Somewhere is joy, tho' 't is not thine;
The power that sent can heal thy grief;
And light lies on the farther hills.

Thou wouldst not with the world be one
If ne'er thou knewest hurt and wrong;
Take comfort, tho' the darkened sun
Never again bring gleam or song,
The light lies on the farther hills.

"AH, NEAR, DEAR FRIEND"

Ан, near, dear friend of many and many years!

I have known thy lovelinesses

- known thy tears,

Thy smiles, like sunlight crossing shade,
Thy spirit unafraid.

All these have been like music to my soul;
These, having fashioned me, should I extol,
It were, in sooth, myself to praise -
O Light of all my days!

Thy smiles, thy tears, thy exquisite sad words
Mystic as, in the moonlight, songs of birds;
But, O, more wonderful than these,

Thy lonely silences.

MUSIC IN DARKNESS

Ar the dim end of day

I

I heard the great musician play:

Saw her white hands now slow, now swiftly pass;

Where gleamed the polished wood, as in a glass,

MUSIC IN DARKNESS

The shadow hands repeating every motion.
Then did I voyage forth on music's ocean,
Visiting many a sad or joyful shore,
Where storming breakers roar,

Or singing birds made music so intense,—

So intimate of happiness or sorrow,

I scarce could courage borrow

To hear those strains: well-nigh I hurried thence

To escape the intolerable weight

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That on my spirit fell when sobbed the music: late, too late, too late!

While slow withdrew the light

And, on the lyric tide, came in the night.

II

So grew the dark, enshrouding all the room

In a melodious gloom,

Her face growing viewless; line by line

That swaying form did momently decline

And was in darkness lost.

Then white hands ghostly turned, tho' still they tost

From tone to tone; pauseless and sure as if in perfect

light;

With blind, instinctive, most miraculous sight,

On, on they sounded in that world of night.

III

Ah, dearest one; was this thy thought, as mine,

As still the music stayed?

"So shall the loved ones fade,

Feature by feature, line on lovely line;

For all our love, alas,

From twilight into darkness shall they pass!

We in that dark shall see them nevermore,

But from our spirits they shall not be banished;
For on and on shall the sweet music pour

That was the soul of them, the loved, the vanished;
And we, who listen, shall not lose them quite
In that mysterious night."

THE ANGER OF BEETHOVEN

THIS night the enchanting musicians rendered a trio of Beethoven

Light and lovely, or solemn, as in a Tuscan tower The walls with gracious tapestries gleam, and the deepcut windows

Give on landscapes gigantic, framing the four-square

world

When sudden the music turned to anger, as nature's

murmur

Sometimes to anger turns, speaking, in voice infuriate, Cruel, quick, implacable; inhuman, savage, resistlessAnd I thought of that sensitive spirit flinging back in scorn tempestuous

And in art supreme, immortal, the infamous arrows of fortune.

MOTHER AND CHILD

MOTHER and Child! There is no holier sight
In all the realms of morning and of night;
And all the meaning of that word, DIVINE,
Shines in the tender glory of this sign.

The world learns Worship here; it kneels in awe,
Seeing a mystery, knowing a mighty law.
Sin cannot live in presence of this grace,
No least unworthiness perplex the place.

MOTHER OF HEROES

Here Good doth dwell, but never baneful Doubt,
For Love and Loveliness would cast it out.

Were prophet voices still, the heavens brass,

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Here would a new Evangel come to pass;
Out from the dark a rose-leaf hand would leap,
Close to the Eternal Throne the ancient world to keep.

ALICE FREEMAN PALMER

WHEN fell, to-day, the word that she had gone,
Not this my thought: Here a bright journey ends,
Here rests a soul unresting; here, at last,
Here ends that earnest strength, that generous life
For all her life was giving. Rather this
I said (after the first swift, sorrowing pang):
Radiant with love, and love's unending power,
Hence, on a new quest, starts an eager spirit -
No dread, no doubt, unhesitating forth
With asking eyes; pure as the bodiless souls
Whom poets vision near the central throne
Angelically ministrant to man;

So fares she forth with smiling, Godward face;
Nor should we grieve, but give eternal thanks
Save that we mortal are, and needs must mourn.

"MOTHER OF HEROES"

SARAH BLAKE SHAW

MOTHER of heroes, she-of them who gave

Their lives to lift the lowly, free the slave.

Her, through long years, two master passions bound: Love of our free land; and of all sweet sound.

'T was praising her to praise this land of grace;

And when I think on music-lo, her face!

THE GREAT CITIZEN

ABRAM STEVENS HEWITT

MOURN for his death, but for his life rejoice, Who was the city's heart, the city's voice.

Dauntless in youth, impetuous in age,
Weighty in speech, in civic counsel sage;

Talents and wealth to him were but a trust To lift his hapless brother from the dust; —

This his chief aim: to wake, in every man,
The soul to do what only courage can.

He saw the evil, as the wise must see,

But firm his faith in what the world shall be.

Following the truth, he led his fellow-men Through years and virtues the great citizen!

By being great, he made the city great;
Serving the city, he upheld the state.

So shall the city win a purer fame

Led by the living splendor of his name.

ON READING OF A POET'S DEATH

I READ that, in his sleep, the poet died
Ere the day broke;

In a new dawn, as rose earth's crimson tide,
His spirit woke.