A chant for a children’s pantomime dance, suggested by a picture painted by George Mather Richards.

Returned, the hate of earth once more to dare,And walked upon the water and the land,If you, with words celestial, stopped these kingsFor sober conclave, ere their battle great,Would they for one deep instant then discernTheir crime, their heart-rot, and their fiend’s estate?If you should float above the battle’s front,Pillars of cloud, of fire that…

With Justice still the genius of his rhyme,Giving each man his due, each passion grace,Impartial as the rain from Heaven’s faceOr sunshine from the heaven-enthroned sun.Sweet Swan of Avon, come to us again.Teach us to write, and writing, to be men.

CARL SANDBURG.IPowhatan was conqueror,Powhatan was emperor.He was akin to wolf and bee,Brother of the hickory tree.Son of the red lightning strokeAnd the lightning-shivered oak.His panther-grace bloomed in the maidWho laughed among the winds and playedIn excellence of savage pride,Wooing the forest, open-eyed,In the springtime,In Virginia,Our Mother, Pocahontas.Her skin was rosy copper-red.And high she held her…

Giving to each what he asks, braving the uttermost dangerAll for the enemy, MAN? Who can surrender till deathHis words and his works, his house and his lands,His eyes and his heart and his breath?Who can surrender to Christ? Many have yearned toward it daily.Yet they surrender to passion, wildly or grimly or gaily;Yet they…

The Moon’s a snowball, melted downA dozen times a year.Yet rolled again in hot JulyWhen all my days are doneAnd cool to greet the weary eyeAfter the scorching sun.The moon’s a piece of winter fairRenewed the year around,Behold it, deathless and unstained,Above the grimy ground!It rolls on high so brave and whiteWhere the clear air-rivers…

(For the thunders could flourish without me)And hid by a rose-hung wall,Forgetting the murder about me;And wrote, from my wound, on the stone,In mirth, half prayer, half play: —‘Send me a picture book,Send me a song, to-day.’I saw him there by the wallWhen I scarce had written the line,In the enemy’s colors dressedAnd the serpent-standard…