And day by day more holy grew
      Each spot where he had trod,
    Till after-poets only knew
    Their first-born brother as a god.

AN INCIDENT IN A RAILROAD CAR

    He spoke of Burns:  men rude and rough
      Pressed round to hear the praise of one
    Whose heart was made of manly, simple, stuff,
      As homespun as their own.

    And, when he read, they forward leaned, 5
      Drinking, with eager hearts and ears,
    His brook-like songs whom glory never weaned
      From humble smiles and tears.

    Slowly there grew a tender awe,
      Sunlike, o’er faces brown and hard. 10
    As if in him who read they felt and saw
      Some presence of the bard.

    It was a sight for sin and wrong
      And slavish tyranny to see,
    A sight to make our faith more pure and strong 15
      In high humanity.

    I thought, these men will carry hence
      Promptings their former life above. 
    And something of a finer reverence
      For beauty, truth, and love, 20

    God scatters love on every side,
      Freely among his children all,
    And always hearts are lying open wide,
      Wherein some grains may fall.

    There is no wind but soweth seeds 25
      Of a more true and open life,
    Which burst unlocked for, into high-souled deeds,
      With wayside beauty rife.

    We find within these souls of ours
      Some wild germs of a higher birth, 30
    Which in the poet’s tropic heart bear flowers
      Whose fragrance fills the earth.

    Within the hearts of all men lie
      These promises of wider bliss,
    Which blossom into hopes that cannot die, 35
      In sunny hours like this.

    All that hath been majestical
      In life or death, since time began,
    Is native in the simple heart of all,
      The angel heart of man. 40

    And thus, among the untaught poor,
      Great deeds and feelings find a home,
    That cast in shadow all the golden lore
      Of classic Greece and Rome.

    O, mighty brother-soul of man. 45
      Where’er thou art, in low or high,
    Thy skyey arches with, exulting span
      O’er-roof infinity!

    All thoughts that mould the age begin
      Deep down within the primitive soul, 50
    And from the many slowly upward win
      To one who grasps the whole.

    In his wide brain the feeling deep
      That struggled on the many’s tongue
    Swells to a tide of thought, whose surges leap 55
      O’er the weak thrones of wrong.

    All thought begins in feeling,—­wide
      In the great mass its base is hid,
    And, narrowing up to thought, stands glorified,
      A moveless pyramid. 60