Because on the branch that is tapping my pane A sun-wakened leaf-bud, uncurled, Is bursting its rusty brown sheathing in twain, I know there is Spring in the world.

Because through the sky-patch whose azure and white My window frames all the day long, A yellow-bird dips for an instant of flight, I know there is Song.

Because even here in this Mansion of Woe Where creep the dull hours, leaden-shod, Compa.s.sion and Tenderness aid me, I know There is G.o.d.

Overnight, a Rose. [Caroline Giltinan]

That overnight a rose could come I one time did believe, For when the fairies live with one, They wilfully deceive.

But now I know this perfect thing Under the frozen sod In cold and storm grew patiently Obedient to G.o.d.

My wonder grows, since knowledge came Old fancies to dismiss; And courage comes. Was not the rose A winter doing this?

Nor did it know, the weary while, What color and perfume With this completed loveliness Lay in that earthly tomb.

So maybe I, who cannot see What G.o.d wills not to show, May, some day, bear a rose for Him It took my life to grow.

The Idol-Maker prays. [Arthur Guiterman]

Great G.o.d whom I shall carve from this gray stone Wherein thou liest, hid to all but me, Grant thou that when my art hath made thee known And others bow, I shall not worship thee.

But, as I pray thee now, then let me pray Some greater G.o.d, -- like thee to be conceived Within my soul, -- for strength to turn away From his new altar, when, that task achieved, He, too, stands manifest. Yea, let me yearn From dream to grander dream! Let me not rest Content at any goal! Still bid me spurn Each transient triumph on the Eternal Quest, Abjuring G.o.dlings whom my hand hath made For Deity, revealed, but unportrayed!

Reveille. [Louis Untermeyer]

What sudden bugle calls us in the night And wakes us from a dream that we had shaped; Flinging us sharply up against a fight We thought we had escaped.

It is no easy waking, and we win No final peace; our victories are few.

But still imperative forces pull us in And sweep us somehow through.

Summoned by a supreme and confident power That wakes our sleeping courage like a blow, We rise, half-shaken, to the challenging hour, And answer it -- and go.

The Breaking. [Margaret Steele Anderson]

(The Lord G.o.d speaks to a youth)

Bend now thy body to the common weight!

(But oh, that vine-clad head, those limbs of morn!

Those proud young shoulders I myself made straight!

How shall ye wear the yoke that must be worn?)

Look thou, my son, what wisdom comes to thee!

(But oh, that singing mouth, those radiant eyes!

Those dancing feet -- that I myself made free!

How shall I sadden them to make them wise?)

Nay then, thou shalt! Resist not, have a care!

(Yea, I must work my plans who sovereign sit!

Yet do not tremble so! I cannot bear -- Though I am G.o.d -- to see thee so submit!)

The Falconer of G.o.d. [William Rose Benet]

I flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying.

I said, "Wait on, wait on, while I ride below!

I shall start a heron soon In the marsh beneath the moon -- A strange white heron rising with silver on its wings, Rising and crying Wordless, wondrous things; The secret of the stars, of the world's heart-strings, The answer to their woe.

Then stoop thou upon him, and grip and hold him so!"

My wild soul waited on as falcons hover.

I beat the reedy fens as I trampled past.

I heard the mournful loon In the marsh beneath the moon.

And then -- with feathery thunder -- the bird of my desire Broke from the cover Flashing silver fire.

High up among the stars I saw his pinions spire.

The pale clouds gazed aghast As my falcon stoopt upon him, and gript and held him fast.

My soul dropt through the air -- with heavenly plunder? -- Gripping the dazzling bird my dreaming knew?

Nay! but a piteous freight, A dark and heavy weight Despoiled of silver plumage, its voice forever stilled, -- All of the wonder Gone that ever filled Its guise with glory. Oh, bird that I have killed, How brilliantly you flew Across my rapturous vision when first I dreamed of you!

Yet I fling my soul on high with new endeavor, And I ride the world below with a joyful mind.

~I shall start a heron soon In the marsh beneath the moon -- A wondrous silver heron its inner darkness fledges!~ I beat forever The fens and the sedges.

The pledge is still the same -- for all disastrous pledges, All hopes resigned!

My soul still flies above me for the quarry it shall find.

Dilemma. [Orrick Johns]