PR 1184 
 .P65 
 Copy 1 
 
 
 MERLE HAYES PONDER 
 
COMPILATION OF 
 
 MnU ^u^sB l^anhtr 
 

 ^^\^ 
 
 COPYRIGHT. 1916 
 
 By 
 
 MERLE HAYES PONDER 
 
 1r^ 
 
 '4P 
 
 OCT 30 i9l6 
 
 Published By 
 
 SHEEGOG PRINTING COMPANY 
 
 Dallas, Texas 
 
 )CI,A446183 
 
SIl;r ^tastttBt BatiQ of All 
 
 rN 
 
 O one denies that the "sweetest song 
 of all" is the song Love sings. But 
 each heart responds to a diflFerent 
 tone from the Little God's lyre of many 
 strings. ^ I desire to send each of my 
 readers a message — not just any message, 
 but one that will appeal to each individual 
 heart's mood. So I have gathered together 
 these poems of gay love and grave love; 
 the glow of Love's morning — the shadows 
 of evening; some great classics: some just 
 verses . The poem your heart will respond 
 to is somewhere in * 'Deeps O' My Heart' * 
 
 Merle Hayes Ponder. 
 
desire to express my grateful 
 appreciation to publishers and 
 others who have so generously 
 assisted in revealing these glimpses of 
 the hidden deeps of our hearts — even 
 yours and mine. 
 
 The Compiler. 
 
"Deep calls unto deep" 
 
 Hear then! O deeps o' my heart: 
 
 Here is our pirate- plunder. 
 
 Our buccaneer-treasure-trove : 
 
 Mauves, 
 
 And ashes of roses. 
 
 And frosted silvers 
 
 Athwart a filigree- box of memories! 
 
 O heart of my heart — 
 
 And first love. 
 
 And love's first kiss — 
 
 Scented and fresh and true. 
 
 Oh, it were well to miss 
 
 The good high Heaven, 
 
 A little while. 
 
 For this. 
 
 — OUve Landrum Pesurman. 
 
If I had but two loaves of bread 
 I -would sell one of them and buy 
 white hyacinths to feed my soul. 
 
 —Elbert Hubbard. 
 
"What's a book of verse, after all? 
 A flower growing in a ruined wall; 
 A patch of sunlight in a prison cell ; 
 A fisher piping on a vellow shell; 
 An old, fond tune that's sweet to harhen to; 
 A valley where the softest breezes blow; 
 A silver chain we hang about our necks, 
 Whereto is swung a little crucifix 
 ^e lift and kiss anon ; 
 'Tis something sweet to have and ponder on; 
 A little lantern carried for a mile 
 To light dsurk places when we stop awhile. 
 
 —Henry Rightor. 
 
Some reckon time by stars. 
 And some by hours; 
 
 Some measure days by dreams. 
 And some by flowers; 
 
 My heart alone records 
 My days and hours. 
 
 —Madison Cawein. 
 
i^fpH (§' M^ ^tm 
 
 Those hearts of ours — how deep! how deep! 
 You may sound the sea where the corals sleep, 
 Where never a billow hath rumpled or rolled — 
 Depths still the deeper our hearts hide and hold. 
 
 Where the wild storms hath ne'er been known 
 The wrecks of the sea lie low and lone; 
 Thus the heart's surface may sparkle and glow, 
 There are wrecks far down — there are graves below. 
 
 Those hearts of ours — how wise! how wise! 
 They can lift their thoughts till they touch the skies; 
 They can sink their shafts, like a miner bold, 
 Where wisdom's mines hide their pearls in gold. 
 
 Those hearts of ours — how strong! how strong! 
 Let a thousand sorrows around them throng, 
 They can bear them all and a thousand more. 
 And they're stronger then than they were before. 
 
 — Abram J. Ryan. 
 
 There are hopes, the bloom of whose beauty would 
 be spoiled by the trammels of description; too 
 lovely, too delicate, too sacred for words, they should 
 only be known through the sympathy of hearts. 
 
 — Dickens. 
 
 All to myself I think of you, 
 Think of the things we used to do, 
 Think of the things we used to say, 
 Think of each happy yesterday; 
 Sometimes I sigh, and sometimes I smile, 
 But I keep each olden golden while 
 All to myself. 
 
Something has whispered into my ear — 
 (And I feel the message is true,) 
 "All that your soul has yearned for, Dear, 
 Is coming, yes, coming to you. 
 
 Angels have gathered your tears by night 
 And borne them to Heaven's own blue — 
 Transformed them to stars of radiant light. 
 To shine away darkness from you. 
 
 Down, through the beam of the tear-star ray, 
 Yes, down from the gift-giving blue. 
 The wish of your soul is wending its way, 
 Down to the feet of you." 
 
 Wild is my joy, as the song of a bird, 
 And deep as the boundless sea. 
 For I know that the voice my soul has heard, 
 Is the God in nature and me. 
 
 —Mary F. Canfield. 
 
 ^oma Mtal| 
 
 (to katherine) 
 
 I would like to send you a sunbeam, 
 
 Or the twinkle of some bright star; 
 Or a little piece of the downy fleece 
 
 That clings to a cloud afar. 
 I would like to send you the essence 
 
 Of a million sunkissed flowers, 
 Or the lilting song as it floats along 
 
 Of a brook through fairy bowers. 
 I would like to send you the dew-drops 
 
 That sparkle at break of day; 
 And then at night, the ghostly light 
 
 That mantles the milky way. 
 I would like to send you the power 
 
 That nothing can overthrow. 
 The power to laugh and smile the while 
 
 As ajourneying through life you go. 
 But these are mere fanciful wishes; 
 
 So, I'll send a God-speed, instead; 
 And I'll clasp your hand — then you'll 
 understand 
 
 All the things I have left unsaid. 
 
 12 
 
Sob? W Eip Wnxlh 
 
 (to Sarah) 
 
 What do I wish for you, beautiful girl, 
 
 With your tender eyes of blue, 
 As you stand today on Life's threshold 
 
 Adored — loving and true! 
 
 It is that the Fates may be ever kind 
 
 And shower Life's best gifts 
 Into one harmonious, perfect whole — 
 
 In Life's lute — not a single rift. 
 
 I think of you in your perfect bloom — 
 
 Of your soul so pure and true; 
 May the years enfold Love's treasures untold- 
 
 I love you! you know that I do. 
 
 — Merle Hayes Ponder. 
 
 The memories and mysteries of Love are secret 
 
 things — 
 Concealed beneath a thousand masks, content, they 
 fold their wings. 
 They light the stars in shining eyes, 
 
 They are the springs which feed your soul — 
 They are the song within your heart , 
 
 They are the joy which makes Life whole. 
 And yet, a confidential mood may rob your treasure 
 
 store. 
 For secrets shared are perfumes spilled — and lost — 
 for evermore! 
 
 — Louise von Wetter. 
 
 Love's a bunch of swaying daisies 
 
 Bound around with ribbons blue. 
 Love's a peephole into heaven 
 
 With you tip-toe looking through, 
 Love's a jar of milk and honey 
 
 In a fair, enchanted clime. 
 You can drink from it forever 
 
 And be thirsty all the time. 
 
 — Judd Mortimer Lewis. 
 
 13 
 
Before you came, the days were simply days. 
 Filled with a petty round of joy and woe. 
 The paths I trod were just the common ways 
 Which unawakened hearts must always know. 
 
 I think perhaps the same sweet stars on high 
 Made of the night a magic pageant fair, 
 Yet so unheeding, and so blind was I, 
 I scarce was conscious if I saw them there. 
 
 Perhaps the violets, like your own dear eyes, 
 Were blue and sweet along the woodland way. 
 And smiled up at me with a shy surprise. 
 I did not see — until you came that day. 
 
 But now, in earth below and sky above 
 
 New radiant beauty every hour I see. 
 
 The days are filled with rapture, and with love, 
 
 For you, my sweet, are all the world to me. 
 
 — Christine Kerr Davis. 
 
 My life did but begin when I found thee. 
 
 Oh, what a strength was hidden in this heart! 
 
 As all unvalued, in its cold dark cave 
 
 Under snow hills, some rare and priceless gem 
 
 May sparkle and bum — so in this life of mine. 
 
 Love lay shut up. You broke the rock away; 
 
 You lit up the jewel that it hid; 
 
 You plucked it forth — to wear it, my Beloved! 
 
 To set it in the crown of your dear life. 
 
 — Lytton. 
 
 "I'm sorry that I spelt the word 
 
 I hate to go above you. 
 Because" — the brown eyes lower fell — 
 "Because, you see, I love you!" 
 
 — John Greenleaf Whittier. 
 
 14 
 
Want f 0U 
 
 Do you remember when you heard 
 
 My lips breathe love's first faltering word ? 
 
 You do, sweet — don't you? 
 When, having wandered all the day, 
 Linked arm in arm I dared to say. 
 
 You'll love me — won't you? 
 
 And when you blushed, and could not speak, 
 I fondly kissed your glowing cheek; 
 
 Did that affront you? 
 Oh, surely not; your eye exprest 
 No wrath, but said, perhaps in jest. 
 
 You'll love me — won't you? 
 
 I'm sure my eyes replied, "I will;" 
 And you believe that promise still; 
 
 You do, sweet — don't you? 
 Yes, yes, when age has made our eyes 
 Unfit for questions or replies, 
 
 You'll love me — won't you? 
 
 — Thomas Haynes Bayly. 
 
 ^rltpn^ Mb if All U^OBt iEttJiraring 
 
 Believe me, if all those endearing young charms, 
 
 Which I gaze on so fondly today. 
 Were to change by tomorrow, and fleet in my arms, 
 
 Like fairy-gifts fading away, 
 Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art, 
 
 Let thy loveliness fade as it will, 
 And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart 
 
 Would entwine itself verdantly still. 
 
 It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, 
 
 And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear, 
 That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known. 
 
 To which time will but make thee more dear; 
 No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets, 
 
 But as truly loves on to the close. 
 As the sunflower turns on her god, when he sets, 
 
 The same look which she turn'd when he rose. 
 
 — Moore. 
 
 IS 
 
four 1^0ur of (Ba\h 
 
 All through the long, unhappy years 
 You made one passionate plea; 
 Imploring fate to brush aside 
 The dark despair of hope deferred, 
 And give to you the boon of love 
 Without which life was drear indeed. 
 In the gray days, and months and years ■ 
 That span Eternity's far shore 
 Just sixty minutes filled with love 
 Would make your cup of bliss o'erflow, 
 And you on memories feed forevermore — 
 One little hour by radiance blest — 
 One golden hour. 
 
 Alas! deaf were the ears to which you cried 
 
 And you went o'ercast with clouds and storm 
 
 Until ONE came. You saw the sun 
 
 Of love shine through those eyes; 
 
 You laid your weary head upon that breast; 
 
 And there, encircled by those tender arms 
 
 You found — your hour of gold! 
 
 — Idah McGlone Gibson. 
 
 too? fi S^mpU 
 
 He is tall and strong, like the Roman old, 
 Grey eyes and hair like the night; 
 
 I love him far more than I like to tell. 
 Much more than is fair or right. 
 
 And I think of much to tell him about. 
 
 When he's gone from me away; 
 But when I am with him and by his side, 
 
 We speak not a word all day. 
 
 I don't want to love him — natures as mine 
 Shouldn't love, they burn too deep; 
 
 They consume their strength, but I pray to live. 
 Love's vigil with him to keep. 
 
 I love him! My soul and body cry out 
 
 In anguish, tender despair, 
 To be pressed to his heart, held to his breast. 
 
 Is life! Love's temple is there. 
 
 — Katie Daffan. 
 
 Copyrighted. Used by special 
 permission of Katie DafiFan. 
 
 16 
 
After the day is done 
 
 When the shadows begin to fall, 
 My heart is filled with a joyous thrill 
 
 As I listen for your call. 
 
 It is our twilight hour, dear. 
 Which comes at the end of day; 
 
 When you hold me close in rapture sweet 
 And kiss all my fears away. 
 
 What treasures rare it holds! 
 
 What memories fond and true! 
 There's naught in life that can compare 
 
 With this one little hour with you. 
 
 — Merle Hayes Ponder. 
 
 Too late I stay'd — forgive the crime, 
 
 Unheeded flew the hours; 
 How noiseless falls the foot of time 
 
 That only treads on flowers. 
 
 What eye v/ith clear account remarks 
 
 The ebbing of the glass, 
 When all its sands are diamond sparks. 
 
 That dazzle as they pass? 
 
 Oh, who to sober measurement 
 Time's happy swiftness brings, 
 
 When birds of paradise have lent 
 Their plumage for his wings? 
 
 — William Robert Spencer. 
 
 31 SnitF f nu Orulg 
 
 I love you truly, truly, dear, 
 
 Life with its sorrow, life with its tear, 
 
 Fades into dreams when I feel you are near. 
 For I love you truly, truly, dear. 
 
 Ah love, 'tis something to feel your kind hand, 
 Ah yes, 'tis something by your side to stand, 
 
 Gone is the sorrow, gone doubt and fear. 
 For you love me truly, truly, dear. 
 
 — Carrie Jacobs-Bond. 
 
 17 
 
First time he kissed me, he but only kissed 
 The fingers of this hand wherewith I write. 
 And ever since it grew more clean and white, — 
 Slow to world-greetings — quick with its "Oh, list!" 
 When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst 
 I could not wear here plainer to my sight 
 Than that first kiss. The second passed in height 
 The first, and sought the forehead, and half missed, 
 Half falling on the hair. O, beyond meed! 
 That was the chrism of love, which love's own crown 
 With sanctifying sweetness, did precede. 
 The third upon my lips was folded down 
 In perfect, purple state! since when, indeed, 
 I have been proud and said, "My love, my own." 
 — Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
 
 Oh! might I kiss those eyes of fire, 
 A million scarce would quench desire: 
 Still would I steep my lips in bliss, 
 And dwell an age on every kiss: 
 Nor then my soul should sated be; 
 Still would I kiss and cling to thee; 
 Nought should my kiss from thine dissever, 
 Still would we kiss, and kiss forever; 
 E'en though the numbers did exceed 
 The yellow harvest's countless seed. 
 To part would be a vain endeavor: 
 Could I desist? — ah! never — never! 
 
 — Byron. 
 
 (Hljt ©rotI| 
 
 There are no other kisses like to those. 
 They own the sweet of violet and rose. 
 The softness of the moonlight on the sea, 
 The thrill of music's deepest ecstasy. 
 The warmth of spring-time — and your love 
 for me. 
 
 — Edmund Vance Cooke. 
 
 18 
 
10U HaiBBtli Mt 
 
 You kissed me! My head dropped low on your breast 
 With a feeling of shelter and infinite rest, 
 And a holy emotion my tongue dared not speak 
 Flashed up in a flame from my heart to my cheek. 
 Your arms held me fast; O, your arms were so bold! 
 Heart beat against heart in their passionate fold; 
 Your glances seemed drawing my soul through my 
 
 eyes 
 As the sun draws the mist from the sea to the skies. 
 And your lips clung to mine till I prayed in my bliss. 
 They might never unclasp from that rapturous kiss. 
 
 You kissed me! My heart, my breath and my will 
 
 In delirious joy for a moment stood still. 
 
 Life had for me then no temptations, no charms, 
 
 No visions of rapture outside of your arms; 
 
 And were I this instant an angel possessed 
 
 Of the peace and the joy that are given the blest, 
 
 I would fling my white robes unrepiningly down 
 
 And tear from my forehead its beautiful crown 
 
 To nestle once more in that haven of rest 
 
 Your lips upon mine, my head on your breast. 
 
 You kissed me! My soul in a bliss so divine 
 Reeled and swooned like a drunken man foolish with 
 
 wine; 
 And I thought 'twere delicious to die then if death 
 Could but come while my lips were yet moist with 
 
 your breath; 
 'Twere delicious to die if my heart might grow cold 
 While your arms clasped me round in that passionate 
 
 fold! 
 And these are the questions I ask day and night: 
 Must my life know but once such exquisite delight? 
 Would you care if your breast were my shelter as 
 
 then 
 And if you were here would you kiss me again ? 
 
 — Josephine Hood. 
 
 Since we parted yester eve, 
 
 I do love thee, love, believe, 
 
 Twelve times dearer, twelve hours longer, 
 
 One dream deeper, one night stronger. 
 
 One sun surer, — thus much more 
 
 Than I loved thee, love, before. 
 
 — Bulwer-Lytton. 
 
 19 
 
In the vast mysterious depths of God's eternal 
 plan, each soul is not alone in being — it is but half 
 of a glorified whole, and God alone knows part and 
 part, and holds what each can find only through 
 Him. To seek and find that heaven-born counterpart 
 of the higher selfhood, to blend soul with soul in 
 wisdom and love, to respond more and more to that 
 celestial charm, to become as one angelic harp, 
 played upon by the breath of God — this is the quest 
 of every soul since time began. Though a man gain 
 the whole world and lose this it profits him nothing. 
 This is the Reason for Eternity. Heaven comes 
 nearer to the heart that admits its law — the heart 
 that seeks to serve the divine plan of forever-unfold- 
 ing life. 
 
 — Waldo Pondray Warren. 
 
 "Life is a search for our own — ^for those whose 
 hearts beat in unison with ours — who respond to the 
 same vibration. Men are tuned to a certain key. 
 Those tuned to F do not respond when you strike D. 
 Our own are those in our key." 
 
 Love is but the discovery of ourselves in others; 
 and the delight in the recognition. 
 
 — Alexander Smith. 
 
 Somewhere there waiteth in this world of ours 
 
 For one lone soul another lonely soul. 
 Each choosing each through all the weary hours, 
 
 And meeting strangely at one sudden goal. 
 Then blend they, like green leaves with golden flow- 
 ers. 
 
 Into one beautiful and perfect whole; 
 And life's long night is ended, and the way 
 
 Lies open onward to eternal day. 
 
 — Edwin Arnold. 
 
 20 
 
Heartaches of an idolized daughter when Bhe must 
 leave her Daddy. 
 
 Daddy, Daddy, how am I going to write you this 
 letter! I should feel ashamed of myself for not 
 having the courage to go straight to you and tell 
 you my secret as a sensible young woman should. 
 Instead, I have run up to my room and locked myself 
 in to write you all my heart and when I have fin- 
 ished I shall slip the letter under your bed-room 
 door. 
 
 Here it is: I love another man — another besides 
 you, Daddy, and the conviction is nearly breaking 
 my heart. The man I love, the other one, Daddy, is 
 good, brave, true and yes, even great; but my poor 
 heart aches unutterably with the thought that if I 
 go to him I must leave you — leave you, dearest, 
 best and truest father a girl ever had. When I look 
 back over the twenty-three years of my life — all 
 motherless years — and recall how we — you and I, 
 Daddy, — have walked hand in hand, heart to heart 
 all the way — through sunshine and shadow, over 
 smooth paths and rough, drawing ever closer to each 
 other with the passing of the years — when I think 
 of all this, and then realize that I am asking you 
 to let me leave you — actually deserting — oh, I could 
 tear my heart out for its treachery — I could weep 
 my eyes dry for very bitterness of soul. When I 
 think of leaving you for this new love, I despise my- 
 self and want to go down at your feet and beg for- 
 giveness; but ah, Daddy, when I think of giving up 
 my new love I cannot bear the pain of it for one 
 moment — I cannot — I cannot! 
 
 And so here I am asking you to let me go. Will 
 you ever know the pain it gives me ? Almost I could 
 implore you not to let me go — to hold me — hold me 
 even against my will. But no, you will give me your 
 dear smile of immeasurable tenderness and bid me 
 seek my happiness and then my heart will bleed in 
 an agony of self-reproach. 
 
 Daddy, if you can forgive me — how silly of me to 
 say that! If you can believe that I still love you — 
 that is foolish, too — if — ah! I must ask it — if you 
 can give me up to him, tell me so by putting a rose 
 on my breakfast-plate in the morning. Don't speak 
 to me then, my heart is too full — just put the rose 
 there — and then after awhile I shall try to talk 
 sensibly to you about it — about him. 
 
 Good-night, sweet Daddy. I hardly know what 
 sort of state my heart is in. I only know I love 
 two men with all the very soul of me. That sounds 
 dreadful — but alas! 'tis true. One of them is my 
 idolized father and the other — ah, put the rose there 
 in the morning. Daddy! 
 
 YOUR LOVING DAUGHTER. 
 
 21 
 
"Enclosed you will find a proposal to wed, 
 
 Give the same your attention and oblige me," she 
 
 read. 
 "Your proposal at hand and contents I note, 
 I have placed it on file with the others," she wrote. 
 
 His arm with firm and strong embrace 
 
 Her dainty form enfolds, 
 And she had blushed her sweet consent 
 
 When he his story told, 
 "And dost thou swear to keep thy vow?" 
 
 She asked with loving air, 
 He looked into her upturned face: 
 
 "Yes, by yon elm I swear." 
 A year passed by, his love grew cold. 
 
 Of his heart she had lost the helm. 
 She blamed his fault, the truth was this: 
 
 That tree was a slippery elm. 
 
 'Tis easy enough to look pleasant 
 
 When he holds all the cards, black or red. 
 
 But the partner worth while 
 
 Is the one who can smile. 
 When I've trumped every ace that he led. 
 
 They talk about a woman's sphere as 
 Though it had a limit; 
 There's not a place in earth or heaven, 
 There's not a task to mankind given, 
 There's not a blessing or a woe. 
 There's not a whispered yes or no. 
 There's not a life, or death, or birth. 
 That has a feather's weight of worth — 
 Without a woman in it. 
 
 — C. E. Bowman. 
 
 22 
 
Enjjagpb 
 
 They both deny the rumor, 
 He says "the thing's absurd," 
 
 And shows a marked ill humor 
 If any doubt his word, 
 
 A look of injured innocence 
 Greets gossip's sly impertinence. 
 
 She tries to treat it lightly 
 And, laughing, to proclaim 
 
 Its falsity, yet brightly 
 She blushes at his name. 
 
 Her laugh is forced, her smile constrained, 
 She, once so calm, so self-contained. 
 
 Wherefore, it's almost certain 
 The sly report is true; 
 
 Thousands, behind Time's curtain, 
 Have acted as they do. 
 
 The man denies to beat the Dutch, 
 "The lady doth protest too much." 
 
 — S. D. Smith, Jr. 
 
 In many ways does the full heart reveal 
 The presence of the love it would conceal. 
 
 — Coleridge. 
 
 Thus it is our daughters leave us, 
 Those we love, and those who love us! 
 Just when they have learned to help us. 
 When we are old and lean upon them, 
 Comes a youth with flaunting feathers, 
 With his flute of reeds, a stranger 
 Wanders piping through the village. 
 Beckons to the fairest maiden, 
 And she follows where he leads her. 
 Leaving all things for the stranger. 
 
 — From "Hiawatha." 
 
 And yet a little vine of memory 
 
 Clings round the doorway where your garment* 
 
 swept — 
 
 Close to the threshold, where your footfall passed, 
 
 Forget-me-nots have crept. 
 
 — Alice R. Coe. 
 
 23 
 
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. 
 
 I love thee to the depth and breadth and height 
 
 My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight 
 
 For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. 
 
 I love thee to the level of every day's 
 
 Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. 
 
 I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; 
 
 I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. 
 
 I love thee with the passion put to use 
 
 In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. 
 
 I love thee with a love I seemed to lose 
 
 With my lost saints, — I love thee with the breath. 
 
 Smiles, tears, of all my life! — and, if God choose, 
 
 I shall but love thee better after death. 
 
 — Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
 
 Nay, dearest, nay, if thou wouldst have me paint 
 The home to which, could love fulfill its prayers, 
 This hand would lead thee, listen! A deep vale 
 Shut out by Alpine hills from the rude world, 
 Near a clear lake margined by fruits of gold 
 And whispering myrtles; glassing softest skies. 
 As cloudless, save with rare and roseate shadows. 
 As I would have thy fate! 
 
 A palace lifting to eternal summer 
 Its marble walls, from out a glossy bower 
 Of coolest foliage musical with birds. 
 Whose songs should syllable thy name! At noon 
 We'd sit beneath the arching vines and wonder 
 Why earth could be unhappy, while the heavens 
 Still left us youth and love! We'd have no friends 
 That were not lovers; no ambition, save 
 To excel them all in love. We'd read no books 
 That were not tales of love, — that we might smile 
 To think how poorly eloquence of words 
 Translates the poetry of hearts like ours! 
 And when night came, amidst the breathless heavens 
 We'd guess what star should be our home when love 
 Becomes immortal; while the perfumed light 
 Stole through the midst of alabaster lamps 
 And every air was heavy with the sighs 
 Of orange groves and music from sweet lutes. 
 And murmurs of low fountains that gushed forth 
 I' the midst of roses! Dost thou like the picture? 
 
 — From "Lady of Lyons," by Bulwer-Lytton. 
 
 24 
 
IGmlr IsU 
 
 Oh! had we some bright little isle of our own, 
 In a blue summer ocean, far off and alone, 
 Where a leaf never dies in the still blooming bowers. 
 And the bee banquets on through a whole year of 
 flowers; 
 Where the sun loves to pause 
 
 With so fond a delay, 
 That the night only draws 
 A thin veil o'er the day; 
 Where simply to feel that we breathe, that we live, 
 Is worth the best joy that life elsewhere can give. 
 There, with souls ever ardent and pure as the clime, 
 We should love, as they loved in the first golden time; 
 The glow of the sunshine, the balm of the air. 
 Would steal to our hearts, and make all summer 
 there. 
 With affection as free 
 
 From decline as the bowers, 
 And, with hope, like the bee. 
 Living always on flowers. 
 Our life should resemble a long day of light. 
 And our death come on, holy and calm as the night. 
 
 — Moore. 
 
 Nut Mat Ennr B Bukt 
 
 I love thee, dearest, for thine own dear sake, 
 
 Not for the sake of Love; for love to me 
 Came in thy guise, and bade my heart awake 
 
 From dreams of love's delight to love of thee. 
 Not for Love's sake, but for thy very own — 
 
 Yet Love, immortal Love is well content 
 That I should love thee for thyself alone. 
 
 Since thy sweet self is Love's embodiment. 
 Not for Love's sake I love thee, but for thine 
 
 I love my dream of love — the vision fair 
 That lured my footsteps to Love's altar shrine, 
 
 And taught my heart to kneel in hope and prayer; 
 Till Love at last unveiled his hidden grace. 
 
 And pausing, I beheld — thy face. 
 
 — Edmond Holmes. 
 
 2S 
 
What do I want most of all, most of all, 
 
 O, man of my heart, with the world within call? 
 
 You are generous, quite, with your gems and your 
 
 gold. 
 You keep me from starving and keep me from cold, 
 But a woman's a rose on its bush by the wall, 
 And — I want you to want me, dear — that most of all! 
 
 — Richard Wightman. 
 
 If one should praise my face, dear heart, 
 The words were pleasant to my ear; 
 
 I'd closely guard each vaunted charm, dear heart, 
 In hope that you will sometimes hear 
 
 And understand; I would be beautiful — 
 To you. 
 
 If one should say my form, dear heart, 
 
 Were cast in nature's fairest mold, 
 The pleasing lie I would not scorn, dear heart. 
 
 If he told you the fable bold, 
 For know, sweetheart, I would be grace itself — 
 To you. 
 
 If one should think my eyes, dear heart. 
 Were wells of passion, deep and wide, 
 
 His thoughts as wisdom I would prize, dear heart, 
 If you but quenched your thirst beside. 
 
 Desire is sweet; drink from the cup I hold — 
 To you. 
 
 If one should give my mind, dear heart. 
 
 Some extra merit not its due, 
 Excuse for him I'd try to find, dear heart, 
 If you thought what he said were true; 
 Oh, husband mine, I would be all in all — 
 To you. 
 
 — Idah McGlone Gibson. 
 
 Love rules the court, the camp, the grove. 
 And men below, and saints above, 
 For love is heaven, and heaven is love. 
 
 —Scott. 
 
 26 
 
®0ttuirnitu 
 
 Tomorrow and tomorrow! Shall there be 
 
 Perchance a morrow when I may not see 
 Your face beside me any more ? Ah, no, 
 
 My Love — my Love, — I cannot let you go, 
 Like sun in Egypt ever kind and fair, 
 
 My heart must wake at dawn and find you there. 
 No dread of day that holds a weeping rain, 
 
 No fear of chilly love, and shadowed pain, 
 But ever perfect — ever wise and true, 
 
 Tomorrow and tomorrow holding You! 
 
 — Helen Hay Whitney. 
 
 From Nina Isabel Jenning's 
 Compilation, "\dien We're In Love." 
 
 3u0t ^0u 
 
 If nothing else in all the world 
 
 Remained, but just a glimpse of you, 
 
 I'd still believe the world was good 
 And life was worth the living, too. 
 
 If ev'ry friend had proven false 
 
 But you, I'd still have faith to know 
 
 That God could raise up other friends 
 To stand by me in weal or woe. 
 
 If over all the world a cloud 
 
 Had settled, deeper than the night, 
 
 And I should see your smile, I'd know 
 
 Somewhere, sometime, there would be light. 
 
 If every bird that ever sang 
 
 Had lost the note it sang before. 
 One word of yours would make me feel 
 
 That music would peal forth once more. 
 
 If ev'ry lovely flower that grew 
 
 Had perished in this world of pain, 
 
 I'd trust the Power that made you, dear, 
 To bring back loveliness again. 
 
 If no one else believed in God, 
 
 And no one else believed in me. 
 Your joy in life, your faith, your love 
 
 Would make me feel eternity. 
 
 — Beatrice Todd. 
 
 27 
 
3for Eoit^B ^ake 
 
 Ah, love me sweet with all thy heart, 
 
 Thy mind, thy soul, and all thou art 
 And hope to be — love me with love 
 
 That naught beneath the heavens may move; 
 Yet, say not wherefore; say not why 
 
 Thou lovest, since in these do lie 
 The seeds of death to love, — but say 
 
 Thou lovest and must love alway; 
 For shouldst thou love some witching grace 
 
 Of word or manner, form or face, 
 Should the heart's worship thus be bought 
 
 By any gift that Time has wrought, — 
 So art thou false to love's poor creed, 
 
 And like to fail in sorest need. 
 But love for love's dear sake, I pray. 
 
 Then — thou shalt love me, sweet, alway. 
 
 — Zitella Cocks. 
 
 "You wish to tell me all. I do not care to know 
 The things that have made up your life 
 Before some blessed Fate hurled me into it. 
 Think you I'd care to wed an angel? 
 Thank God, you're human. 
 
 And were it possible, I'd take your hand and say 
 I love you more than I did yesterday. 
 Were your life laid before me like a book, 
 Its pages open wide for me to read each line, 
 I'd turn away nor deign another look 
 Beyond the place where it was written 
 That you cared for me. 
 Think you I care for ancient history? 
 For whom you loved, or what you used to do? 
 All that I ask is. Can you answer me 
 That you love me just half as much as I love you?" 
 — Idah McGlone Gibson. 
 
 Man's love is of man's life a thing apart, 
 
 'Tis woman's whole existence: man may range 
 The court, camp, church, the vessel, and the mart, 
 
 Sword, gown, gain, glory, offer in exchange 
 Pride, fame, ambition, to fill up his heart. 
 
 And few there are whom these cannot estrange; 
 Men have all these resources, we but one. 
 
 To love again, and be again undone. 
 
 — Byron. 
 
 28 
 
3 Entir fou 
 
 I have had a letter each day of this week 
 Bright and sparkling, and fond words, too, 
 
 But they were dead letters, all flat and all dull, 
 'Cause I didn't have one from you. 
 
 And I've had fine flowers each day of this week. 
 The "Beauties," all fresh with the dew. 
 
 But they were not sweet and they hung down 
 their heads. 
 They wanted to come from you. 
 
 Then I went for a drive o'er the hills away. 
 
 It is called a glorious view. 
 But I saw not a thing in those scenes so grand, 
 
 Since I wanted to be with you. 
 
 Yours are the dear letters that I love to read, 
 Your sweet roses my heart can woo, 
 
 I would ride with you to the end of the world 
 For I love you! you know that I do. 
 
 —Katie DafFan. 
 
 From "As Thinheth a Woman" 
 Copyright, 1912. 
 
 fOtt 
 
 I know not what the future holds 
 
 Or if your love be true; 
 I but know that in all this world 
 
 There's none other for me but you. 
 
 Ofttimes I sit alone and dream 
 
 Yes, sit and dream of you; 
 And I wonder if you can forget 
 
 The girl whose love is true. 
 
 It may be that in years to come 
 We'll meet again — somewhere, 
 
 And I may hear the whisper sweet: 
 "I love you, I love you, dear." 
 
 — Merle Hayes Ponder. 
 
 Only the soul that knows the mighty grief 
 Can know the mighty rapture. Sorrows come 
 To stretch out spaces in the heart for joy. 
 — Edwin Markham. 
 
 29 
 
A Woman s lHom 
 
 A sentinel angel sitting high in glory 
 
 Heard this shrill wail ring out from purgatory: 
 
 "Hear, mighty angel, hear my story. 
 
 I loved, and blind with passionate love I fell 
 
 And love brought me down to death, end death to hell; 
 
 For God is just and death for sin is well. 
 
 I do not rage against his high decree 
 
 Nor for myself do ask that grace shall be, 
 
 But for my love on earth who mourns for me. 
 
 Great Spirit, let me see my love again 
 
 And comfort him for one hour and I were fain 
 
 To pay a thousand years of fire and pain." 
 
 Then said the pitying angel: 
 "Nay, sad soul, repent that wild vow 
 Look! the dial finger's bent 
 Down to the last hour of thy punishment." 
 
 But still she wailed: "I pray thee, let me go, 
 I can not rise to peace and leave him so; 
 0! let me soothe him in his bitter woe." 
 
 The brazen gates ground suddenly ajar. 
 
 And upward like a rising star 
 
 She rose, and vanished in the ether far. 
 
 But soon adown the dying sunset sailing, 
 And like a wounded bird her pinions trailing 
 She fluttered back with broken-hearted wailing. 
 
 She sobbed: "I found him by the summer sea. 
 
 His head reclining on a maiden's knee; 
 
 She curled his hair and kissed him; woe is me." 
 
 She wept: "Now let my punishment begin 
 I have been fond and foolish, let me in 
 To expiate my sorrow and my sin." 
 
 Then said the pitying angel : "Nay, sad soul, go higher 
 To be deceived in your true heart's desire 
 Was bitterer than a thousand years of fire." 
 
 — John Hay. 
 
 30 
 
iBg QJoaat 
 
 The following lines written by Caroline A. Mason, 
 express the sentiment of my trust in God, my pur- 
 pose always to look upon the bright side of life, and 
 «ver to think well of my fellow-men: 
 
 Whichever way the wind doth blow, 
 Some heart is glad to have it so; 
 Then blow it east, or blow it west, 
 The wind that blows — that wind it best! 
 
 My little craft sails not alone: 
 
 A thousand fleets from every zone 
 
 Are out upon a thousand seas; 
 
 And what for me were favoring breeze 
 
 Might dash another with the shock 
 
 Of doom, upon some hidden rock, 
 
 And so I do not dare to pray 
 
 For winds to waft me on my way; 
 
 But leave it to a Higher Will, 
 
 To stay or speed me — trusting still 
 
 That all is well, and sure that He 
 
 Who launched my bark v/ill sail with me 
 
 Through storm and calm, and will not fail. 
 
 Whatever breezes may prevail. 
 
 To land me, every peril past. 
 
 Within His sheltering haven at last. 
 
 Then, whatsoever wind doth blow, 
 My heart is glad to have it so; 
 And blow it east, or blow it west, 
 The wind that blows — that wind is best! 
 
 — Frank N. Lynch. 
 
 From Good Fello-wrship. 
 
 Courtesy Samuel Francis W^oolard. 
 
 "I drink," said he, "to the woman I love, 
 
 I drink to the one who loves me," 
 And while in his heart he thought of but one, 
 
 His words meant two women, you'll see; 
 For the woman he loved, I knew loved me — 
 
 Though 'twas vain, for I love her not — 
 While the one who loved him — I'd give my soul 
 
 For one smile he received and forgot. 
 
 — T. P. A. Magazine. 
 
 31 
 
After she had died — 
 
 She who was ever kind, 
 Whose smiles outran the gentle voice 
 
 Which yet stole close behind — 
 After she had died, 
 
 Regret how boundless thrilled him 
 That he had rarely breathed to her 
 
 The love that so had filled him! 
 
 After she had died 
 
 He found her treasured things; 
 A thousand memories arose, 
 
 But brought a thousand stings. 
 Dear heart! here were his gifts, 
 
 Each trifling one, love's token; 
 But words she would have treasured more, 
 
 How were they left unspoken! 
 
 — H. Tyms. 
 
 "Darling," he said, "I never meant 
 To hurt you," and his eyes were wet. 
 
 "I would not hurt you for the world. 
 Am I to blame if I forget?" 
 
 "Forgive my foolish tears!" she cried, 
 "Forgive! I knew that it was not 
 
 Because you meant to hurt me, sweet, — 
 I knew it was that you forgot!" 
 
 But all the same, deep in her heart 
 
 Rankled this thought, and rankles yet, — 
 "When love is at its best one loves 
 So much that he can not forget." 
 
 — Helen Hunt Jackson. 
 
 Alas! — ^how light a cause may move 
 
 Dissension between hearts that love! 
 
 Hearts that the world in vain had tried, 
 
 And sorrow but more closely tied; 
 
 That stood the storm, when waves were rough, 
 
 Yet in a sunny hour fell oflf, 
 
 Like ships that have gone down at sea, 
 
 When heaven was all tranquillity! 
 
 — Moore. 
 
 32 
 
3f i|f s«t acttf ui 
 
 I know that deep within your heart of hearts 
 You hold me shrined apart from common things; 
 And that my step, my voice, can bring to you 
 A gladness that no other presence brings; 
 
 And yet, dear love, through all the weary days 
 You never speak one word of tenderness, 
 Nor stroke my hair, nor softly clasp my hand 
 Within your own loving mute caress. 
 
 You think, perhaps, I should be all content 
 To know so well the sacred place I hold 
 Within your life, and so you do not dream 
 How much I love to hear the story told. 
 
 You can not know, when we two sit alone, 
 
 And tranquil thoughts within your mind are stirred, 
 
 My heart is crying like a tired child, 
 
 For one fond look, one gentle, loving word. 
 
 It may be, when your eyes look into mine. 
 You only say, "How dear she is to me!" 
 Oh, could I read it in your softened glance 
 How radiant this old world would be to me! 
 
 Perhaps, sometimes, you breathe a sweet prayer 
 That choicest blessings unto me be given, 
 But if you said aloud, "God bless you, dear!" 
 I should not ask a greater boon from heaven. 
 
 I weary sometimes of the rugged way; 
 
 But should you say, "Through thee my life is 
 
 sweet," 
 The dreariest desert that our path could cross 
 Would suddenly grow green beneath my feet. 
 
 *Tis not the boundless waters ocean holds 
 That give refreshment to the thirsty flowers; 
 But just the drops that, rising to the skies, 
 From thence descend in softly falling showers. 
 
 And so, 'tis said that those who should be rich 
 In that true love which crowns our earthly lot 
 Go praying with white lips from day to day, 
 For love's sweet tokens, and receive them not. 
 
 — Bert Inglist. 
 
 33 
 
Sometimes, into two hearts great enough to hold 
 it, and into two souls where it may abide forever, 
 there comes the Everlasting Love. It is elemental, 
 like fire and the sea, 'wath the depth and splendor of 
 the surge and the glory of the flame. It makes the 
 world a vast cathedral, in which they two worship, 
 and where, even in the darkness, there is the peace 
 which passeth all understanding, because it is of 
 God. 
 
 —Myrtle Reed. 
 
 If I loved a man I should love him so completely 
 that I should never think of anything in which he had 
 not the first and greatest share. I should see his kind 
 looks in every ray of sunshine — I should hear his 
 loving voice in every note of music — if I were to 
 read a book alone, I should wonder which sentence 
 in it would please him most — if I plucked a flower, I 
 should ask myself if he would like me to wear it — 
 I should live through him and for him — he would be 
 my very eyes and heart and soul! 
 
 — Marie Corelli. 
 
 There is the peace of surrendered as well as of 
 fulfilled hopes, the peace not of satisfied but of ex- 
 tinguished longings, — the peace, not of the happy 
 love and secure fireside, but of unmurmuring and ac- 
 cepted loneliness, — the peace, not of the heart which 
 lives in joyful serenity afar from trouble and from 
 strife, but of the heart whose conflicts are over and 
 whose hopes are buried, — the peace of the passionless 
 as well as the peace of the happy, not the peace 
 which brooded over Eden, but that which crowned 
 Gethsemane. 
 
 —From "Infelice." 
 
 Tell her till I see those eyes, I do not live. 
 
 That Rome to me is hateful; 
 
 Tell her, oh, I know not what — 
 
 That every thought and feeling, space and spot, 
 
 Is like an ugly dream where she is not; 
 
 All persons plagues; 
 
 All living wearisome; 
 
 All talking empty. 
 
 — Antony's Message to Cleopatra. 
 
 34 
 
Sing Sing No. 65368 
 
 Dedicated to Geraldine Farrar 
 
 Who sang in the Federal Prison at Atlanta, Georgia, in th« 
 
 spring of 1911 
 
 For years in that great prison we had not seen a 
 woman's face or heard the sound of a woman's voice. 
 We thought of women as the Peri thinks of Paradise. 
 Around us were the gray walls of the bastile ; the in- 
 solent guards ; the crushing monotony of military disci- 
 pline, driven to the last notch by a silence that makes 
 men mad. We longed for a face to bring memories of 
 what once was, or a voice to tell what might some time 
 be. 
 
 Then — who of us will forget? — we were told to line 
 up, by the harsh voice of a guard. We marched to the 
 chapel, two by two, to take our seats in utter silence. 
 We waited. A woman came down the platform with 
 the step and form of a princess. Her breast was hid 
 beneath fragrant Georgia roses. She stood a moment, 
 then sang, her clear notes stabbing to our hungry hearts 
 as tiny poinards. A thrill went through the thousand 
 inmates — the thrill of something long denied, like a 
 cup in a desert. Many wept, many bowed their heada 
 to hide their faces and their emotions. None have ever 
 forgotten, for the singer was Geraldine Farrar, and the 
 Bong was "Home Sweet Home." 
 
 You sang to me! I see your face; 
 
 I glimpse the oriflamme of gold 
 That winds around your sweet, slim grace. 
 
 In memory, time doth have and hold. 
 You lifted me in that one hour, 
 
 When I stood bowed beneath your dais; 
 You were to me like some pure flower 
 
 With all the pagan charm of Thais. 
 
 You sang to me! Within that hall 
 
 A thousand men were mute and still, 
 But I alone amongst them all 
 
 Received the wounds no time can kill, 
 From every bird-like note so plain 
 
 That soared with ecstasy so clear ; 
 I cannot now repeat your name 
 
 Without the thought that you are near. 
 
 My eyes met yours across the floor — 
 
 Can you forgive their burning glance? 
 You paused a moment — was it more? — 
 
 I dreamed a dream of lost romance. 
 Then from your cheek a tear didst roll 
 
 Upon your sweet and lovely breast; 
 Perchance it was my lonely soul 
 
 That choaked your heart with tenderness. 
 
 You passed out through the walls that bound 
 
 Around my shame and servitude; 
 Like some sweet-throated thrush that found 
 
 My prison home most cold and rude. 
 You've flown, sweet singer, but behind 
 
 You've left a double memory dear: 
 I liked your voice so passing kind; 
 
 But deeper still, I loved your tear. 
 
 35 
 
If you think you are beaten, you are, 
 If you think you dare not — j'^ou don't; 
 
 If you'd like to win, but you think you can't 
 It's almost certain you won't. 
 
 If you think you will lose, you have lost, 
 
 For out in this world we find 
 Success begins with a fellow's will — 
 
 It's all in his state of mind. 
 
 If you think you're outclassed, you are. 
 
 You've got to think high to rise, 
 You've got to be sure of yourself 
 
 Before you can ever win a prize. 
 
 Life's battles don't always go 
 
 To the stronger or faster man, 
 But soon or late the man who wins 
 
 Is the man who thinks he can. 
 
 — Author Unknown. 
 
 Master of human destines am I! 
 Fame, love, and fortune on my footsteps wait. 
 Cities and fields I walk. I penetrate 
 Deserts and seas remote, and passing by 
 Hovel and mart and palace, soon or late 
 I knock unbidden once at every gate! 
 If sleepy, wake; if feasting, rise before 
 I turn away. It is the hour of fate. 
 And they who follow me reach every state 
 Mortals desire, and conquer every foe 
 Save death: but those who doubt or hesitate, 
 Condemned to failure, penury and woe, 
 Seek me in vain, and uselessly implore. 
 I answer not, and I return no more! 
 
 — John J. Ingalls. 
 
 There is a tide in the affairs of men 
 
 Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; 
 
 Omitted, all the voyage of their lives 
 
 Is bound in shallows, and in miseries. 
 
 On such a full sea are we now afloat; 
 
 And we must take the current when it serves. 
 
 Or lose our ventures. 
 
 — Shakespeare. 
 
 36 
 
®l|t0 (Soo §l|aU Pass Amag 
 
 A mighty Monarch in the days of old 
 
 Made offer of high honor, wealth and gold, 
 
 To one who should produce in form concise 
 
 A motto for his guidance, terse yet wise — - 
 
 A precept, soothing in his hours forlorn. 
 
 Yet one that in his prosperous days would warn. 
 
 Many the maxims sent the king, men say. 
 
 The one he chose: "This too shall pass away." 
 
 Oh, jewel sentence from the mine of truth. 
 
 What riches it contains for age or youth. 
 
 No stately epic, measured and sublime. 
 
 So comforts, or so counsels, for all time 
 
 As these few words. Go write them on your heart, 
 
 And make them of your daily life a part. 
 
 Has some misfortune fallen to your lot? 
 
 This too will pass away — absorb the thought. 
 
 And await; your waiting will not be in vain. 
 
 Time gilds with gold the iron links of pain. 
 
 The dark today leads into light tomorrow; 
 
 There is no endless joy, no endless sorrow. 
 
 Are you upon earth's heights? No clouds in view? 
 
 Go read your motto once again: This too 
 
 Shall pass away. Fame, glory, place and power 
 
 They are but little baubles of the hour, 
 
 Flung by the ruthless years down in the dust. 
 
 Take warning and be worthy of God's trust. 
 
 Use well your prowess while it lasts; leave bloom, 
 
 Not blight, to mark your footprints to the tomb. 
 
 The truest greatness lies in being kind. 
 
 The truest wisdom in a happy mind. 
 
 He who desponds, his Maker's judgment mocks; 
 
 The gloomy Christian is a paradox. 
 
 Only the sunny soul respects its God. 
 
 Since life is short we need to make it broad; 
 
 Since life is brief we need to make it bright. 
 
 Then keep the old king's motto well in sight, 
 
 And let its meanings permeate each day. 
 
 Whatever comes, "This too shall pass away." 
 
 — E. W. W. 
 
 Smile awhile. 
 And while you smile, another smiles. 
 And soon there are miles and miles of smiles. 
 And life's worth while, because you smile. 
 
 37 
 
If we had met when leaves were green, 
 And fate to us less hard had proved, 
 
 And naught had been of what has been, 
 We might have loved as none have loved. 
 
 If we had met as girl and boy, 
 
 The world of pleasure at our feet, 
 
 Our joy had been a perfect joy, 
 We might have met, but did not meet. 
 
 Nor less in youth's full passionate day, 
 
 A woman you and I a man, 
 We might have loved and found a way 
 
 No laws could check, no vows could ban. 
 
 Too late! Too sad! A year ago 
 Even then perhaps, in spite of fate. 
 
 It might have been, but, ah, not now; 
 I dare not love you, 'tis too late. 
 
 —Blunt. 
 
 3Fatf 
 
 Two shall be born the whole wide world apart; 
 
 And speak in different tongues, and have no thought 
 
 Each of the other's being, and no heed; 
 
 And these o'er unknown seas to unknown lands 
 
 Shall cross, escaping wTeck, defying death. 
 
 And all unconsciously shape every act 
 
 And bend each wandering step to this one end — 
 
 That, one day, out of darkness, they shall meet 
 
 And read life's meaning in each other's eyes. 
 
 And two shall walk some narrow way of life 
 So nearly side by side, that should one turn 
 Ever so little space to left or right 
 They needs must stand acknowledged face to face. 
 And yet, with wistful eyes that never meet, 
 With groping hands that never clasp, and lips 
 Calling in vain to ears that never hear 
 They seek each other all their weary days, 
 And die unsatisfied — and this is Fate! 
 
 — Susan Marr Spalding. 
 
 38 
 
Sast Ntglit 
 
 Last night we sat alone, you and I, last night, 
 And watched the lovely stars and rising moon, 
 And you told me, dear, your heart was all mine own 
 And whispered loving words to me — last night. 
 
 Gone are all those loving words today — 
 Gone all the joy and gladness from my heart, 
 Gone those hopes and dreams that formed a world 
 
 apart; 
 Happiness gives way to sorrow, and it is — today. 
 
 — Merle Hayes Ponder. 
 
 "Yes, yes," she cried, "my hourly fears. 
 My dreams have boded all too right — 
 We part — forever part — to night! 
 I knew, I knew it could not last — 
 *Twas bright, 'twas heav'nly, but 'tis past! 
 Oh! ever thus, from childhood's hour, 
 
 I've seen my fondest hopes decay; 
 I never loved a tree or flow'r. 
 
 But 'twas the first to fade away . 
 I never nursed a dear gazelle, 
 
 To glad me with its soft black eye, 
 But Avhen it came to know me well. 
 
 And love me, it was sure to die! 
 Now too — the joy most like divine 
 
 Of all I ever dreamt or knew. 
 To see thee, hear thee, call thee mine, — 
 
 Oh, misery! must I lose that too?" 
 
 — "Lalla Rookh." 
 
 But never either found another 
 To free the hollow heart from paining — 
 They stood aloof, the scars remaining, 
 Like cliffs, which had been rent asunder; 
 A dreary sea now flows between, 
 But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder 
 Shall wholly do away, I v^'een 
 The marks of that which once hath been. 
 
 — Coleridge. 
 
 39 
 
Jfnrgfltt^n 
 
 Forgotten you? — well, if forgetting 
 
 Be thinking all the day 
 How the long hours drag since you left me, 
 
 (Days seem years with you away,) 
 Or hearing, thro' all the strange babble 
 
 Of voices, now grave, now gay. 
 Only your voice : Can this be forgetting ? 
 
 Yet I have forgotten, you say. 
 Or counting each moment with longing. 
 
 Till the one when I'll see you again — 
 If this be forgetting, you're right, dear, 
 
 And I have forgotten you then. 
 
 Forgotten you? — well, if forgetting 
 
 Be reading each face that I see 
 With eyes that mark never a feature. 
 
 Save yours as you last looked at me. 
 Forgotten you? — well, if forgetting 
 
 Be yearning with all my heart. 
 With a longing, half pain and half rapture. 
 
 For the time we never shall part: 
 If the wild wish to see you and hear you, 
 
 To be held in your arms again, — 
 If this be forgetting, you're right, dear, 
 
 And I have forgotten you then! 
 
 — Flora Wulschner. 
 
 Just for old time's sake. 
 
 This line of love I send. 
 To say I've not forgotten. 
 
 But still I am your friend. 
 
 And in life's busy turmoil, 
 
 I'm thinking oft of thee 
 And oh! I can but wonder, 
 
 If you ever think of me. 
 
 For though apart we've wandered, 
 Fond memories oft time wake; 
 
 So here's a line, dear friend of mine, 
 Just for old time's sake. 
 
 — Allie Toland Crisa. 
 
 40 
 
If you but knew 
 How all my days seemed filled with thoughts of you, 
 How sometimes in the silent night, 
 Your eyes thrill through me with their tender light, 
 How oft I hear your voice when others speak. 
 How you 'mid other forms I seek, 
 Oh! love more real than though such dreams were 
 true, 
 
 If you but knew. 
 
 Could you but guess 
 How you alone make all my happiness, 
 How I am more than willing for your sake 
 To stand alone, give all and nothing take 
 Nor chafe to think you bound while I am free, 
 Quite free till death, to love you silently, — 
 
 Could you but guess. 
 
 Could you but learn 
 How when you doubt my truth I sadly yearn 
 To tell you all, to stand for one brief space 
 Unfettered, soul to soul, as face to face. 
 To crown you king, my king, till life shall end. 
 My love, and likewise my truest friend. 
 Would you love me, dearest, as fondly in return, 
 Could you but learn ? 
 
 (©nig ttt ^rrama 
 
 "Would that I loved you not so much. 
 So bitter the mad love seems; 
 
 For your hands I hold and your lips I touch- 
 Only in dreams, in dreams. 
 
 I drift your way on a lonely sea, 
 Where never a bright star gleams; 
 
 And I hear your sweet voice calling me — 
 Only in dreams, in dreams. 
 
 Only in dreams with a sob and a sigh, 
 Where never a morning beams; 
 
 Must I live to love you a whole life long 
 Only in dreams, in dreams?" 
 
 41 
 
A Mttmrxi 
 
 You came into my life for one brief day — 
 Gave me the laughter of your lips and eyes, 
 Touch of your hand in mine, then turned away; 
 Yet left these memories. 
 
 Ah, child, you brought strange sunlight to my 
 
 gloom — 
 So carelessly you gave a thing so fair; 
 As though one passed through some closed, haunted 
 
 room, 
 And dropped a flower there. 
 
 — Theodosia Garrison. 
 
 From Samuel FrRncis Woolard's 
 Compilation, "All ITiat's Lovely. " 
 
 When other lips and other hearts 
 
 Their tales of love shall tell, 
 In language whose excess imparts 
 
 The power they feel so well; 
 There may, perhaps, in such a scene 
 
 Some recollection be 
 Of days that have as happy been. 
 
 And you'll remember me. 
 
 When coldness or deceit shall slight 
 
 The beauty now they prize. 
 And deem it but a faded light 
 
 Which beams within your eyes; 
 When hollow hearts shall wear a mask, 
 
 'Twill break your own to see, 
 In such a moment I but ask, 
 
 That you'll remember me. 
 
 — Balfe's Opera, "The Bohemian Girl." 
 
 Dreams, just dreams, of long ago; 
 Dreams of days that we both know. 
 Time can never change the past; 
 You're mine in dreams until the last. 
 Summer's gone and life grows cold. 
 Still, in dreams you're mine of old. 
 Hearts can break, but you can't take 
 Those golden dreams of long ago. 
 
 — Enrico Caruso. 
 
 42 
 
dutpf tiff art SagB 
 
 Do you remember the time, dear heart, 
 When first we met in childhood's day, 
 
 When our hearts were young and we knew no gniila 
 And the cares of life were so far away? 
 
 We've wandered far apart since then 
 
 Those happy days of old — 
 When you vowed your heart would know no chango 
 
 And Love's story so oft was told. 
 
 Those never-to-be-forgotten days. 
 
 Fond memories how they thrill! 
 And though we may not meet again 
 
 Remember, I love you still. 
 
 — Merle Hayes Ponder. 
 
 ®lff iHtfiHtng nf ICnue 
 
 (A Day of Days) 
 
 If I could choose from out the bygone years 
 
 One day, the happiest of all days yet spent — 
 
 One day, which, had I only one to live, 
 
 I would live o'er again and be content — 
 
 Which would I name? 
 
 Although estranged we are, and though long year* 
 
 Have passed since then. 
 
 Such memories cannot die. 
 
 If you could choose one day as I now do, 
 
 I know full well, dear heart, that you and I 
 
 Would choose the same. 
 
 — Mary Minor Lewis. 
 
 Abspttt 
 
 Sometimes, between long shadows on the grass, 
 The little truant waves of sunlight pass. 
 My eyes grow dim with tenderness, the while, 
 Thinking I see thee smile! 
 
 And sometimes in the twilight gloom, apart; 
 The tall trees whisper, whisper, heart to heart. 
 From my fond lips the eager answers fall, 
 Thinking I hear thee call! 
 
 — Catherine Young Glen. 
 
 43 
 
Over the bridge of yesterday 
 My thoughts have turned tonight, 
 And out of the far off distance 
 Comes a tender, glowing light, 
 
 And centers around a friendship 
 That has lasted through time and tide, 
 Though the chance and change of fortune 
 Has severed our pathways wide. 
 
 It may be that Earth's tomorrows 
 Hold for us no meeting place; 
 It may be that only in Heaven 
 I shall meet you face to face. 
 
 But when memory seeks a pleasant trip 
 And the choice of a pathway comes — 
 I choose the bridge of yesterday 
 To the days when we were chums. 
 
 Letter by letter the days bring on — 
 
 Companionship's dearest lieu, 
 But, amongst the line I gaze upon, 
 
 There's never a line from you. 
 
 Have you forgotten I love to hear 
 And know your lightest thought? 
 
 Is life so gay — dear heart, I fear — 
 My face is crowded out. 
 
 Comes there never a silent hour 
 
 When memory turns lo me ? 
 Is old times dead ? Has the present no power 
 
 To call back the days with me? 
 
 Letter by letter, day by day. 
 
 Longing I look them through; 
 But of them all, I only say, 
 
 There's never a line from you. 
 
 Have you had a kindness shown, pass it on! 
 'Twas not meant for you alone, pass it on! 
 
 Let it travel down the years, 
 
 Let it wipe another's tears. 
 Till in heaven the deed appears. 
 Pass it on! 
 
 44 
 
"Life gave me once a little perfect hour. 
 And then repenting of the mood that spent 
 So much on one, whilst others joyless went. 
 Withdrew her hand. 
 
 Since then in giftless silence life has past, 
 Beyond her bounty I have stood, outcast — 
 I understood — 
 Life gave me once a little perfect hour." 
 
 ®iyf Unaarg 
 
 The hours I spent with thee, dear heart. 
 Are as a string of pearls to me; 
 
 I count them over, every one apart. 
 My Rosary, My Rosary! 
 
 Each hour a pearl, each pearl a prayer 
 To still a heart in absence wrung: 
 
 I tell each bead unto the end. 
 And there a cross is hung! 
 
 memories that bless and burn! 
 O barren gain and bitter loss! 
 
 1 kiss each bead, and strive at last to learn 
 
 To kiss the cross, Sweetheart! to kiss the 
 
 cross. 
 
 — Robert Cameron Rogers. 
 
 The night has a thousand eyes. 
 
 The day but one; 
 And the light of the whole world dies 
 
 With the setting sun. 
 
 The mind has a thousand eyes, 
 
 The heart but one; 
 And the light of a whole life dies 
 
 When love is gone. 
 
 — Francis William Bourdillon. 
 
 45 
 
My hand is lonely for your clasping, dear, 
 
 My ear is tired waiting for your call; 
 
 I want your strength to help, your laugh to cheer; 
 
 Heart, soul and senses need you, one and all. 
 
 I droop without your full frank sjonpathy; 
 
 We ought to be together, You and I. 
 
 We want each other so, to comprehend 
 
 The dream, the hope, things planned, or seen, or 
 
 wrought. 
 Companion, comforter, and guide, and friend. 
 As much as love asks love, does thought ask thought: 
 Life is so short, so fast the lone hours fly. 
 We ought to be together. You and I. 
 
 — Henry Alford. 
 
 3l|F ffianl 0f ^m 
 
 The want of you is like no other thing, 
 It smites my soul with sudden sickening, 
 It binds my being with a wreath of rue, 
 ' This want of you. 
 
 It smiles upon me with the morning sun, 
 It creeps upon me when the day is done. 
 It hammers at my heart the whole day through. 
 This want of you. 
 
 It flashes upon me with the waking skies. 
 Oh, all the day within my heart it cries, 
 Old is your absence, yet each moment new 
 This want of you. 
 
 Mad with demands and aching with despair 
 I look into my heart and you are where? 
 God has forgotten or He never knew 
 This v/ant of you. 
 
 — Marian E. Gillespie. 
 
 From "The Latch String To Happiness" 
 Courtesy Nina Isabel Jennings. 
 
 Now you are gone, and hour by hour 
 I muse of things I long to share. 
 
 There's not a bud, a leaf, a flower 
 But helps me miss you everywhere. 
 
 46 
 
I miss you, my darling, my darling, 
 
 The embers burn low on the hearth; 
 And still is the stir of the household, 
 
 And hushed is the voice of its mirth; 
 The rain splashes fast on the terrace, 
 
 The wind past the lattices moan; 
 The midnight chimes out from the minster, 
 
 And I am alone. 
 
 I want you, my darling, my darling, 
 
 I am tired with care and with fret; 
 I would nestle in silence beside you, 
 
 And all but your presence forget. 
 In the hush of the happiness given, 
 
 To those who, through trusting have grown 
 To the fullness of love in contentment. 
 
 But I am alone. 
 
 I call you, my darling, my darling. 
 
 My voice echoes back on my heart; 
 I stretch my arms to you in longing. 
 
 And lo! they fall empty, apart. 
 I whisper the sweet words you have taught me, 
 
 The words that we only have known, 
 Till the blank of the dumb air is bitter, 
 
 For I am alone. 
 
 I need you, my darling, my darling! 
 
 With its yearning, my very heart aches; 
 The load that divides us weighs harder — 
 
 I shrink from the jar that it makes. 
 Old sorrows rise up to beset me, 
 
 Old doubts make my spirit their own; 
 Oh, come through the darkness and save me, 
 
 For I am alone. 
 
 — Robert J. Burdette. 
 
 47 
 
®1|? SmnhB 31 io Not Kmm 
 
 I looked into a stranger's eye, 
 
 And saw a light therein. 
 It seemed a friend had just passed by 
 
 Or that my soul had been 
 In close communication with a soul 
 
 Related to my own. 
 I summoned all my self-control, 
 
 And went my way alone. 
 
 I wonder if the souls that meet 
 
 Beyond this life are bound 
 By laws which do not let them greet 
 
 The Kindred souls they've found. 
 Whom they have never met before? 
 
 I fancy 'tis not so; 
 That I may greet^-convention o'er — 
 
 The friends I do not know. 
 
 — Charles H. Meires. 
 
 Into the Land of Lonesomeness 
 
 I must go every day. 
 And drink of the water of bitterness, 
 
 When you are far away. 
 
 High walled is this Land of Lonesomeness 
 
 And shut out every ray 
 That lights the place with joyousness 
 
 When you are far away. 
 
 Gray is the sky over Lonesomeness, 
 
 The sun disdains to stray 
 Into its streets all comfortless 
 
 When you are far away. 
 
 There lurks in the lanes of Lonesomeness 
 
 A doubt that comes to stay 
 All joy that is born of hopefulness 
 
 When you are far away. 
 
 I don't like this Land of Lonesomeness 
 
 It strikes me with dismay; 
 It's filled with the ruins of happiness 
 
 When you are far away. 
 
 — Idah McGlone Gibson, 
 
 48 
 
3 Ifflag Not ^ant (Bl^n 
 
 "I may not love thee," "'May not!" but I do: 
 This is my title to the crown of love, — 
 A title which each heart-beat doth renew, — 
 A title ancient as the stars above. 
 
 "I may not love thee." "May not!" but I must; 
 When Nature's mightiest forces are at play, 
 The ship, o'ermastered by the whirling gust, 
 Forgets its course and wanders far astray. 
 
 "I may not love thee." "May not!" but I will; 
 My soul loves thine and glories in love's name, — 
 Itself its arbiter of good and ill, — 
 Itself the well-spring of its ardent flame. 
 I may not love thee, my beloved! but still 
 Love thee I do, I must, I ever will. 
 
 — Holmes. 
 
 iEwtljraUrb 
 
 I would not, if I could, forget 
 
 Though bleeds my heart 
 With every tender memory. 
 With every loving thought of thee; 
 For, ever from the day we met. 
 
 The fond hopes start 
 And fill and thrill when thou art near; 
 I could not, if I would, forget thee, dear. 
 
 I love thee with a love supreme. 
 
 For self is dead; 
 Nor wealth, nor happiness, nor fame. 
 Are dearer to me than thy name. 
 For thee I hope, of thee I dream. 
 
 No law is read 
 That takes from me the right, divine, 
 To lock thine image in my heart and call thee mine. 
 
 Tho, ever in the sky of destiny 
 
 Where our stars beam. 
 The great, blue gulf between thy star and mine 
 Grows deeper by an ever-widening line; 
 Why Fate dealt thus we do not see, 
 
 Nor dost thou seem 
 To care; thou turnest from me, and yet, 
 I would not, if I could, forget. 
 
 — Grace Kelley. 
 
 49 
 
fall 3 lut Knomn 
 
 Had I but known, long years ago, 
 The deep unrest, the weight of woe, 
 The pain of having loved you so; 
 Had I but seen through mists of years 
 My bitter sacrifice of tears — 
 Had I but felt as I do now 
 These scars of sorrow on my brow, 
 No seeds of promise had I sown 
 My life were not so weary grown, 
 Had I but known. 
 
 Had we but known — that summer day 
 
 We wandered forth, the primrose way — 
 
 Our love would wither and decay! 
 
 Had we but felt one hour like this — 
 
 A barren time without one kiss — 
 
 Had we but seen that we could stand 
 
 Parted forever in love's land, 
 
 We had not suffered to atone, 
 
 We had not sighed, apart — alone, 
 
 Had we but known. 
 
 — Clement Scott. 
 
 finite B Hlf ttwrg 
 
 I would that I could quite forget 
 
 One love of days gone by, 
 Would that, without the least regret, 
 
 Without the lightest sigh, 
 One form, one voice, one name might be 
 Forever nothing more to me. 
 
 I would that I might never hear 
 
 A voice again like hers. 
 For 0, that tone, so strangely dear, 
 
 All sad remembrance stirs, — 
 Remembrance that in anguish saith 
 There is a sadder thing than death. 
 
 I would that I might never see 
 
 Such eyes as hers again. 
 For eyes like hers awake in me 
 
 A madding, nameless pain, — 
 A pain that longs to tell in tears 
 How I have loved her all these years. 
 — Unidentified. 
 
 SO 
 
Mother, Mother, Mother, 
 
 I'm a man full-grown 
 And I thought I didn't need you, 
 
 I could stand alone. 
 But the fight has been too cruel 
 
 And the whole world's blue; 
 And — Mother, Mother, Mother, 
 
 I have need of you! 
 
 I want your hands to soothe me 
 
 As they always can, 
 I want your voice to still me 
 
 Though your boy's a man, 
 I want to find you waiting 
 
 As you used to do, 
 For Mother, Mother, Mother, 
 
 I have need of you! 
 
 My love has led to sorrow 
 
 And my trust was vain. 
 And I've tasted bitter failure 
 
 And I've known deep pain; 
 I've tried to bear them bravely 
 
 As a man should do, 
 But oh, my Mother, Mother, 
 
 I have need of you! 
 
 I want to sob my story 
 
 At your aproned knee, 
 And to feel your fingers tremble 
 
 As they comfort me. 
 I am spent and sick and weary 
 
 And my heart aches, too. 
 And oh, my Mother, Mother, 
 
 I have need of you! 
 
 — Berton Braley. 
 
 51 
 
Let me not to the marriage of true minds 
 
 Admit impediments. Love is not love 
 
 Which alters when it alteration finds. 
 
 Or bends with the remover to remove: 
 
 Oh, no! It is an ever fixed mark. 
 
 That looks on tempests, and is never shaken; 
 
 It is the star to every wandering bark, 
 
 Whose worth's unknown, although his height be 
 taken. 
 
 Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks 
 
 Within his bending sickle's compass come; 
 
 Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, 
 
 But bears it out e'en to the edge of doom. 
 If this be error, and upon me proved 
 I never writ, and no man ever loved. 
 
 — Shakespeare. 
 
 Yes, dear, I wear it yet, — 
 
 The mask of smiles! 
 
 And none have seen 
 
 The cruel scar upon my heart. 
 
 'Tis better so, — each hath his part 
 
 Of the world-pain, — I will bear mine, 
 
 I've had my drop of life's true wine. 
 
 — M. G. T. Stempel. 
 
 They sin who tell us love can die 
 With life all other passions fly. 
 All others are but vanity. 
 In heaven ambition can not dwell, 
 Nor avarice in the vaults of hell; 
 Earthly these passions, as of earth, 
 They perish where they had their birth; 
 But love is indestructible! 
 
 Its holy flame forever burneth. 
 
 From heaven it came, to heaven returneth; 
 
 Too oft on earth a troubled guest. 
 
 At times deceived, at times oppressed; 
 
 It here is tried and purified. 
 
 Then hath in heaven its perfect rest. 
 
 It soweth here with toil and care. 
 But the harvest- time of love is there! 
 
 — Southey. 
 
 52 
 
3 ICnuf ^m Alwaya 
 
 Will I love him always? You ask of me. 
 
 Will the sun on tomorrow shine? 
 Will the stars burn bright ? Will spring buds bloom ? 
 
 Will the poles their course incline? 
 
 Always? Of course, if I've loved him at all, 
 
 Sun, Water and Earth and Love 
 Are the elements — things that are of God, 
 
 Ruled by Him in courts above. 
 
 Why don't you go out and stop the bright sun 
 
 From his shining in the sky? 
 Then tell the white moon to hide her pale face 
 
 As she timidly wanders by. 
 
 Call loud to the stars to put out their lights, 
 
 And be sure to stop the tide; 
 Tell the rain to cease, the wind to be still. 
 
 Now, tell Love to leave your side. 
 
 All of these first you may hope to stop, 
 
 Their courses you may control. 
 But Love is the pivot on which worlds move — 
 
 Of our v/orld Love is the soul. 
 
 — Katie Daffan. 
 
 Copyrighted. 
 Courtesy Katie Daffan. 
 
 3I|p PromiBf 
 
 Beloved, when I am dead. 
 
 And o'er the unknown road have wound my way, 
 Adown the sunset-colored clouds, 
 
 Beyond the day, 
 
 You will at eventide — 
 
 The confidential hour we loved of old — 
 Cry out to me above the distant stars 
 
 That twinkle gold. 
 
 Cry out, and heed my cry. 
 
 Till all the slumb'ring heavens vast awake, 
 To marvel at a tryst so kept 
 
 For old sake's sake. 
 
 — Edmund Leamy. 
 
 S3 
 
A l^trtttt lag 
 
 When you come to the end of a perfect day. 
 
 And you sit alone with your thought, 
 
 While the chimes ring out with a carol gay. 
 
 For the joy that the day has brought, 
 
 Do you think what the end of a perfect day 
 
 Can mean to a tired heart, 
 
 When the sun goes down with a flaming ray. 
 
 And the dear friends have to part? 
 
 Well, this is the end of a perfect day. 
 
 Near the end of a journey, too; 
 
 But it leaves a thought that is big and strong. 
 
 With a wish that is kind and true. 
 
 For mem'ry has painted this perfect day 
 
 With colors that never fade, 
 
 And we find, at the end of a perfect day. 
 
 The soul of a friend we've made. 
 
 — Carrie Jacobs-Bond. 
 
 (&aiih Ni$trt 
 
 God bless and keep you, dear, 
 
 Until we meet again, 
 And may your heart be joyous, 
 
 Free from sorrow and from pain. 
 
 I love you, love; good -night! 
 
 With a love that's fond and true; 
 And I shall ne'er forget the day 
 
 The hour that gave me you. 
 
 What happiness we've known, dear heart. 
 
 Somehow, I almost fear 
 That it is joy too sweet to last 
 
 Behind the smile — a tear. 
 
 But we'll commit it all to Him, 
 
 Content, whate'er befall; 
 And naught shall mar our perfect peace 
 
 For is Love not all in all? 
 
 — Merle Hayes Ponder. 
 
 S4 
 
Sing me to sleep, the shadows fall, 
 Let me forget the world and all. 
 Tired is my heart, the day is long, 
 Would it were come to ev'en song. 
 Sing me to sleep, your hand in mine 
 Our fingers as in prayer entwine — 
 Only yoTir voice, love, let me hear. 
 Singing to tell me your are near. 
 
 Sing me to sleep, love, you alone 
 Seem to be left me for mine own. 
 Happily my heart will know no pain 
 When I awake from sleep again. 
 Sing me to sleep and let me rest, 
 Of all the world I love you best. 
 Nothing is faithful, nothing true 
 In heaven and earth, but God and you. 
 
 Love, I am lonely, years are so long 
 I want you only, you and your song. 
 Dark is life's shore, love. 
 Night is so deep — 
 Leave me no more, dear, 
 Sing me to sleep. 
 
 — Clifton Bingham. 
 
 HavitB Jfragpr 
 
 God keep you, dearest, all this long dark night; 
 
 The winds are still. 
 The moon drops down behind the western hill, 
 
 God keep you safely, dearest, till the light. 
 
 God keep you still when slumber fades away; 
 
 For care and strife 
 Take up new arms to fret our waking life: 
 God keep you through the battle of the day. 
 
 God keep you! This, dear love, is all the strain 
 
 Of every prayer 
 I can but say again and yet again, 
 
 God keep you every time and everywhere. 
 
 — Mary Higman. 
 
 55 
 
Lead, kindly light, amid the encircling gloom 
 
 Lead thou me on! 
 The night is dark, and I am far from home — 
 
 Lead thou me on! 
 Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see 
 The distant scene — one step enough for me. 
 
 I was not ever thus, nor prayed that thou 
 
 Shouldst lead me on. 
 I loved to choose and see my path; but now 
 
 Lead thou me on. 
 I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears, 
 Pride ruled my will; remember not past years. 
 
 So long thy power hath blest me, sure it still 
 
 Will lead me on, 
 O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till 
 
 The night is gone; 
 And with the morn those angel faces smile 
 Which I have loved long since and lost awhile. 
 
 — Cardinal Newman. 
 
 Sunset and Evening Star, 
 
 And one clear call for me; 
 And may there be no moaning of the bar, 
 
 When I put out to sea. 
 
 But such a tide as moving seems asleep, 
 
 Too full for sound and foam. 
 When that which drew from out the boundless 
 deep 
 
 Turns again home. 
 
 Twilight and evening bell, 
 
 And after that the dark! 
 And may there be no sadness of farewell, 
 
 When I embark. 
 
 For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place 
 
 The flood may bear me far, 
 I hope to see my Pilot face to face 
 
 When I have crost the bar. 
 
 — Tennyson. 
 
 56 
 
ffiiff 
 
 Expectant gladness in a home — 
 
 A dainty, dimpled, stranger's come — 
 
 A Babe is born! 
 Dappled grey and kindling fires — 
 Seen behind the mountain spires — 
 
 It is morn! 
 
 Babe combs now her shining hair, 
 Stands at the altar, passing fair 
 
 A bride, how soon! 
 High rides the sun and streams his ray — 
 Drowning all shadows in the day — 
 
 It is noon! 
 
 Sad sit Babe's children in the room — 
 Where she lies shrouded — for the tomb- 
 Death, dreadful sight! 
 The purple west 'gins paling fast — 
 Shadows lengthen — twilight's past — 
 It is night! 
 
 Birth, Love, Death — three steps we run — 
 Morn, Noon, Night — soon sets the sun — 
 
 And fades his beam! 
 Life is a day — an hour — a breath — 
 A glimpse of love 'twixt Birth and Death — 
 
 A transient dream! 
 
 — Roma Lee Wilson. 
 
 Life! We've been long together. 
 
 Through pleasant and through cloudy weather, 
 
 Tis hard to part when friends are dear — 
 
 Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear; 
 
 Then steal away, give little warning, 
 
 Choose thine own time; 
 Say not "good-night," but in some brighter clime 
 
 Bid me "good-morning." 
 
 — Anna Loetitia Barbauld. 
 
 57 
 
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