And common paths glow with a grace supernal, And happiness walks hand in hand with care, And faith becomes a knowledge fixed, eternal, For those who often seek the bridge of prayer.

NEW YEAR

Know this! there is nothing can harm you If you are at peace with your soul.

Know this, and the knowledge shall arm you With courage and strength to the goal.

Your spirit shall break every fetter, And love shall cast out every fear.

And grander, and gladder, and better Shall be every added new year.

DECEITFUL CALM

The winds are still; the sea lies all untroubled Beneath a cloudless sky; the morn is bright, Yet, Lord, I feel my need of Thee is doubled; Come nearer to me in this blaze of light; The night must fall,--the storm will burst at length.

Oh! give me strength.

So well, so well, I know the treacherous seeming Of days like this; they are too heavenly fair.

Those waves that laugh like happy children dreaming, Are mighty forces brewing some despair For thoughtless hearts, and ere the hour of need, Let mine take heed.

Joy cannot last; it must give place to sorrow As certainly as solar systems roll.

I would not wait till that time comes to borrow The strength prayer offers to a suffering soul.

Here in the sunlight--yet undimmed by shade, I cry for aid.

I dare not lightly drain the cup of pleasure, Though Thine the hand that proffers me the draught.

Such bitter lees lie lower in the measure, I shall need courage, ere the potion's quaffed; Then strengthen me before that time befall, To drink the gall.

I need Thee in my joys and my successes, To make me humble, grateful, and not vain.

I need Thee when the weight of sorrow presses The tortured heart that cries aloud in pain, So close great pleasures and great anguish lie.

Lord, Lord, come nigh.

UN RENCONTRE

Now ought we to laugh or to weep-- Was it comical, or was it grave?

When we who had waded breast deep In pa.s.sion's most turbulent wave Met out on an isle in Time's ocean, With never one thrill of emotion.

We had parted in sorrow and tears; Our letters were frequent and wet; We wrote about pitiless years, And we swore we could never forget.

An angel you called me alway, And I thought you a G.o.d gone astray.

We met in an everyday style; Unmoved by a tremor or start; Shook hands, smiled a commonplace smile; (With a happy new love in each heart), And I thought you the homeliest man As you awkwardly picked up my fan!

And I know (or I haven't a doubt) Though you did not say so to my face, That you thought I was growing too stout: I, once your ideal of grace.

And ere the encounter was o'er Each voted the other a bore.

What a proof that fond pa.s.sion can die, In this prosaic meeting we had!

Now, ought we to laugh or to cry-- Was it sorrowful, or was it sad?

'Tis a puzzle not worthy our time, So let's give it up--with this rhyme.

BURNED OUT

Blow out the light: there is no oil to feed it: That dim blue light unworthy of the name.

Better to sit with folded hands, I say, And wait for night to pa.s.s, and bring the day, Than to depend upon that flickering flame.

Take back your vow: there is no love to bind it: Take back this little shining, golden thing.

Better to walk on bravely all alone, Than strive to hold up, or retain our own, By soulless pledge, or fetter of a ring.

When first the lamp was lit, too high you turned it; The oil was wasted in a blinding blaze.

Your pa.s.sion was too ardent in the start-- Set by the lamp: farewell. G.o.d gird the heart Through darkened hours, and lone and loveless ways.

ONLY A GLOVE

Only a glove that has touched her fingers, But it seems to me something half divine.

A delicate fragrance about it lingers, And it stirs my blood like wine-- Yes, thrills and warms me like wine.

So well I remember the night she wore it-- How I held the hand in its dainty glove, And whispered sweetly as I leaned o'er it-- Whispered a tale of love-- A story of my mad love.

There was mirth, and music, and light and laughter, The viols played and the dancers whirled.

We were part of it all--but a moment after Were alone in love's fair world-- Alone in G.o.d's own world.

But now of that night of glow and splendour, Of happy hope and beautiful love, Of youthful dreams that were sweetly tender, There is nothing left but a glove, Nothing but this one glove.

REMINDERS

When in the early dawn I hear the thrushes, And like a flood of waters o'er my heart The memory of another summer rushes, How can I rise up, and perform my part?

When in the languid eve I hear the wailing Of the uncomforted sad mourning dove, Whose grief, like mine, seems deep as unavailing, What will I do with all this wealth of love?

When the sweet rain falls over hills and meadows, And the tall poplar's silver leaves are wet, And, like my soul, the world seems draped in shadow, How shall I hush this pa.s.sionate regret?