And the ship went down, for a rock was there,
    And the sailless sea loomed black;
  While burdened again with dole and care,
    The wind came moaning back.

  And still he moans from his bosom hot
    Where his raging grief lies pent,
  And ever when the ships come not,
    The sea says:  “I repent.”

RIDING TO TOWN

  When labor is light and the morning is fair,
  I find it a pleasure beyond all compare
  To hitch up my nag and go hurrying down
  And take Katie May for a ride into town;
    For bumpety-bump goes the wagon,
      But tra-la-la-la our lay. 
  There’s joy in a song as we rattle along
    In the light of the glorious day.

  A coach would be fine, but a spring wagon’s good;
  My jeans are a match for Kate’s gingham and hood;
  The hills take us up and the vales take us down,
  But what matters that? we are riding to town,
    And bumpety-bump goes the wagon,
      But tra-la-la-la sing we. 
  There’s never a care may live in the air
    That is filled with the breath of our glee.

  And after we’ve started, there’s naught can repress
  The thrill of our hearts in their wild happiness;
  The heavens may smile or the heavens may frown,
  And it’s all one to us when we’re riding to town. 
    For bumpety-bump goes the wagon,
      But tra-la-la-la we shout,
  For our hearts they are clear and there ’s nothing to fear,
    And we’ve never a pain nor a doubt.

  The wagon is weak and the roadway is rough,
    And tho’ it is long it is not long enough,
  For mid all my ecstasies this is the crown
    To sit beside Katie and ride into town,
      When bumpety-bump goes the wagon,
        But tra-la-la-la our song;
  And if I had my way, I ’d be willing to pay
    If the road could be made twice as long.

WE WEAR THE MASK

  We wear the mask that grins and lies,
  It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—­
  This debt we pay to human guile;
  With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
  And mouth with myriad subtleties.

  Why should the world be over-wise,
  In counting all our tears and sighs? 
  Nay, let them only see us, while
      We wear the mask.

  We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
  To thee from tortured souls arise. 
  We sing, but oh the clay is vile
  Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
  But let the world dream otherwise,
      We wear the mask!

THE MEADOW LARK

  Though the winds be dank,
    And the sky be sober,
      And the grieving Day
      In a mantle gray
    Hath let her waiting maiden robe her,—­
      All the fields along
      I can hear the song
  Of the meadow lark,
      As she flits and flutters,
      And laughs at the thunder when it mutters. 
      O happy bird, of heart most gay
      To sing when skies are gray!