1909 February 25-March 6

February 25, 1909
Dr. Rudolph. Next treatment put over till next June.
Meeting of the Historical Society at the Public Library. Mr. Edgar J. Fisher, of Columbia University, speaks on the “Colonial Land Troubles in New Jersey”.
Mr. Mortimer called in the evening. He seemed to be in good spirits after his recent trip to Florida, and gave some interesting particulars of it. The climate was helpful, but I fancied from what he said that his romance conceptions of the south were somewhat pricked by the reality.

March 1, 1909
There was a ceaseless throng of matters today, mostly business interviews, with the preparation of some legal papers, letters and accounts. As luck would have it, my thoughts kept preferably wandering far afield, gathering up interesting sorts the world over and in the heavens of conception. With the intermittent ringing of the front door and telephone bells, I constantly dropped into the prose of the present, which had its attractive side and lended to nimbleness of mind, but interrupted the syren strain and broke the maturing of ideas. This would seem to be too generally the case, yet active life has its sufficient, redeeming compensations. Who does not know its healthfulness, its zest of doing, of accomplishment, its constancy yet variableness of interest, its disappointments, it’s failures to be overcome, its triumphs, satisfactions and joys? Even its aspects of everydayness have a friendly look for those who keep themselves in tune.

March 3, 1909
Yesterday was rainy, but they needed a workman at the farm, so I trudged over to Manhattan, after turning aside some not very engaging applicants here, and went through the polyglot employment offices on lower Greenwich Street. Most of the subjects stood like inarticulate sticks under cross-examination. At last I secured a reasonably articulate Pole – measurably better than a speechless stick; he was hired and went out to the farm this morning.

March 4, 1909
After the picturesque, impulsive Roosevelt, a roughrider in a double sense, a knight-errant in peace and war, the placid bovine Taft appears to be somewhat lame domesticated, yet he is an able and especially well-trained man for the presidency. He is sensible of the responsibilities of his great office and will hold a knowledge and grasp of its powers, not too curious, original and passion-provoking, yet informed, save commanding and wide-looking. His inauguration took place today in the Senate Chamber, the snow-stormy, inclement weather preventing the open-air ceremony in front of the Capitol.

March 6, 1909
My last birthday was spent in Jerusalem. How blue, how deeply blue the sky appeared that night, as I trod the sepulchral streets far over there in the east. How I watched the crystal stars, how intently I searched for the star, as it were, dipping, prudent in the heavens, that led the wise men to Bethlehem, where I too as a wise man went. The hushed, rich, mysterious night, amidst such arresting associations, seemed fraught with crucial significance. I momently paused unaffrighted but surprised. The shadows projected memorable shapes, historic figures. I assisted at a conclave of the invisibles, and felt thronging presences. I heard overhead unwonted strains of music – I was listening to a symphony of the Eternities.

Afterward
I.
After the worry and the fret,
After the darkness and the wet,
After the stress and storm, -
So am I fashioned to a form,
Fin for home.

II.
I have traveled a little way
Into the world, through the long day.
Seeing the murk and light –
Now I have come to my right,
Anchored at home.

III.
O, I thought life was so fine!
O, I had love and my rhyme!
Thank God, less of tine than joy –
Over here I’m as bright as a boy,
In my new home!