Life not worth living! Come with me, Now that, through vanishing veil, Shimmers the dew on lawn and lea, And milk foams in the pail; Now that June's sweltering sunlight bathes With sweat the striplings lithe, As fall the long straight scented swathes Over the crescent scythe; Now that the throstle never stops His self-sufficing strain, And woodbine-trails festoon the copse Now all, except the lover's vow, When Summer, lingering half-forlorn, When hazel-nuts wax brown and plump, And the owlet hoots from hollow stump, And life again is sweet indoors, And logs again alight; Ay, even when the houseless wind Waileth through cleft and chink, And in the twilight maids grow kind, And jugs are filled and clink; When children clasp their hands and pray "Be done Thy Heavenly Will!" Who doth not lift his voice, and say, "Life is worth living still "? Is life worth living? Yes, so long Long as there lingers gloom to chase, One kindred woe, one sorrowing face So long as Faith with Freedom reigns, To leaven lowly lives; While there is one untrodden tract For Intellect or Will And men are free to think and act, Not care to live while English homes And England's Trident-Sceptre roams Not live while English songs are sung And England's laws and England's tongue So long as in Pacific main Or on Atlantic strand, Our kin transmit the parent strain, And love the Mother-land; He is dead already who doth not feel Alfred Austin. Old Age HE seas are quiet when the winds give o'er; So calm are we when passions are no more. For then we know how vain it was to boast Of fleeting things, so certain to be lost. Clouds of affection from our younger eyes Conceal that emptiness which age descries. The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd, As they draw near to their eternal home. Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view Waller. I Onward! WOULD not, if I could, repeat go the common way, content To make no new experiment. (B 838) 26 On easy terms with law and fate, That hope may lose itself in truth, Whittier. Art and Life HEN the earth darkens, and the voices callOld friends', old loves'-what thing that you have done W Will you remember gladly? Will it be The knowledge hardly won, and at the end The masterpiece men bow to? O, to paint Some picture that shall live throughout the years, To them that follow! O, from common stone That shall not perish! O, to write a book So you pray, Till Art seems Life; but when the voices call You will remember how you gave a flower And though the years have hid her, you will know H. D. Lowry. T Dying HEY are waiting on the shore For the bark to take them home; They will toil and grieve no more; The hour for release has come. All their long life lies behind To the realms that only seem. They are waiting for the boat; |