O far-off plains of my west land!
O lands of winds and the free,
Swift deer my mist-clad plain!
From my bed in the heart of the forest,
From the clasp and the girdle of pain,
Your light through my darkness passes;
To your meadows in dreaming I fly
To plunge in the deeps of your grasses,
To bask in the light of your sky!

THE CITY

THEY do neither plight nor wed

In the city of the dead,

Hamlin Garland.

In the city where they sleep away the hours;
But they lie, while o'er them range
Winter-blight and summer change,

And a hundred happy whisperings of flowers.
No, they neither wed nor plight,

And the day is like the night,

For their vision is of other kind than ours.

They do neither sing nor sigh,

In that burgh of by and by

Where the streets have grasses growing cool and long;

But they rest within their bed,

Leaving all their thoughts unsaid,

Deeming silence better far than sob or song.

No, they neither sigh nor sing,

Though the robin be a-wing,

Though the leaves of autumn march a million

strong.

THUS FAR

251

There is only rest and peace

In the City of Surcease

From the failings and the wailings 'neath the sun,

And the wings of the swift years

Beat but gently o'er the biers,

Making music to the sleepers every one.

There is only peace and rest;

But to them it seemeth best,

For they lie at ease and know that life is done.

Richard Burton.

THE HUMAN TOUCH

HIGH thoughts and noble in all lands
Help me; my soul is fed by such.

But ah, the touch of lips and hands,

The human touch!

Warm, vital, close, life's symbols dear,-
These need I most, and now, and here.

Richard Burton.

THUS FAR

BECAUSE my life has lain so close to thine,
Because our hearts have kept a common beat,

Because thine eyes turned towards me frank and

sweet

Reveal sometimes thine untold thoughts to mine,

Think not that I, by curious design,

Or over-step of too impetuous feet,

Could desecrate thy soul's supreme retreat, Could disregard its quivering barrier-line.

Only a simple Levite, I, who stand

On the world's side of the most holy place,

Till, as the new day glorifies the east, One come to lift the veil with reverent hand And enter with thy soul's soul face to face, — He whom thy God shall call to be high priest. Sophie Jewett.

IN THE DARK

LORD, since the strongest human hands I know
Reach through my darkness, will not let me go,
Hold me as if most dear when fallen most low;

Since, even now, when my spent courage lies
Stricken beneath disastrous, quivering skies,
I learn the tenderness of human eyes;

Surely, though night unthinkable impend,
Where human hands nor human eyes befriend,
Thou wilt avail me in the lonely end.

A LITTLE WAY

Sophie Jewett.

A LITTLE way to walk with you, my own
Only a little way,

Then one of us must weep and walk alone
Until God's day.

A little way! It is so sweet to live
Together, that I know

Life would not have one withered rose to give
If one of us should go.

BEGGARS

And if these lips should ever learn to smile,
With thy heart far from mine,

'T would be for joy that in a little while
They would be kissed by thine!

FATE

253

Frank L. Stanton.

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 wreck, 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

I beg not on the street;

But where the sinner stands, In secret place, I beg

Of God, with outstretched hands.

As thou hast asked of me,

Raising thy downcast head, So have I asked of Him,

So, trembling, have I plead.

Take this and go thy way;

Thy hunger shall soon cease.

Thou prayest but for bread,
And I, alas! for peace.

Ella Higginson.

A LITTLE PARABLE

I MADE the cross myself whose weight

Was later laid on me.

This thought is torture as I toil

Up life's steep Calvary.

To think mine own hands drove the nails!

I sang a merry song,

And chose the heaviest wood I had

To build it firm and strong.

If I had guessed

if I had dreamed

Its weight was meant for me,

I should have made a lighter cross

To bear up Calvary!

Anne Reeve Aldrich.