With each new day, new cares will wait for thee,
Trials and heart-aches; yet do thou not fear,
But take them lovingly, and, weaving them
Into a crown of thorns, wear and let be
For ever on thy head, a diadem,
More royal than gold, the dearest token here
Of that sad voice that whispers, " Follow Me."

No emblem that glorifies nature
Could image your soul and its grace,
So the Lord of eternal beauty
Has moulded the loveliest face

That ever envisaged the splendour
Of joy in a maiden's eyes —
Your heavenly face, Beloved,
Love's wonder-word from the skies.

When the leaves are falling, Dearest,
And you seek the quiet mound
Where I slumber, you will find it
With a wealth of blossoms crowned.

Gather, then, for thy bright tresses
Those that from my heart have sprung;
They're the love-thoughts that I spoke not,
And the songs I left unsung.

Wilt thou, because thy Florio loves,
Forsake the giddy glitt'ring throng,
With him to dwell in peaceful groves,
With him to hear the shepherd's song?

Can'st thou, without a sigh, resign
The homage by thy charms inspir'd?
To one, oh! say, can'st thou confine
What oft so many have admir'd?

Sweet maid! oh! bless'd shall be our love,
Till time shall bid it cease to flow;
With thee shall ev'ry moment prove
A little heaven form'd below!

Love once wandered on the shore
Where these lonely mountains stand,
And the surf for evermore
Whitens down the waste of sand.

Here are footprints! see, he went
By the sea's edge in his play;
Here perchance his bow was bent,
And his target was the spray.

There he stooped and wrote his name —
Straggling letters by the tide —
And when sunset bursts in flame
Over shore and mountain-side,

Brightly will the letters glow,
Golden will those footprints be,
Made by young Love long ago
As he wandered by the sea.

I MET once, in a country lane,
A little cripple, pale and thin,
Who from my presence sought again
The shadows she had hidden in.

Her wasted cheeks the sunset skies
Had hallowed with their fading glow;
And in her large and lustrous eyes
There dwelt a child's unuttered woe.

She crept into the autumn wood,
The parted bushes closed behind;
Poor little heart, I understood
The shameless shame that filled her mind.

I understood, and loved her well
For one sad face I loved of yore, —

Say not they died for us;
Say, rather, with their hearts aflame,
They faced the sceptred shame,
Not counting for themselves the cost,
Well knowing else, a world were lost.
For this they came;
For this they died;
For this their death is justified.

Say not they die;
Say, rather, with youth's larger trust,
Into the featureless, far unknown,
Challenging love's integrity,
They spring from earth's recoiling dust.
Could greater be?
Can love disown?
Can truth be overthrown?

Say not for us they died;

ADAPTED TO A HUNGARIAN MELODY .

M Y heart I gave you with my hand,
In brighter days than these,
In that down-trodden father-land
Beyond the distant seas,
Where you were all the world to me,
Devoted, fond, and true,
And I, in our prosperity,
Was all the world to you!
Robbed by a tyrant's iron sway,
We're banished from that land away!

Sad wanderers from our native home!
A ruler in a foe!

I SAW Love's eyes, I saw Love's crowned hair;
I heard Love's voice, a song across the air;
The glad-of-heart were of Love's royal train;
Sweet-throated heralds cried his endless reign,
And where his garment swept, the earth grew fair.

Along Love's road one walked whose feet were bare
And bleeding; no complaint he made, nor prayer,
Yet dim and wistful as a child's in pain
I saw Love's eyes.

I groped with Love where shadow lay, and snare;
I climbed with Love the icy mountain stair;
The wood was dark, the height was hard to gain;

Of strong hands, as at first that hew and build;
Of evil hearts and brave that fight and slay;
Of feast and dance, birthday and marriage day;
Of passion, loss, and joy of love fulfilled
God's singers make sweet verse, and hearts song-thrilled
Are keener set to suffer, strive, and play.
This poet, only, gives no heed alway,
Though earth with life be loud, with death be stilled.
He strays, a shadow, wistful, through the land,
His eyes unseeing and his head uncrowned;
No song he makes of love, nor war, nor wine;