Show how the spirit can soar And bring back its healing and balm. Stand not aloof nor apart, Plunge in the thick of the fight. There in the street and the mart, That is the place to do right. Not in some cloister or cave, Not in some kingdom above, Here, on this side of the grave, Here, should we labor and love. H UNCONQUERED. OWEVER skilled and strong art thou, my foe, Though firm thy hand, and strong thy aim, and Thy poisoned arrow leaves the bended bow, I am the master yet of my own fate. Thou canst not rob me of my best estate, Though fortune, fame and friends, yea love shall go. Not to the dust shall my true self be hurled; Nor shall I meet thy worst assaults dismayed. When all things in the balance are well weighed, There is but one great danger in the world— Thou canst not force my soul to wish thee ill, That is the only evil that can kill. A ALL THAT LOVE ASKS. LL that I ask," says Love, "is just to stand And gaze, unchided, deep in thy dear eyes; For in their depths lies largest Paradise. Yet, if perchance one pressure of thy hand Be granted me, then joy I thought complete Were still more sweet. "All that I ask," says Love, "all that I ask, Is just thy hand clasp. Could I brush thy cheek As zephyrs brush a rose leaf, words are weak To tell the bliss in which my soul would bask. There is no language but would desecrate A joy so great. "All that I ask, is just one tender touch Of that soft cheek. Thy pulsing palm in mine, Thy dark eyes lifted in a trust divine And those curled lips that tempt me overmuch Turned where I may not seize the supreme bliss Of one mad kiss. "All that I ask," says Love, "of life, of death, Or of high heaven itself, is just to stand, Glance melting into glance, hand twined in hand, The while I drink the nectar of thy breath, In one sweet kiss, but one, of all thy store, "All that I ask"-nay, self-deceiving Love, Reverse thy phrase, so thus the words may fall, In place of "all I ask," say, "I ask all," All that pertains to earth or soars above, All that thou wert, art, will be, body, soul, Love asks the whole. "DOES IT PAY?" F one poor burdened toiler o'er life's road, Goes on less conscious of his galling load, If we can show one troubled heart the gain That lies alway in loss, Why, then, we too, are paid for all the pain Of bearing life's hard cross. If some despondent soul to hope is stirred, Some sad lip made to smile, By any act of ours, or any word, Then, life has been worth while |