My Paradise

My Paradise

The Gate to Yesterday swings wide,
And bids us seek the countryside,
Far from the throngs of human-tide,
Where memories of youth abide.

A peaceful paradise you'll find
In wood or field, to soothe the mind.
Just leave the busy streets behind,
And roam with me where lone trails wind.

To find this wild and carefree place,
The narrow trail you need but trace
Through forest aisles and open space
Beyond the city's great white ways.

You'll see the giant forest trees
And other glories such as these.
You'll listen to the whispering breeze,
Which worries hastily appease.

Forget the technics of a creed,
The strife for glory and for speed.
With nature filling every need,
Man rises over selfish greed.

Wild Paradise has mountain streams
Whose tumbling crystal water seems
To come from shadow land of dreams
Up where the snowy glacier gleams.

So come with me along the trail,
O'er rocky steep and down the vale,
We'll hear the calling of the quail,
And watch the rambling of the rail.

Our paradise will reach the sea,
Where billows heave eternally,
And ocean winds come ceaselessly
Across the waves so wild and free.

Then in some shady, cool retreat,
Where sun and shadows slyly meet
Beyond the deserts' torrid heat,
We'll make our paradise complete.

We'll seek the lowland and the fen,
The sunny hillside and the glen;
We'll listen to the lark, and then --
We'll meet the robin and the wren.

The red-wing swings on bending reed,
The bittern stalks among the weed.
On airy wings the swallows speed
O'er lake and stream and sunny mead.

At eve the catbird leads the choir,
Then follows owl from hillside higher.
The frogs tune in with harp and lyre
While glowworms light the heaven fire.

This peaceful paradise of mine
Is also waiting to be thine.
When weary of the world's design
Come make my paradise your shrine.

~ A. K. Mehl

From my mother's poetry notebook

The Best Road of All

The Best Road of All

I like a road that leads away to prospects white and fair,
A road that is an ordered road, like a nun's evening prayer;
But best of all I love a road that leads to God knows where.

You come upon it suddenly -- you cannot seek it out;
It's like a secret still unheard and never noised about;
But when you see it, gone at once is every lurking doubt.

It winds beside some rushing stream where aspens lightly quiver;
It follows many a broken field by many a shining river;
It seems to lead you on and on, forever and forever.

You tramp along its dusty way beneath the shadowy trees,
And hear, beside you chattering birds or happy booming bees,
And all around you golden sounds, the green leaves' litanies.

And here's a hedge and there's a cot; and then, strange, sudden turns --
A dip, a rise, a little glimpse where the red sunset burns;
A bit of sky at evening time, the scent of hidden ferns.

A winding road, a loitering road, the finger mark of God,
Traced where the Maker of the world leaned over ways untrod.
See!  Here He smiled His glowing smile, and lo, the golden rod!

I like a road that wanders straight; the kin's highway is fair,
And lovely are the sheltered lanes that take you here and there;
But best of all I love a road that leads to God knows where.

~ Chas. Hanson Towne

From my mother's poetry notebook

The Eagle

The Eagle

He clasps the crag with crooked hands,
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

~ Alfred Lord Tennyson

from my mother's poetry notebook

Contentment

John Burroughs Speaks of Contentment

I have loved the feel of the grass under my feet, and the sound of the running streams by my side.  The hum of the wind in the tree-tops has always been good music to me, and the face of the fields has often comforted me more than the faces of men.

I am in love with this world, by my constitution I have nestled lovingly in it.  It has been home.  It has been my point of outlook into the universe.  I have not bruised myself against it, nor tried to use it ignobly.

I have tilled its soil, I have gathered its harvest, I have waited upon its seasons, and always have reaped what I have sown.

While I delved I did not lose sight of the sky overhead.  While I gathered its bread and meat for my body, I did not neglect to gather its bread and meat for my soul.

I have climbed its mountains, roamed its forests, sailed its waters, crossed its deserts, felt the sting of its frosts, the oppression of its heats, the drench of its rains, the fury of its winds, and always have beauty and joy waited upon my goings and comings.

From my mother's poetry notebook

April Music

April Music

Thy lyric sound of laughter
Fills all the April hills.
The joy song of the crocus,
Thy mirth of daffodils --

They ring their golden changes
Through all the azure vales;
The sunny cowslips answer
Athwart the reedy swales.

Far down the woodland aisleways
The trillium's voice is heard;
The little wavering windflowers
Join in with jocund word.

The white cry of the dogwood
Mounts up against the sky;
The breath of violet music
Upon the breeze goes by.

Give me to hear, O April,
These choristers of thine
Calling across the distance
Serene and hyaline,

To clear my clouded vision,
Bedimmed and dulled so long,
And heal my aching spirit
With fragrance that is song!

-- Clinton Scollard

From my mother's poetry notebook

God Passed Along Our Countryside

God Passed Along Our Countryside

God passed along our countryside
Last night with quiet tread,
So silently He came and passed
No sleeper turned his head.
And not till dawn His children knew
The pageant of surprise
That all about, on hill and glen,
Lay there like Paradise.

God passed along our countryside
That is as fair and old,
And clothed the poplar and the oak
With crimson and with gold.
He smiled upon the shrinking bush,
The sapling so forlorn,
And gave them robes of purple hue
To match the flaming morn.

God passed along our countryside,
And now His children know
There's greater good for those in store
Who love Him here below.
For every day, like autumn, comes
With blessings new and old.
And helps me think of that fair clime,
Whose gates are pearl and gold.

~ Calvin Lauper

From my mother's poetry notebook

Scarlet Tanager

Scarlet Tanager

I saw him in a mountain gorge
And held my breath with wonder.
So startlingly beautiful
He was, the roaring thunder
Of water falling from the heights,
The pine bough's windy turning
Was but a background for a bird
Whose vivid scarlet burning
Caught my eyes and dazzled them.
A quivering aspen springing
From the wet rocks bore a flame
Like a lantern swinging.
His iridescent tail and wings,
Each black metallic feather
Glittered in the gorgeous light
Of the mountain weather.
Cold green water, silver spray,
An aspen, frail and slender
Against the high dark wall of pines,
A small bird's blazing splendor --
That brilliant picture struck me blind
And burned its beauty on my mind.

~ Grace Noll Crowell

From my mother's poetry notebook