Poems

" For whatsoever through Love's eye we see, Or through Love's ear we hear, or in Love's heart Conceive or purpose, whether in thought or act, Endures, and is imperishable and true, Growing within us, toward that greater self Which lives and is Eternal as the Heavens. All else is but the shadow of a shade, A smoke when the fire dies—a thing of nought.

God loves us though none else should love, In spite of all our wrong; His hand of blessing touches us, His goodness makes us strong ; His pity is so wonderful, His tenderness so beautiful, That as we lift our eyes to His, And understand what Jesus is, Our hearts are full of song. Not for our love the father loves ; Not for our faithfulness, Does Jesus hold us in His heart, To pity and to bless; The love lasts on, for God is love, No change can touch that life above, Which is our life through trustful faith— God's love is good for life and death, He cannot love us less.

" Forbid them not," said the Master "But let them come unto Me. " And so they clustered around him.

Over and over again, No matter which way I turn, I always find in the Book of Life Some lesson I have to learn. I must take my turn at the mill, I must grind out the golden grain ; I must work at my task with a resolute will Over and over again.

"De memoires de Roses on n'a point vu mourir le Jardinier. " The Rose in the garden slipped her bud, And she laughed in the pride of her youthful      blood, As she thought of the Gardener standing by— "He is old—so old ! And he soon will die!" The full Rose waxed in the warm June air, And she spread, and spread, till her heart lay      bare; And she laughed once more as she heard his      tread— "He is older now.

Just a saunter in the twilight, Just a whisper in the hall, Just a sail on sea or river, Just a dance at rout or ball, Just a glance that hearts enthral— This is all—and this is all. Just a few harsh words of doubting.

Fly , envious Time, till thou run out thy race; Call on the long, leaden-stepping hours, Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's face; And glut thyself with what thy womb devours, Which is no more than what is false and vain, And merely mortal dross; So little is our loss, So little is thy gain: For, when as each thing bad thou hast entombed. And last of all thy greedy self consumed, Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss With an individual kiss; And joy shall overtake us as a flood, When everything that is sincerely good And perfectly divine, With truth, and peace and love, shall ever Shine About the supreme throne Of him to whose happy making, sight alone When once our heavenly guarded souls shall climb Then, all this earthly grossness quit, Attired with stars we shall forever sit, Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee O Time! John Milton.

In the hush of the valley of Silence I dream all the songs that I sing; And the music floats down the dim valley, Till each finds a word for a wing, That to hearts, like the dove of the Deluge, A message of peace they may bring. But far on the deep there are billows That never shall break on the beach; And I have heard songs in the silence That never shall float into speech: And I have had dreams in the valley Too lofty for language to reach.

With one high hope which over shines Before you as a star, One prayer of faith, one fount of strength, A glorious few ye are! Ye dare not fear, ye cannot fail, Your destiny ye bind To that sublime, elemental law That rules the march of Mind. "Tis said, that Persia's baffled King, In mad tyrannic pride, Cast fetters on the Hellespont, To curb Its swelling tide.

True worth is in being, not seeming,— In doing each day that goes by Some little good—not in dreaming Of great things to do by and by. For whatever men say in their blindness, And spite of the fancies of youth, There's nothing so kingly as kindness, And nothing so royal as truth.