THE YUKON

Just whiteness, whiteness, ghastly white,
Made doubly white by that mad moon
And strange stars jangled out of tune!

At last, he saw, or seemed to see,
Above, beyond, another world.

Far up the ice-hung path there curled
A red-veined cloud, a canopy
That topt the fearful ice-built peak
That seemed to prop the very porch
Of God's house; then, as if a torch
Burned fierce, there flushed a fiery streak,
A flush, a blush, on heaven's cheek!

The dogs sat down, men sat the sled
And watched the flush, the blush of red.
The little wooly dogs, they knew,

Yet scarce knew what they were about.
They thrust their noses up and out,
They drank the Light, what else to do?
Their little feet, so worn, so true,

Could scarce keep quiet for delight.

They knew, they knew, how much they knew

The mighty breaking up of night!

Their bright eyes sparkled with such joy
That they at last should see loved Light!
The tandem sudden broke all rule;
Swung back, each leaping like a boy
Let loose from some dark, ugly school
Leaped up and tried to lick his hand
Stood up as happy children stand.

How tenderly God's finger set
His crimson flower on that height

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Above the battered walls of night!
A little space it flourished yet,
And then His angel, His first-born,

Burst through, as on that primal morn!

Joaquin Miller.

OPPORTUNITY

THIS I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream:
There spread a cloud of dust along a plain;
And underneath the cloud, or in it, raged

A furious battle, and men yelled, and swords
Shocked upon swords and shields. A prince's banner
Wavered, then staggered backward, hemmed by foes.
A craven hung along the battle's edge,

And thought, "Had I a sword of keener steel
That blue blade that the king's son bears,

but this

Blunt thing!" he snapped and flung it from his hand,
And lowering crept away and left the field.

Then came the king's son, wounded, sore bestead,
And weaponless, and saw the broken sword,
Hilt-buried in the dry and trodden sand,
And ran and snatched it, and with battle shout
Lifted afresh he hewed his enemy down,

And saved a great cause that heroic day.

Edward Rowland Sill.

THE FOOL'S PRAYER

THE royal feast was done; the King
Sought some new sport to banish care,
And to his jester cried: "Sir Fool,

Kneel now, and make for us a prayer!"

THE FOOL'S PRAYER

The jester doffed his cap and bells,

And stood the mocking court before; They could not see the bitter smile Behind the painted grin he wore.

He bowed his head, and bent his knee
Upon the Monarch's silken stool;
His pleading voice arose: “O Lord,
Be merciful to me, a fool!

"No pity, Lord, could change the heart
From red with wrong to white as wool;
The rod must heal the sin: but Lord,
Be merciful to me, a fool!

""T is not by guilt the onward sweep
Of truth and right, O Lord, we stay;
"T is by our follies that so long

We hold the earth from heaven away.

"These clumsy feet, still in the mire,

Go crushing blossoms without end; These hard, well-meaning hands we thrust Among the heart-strings of a friend.

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"The ill-timed truth we might have kept Who knows how sharp it pierced and stung? The word we had not sense to say

Who knows how grandly it had rung!

"Our faults no tenderness should ask.

The chastening stripes must cleanse them all; But for our blunders - oh, in shame

Before the eyes of heaven we fall.

"Earth bears no balsam for mistakes;

Men crown the knave, and scourge the tool
That did his will; but Thou, O Lord,
Be merciful to me, a fool!”

The room was hushed; in silence rose
The King, and sought his gardens cool,
And walked apart, and murmured low,
"Be merciful to me, a fool!"

LIFE

Edward Rowland Sill.

FORENOON and afternoon and night,

- Forenoon,

what!

And afternoon, and night, Forenoon, and
The empty song repeats itself. No more?
Yea, that is Life: make this forenoon sublime,
This afternoon a psalm, this night a prayer,
And Time is conquered, and thy crown is won.

Edward Rowland Sill.

A RHYME OF LIFE

Ir life be as a flame that death doth kill,
Burn, little candle, lit for me,

With a pure flame, that I may rightly see
To word my song, and utterly
God's plan fulfil.

If life be as a flower that blooms and dies,
Forbid the cunning frost that slays
With Judas kiss, and trusting love betrays;
Forever may my song of praise

Untainted rise.

THE POWER OF BEAUTY

If life be as a voyage, foul or fair,
Oh, bid me not my banners furl

For adverse gale, or wave in angry whirl,
Till I have found the gates of pearl,

And anchored there.

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