Like a pomegranate in halves, "Drink me," said that mouth of hers, Where my dust with dust confers. Bliss Carman [1861 THE PETRIFIED FERN IN a valley, centuries ago, Grew a little fern-leaf, green and slender, Waving when the wind crept down so low. Rushes tall, and moss, and grass grew round it, Monster fishes swam the silent main, Stately forests waved their giant branches, Mountains hurled their snowy avalanches, Mammoth creatures stalked across the plain; Nature reveled in grand mysteries, But the little fern was not of these, Did not number with the hills and trees; Only grew and waved its wild sweet way,- Earth, one time, put on a frolic mood, Heaved the rocks and changed the mighty motion Oh, the long, long centuries since that day! Useless? Lost? There came a thoughtful man He withdrew a stone, o'er which there ran Fairy pencilings, a quaint design, Mary Bolles Branch [1840 THE QUESTION WHITHER Sensation is a gracious gift, But were it cramped to station, Then let our trust be firm in Good, Our work is everlasting. We children of Beneficence Are in its being sharers; And Whither vainer sounds than Whence, For word with such wayfarers. George Meredith [1828-1909] THE GOOD GREAT MAN How seldom, friend, a good great man inherits It seems a story from the land of spirits REPLY TO THE ABOVE For shame, dear friend! renounce this canting strain! Or throne of corses which his sword hath slain? And three firm friends, more sure than day and night,— Samuel Taylor Coleridge [1772-1834] HUMAN FRAILTY WEAK and irresolute is man; The purpose of to-day, The bow well bent, and smart the spring, Vice seems already slain; But Passion rudely snaps the string, And it revives again. Some foe to his upright intent Finds out his weaker part; Virtue engages his assent, But Pleasure wins his heart. 'Tis here the folly of the wise Through all his art we view: Bound on a voyage of awful length But oars alone can ne'er prevail To reach the distant coast; The breath of Heaven must swell the sail, William Cowper [1731-1800] STANZAS WHERE forlorn sunsets flare and fade What is the voice of strange command Hark to the city, street on street Out of the sound of the ebb-and-flow, William Ernest Henley [1849-1903] THE SEEKERS FRIENDS and loves we have none, nor wealth, nor blest abode, But the hope, the burning hope, and the road, the lonely road. Not for us are content, and quiet, and peace of mind, There is no solace on earth for us-for such as we-- Only the road and the dawn, the sun, the wind, the rain, And the watch-fire under stars, and sleep, and the road again. We seek the city of God, and the haunt where beauty dwells, And we find the noisy mart and the sound of burial bells. Never the golden city, where radiant people meet, But the dolorous town where mourners are going about the street. We travel the dusty road till the light of the day is dim We travel from dawn till dusk, till the day is past and by, Friends and loves we have none, nor wealth, nor blest abode, But the hope, the burning hope, and the road, the lonely road. THE BELEAGUERED CITY I HAVE read, in some old, marvelous tale, |