Scornful of absence' envious bar BROWN smiles upon the mystic meeting Of those her sons, who, sundered far, In brotherhood of heart are greeting;

Her wayward children wandering on Where setting stars are lowly burning, But still in worship toward the dawn That gilds their souls' dear Mecca turning;

Or those who, armed for G.o.d's own fight, Stand by His Word through fire and slaughter, Or bear our banner's starry light Far-flashing through the Gulf's blue water.

For where one strikes for light and truth, The right to aid, the wrong redressing, The mother of his spirit's youth Sheds o'er his soul her silent blessing.

She gained her crown a gem of flame When KNEa.s.s fell dead in victory gory; New splendour blazed upon her name When IVES' young life went out in glory!

Thus bright for ever may she keep Her fires of tolerant Freedom burning, Till War's red eyes are charmed to sleep And bells ring home the boys returning.

And may she shed her radiant truth In largess on ingenuous comers, And hold the bloom of gracious youth Through many a hundred tranquil summers!

A WINTER NIGHT.

The winter wind is raving fierce and shrill, And chides with angry moan the frosty skies; The white stars gaze with sleepless Gorgon eyes That freeze the earth in terror fixed and still.

We reck not of the wild night's gloom and chill, Housed from its rage, dear friend; and fancy flies, Lured by the hand of beckoning memories, Back to those summer evenings on the hill Where we together watched the sun go down Beyond the gold-washed uplands, while his fires Touched into glittering life the vanes and spires Piercing the purpling mists that veiled the town.

The wintry night thy voice and eyes beguile, Till wake the sleeping summers in thy smile.

STUDENT-SONG.

When Youth's warm heart beats high, my friend, And Youth's blue sky is bright, And shines in Youth's clear eye, my friend, Love's early dawning light, Let the free soul spurn care's control, And while the glad days shine, We'll use their beams for Youth's gay dreams Of Love and Song and Wine.

Let not the bigot's frown, my friend, O'ercast thy brow with gloom, For Autumn's sober brown, my friend, Shall follow Summer's bloom.

Let smiles and sighs and loving eyes In changeful beauty shine, And shed their beams on Youth's gay dreams Of Love and Song and Wine.

For in the weary years, my friend, That stretched before us lie, There'll be enough of tears, my friend, To dim the brightest eye.

So let them wait, and laugh at fate, While Youth's sweet moments shine,-- Till memory gleams with golden dreams Of Love and Song and Wine.

HOW IT HAPPENED.

I pray you, pardon me, Elsie, And smile that frown away That dims the light of your lovely face As a thunder-cloud the day.

I really could not help it,-- Before I thought, 'twas done,-- And those great grey eyes flashed bright and cold, Like an icicle in the sun.

I was thinking of the summers When we were boys and girls, And wandered in the blossoming woods, And the gay winds romped with your curls.

And you seemed to me the same little girl I kissed in the alder-path, I kissed the little girl's lips, and, alas!

I have roused a woman's wrath.

There is not so much to pardon,-- For why were your lips so red?

The blond hair fell in a shower of gold From the proud, provoking head.

And the beauty that flashed from the splendid eyes, And played round the tender mouth, Rushed over my soul like a warm sweet wind That blows from the fragrant south.

And where, after all, is the harm done?

I believe we were made to be gay, And all of youth not given to love Is vainly squandered away.

And strewn through life's low labours, Like gold in the desert sands, Are love's swift kisses and sighs and vows And the clasp of clinging hands.

And when you are old and lonely, In Memory's magic shine You will see on your thin and wasting hands, Like gems, these kisses of mine.

And when you muse at evening At the sound of some vanished name, The ghost of my kisses shall touch your lips And kindle your heart to flame.

G.o.d'S VENGEANCE.

Saith the Lord, "Vengeance is mine; I will repay," saith the Lord; Ours be the anger divine, Lit by the flash of His word.

How shall His vengeance be done?

How, when His purpose is clear?

Must He come down from His throne?

Hath He no instruments here?

Sleep not in imbecile trust, Waiting for G.o.d to begin, While, growing strong in the dust, Rests the bruised serpent of sin.

Right and Wrong,--both cannot live Death-grappled. Which shall we see?

Strike! only Justice can give Safety to all that shall be.

Shame! to stand paltering thus, Tricked by the balancing odds; Strike! G.o.d is waiting for us!

Strike! for the vengeance is G.o.d's.

TOO LATE.

Had we but met in other days, Had we but loved in other ways, Another light and hope had shone On your life and my own.

In sweet but hopeless reveries I fancy how your wistful eyes Had saved me, had I known their power In fate's imperious hour;

How loving you, beloved of G.o.d, And following you, the path I trod Had led me, through your love and prayers, To G.o.d's love unawares:

And how our beings joined as one Had pa.s.sed through checkered shade and sun, Until the earth our lives had given, With little change, to heaven.

G.o.d knows why this was not to be.

You bloomed from childhood far from me.

The sunshine of the favoured place That knew your youth and grace.