VOICE.

Thou art the voice that silence uttereth,
And of all sound thou art the sense.

-“ My Songs are All of Thee."

GIFTS.

He alone is the perfect giver

Who swears that his gift is nought;
And he is the sure receiver
Who gains what he never sought.

-“ He Knows Not the Path of Duty."

Rise swift and far,-
One where Orion keeps
His arméd watch, and one
That to the midmost starry heaven upleaps;
The third blots out the firm-fixed Northern Star.

- Ode.
SUNSET.
But then the sunset smiled,
Smiled once and turned toward dark,
Above the distant, wavering line of trees that

filed Along the horizon's edge; Like hooded monks that hark Through evening air The call to prayer; — Smiled once, and faded slow, slow, slow away; When, like a changing dream, the long cloud

wedge, Brown-gray, Grew saffron underneath, and ere I knew, The interspace, green-blue -The whole, illimitable, western, skyey shore, The tender, human, silent sunset smiled once

CHRISTIANITY.

Wherever are tears and sighs,
Wherever are children's eyes,
Where man calls man his brother,
And loves as himself another,
Christ lives!

- Easter. AUTUMN.

For autumn days To me not melancholy are, but full Of joy and hope, mysterious and high, And with strange promise rife. Then it me seems Not failing is the year, but gathering fire Even as the cold increases.

- An Autumn Meditation.

more.

Sunset from the Train.

ART.

GOLDEN ROD.

Grows a weed More richly here beside our mellow seas That is the Autumn's harbinger and pride. When fades the cardinal-flower, whose heart-red

bloom
Glows like a living coal upon the green
Of the midsummer meadows, then how bright,
How deepening bright like mounting flame doth

burn
The golden rod upon a thousand hills!
This is the Autumn's flower, and to my soul
A token fresh of beauty and of life,
And life's supreme delight.

- Ibid.
MORNING.
I am the spirit of the morning sea;
I am the awakening and the glad surprise;
I fill the skies
With laughter and with light.
Not tears, but jollity
At birth of day brim the strong man-child's

eyes. Behold the white Wide three-fold beams that from the hidden sun

Following the sun, westward the march of power! The Rose of Might blooms in our new-worlu

mart:
But see, just bursting forth from bud to flower,
A late, slow growth, - the fairer Rose of Art.

— Impromptus.
ORIGINALITY.
Now you who rhyme, and I who rhyme,
Have not we sworn it, many a time,
That we no more our verse would scrawl,
For Shakespeare he had said it all!
And yet whatever others see
The earth is fresh to you and me -
And birds that sing, and winds that blow,
And blooms that make the country glow,
And lusty swains, and maidens bright,
And clouds by day, and stars by night,
And all the pictures in the skies
That passed before Will Shakespeare's eyes ;
Love, hate, and scorn,-frost, fire, and flower,
On us as well as him have power.

- The Modern Rhymer.

GEORGE HOUGHTON.

G

SCARRED. Far nobler the sword that is nicked and worn, Far fairer the flag that is grimy and torn, Than when, to the battle, fresh they were borne,

He was tried and found true; he stood the test; 'Neath whirlwinds of doubt, when all the rest Crouched down and submitted, he fought best.

EORGE W. W. HOUGHTON was born at

Cambridge, Mass., August 12, 1850. He graduated from the High School of his native place in 1868, but did not attend college. His first publication was a · Christmas Buoklet," in 1872, fol. lowed by “Songs from Over the Sea,” 1874; “ Album Leaves,” 1877; “ Drift from York Harbor, Maine," 1879; “The Legend of St. Olaf's Kirk," 1880. Of the latter poem a second edition, revised, appeared in 1881. A year later a collection selected mainly from his previous publications was issued, entitled, “ Niagara and Other Poems.

Since 1882 Mr. Houghton has given very little verse to the public, but it is hoped that he has not resigned a garden which he has cultivated with marked success. Mr. Houghton is a member of the Authors Club, and for a number of years has been the editor of The Hub, a commercial paper, the leading representative of its particular field.

C. W. M

There are wounds on his breast that can never

be healed, There are gashes that bleed, and may not be

sealed, But wounded and gashed he won the field.

And others may dream in their easy-chairs,
And point their white hands to the scars he bears,
But the palm and the laurel are his — not theirs!

THE GATEWAY.

NIAGARA.

COURAGE.
Darkness before, all joy behind!
Yet keep thy courage, do not mind:
He soonest reads the lesson right
Who reads with back against the light!

- Album Leaves.

FAITH.
Each heart to its own sincerity

Must turn to find the test,
For faith in the world is faith in self-
He trusts the most who does the best.

-Ibid.
AMBITION.
The palace with its splendid dome,

That nearest to the sky aspires,
Is first to challenge storms that roam
Above it, and call down their fires.

-Ibid.
FAITHFUL.
Upward he strove; ofttimes the way
Was hard, and twilight hid the day;
But still, face-forward to the skies,
The stars were reflected in his eyes.

- Ibid. REGRET. I've regretted most sincerely,

I've repented deeply, long,
But to those I've loved most dearly,
I've oftenest done wrong.

- Ibid. PURITY.

Idol I found thee, unfeeling, challenging man but

to mock him, Whispering to one that is weak of voids that are

vast and almighty, Hinting of things heaven-high to one not winged

like an eagle, Telling of changeless parts to a leaflet that reddens

to perish; Ever, as nearer I fared, the mightier, less merciful

found thee, Till, after listening long, I faltered, forlorn and

disheartened; Wearied of ceaseless strife, and yearned for some

peaceful seclusion, Where to the chorusing throng both ear and eye

might be shuttered; Hated the turmoil of life, where sounds that are

sweetest are strangled, And into discord clash those martial measures,

that struggling, Should through the din of the dismalest fight,

with quavering echoes, Nerve the warrior anew, and fire his soul with devotion.

- Niagara.

RESTLESSNESS.

Let your truth stand sure,

And the world is true; Let your heart keep pure,

And the world will too.

- Ibid.

CHARITY.

He erred no doubt; perhaps he sinned;

Shall I then dare to cast a stone ? Perhaps this blotch, on a garment white, Counts less than the dingy robes I own.

- Ibid. DAISY. I gave my little girl back to the daisies,

From them it was that she took her name; I gave my precious one back to the daisies,

From where they caught their color, she came; And now, when I look in the face of a daisy,

My little girl's face I see, I see! My tears, down dropping, with theirs com

mingle, And they give my precious one back to me.

Weary with waiting, we climb to the hill-tops near

est to heaven, Find only floating fogs, and air too meagre to

nourish; Seeking the depths of the sea, we drop our plum

mets and feel them, Draw them in empty, or yellowed with clay, that

melts and tells nothing; Forests we thread, wide prairies unfenced, and

drenched morasses, Strike, with the fervor of youth, to the heart of

the tenantless deserts, Turn every boulder, still hoping to find beneath

them some prophet. — Find only thistles unsunn'd, green sloth, and

passionless creatures. Youth flitted by us, we faint, then sink in the ruts

of our fathers; Shift as we may with the old beliefs, and beat on

our bosoms; Seek less and hunger less keenly, still sorrow for

self and for others, Striving, by travail and tears, life's deeper mean

ing to strangle; Drag from sunset to sunset, too fainting to fear

for the morrow,