Newspaper History

Tag: Alfred Noyes

  • A Prayer in Time of War

    From the Albuquerque Morning Journal, March 10, 1915. By Alfred Noyes.

    Thou, whose deep ways are in the sea,
        Whose footsteps are not known,
    Tonight a world that turned from Thee
        Is waiting—at Thy Throne.

    The towering Babels that we raised
        Where scoffing sophists brawl,
    The little Antichrists we praised—
        The night is on them all.

    The fool hath said * * * The fool hath said * * *
        And we, who deemed him wise,
    We who believed that Thou wast dead,
        How should we seek Thine eyes?

    How should we seek to Thee for power
        Who scorned Thee yesterday?
    How should we kneel in this dread hour?
        Lord, teach us how to pray!

    Grant us the single heart once more
        That mocks no sacred thing;
    The Sword of Truth our fathers wore
        When Thou wast Lord and King.

    Let darkness unto darkness tell
        Our deep, unspoken prayer;
    For, while our souls in darkness dwell,
        We know that Thou art there.

  • The Fiddler’s Farewell

    From the Omaha Daily Bee, January 31, 1914. By Alfred Noyes.

    With my fiddle to my shoulder,
        And my hair turning gray,
    And my heart growing older
        I must shuffle on my way!
    Tho’ there’s not a hearth to greet me
        I must reap as I sowed,
    And the sunset shall meet me
        At the turn of the road.

    Oh, the whin’s a dusky yellow
        And the road a rosy white,
    And the blackbird’s call is mellow
        At the falling of the night;
    And there’s honey in the heather
        Where we’ll make our last abode,
    My tunes and me together
        At the turn of the road.

    I have fiddled for your city
        Thro’ market place and inn!
    I have poured forth my pity
        On your sorrow and your sin!
    But your riches are your burden,
        And your pleasure is your goad!
    I’ve the whin-gold for guerdon
        At the turn of the road.

    Your village lights’ll call me
        As the lights of home the dead;
    But a black night befall me
        Ere your pillows rest my head;
    God be praised, tho’ like a jewel
        Every cottage casement showed,
    There’s a star that’s not so cruel!
        At the turn of the road.

    Nay, beautifully and kindly
        Are the faces drawing nigh,
    But I gaze on them blindly
        And hasten, hasten by;
    For O, no face of wonder
        On earth has ever glowed
    Like the One that waits me yonder
        At the turn of the road.

    Her face is lit with splendor,
        She dwells beyond the skies;
    But deep, deep and tender
        Are the tears in her eyes;
    The angels see them glistening
        In pity for my load,
    And—she’s waiting there, she’s listening
        At the turn of the road.