Songs of the Soul/Part 3
PART III
MY NATIVE LAND
The friendly sky,Inviting shades of banian tree,The holy Ganges flowing by,—How can I forget thee!
I love the waving cornOf India’s fields so bright,Oh, better than those Heav’nly grownBy deathless gods of might.
My soul’s broad love so grandWas born here first below,—In my own native land,On India’s sunny soil aglow.
I love thy breeze,I love thy moon,I love thy hills and seas,In thee I wish to cease, or swoon. Thou taught’st me first to loveThy sky, the stars, the God above;So my first homage meets,O India, at thy feet!
From thee I now have learn’d to see,To love all lands alike as thee;I bow to thee, my native land,The Mother of my love so grand.
ON COMING TO THE NEW-OLD LAND-AMERICA
Sleeping memoriesOf friends once more to beDid greet me-sailing o'er the sea,- Sensing my comingThe Pilgrim Land to adore.The distant sleeping shoreLay in the twinkling night,Dim through the vanished light, The breeze wafted strong Strange thoughts That my brain did throng, Hopes sweet and richly wrought.
The raven-winged gloom did perchOn the portals of my mind and searchMy soul, my strength to awe; Yet crowds with joy oh, then, I saw Of phantom friends,Now come to lendTheir cheer,And end my fear!
THE TOILER'S LAY
From school of life,From bossy duty's binding day,From hours of dollar-strifeI wish I were a run-away!
From chasing worry houndI'll fly one day,From crowds and throngs aroundI wish I were a run-away!
From greedy foodThat steals its way,From luring dainties' tempting moodI wish I were a run-away!
From homely cups and chairs and couchThe call of grassy-bed todayMy heart doth snatch;-I wish I were a run-away! From nature's given cup,My hollow hands, I'll drinkAt the streamlet's bounteous brink;With finger forks I'll eat the meatOf fresh plucked fruits from trees, my seatAll snug beneath the shady trees,Enliv'n'd by birds and bumble bees,Fanned by mothering air,-From warmth and tearI'll bathe my weary mindIn new-made joyous day:Away dish-washing, cups and saucers, all away! For just a dayI wish I were a run-away!
CITY DRUM
'Tis mornThe rolling wheels are onOf a marching worldSo strong.
I love to be rousedFrom a silent sleepBy the early humOf the active city drum.
The drum beatsTo loudly greetAll those heroes trueThat would die or do,-To meet the morning's foeOf worry or of woeWith a dauntless smile,And thus success beguile Unto the happy campWhere peace e’er burns its lamp.The city's drumWith its noisy humAnnounces true and strongThe world is marching on.
MOHAWK TRAIL
Welcomed by a fresh and smiling day,Usher'd by trees benign that layTo shade our bodies from the jealous sun,With rubber shoes pressing on asphalt road,With softly humming noise we rodeThrough Mohawk Trail where Adam lies.Unlike all other joyful ridesWhen mind with sameness was dulled sometimes and did abideThe time and common scenes in passive mood,My mind was now so full, bright and good.A strange, unknown, unthought, new thrillDid steal o'er me in soothing sweep so still.I raced with wind and scattered smilesThat played with sunshine, spread for miles.My secret hoarded joy in vault of soulI extravagantly did spend withalTo buy new nature's gaudy scenesThat one hasty, racing peddler brought me in.
My spirit hemm'd in city's narrow wallsWas free once more; all nature sent a joyous call:The waving leaves of trees, the babbling rill,The impatient wind, sober skies and hill.