But I knew where one so long had waited
In the low room at the stairway's height,
Trembling lest my foot should be belated,
Singing, sighing for the long hours' flight
Towards the moment of our dear delight.

I came into the City when you hail'd me
Saviour, and again your chosen Lord:-

-:

Not one guessing what it was that fail'd me,
While along the way as they adored
Thousands, thousands, shouted in accord.
But through all the joy I knew—I only—
How the hostel of my heart lay bare and cold,
Silent of its music, and how lonely!

879.

I

Never, though you crown me with your gold,
Shall I find that little chamber as of old!

ALICE MEYNELL

Renouncement

MUST not think of thee; and, tired yet strong,
I shun the love that lurks in all delight-

The love of thee-and in the blue heaven's height, And in the dearest passage of a song.

Oh, just beyond the sweetest thoughts that throng
This breast, the thought of thee waits hidden yet bright;
But it must never, never come in sight;

I must stop short of thee the whole day long.
But when sleep comes to close each difficult day,
When night gives pause to the long watch I keep,
And all my bonds I needs must loose apart,
Must doff my will as raiment laid away,—

With the first dream that comes with the first sleep I run, I run, I am gather'd to thy heart.

880.

The Lady of the Lambs

HE walks the lady of my delight

SHE

A shepherdess of sheep.

Her flocks are thoughts. She keeps them white;

She guards them from the steep.
She feeds them on the fragrant height,
And folds them in for sleep.

She roams maternal hills and bright,
Dark valleys safe and deep.
Her dreams are innocent at night;
The chastest stars may peep.
She walks-the lady of my delight-
A shepherdess of sheep.

She holds her little thoughts in sight,
Though gay they run and leap.
She is so circumspect and right;
She has her soul to keep.

She walks-the lady of my delight—
A shepherdess of sheep.

881.

DORA SIGERSON

Ireland

WAS the dream of a God,

"TWAS

And the mould of His hand,

That you shook 'neath His stroke,
That you trembled and broke

To this beautiful land.

Here He loosed from His hand
A brown tumult of wings,

882.

Till the wind on the sea
Bore the strange melody

Of an island that sings.

He made you all fair,
You in purple and gold,
You in silver and green,
Till no eye that has seen
Without love can behold.

I have left you behind

In the path of the past,
With the white breath of flowers,
With the best of God's hours,
I have left you at last.

MARGARET L. WOODS

Genius Loci

PEACE, Shepherd, peace! What boots it singing on?
Since long ago grace-giving Phoebus died,
And all the train that loved the stream-bright side
Of the poetic mount with him are gone
Beyond the shores of Styx and Acheron,

In unexplored realms of night to hide.

The clouds that strew their shadows far and wide Are all of Heaven that visits Helicon. Yet here, where never muse or god did haunt,

Still may some nameless power of Nature stray, Pleased with the reedy stream's continual chant

And purple pomp of these broad fields in May. The shepherds meet him where he herds the kine, And careless pass him by whose is the gift divine.

883.

ANONYMOUS

Dominus Illuminatio Mea

N the hour of death, after this life's whim,

IN

When the heart beats low, and the eyes grow dim, And pain has exhausted every limb

The lover of the Lord shall trust in Him.

When the will has forgotten the lifelong aim,
And the mind can only disgrace its fame,
And a man is uncertain of his own name—

The power of the Lord shall fill this frame.

When the last sigh is heaved, and the last tear shed,
And the coffin is waiting beside the bed,

And the widow and child forsake the dead-
The angel of the Lord shall lift this head.

For even the purest delight may pall,
And power must fail, and the pride must fall,
And the love of the dearest friends grow small-
But the glory of the Lord is all in all.