and uplifted brows
The red phylactery of the lightning shines;
And throned amid eternal wars, he dwells,
His dread regality hedged round by all
The weird magnificence of exultant storms!

LIFE'S CROSSES.

"O life! O, vailed destiny!"
She cried--"within thy hidden hands
What recompense is waiting me
Beyond these naked wintry sands?
For lo! The ancient legend saith:
'Take ye a rose at Christmas tide,
And pin thereto your loving faith,
And cast it to the waters wide;
Whate'er the wished-for guerdon be,
God's hand will guide it safe to thee!'

"I pace the river's icy brink,
This dreary Christmas Eve," she said,
"And watch the dying sunset sink
From pallid gold to ashen red.
My eyes are hot with weary tears,
I heed not how the winds may blow,
While thinking of the vanished years
Beyond the stormy heave and throe
Of yon far sea-line, dimly curled
Around my lonely island-world.

"The winds make melancholy moan;
I hear the river flowing by,
As, heavy-hearted and alone,
Beneath the wild December sky,
I take the roses from my breast--
White roses of the Holy Rood--
And, filled with passionate unrest,
I cast them to the darkening flood.
O, roses, drifting out to sea,
Bring my lost treasures back to me!

"Bring back the joyous hopes of youth!
The faith that knew no flaw of doubt!
The spotless innocence and truth
That clothed my maiden soul about!
Bring back the grace of girlhood gone,
The rapturous zest of other days!
The dew and freshness of the dawn,
That lay on life's untrodden ways--
The glory that will shine no more
For me on earthly sea or shore!

"Call back the sweet home-joys of old
That gladdened many a Christmas-tide--
The faces hidden in the mould,
The dear lost loves that changed or died!
O, gentle spirits, gone before,
Come, from the undiscovered lands,
And bring the precious things of yore
To aching heart and empty hands;
Keep all the wealth of earth and sea,
But give my lost ones back to me.

"Vain are my tears, my pleadings vain!
O, roses, drifting with the tide,
To me shall never come again
The glory of the years that died!
Thro' gloom and night, sweet flowers, drift on--
Drift out upon the unknown sea;
Into the holy Christmas dawn
Bear this impassioned prayer for me:
O, turn, dear Lord, my heart away
From things that are but for a day;
Teach me to trust thy loving will,
And bear life's heavy crosses still."

NATH