Poems
Sigcrson, George & ScoUard, Clinton & Dwyer, Mary H. & Dresbach, Glenn Ward
The Church of the Apple Tree (In earlier penal times. Mass was said in secret places in Ireland, with sentries posted to give alarm of the persecutors. This old wild apple tree was shown me when...
...G)me, O ye Faithful...
...I should be present where wasps build their nests Beneath old granary eaves—observe the whir Of shadowy moths when twilight veils the crests, And follow the spry vaulting grasshopper...
...When We Have Pondered When we have pondered through how many years We live to shape one thing a dream conceives...
...This old wild apple tree was shown me when a child, by the sons of some who had worshipped there...
...Its far sea-seeking way...
...The sweet-toned robin softly calls...
...Now shadows through the shadowy vale Come silent round from far and near...
...To God"—quick comes the answer back— "Who maketh my" youth glad...
...gladly sing"— What reck they now of storm or swords— "Good tidings of great joy we bring, This day was born Our Lord...
...Now snowflakes shroud the apple tree...
...GEORGE SIGERSON...
...they cry: Their feet may tread the felon's track...
...Oh, there God took you by the hand, Charlotte, who could not understand...
...And make the cricket my close intimate...
...MARY H . DWYER...
...Alone within a lonely glen, Still stands the flowering apple tree, Beloved of birds, revered by men, The haunt of many a bee...
...The airy hammock of the oriole Swings through the storm that topples walls of stone, And down in secret tunnels of the mole Is blindness sure as sight that is our own— And, pondering, we are no longer willed To tear apart what we cannot rebuild...
...Ah, did the beck Run icily across your mind ? Did tang of heath sweep down the wind ? A single beam on purple cloth— Night dropping softly as a moth— And glowing in the chancel's gloom Dusk of heather, gold of broom, Color and scent of Haworth moors...
...We wonder that One who designed the spheres Could draw the lace-like tracery of leaves...
...Through wailing woods the winds lament The waning of the year...
...The scenes recede: the visions pass...
...But while you knelt before the screen...
...CLINTON SCOLLARD...
...And beauty for a moment yours...
...The angels answer from the sky— Their white wings guard the lonely glen— "O glory unto God on high And peace on earth to men...
...And through the twilight silence pale The priest's low voice we hear...
...conclave I should attend the conclave of the bees And agil^ butterflies if I would know All of the golden summer secrecies That now elude me and evade me so...
...I should be friendly with the dragon-flies...
...Their hearts are lifted high...
...Introibo—I will go Unto the Altar of my God"— It stands beneath the branches low A grey rock on the sod...
...Wondering what his prayer might mean...
...And Brussels yielded not a clod To purple sprig or golden pod, You looked with grave unbelieving eyes On Things still strange to Paradise...
...And from the flowery dome above A shower of fragrance falls...
...And turn from stars and winged cloud-caravels And mountains lilting onward into space...
...If I would solve sweet summer's secrecies I should attend all conclaves such as these...
...But through its branching bars, Those kneeling there look up and see The shining midnight stars...
...From heathy hills, a living brook Soft-singing comes by night and day, Then goes, with farewell lilt and look...
...I should be listening when the hyla cries...
...Hate dies as dies a darksome pest, And still love flowers above the grass Where our forefathers rest...
...The lark shoots up—a thrill of love...
...And hark the shrill cicada at my gate...
...To shape the lily-of-the-valley bells And paint the rapture of a pansy's face...
...GLENN WARD DRESBACH...
...The seasons pass, the summer's spent, The frozen leaves drop, dead and sere...
...He lifted from his weary neck The violet stole...
...Charlotte Bronte at the Confessional When you were heartsick for the blooml Of heather and the gold of broom...
Vol. 6 • July 1927 • No. 10
