HE

Your words cut deep; 'tis time we separate.

SHE

Well, each goes wiser to a newer mate.

TO THE TEACHERS OF THE YOUNG

How large thy task, O teacher of the young, To take the ravelled threads by parents flung With careless hands, and through consummate care To weave a fabric, fine and firm and fair.

G.o.d's uncompleted work is thine to do - Be brave and true!

BEAUTY MAKING

Methinks there is no greater work in life Than making beauty. Can the mind conceive One little corner in celestial realms Unbeautiful, or dull or commonplace?

Or picture ugly angels, illy clad?

Beauty and splendour, opulence and joy, Are attributes of G.o.d and His domain, And so are worth and virtue. But why preach Of virtue only to the sons of men, Ignoring beauty, till they think it sin?

Why, if each dweller on this little globe Could know the sacred meaning of that word And understand its deep significance, Men's thoughts would form in beauty, till their dreams Of heaven would find expression in their lives, However humble; they themselves would grow G.o.dlike, befitting such a fair estate.

Let us be done with what is only good, Demanding here and now the beautiful; Lest, with the mind and eye on earth untrained, We shall be ill at ease when heaven is gained.

ON AVON'S BREAST I SAW A STATELY SWAN

One day when England's June was at its best, I saw a stately and imperious swan Floating on Avon's fair untroubled breast.

Sudden, it seemed as if all strife had gone Out of the world; all discord, all unrest.

The sorrows and the sinnings of the race Faded away like nightmares in the dawn.

All heaven was one blue background for the grace Of Avon's beautiful, slow-moving swan; And earth held nothing mean or commonplace.

Life seemed no longer to be hurrying on With unbecoming haste; but softly trod, As one who reads in emerald leaf, or lawn, Or crimson rose a message straight from G.o.d.

On Avon's breast I saw a stately swan.

THE LITTLE GO-CART

It was long, long ago that a soul like a flower Unfolded, and blossomed, and pa.s.sed in an hour.

It was long, long ago; and the memory seems Like the pleasures and sorrows that come in our dreams.

The kind years have crowned me with many a joy Since the going away of my wee little boy; Each one as it pa.s.sed me has stooped with a kiss, And left some delight--knowing one thing I miss.

But when in the park or the street, all elate A baby I see in his carriage of state, As proud as a king, in his little go-cart - I feel all the mother-love stir in my heart!

And I seem to be back in that long-vanished May; And the baby, who came but to hurry away In the little white hea.r.s.e, is not dead, but alive, And out in his little go-cart for a drive.

I whisper a prayer as he rides down the street, And my thoughts follow after him, tender and sweet; For I know, by a law that is vast and divine, (Though I know not his name) that the baby is mine!

I AM RUNNING FORTH TO MEET YOU

I am running forth to meet you, O my Master, For they tell me you are surely on the way; Yes, they tell me you are coming back again (While I run, while I run).

And I wish my feet were winged to speed on faster, And I wish I might behold you here to-day, Lord of men.

I am running, yet I walk beside my neighbour, And I take the duties given me to do; Yes, I take the daily duties as they fall (While I run, while I run), And my heart runs to my hand and helps the labour, For I think this is the way that leads to you, Lord of all.

I am running, yet I turn from toil and duty, Oftentimes to just the art of being glad; Yes, to just the joys that make the earth-world bright (While I run, while I run).

For the soul that worships G.o.d must worship beauty, And the heart that thinks of You can not be sad, Lord of light.

I am running, yet I pause to greet my brother, And I lean to rid my garden of its weed; Yes, I lean, although I lift my thoughts above (While I run, while I run).

And I think of that command, 'Love one another,'

As I hear discordant sounds of creed with creed, Lord of Love.

I am running, and the road is lit with splendour, And it brightens and shines fairer with each span; Yes, it brightens like the highway in a dream (While I run, while I run).

And my heart to all the world grows very tender, For I seem to see the Christ in every man, Lord supreme.

MARTYRS OF PEACE

Fame writes ever its song and story, For heroes of war, in letters of glory.

But where is the story and where is the song For the heroes of peace and the martyrs of wrong?

They fight their battles in shop and mine; They die at their posts and make no sign.

They herd like beasts in a slaughter pen; They live like cattle and suffer like men.

Why, set by the horrors of such a life, Like a merry-go-round seems the battle's strife,