(B 838)

V. English Countryside

"The world is all before me; I but ask

Of Nature that with which she will comply-
It is but in her summer's sun to bask,
To mingle with the quiet of her sky,
To see her gentle face without a mask
And never gaze on it with apathy."

The Child

HE little new soul is come to earth.

He has taken his staff for the pilgrim's way. His sandals are girt on his tender feet,

And he carries his scrip for what gifts he may.

What will you give to him, Fate Divine?
What for his scrip on the winding road?
A crown for his head, or a laurel wreath?
A sword to wield, or is gold his load?

What will you give him for weal or woe?
What for the journey through day and night?
Give or withhold from him power and fame,
But give to him love of the earth's delight.

Let him be lover of wind and sun

And of falling rain; and the friend of trees; With a singing heart for the pride of noon And a tender heart for what twilight sees.

Let him be lover of

you and

yours

The Child and Mary; but also Pan
And the sylvan gods of the woods and hills,
And the god that is hid in his fellow man.

Love and a song and the joy of earth,

These be the gifts for his scrip to keep Till, the journey ended, he stands at last, In the gathering dark, at the gate of sleep. Ethel Clifford.