moan
    That we know of alone,
And as only the hopeless may know.

We are not always glad when we smile,—­
  For the heart, in a tempest of pain,
    May live in the guise
    Of a smile in the eyes
  As a rainbow may live in the rain;
And the stormiest night of our woe
  May hang out a radiant star
    Whose light in the sky
    Of despair is a lie
As black as the thunder-clouds are.

We are not always glad when we smile!—­
  But the conscience is quick to record,
    All the sorrow and sin
    We are hiding within
  Is plain in the sight of the Lord: 
And ever, O ever, till pride
  And evasion shall cease to defile
    The sacred recess
    Of the soul, we confess
We are not always glad when we smile.

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HIS ROOM

“I’m home again, my dear old Room,
  I’m home again, and happy, too,
As, peering through the brightening gloom,
  I find myself alone with you: 
    Though brief my stay, nor far away,
    I missed you—­missed you night and day—­
    As wildly yearned for you as now.—­
    Old Room, how are you, anyhow?

“My easy chair, with open arms,
  Awaits me just within the door;
The littered carpet’s woven charms
  Have never seemed so bright before,—­
    The old rosettes and mignonettes
    And ivy-leaves and violets,
    Look up as pure and fresh of hue
    As though baptized in morning dew.

“Old Room, to me your homely walls
  Fold round me like the arms of love,
And over all my being falls
  A blessing pure as from above—­
    Even as a nestling child caressed
    And lulled upon a loving breast,
    With folded eyes, too glad to weep
    And yet too sad for dreams or sleep.

“You’ve been so kind to me, old Room—­
  So patient in your tender care,
My drooping heart in fullest bloom
  Has blossomed for you unaware;
    And who but you had cared to woo
    A heart so dark, and heavy, too,
    As in the past you lifted mine
    From out the shadow to the shine?