such dreams down in the heart
And go our ways alone, love, and forget.

GETHSEMANE.

In golden youth when seems the earth
A Summer-land of singing mirth,
When souls are glad and hearts are light,
And not a shadow lurks in sight,
We do not know it, but there lies
Somewhere veiled under evening skies
A garden which we all must see--
The garden of Gethsemane.

With joyous steps we go our ways,
Love lends a halo to our days;
Light sorrows sail like clouds afar,
We laugh, and say how strong we are.
We hurry on; and hurrying, go
Close to the border-land of woe,
That waits for you, and waits for me--
Forever waits Gethsemane.

Down shadowy lanes, across strange streams
Bridged over by our broken dreams;
Behind the misty caps of years,
Beyond the great salt fount of tears,
The garden lies. Strive as you may,
You cannot miss it in your way.
All paths that have been, or shall be,
Pass somewhere through Gethsemane.

All those who journey, soon or late,
Must pass within the garden's gate;
Must kneel alone in darkness there,
And battle with some fierce despair.
God pity those who can not say,
"Not mine but thine," who only pray,
"Let this cup pass," and cannot see
The _purpose_ in Gethsemane.

DUST-SEALED.

I know not wherefore, but mine eyes
See bloom, where other eyes see blight.
They find a rainbow, a sunrise,
Where others but discern deep night.

Men call me an enthusiast,
And say I look through gilded haze:
Because where'er my gaze is cast,
I see some thing that calls for praise.

I say, "Behold those lovely eyes--
That tinted cheek of flower-like grace."
They answer in amused surprise:
"We thought it such a common face."

I say, "Was ever scene more fair?
I seem to walk in Eden's bowers."
They answer with a pitying air,
"The weeds are choking out the flowers."

I know not wherefore, but God lent
A deeper vision to my sight.
On whatsoe'er my gaze is bent
I catch the beauty Infinite;

That underlying, hidden half
That all things hold of Deity.
So let the dull crowd sneer and laugh--
Their eyes are blind, they cannot see.

"ADVICE."

I must do as you do? Your way I own
Is a very good way. And still,
There are sometimes two straight roads to a town,
One over, one under the hill.

You are treading the safe and the well-worn way,
That the prudent choose each time;
And you think me reckless and rash to-day,
Because I prefer to climb.