h the night.
Look up, and reach out, and believe them--
Believe in your infinite worth.
Do nothing to wound or to grieve them,
And you shall find heaven on earth.

The body needs conflict and tussle,
To render it forceful and grand;
The soul, too, has sinew and muscle,
Which sorrow alone can expand.
Though troubles come faster and faster,
Rise up, brace yourself for each blow;
It is only Fate's great fencing Master
Instructing your spirit to grow.

The new ship comes nearer and nearer,
We know not what freight she may hold;
Hope stands at the helm there to steer her,
Our hearts are courageous and bold.
Sail in with new joys and new sorrows,
Sail in with new banners unfurled,
Sail in with unwritten to-morrows,
Sail in with new tasks for the world.

REVERIE

The day has been wild and stormy,
And full of the wind's unrest,
And I sat down alone by the window,
While the sunset dyed the West;
And the holy rush of twilight,
As the day went over the hill,
Like the voice of a spirit seemed speaking
And saying, 'Peace be still.'

Then I thought with sudden longing,
That it might be so with my woes;
That the life so wild and restless,
When it reached the eve's repose,
Might glow with a sudden glory,
And be crowned with peace and rest;
And the holy calm of twilight
Might come to my troubled breast.

All of the pain and passion
That trouble my life's long day
As the winds go down at sunset,
May suddenly pass away.
And the wild and turbulent billows,
That surge in my heart at will,
Shall be hushed into calm and silence
By the whisper, 'Peace be still.'
And my soul grew full of patience,
And I said, 'I can bear it all,
Though the day be long and stormy,
The twilight at last must fall.'

THE LAW

The tide of love swells in me with such force,
It sweeps away all hate and all distrust.
As eddying straws and particles of dust
Are lost by some swift river in its course.

So much I love my friends, my life, my art,
Each shadow flies; the light dispels the gloom.
Love is so fair, I find I have no room
For anything less worthy in my heart.

Love is a germ which we can cultivate--
To grace and perfume sweeter than the rose,
Or leave neglected while our heart soil grows
Rank with that vile and poison thistle, hate.

Love is a joyous thrush, that one can teach
To sing sweet lute-like songs which all m