O friends, I cannot comfort, but will share with you your grieving,
In the valley of the shadow where you sit in helpless tears;
Greater is the parting anguish, than the joy of first receiving
The sweet gift that was your treasure through five happy, golden years.

When I laid within your arms the dear babe that God had given,
There was hidden in the future all the tears that you must weep,
Ah! the little ones so tangled in our heart-strings, they are riven
In the parting, are but treasures lent not given us to keep.

I TOO have searched for Beauty in this life,
For loveliness amongst the woes of men,
The spark of joy which shines from out the strife,
The will-o'-wisp's white dancing o'er the fen;
To find the spur which urges, goads the soul
To toil through depths to greater heights above
Where Beauty is the mighty, final goal
And roads to Beauty run through vales of love.

I too have sought the guerdon hard to gain,
Elusive river sweeping to the sea,
But well I know a glimpse is worth the pain
Of seeking that which ever seems to flee.

Manannan , god of the winds and the sea,
Flat on his back on the sands lay he,
Trolling a song right merrily:
“Come hither, come hither, thou little wind,”
(Such and such was the song he sang)
“Come hither; I've something for thee to find.”
(Oh! how mellow the echoes rang!)
“Find me a wave with a sea-green base,
A rollicking, wandering, roisterous wave,
With a crest o' foam, and a laughing face,
A bit o' blue where the wind-flaws part,
And a sunbeam pricking his homeless heart—
Ho! but I love the knave!”

Oh! the day was dark and dreary,
For clouds swept o'er the sun,
The burden of life seemed heavy,
And its warfare never done;
But I heard a voice at twilight,
It whispered in my ear,
“Oh, doubting heart, look upward,
Dear soul, be of good cheer.
Oh, weary heart, look upward,
Dear soul, be of good cheer.”

And lo! on looking upward
The stars lit up the sky
Like the lights of an endless city,
A city set on high.
And my heart forgot its sorrow
These heavenly homes to see—
Sure in those many mansions
Is room for even me,

The Piper Spring
Has come once more
With his dapple green investiture;
His great cloak pied with petal and wing,
And his red locks spangling everything.

But after the gold
And after the green,
And all the treasures that lie between,
He laughed and plucked from a hidden fold
A magic flower of dusk and gold.

Oh, what have you done,
You Piper Spring?
You have robbed my wits of everything,
And nothing remains beneath the sun
But the wild, sweet rose that I have won!

A human Niagara, plunging from the height
Of vain presumption to the sea of wrath
Below. An Alpine avalanche, in its might,
Strewing the giddy traveller's upward path
With devastation; whirling him adown
Into the steep abyss. The unchained bolt
Of sin's dread electricity. The revolt
Of judgment. Agent of the arch-traitor's frown.
The midnight tempest on a stormy sea.
Reason's eclipse. The Mephistophiles
That points the murderer's weapon: Like to these,
And in its headlong fury ever thus,
Is Passion unrestrained: The simoom's breath—

I want to sing what's righteous, but I'm apt to sing what's wrong,
For I cannot control the eccentricities of song.
My verses whirl like autumn leaves upon a windy day.
Before I've told them half my mind, they flutter far away,

Full of moonlight, love, and laughter, mixed with other dim affairs
As far removed from economic profit as from prayers
The quaint, fantastic creatures shake their skirtless limbs and dance
And my brain goes dancing after them, the dizzy sport of chance.

I AM an exile, in disgrace,
And sorrow banished from her face:
Now some such woe as mine, I ween,
Napoleon knew at Saint Helene.

I am an exile, fettered, ta'en
To deserts drear of her disdain;
Will pity ne'er her bosom stir
For my high crime of loving her?

“Tarry ye here!” the Saviour said
And to the deeper shade withdrew
Of that dark spot near Kedron's bed
Where high, o'er-arching olives grew.

“Tarry ye here!” nor friend, nor foe
Must on this dreadful hour intrude,
My soul must face its bitterest woe
In silence and in solitude.

“Tarry ye here!” for I alone
Must enter dark Gethsemane,
No ear but God's must list my moan,
Though ye without may watch with me.”

“Tarry ye here,” each sufferer says,
“Pain's common portals open wide,
But sorrow has mysterious ways

Once , long agone, I saw the lunar bow
Set in a western vapour, dim and pale,
Cloud-piered, mist-built of moonbeams, rising frail,
Bridging the night that drifted black below,
While far above faint stars shed gleam and glow;
And fancy there, as through a filmy veil,
Beheld true saintly knights in silver mail
Armed, on the archway, pacing to and fro.
This was my love that spanned the east and west,
And these my thoughts, ambitions, hopes and prayers,
That turned devoted service to their Queen.
But ah! Moon Marion darkened to their quest;