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    Many Gods
    Many Gods
    Many Gods
    Ebook118 pages32 minutes

    Many Gods

    By Cale Young Rice

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Dodo Collections brings you another classic from Cale Young Rice, ‘Many Gods’.


    Many Gods is a book of poetry written in 1910.


    Cale Young Rice (December 7, 1872 – January 24, 1943) was an American poet and dramatist.


    He was born in Dixon, Kentucky, to Laban Marchbanks Rice, a Confederate veteran and tobacco merchant, and his wife Martha Lacy. He was a younger brother of Laban Lacy Rice, a noted educator. Cale Rice grew up in Evansville, Indiana, and Louisville, Kentucky. He was educated at Cumberland University and at Harvard (A.B., 1895; A.M., 1896).


    He was married to the popular author Alice Hegan Rice; they worked together on several books. The marriage was childless, and Cale committed suicide by gunshot during the night of January 23–24 at his home in Louisville a year after her death due to his sorrow at losing her.


    His birthplace in Dixon is designated by Kentucky State Historical Marker 1508, which reads:


    "Birthplace of Rice brothers, Cale Young, 1872-1943, noted poet and author; Laban Lacy, 1870-1973, well-known educator and author. Lacy published The Best Poetic Works of Cale Young Rice after Cale's death. Included in famous collection is poem, "The Mystic." Cale married Alice Hegan, also a distinguished Kentucky writer. Home overlooks Memorial Garden." 
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDead Dodo Poetry
    Release dateAug 21, 2015
    ISBN9781508023890
    Many Gods

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      Book preview

      Many Gods - Cale Young Rice

      MEREDITH

      ALL’S WELL

      ………………

      ………………

      I.

      The illimitable leaping of the sea,

      The mouthing of his madness to the moon,

      The seething of his endless sorcery,

      His prophecy no power can attune,

      Swept over me as, on the sounding prow

      Of a great ship that steered into the stars,

      I stood and felt the awe upon my brow

      Of death and destiny and all that mars.

      II.

      The wind that blew from Cassiopeia cast

      Wanly upon my ear a rune that rung;

      The sailor in his eyrie on the mast

      Sang an All’s well, that to the spirit clung

      Like a lost voice from some aërial realm

      Where ships sail on forever to no shore,

      Where Time gives Immortality the helm,

      And fades like a far phantom from life’s door.

      III.

      "And is all well, O Thou Unweariable

      Launcher of worlds upon bewildered space,"

      Rose in me, "All? or did thy hand grow dull

      Building this world that bears a piteous race?

      O was it launched too soon or launched too late?

      Or can it be a derelict that drifts

      Beyond thy ken toward some reef of Fate

      On which Oblivion’s sand forever shifts?"

      IV.

      The sea grew softer as I questioned—calm

      With mystery that like an answer moved,

      And from infinity there fell a balm,

      The old peace that God is, tho all unproved.

      The old faith that tho gulfs sidereal stun

      The soul, and knowledge drown within their deep,

      There is no world that wanders, no not one

      Of all the millions, that He does not keep.

      ………………

      THE PROSELYTE RECANTS

      ………………

      (In Japan)

      ………………

      Where the fair golden idols

      Sit in darkness and in silence

      While the temple drum beats solemnly and slow;

      Where the tall cryptomerias

      Sway in worship round about

      And the rain that is falling whispers low;

      I can hear strange voices

      Of the dead and forgotten,

      On the dimly rising incense I can see

      The lives I have lived,

      And my lives unbegotten,

      Namu Amida Butsu pity me!

      I was born this karma

      Of a mother in Chuzenji,

      Where Nantai-zan looks down into the lake;

      Where the white-thronged pilgrims

      Climb to altars in the clouds

      And behold the holy eastern dawn awake.

      It was there I wandered

      Till a priest of the Christians

      With the crucifix he wore compelled my gaze.

      In grief I had grown,

      So upon its grief I pondered.

      Namu Amida Butsu, keep my days!

      It was wrong, he told me,

      To pray Jiso for my children,

      And Binzuru for healing of my ills.

      And our gods so many

      Were conceived, he said, in sin,

      From Lord Shaka to the least upon the hills.

      In despair I listened

      For my heart beat hopeless,

      Not a temple of

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