f passing day!

Soon shall I fly afar among the holy choirs,
Then shall be mine the joy that knoweth no decay;
And then my lips shall sing, to Heaven's angelic lyres,
The eternal, glad To-day!

June, 1894.

MEMORIES

Selected Stanzas

"I find in my Beloved the mountains, the lonely and wooded
vales, the distant isles, the murmur of the waters, the soft
whisper of the zephyrs . . . the quiet night with its sister
the dawn, the perfect solitude--all that delights and all
that fires our love."--St. John of the Cross.

I hold full sweet your memory,
My childhood days, so glad, so free.
To keep my innocence, dear Lord, for Thee,
Thy Love came to me night and day,
Alway.
. . . . . . .

I loved the swallows' graceful flight,
The turtle doves' low chant at night,
The pleasant sound of insects gay and bright,
The grassy vale where doth belong
Their song.
. . . . . . .

I loved the glow-worm on the sod;
The countless stars, so near to God,
But most I loved, in all the sky abroad,
The shining moon of silver bright,
At night.
. . . . . . .

The grass is withered in its bed;
The flowers within my hands are dead.
Would that my weary feet, Jesu! might tread
Thy Heavenly Fields, and I might be
With Thee!
. . . . . . .

My rainbow in the rain-washed skies--
Horizon where my suns arise--
My isle in far-off seas--pearl I most prize--
Sweet spring and butterflies--I see
In Thee!
. . . . . . .

In Thee I have the springs, the rills,
The mignonette, the daffodils,
The Eglantine, the harebell on the hills,
The trembling poplar, sighing low
And slow.
. . . . . . .

The lovely lake, the valley fair
And lonely in the lambent air,
The ocean touched with silver everywhere--
In Thee their treasures, all combined,
I find.
. . . . . . .

I go to chant, with Angel-throngs,
The homage that to Thee belongs.
Soon let me fly away, to join their songs!
Oh, let me die of love, I pray,
One day!
. . . . . . .

I hear, e'en I, Thy last and least,
The music from Thy Heavenly Feast;
There, deign receive me as Thy loving guest
And, to my harp, let me but sing,
My King!
. . . . . . .

Unto the Saints I shall be near,
To Mary, and those once treasured here.
Life is all past, and dried is every tear;
To me my home again is given--
In Heaven.