WE TWO.

E two make home of any place we go;

WTM

We two find joy in any kind of weather; Or if the earth is clothed in bloom or snow, If summer days invite, or bleak winds blow, What matters it if we two are together?

We two, we two, we make our world, our weather.

We two make banquets of the plainest fare;

In every cup we find the thrill of pleasure;
We hide with wreaths the furrowed brow of care
And win to smiles the set lips of despair.

For us life always moves with lilting measure;
We two, we two, we make our world, our pleasure.

We two find youth renewed with every dawn;

Each day holds something of an unknown glory. We waste no thought on grief or pleasure gone; Tricked out like hope, time leads us on and on,

And thrums upon his harp new song or story.
We two, we two, we find the paths of glory.

We two make heaven here on this little earth;
We do not need to wait for realms eternal.
We know the use of tears, know sorrow's worth,
And pain for us is always love's rebirth.

Our paths lead closely by the paths supernal;
We two, we two, we live in love eternal.

THE POET'S THEME.

"What is the explanation of the strange silence
of American poets concerning America's tri-
umphs on sea and land?"-Literary Digest.

WHY

HY should the poet of these pregnant times
Be asked to sing of war's unholy crimes?

To laud and eulogize the trade which thrives
On horrid holocausts of human lives.

Man was a fighting beast when earth was young
And war the only theme when Homer sung.

'Twixt might and might the equal contest lay; Not so the battles of our modern day.

Too often now the conquering hero struts
A Gulliver among the Liliputs.

Success no longer rests on skill or fate
But on the movements of a syndicate.

Of old men fought and deemed it right and just.
To-day the warrior fights because he must,

And in his secret soul feels shame because
He desecrates the higher manhood's laws.
Oh, there are worthier themes for poet's pen
In this great hour, than bloody deeds of men

Or triumphs of one hero (though he be
Deserving song for his humility).

The rights of many-not the worth of one-
The coming issues, not the battle done,

The awful opulence, and awful need-
The rise of brotherhood-the fall of greed.

The soul of man replete with God's own force,
The call "to heights" and not the cry, "to horse"-

Are there not better themes in this great age

For pen of poet, or for voice of sage

Than those old tales of killing? Song is dumb

Only that greater song in time may come.

When comes the bard, he whom the world waits for, He will not sing of War.

L

LOVE IS ALL!

ET Labor boldly walk abroad

And take its place with kings,

For who has labored more than God,
The maker of all things?

The time has come, aye, even now it is,

To rank that parable in Genesis

Of God's great curse of labor placed on man,
With other fairy tales. Why, He began
All work Himself! He was so full of force
He flung the solar systems on their course
And builded worlds on worlds; and, not content,
He labors still: when mighty suns are spent,
He forges on His white-hot anvil-space-
New stars to tell His glory and His grace.

Who most achieves is most like God, I hold;
The idler is the black sheep in the fold.

Not for the hardened toiler with the hoe
My tears of sorrow and compassion flow.
Though he be dull, unlettered and not fair
To look upon; tho' he is bowed with care,
Yet in his heart if dear love fold its wings,
He stands a monarch over unloved kings.

One sorrow only in God's world has birth—
To live unloving and unloved on earth;
One joy alone makes life a part of heaven-
The joy of happy love, received and given.

Down through the chaos of our human laws
Love shines supreme, the great Eternal Cause.
God loved so much His thoughts burst into flame,
And from that sacred source Creation came.
The heart which feels this holy light within
Finds God and man and beast and bird its kin.
All class distinctions fade and disappear.
Death is new life, and heaven he sees a-near.
Brother is he to "ox" and "seraphim,"
"Slave to the wheel," mayhap, yet kings to him,
And millionaires, seem paupers, if from them
Life has withheld its luminous great gem.
Or if his badge be sceptre, hoe or hod,

That man is king who knows that love is God.