Rondelet

"The flowers of June The gates of memory unbar: The flowers of June Such old-time harmonies _re_tune, I fain would keep the gates ajar,- So full of sweet enchantment are [20]

The flowers of June."

JAMES T. WHITE

[Page 395.]

To Mr. James T. White

Who loves not June [2]

Is out of tune With love and G.o.d; The rose his rival reigns, [5]

The stars reject his pains, His home the clod!

And yet I trow, When sweet _rondeau_ Doth play a part, [10]

The curtain drops on June; Veiled is the modest moon- Hushed is the heart.

Autumn

Written in childhood, in a maple grove [15]

Quickly earth's jewels disappear; The turf, whereon I tread, Ere autumn blanch another year, May rest above my head.

Touched by the finger of decay [20]

Is every earthly love; For joy, to shun my weary way, Is registered above.

The languid brooklets yield their sighs, A requiem o'er the tomb [25]

Of sunny days and cloudless skies, Enhancing autumn's gloom.

[Page 396.]

The wild winds mutter, howl, and moan, [1]

To scare my woodland walk, And frightened fancy flees, to roam Where ghosts and goblins stalk.

The cricket's sharp, discordant scream [5]

Fills mortal sense with dread; More sorrowful it scarce could seem; It voices beauty fled.

Yet here, upon this faded sod,- O happy hours and fleet,- [10]

When songsters' matin hymns to G.o.d Are poured in strains so sweet,

My heart unbidden joins rehea.r.s.e; I hope it's better made, When mingling with the universe, [15]

Beneath the maple's shade.

Christ My Refuge

O'er waiting harpstrings of the mind There sweeps a strain, Low, sad, and sweet, whose measures bind [20]

The power of pain,

And wake a white-winged angel throng Of thoughts, illumed By faith, and breathed in raptured song, With love perfumed. [25]

[Page 397.]

Then His unveiled, sweet mercies show [1]

Life's burdens light.

I kiss the cross, and wake to know A world more bright.

And o'er earth's troubled, angry sea [5]

I see Christ walk, And come to me, and tenderly, Divinely talk.

Thus Truth engrounds me on the rock, Upon Life's sh.o.r.e, [10]

'Gainst which the winds and waves can shock, Oh, nevermore!

From tired joy and grief afar, And nearer Thee,- Father, where Thine own children are, [15]

I love to be.

My prayer, some daily good to do To Thine, for Thee; An offering pure of Love, whereto G.o.d leadeth me. [20]

"Feed My Sheep"

Shepherd, show me how to go O'er the hillside steep, How to gather, how to sow,- How to feed Thy sheep;

[Page 398.]

I will listen for Thy voice, [1]

Lest my footsteps stray; I will follow and rejoice All the rugged way.