O G.o.d! that men would draw a little nearer To one another, -- they'd be nearer Thee, And understood.

Spirit of Song

Where is thy dwelling-place? Echo of sweetness, Seraph of tenderness, where is thy home?

Angel of happiness, herald of fleetness, Thou hast the key of the star-blazon'd dome.

Where lays that never end Up to G.o.d's throne ascend, And our fond heart-wishes lovingly throng, Soaring with thee above, Bearer of truth and love, Teacher of heaven's tongue -- Spirit of Song!

Euphony, born in the realms of the tearless, Mingling thy notes with the voices of Earth; Wanting thee, all would be dreary and cheerless, Weaver of harmony, giver of mirth.

Comfort of child and sage, With us in youth and age, Soothing the weak and inspiring the strong, Illuming the blackest night, Making the day more bright, Oh! thou art dear to us, Spirit of Song!

Oft in the springtime, sweet words of affection Are whispered by thee in thy tenderest tone, And in the winter dark clouds of dejection By thee are dispelled till all sorrow has flown.

Thou'rt with the zephyrs low, And with the brooklet's flow, And with the feathered choir all the year long; Happy each child of thine, Blest with thy gifts divine, Charming our senses, sweet Spirit of Song!

Ada Cambridge.

What of the Night?

To you, who look below, Where little candles glow -- Who listen in a narrow street, Confused with noise of pa.s.sing feet --

To you 'tis wild and dark; No light, no guide, no ark, For travellers lost on moor and lea, And ship-wrecked mariners at sea.

But they who stand apart, With hushed but wakeful heart -- They hear the lulling of the gale, And see the dawn-rise faint and pale.

A dawn whereto they grope In trembling faith and hope, If haply, brightening, it may cast A gleam on path and goal at last.

Good-bye

Good-bye! -- 'tis like a churchyard bell -- good-bye!

Poor weeping eyes! Poor head, bowed down with woe!

Kiss me again, dear love, before you go.

Ah, me, how fast the precious moments fly!

Good-bye! Good-bye!

We are like mourners when they stand and cry At open grave in wintry wind and rain.

Yes, it is death. But you shall rise again -- Your sun return to this benighted sky.

Good-bye! Good-bye!

The great physician, Time, shall pacify This parting anguish with another friend.

Your heart is broken now, but it will mend.

Though it is death, yet still you will not die.

Good-bye! Good-bye!

Dear heart! dear eyes! dear tongue, that cannot lie!

Your love is true, your grief is deep and sore; But love will pa.s.s -- then you will grieve no more.

New love will come. Your tears will soon be dry.

Good-bye! Good-bye!

The Virgin Martyr

Every wild she-bird has nest and mate in the warm April weather, But a captive woman, made for love -- no mate, no nest has she.

In the spring of young desire, young men and maids are wed together, And the happy mothers flaunt their bliss for all the world to see: Nature's sacramental feast for these -- an empty board for me.

I, a young maid once, an old maid now, deposed, despised, forgotten -- I, like them have thrilled with pa.s.sion and have dreamed of nuptial rest, Of the trembling life within me of my children unbegotten, Of a breathing new-born body to my yearning bosom prest, Of the rapture of a little soft mouth drinking at my breast.

Time, that heals so many sorrows, keeps mine ever freshly aching; Though my face is growing furrowed and my brown hair turning white, Still I mourn my irremediable loss, asleep or waking -- Still I hear my son's voice calling "mother" in the dead of night, And am haunted by my girl's eyes that will never see the light.

O my children that I might have had! my children, lost for ever!

O the goodly years that might have been -- now desolate and bare!

O malignant G.o.d or Fate, what have I done that I should never Take my birthright like the others, take the crown that women wear, And possess the common heritage to which all flesh is heir?

Honour

Me let the world disparage and despise -- As one unfettered with its gilded chains, As one untempted by its sordid gains, Its pleasant vice, its profitable lies; Let Justice, blind and halt and maimed, chastise The rebel spirit surging in my veins, Let the Law deal me penalties and pains And make me hideous in my neighbours' eyes.

But let me fall not in mine own esteem, By poor deceit or selfish greed debased.

Let me be clean from secret stain and shame, Know myself true, though false as h.e.l.l I seem -- Know myself worthy, howsoe'er disgraced -- Know myself right, though every tongue should blame.

Despair

Alone! Alone! No beacon, far or near!

No chart, no compa.s.s, and no anchor stay!

Like melting fog the mirage melts away In all-surrounding darkness, void and clear.

Drifting, I spread vain hands, and vainly peer And vainly call for pilot, -- weep and pray; Beyond these limits not the faintest ray Shows distant coast whereto the lost may steer.

O what is life, if we must hold it thus As wind-blown sparks hold momentary fire?

What are these gifts without the larger boon?

O what is art, or wealth, or fame to us Who scarce have time to know what we desire?

O what is love, if we must part so soon?