Poems

I trod the path where once we walked together; Old leaves and withered fir-cones strewed the way, And cowslips nodded in the breezy weather, This Easter Day. Across the windy slopes sweet bells were ringing, A skylark's song came downward, clear and gay; And my full heart broke forth in joyous singing, This Easter Day.

"Alas, life's music takes a minor key! It hears the wind's deep-rolling melody, And murmurs too; Dear heart, 't was never thus, as long as you Were here with me. For then, together, I could always bring From Winter's desolation gladsome Spring.

" One by one the hours meet us, In the shadow or the shine, With the joy that comes to greet us, Or the care that waits in line. "One by one, and not in masses, The heavy burden we must lift, Bravely bearing, till it passes From us, steadily and swift.

Slayer of winter art thou here again? O welcome, thou that bring'st the summer nigh! The bitter wind makes not thy victory vain, Nor will we mock thee for thy faint blue sky. Welcome, O March! whose kindly days and dry Make April ready for the throstle's song, Thou first redresser of the winter's wrong I William Morris.

Shepherd , show us how to go O'er the hillside steep, How to gather, how to sow, How to feed Thy sheep; We will listen for Thy voice, Lest our footsteps stray, We will follow and rejoice All the rugged way. Thou wilt bind the stubborn will, Wound the callous breast, Make self righteousness be still, Break earth's stupid rest; Strangers on a barren shore Lab'ring long and lone— We would enter by the door, And Thou know'st Thine own; So when day grows dark and cold Tear or triumph harms, Lead Thy lambkins to the fold, Take us in Thine arms, Feed the hungry, heal the heart, Till the morning's beam; White as wool, ere we depart— Shepherd, wash us clean.

Say , what is honor? 'Tis the finest sense Of justice which the human mind can frame, Intent each lurking frailty to disdain, And guard the way of life from all offence Suffered or done. When lawless violence A kingdom doth assault, and in the scale Of perilous war her weightiest armies fail.

The path of duty is the way to glory; He that walks it, only thirsting For the right, and learns to deaden Love of self, before his journey closes, He shall find the stubborn thistle bursting Into glossy purples, which outredden All voluptuous garden-roses: Shall find the toppling crags of duty, scaled, Are close upon the shining table-lands To which our God Himself is morn and sun. Tennyson.

Christian ! how charming the name ! How tender, how sweet and sublime ! Rejoicing all those who would gain In knowledge and wisdom divine. Sincerely and truly must all Truth's bright, shining pathway pursue Into the pure haven of rest.

When he frowns his mother cries : " Clouds to-day and gloomy skies!" When his tears fall soft and fast, " Summer showers that will not last. " When he romps in noisy play.

There lived a liar once who planned To crush the truth, and silence one Who dwelt within a far-off land; And marred his purpose, fearing none, And hoped to smite; him by the hand Of others, and to hold his own. So, in a lordly tone, he wrote To one—a better man, I wis— Whose work it was, he said, to note And punish madmen like to this (Wellnigh his very words I quote) ; And wherefore had he been remiss? But this man proved a poor ally, And read the letter to his foe— A mail commissioned from on high To raise aloft and lay alow— Who straightway made a stern reply, And doomed him to a double woe.