In my poor way,

I cannot see but that all's He,

If I'm in Him and He in me.

Then the Swami replied: Of temper quick, a girl unique, A freak of nature she,

A lady fair, no question there, Rare soul is Miss Mary.

Her feelings deep she cannot keep, But creep they out at last,

A spirit free, I can foresee,

Must be of fiery cast.

Tho' many a lay her muse can bray, And play piano too,

Her heart so cool, chills as a rule The fool who comes to woo.

Though, Sister Mary, I hear they say The sway your beauty gains,

Be cautious now and do not bow, However sweet, to chains.

For 'twill be soon, another tune

The moon-struck mate will hear

If his will but clash, your words will hash And smash his life I fear.

These lines to thee, Sister Mary,

Free will I offer, take

"t.i.t for tat" - a monkey chat, For monk alone can make.

THOU BLESSED DREAM.

(Written to Miss Christine Greenstidel from Paris, 14th August 1900.) If things go ill or well -

If joy rebounding spreads the face, Or sea of sorrow swells -

A play - we each have part,

Each one to weep or laugh as may; Each one his dress to don -

Its scenes, alternative shine and rain.

Thou dream, O blessed dream! Spread far and near thy veil of haze, Tone down the lines so sharp, Make smooth what roughness seems.

No magic but in thee!

Thy touch makes desert bloom to life. Harsh thunder, sweetest song,

Fell death, the sweet release.

LIGHT.

(From a letter to Miss MacLeod, 26th December 1900 (Vide Vol. VI.)) I look behind and after And find that all is right, In my deepest sorrows There is a soul of light.

THE LIVING G.o.d.

(Written to an American friend from Almora, 9th July 1897.) He who is in you and outside you, Who works through all hands,