ift to this bitter day?

Now you are white as the mountain snow,
White as the hand that I fold you in,
And none but the angels of God may know
That either has once been stained with sin;
It was blood and wine in the old, old years,
But now it is only tears.

And so at the end of our several ways
We have met once more, and the truth is clear
That our heart's own blood no surer pays
For our sin in the past than atonement here;
But the end has come as God knows best:
Now we shall be at rest.

THE POET SHEPHERD.

Down in the vale the lazy sheep
Are roaming at their will,
But I would be away to weep
Upon the windy hill,

For Summer's song is in my heart,
Her kiss is on my brow,
As here I kneel alone, apart,
To consecrate our vow.

Ah, doubly poor the gift shall be
That links my soul with hers,
For she has given her all to me
While I can give but tears!

OUR DAILY BREAD.

"Give us this day our daily bread!" O prayer
By Jesus taught, thou hast become a cry
For starveling mouths in Famine's ghastly lair--
A beggar's plaint when Dives passes by.

We have forsook the Temple of the Soul
To carp with sordid tradesmen face to face;
No more we hear the Sinaian thunders roll,
Or Jesus preaching in the market-place.

The money-changers flaunt their silks and gold;
Within the Temple gates they ply their trade,
Forgetful of the Voice that cried of old:
"A den of thieves my Father's house is made!"

A MOTHER TO THE SEA.

You are blue, you are blue like the sky,
Cruel and cold and blue,
And I turn from you, voiceless sea,
To a sky that is voiceless, too.

Upward the vast blue arch,
Downward the blue abyss,
With a line of foam where your lips
Meet in a passionless kiss.

But the silence is breaking my heart,
And tears cannot comfort me
With God in His cold blue sky,
And my boy in the cold blue sea.

THE FEAST OF THE PASSIONS.

It wouldn't be fair to Belshazzar
When speaking of madness and mirth,
To draw from his revel a moral
For conscienceless sin in the earth,
For 'tis certain the King of Chaldea
Took note of the hand on the wall,
But here at the Feast of the Passions
We never take heed at all.