u art and voiceless wilt thou be,
Across thy still, cold deeps there comes no light,
While age and aeon or a moment's flight
Pass on as one and vanish lost in thee.

Yet onward driven must our frail barques go,
Though through the night no beacon gleams afar,
And storm-clouds hide the steadfast guiding-star;
The purpose of our wandering and our woe,
A tide that wafts to some safe harbour bar,
O God, that we might know, might only know!

The Old School Bell

I can hear it calling, calling, sounding on the morning breeze,
As so often I have heard it call before,
And its ringing thrills my spirit as the wind the whispering trees,
But alas, I know for me it calls no more.
Ah, how sweet the memory lingers!
Though old Time's relentless fingers
Oft have turned the glass while flowed the sands away,
Yet I'd give the dearest treasure
Hardly gained from Fortune's measure,
Could I be a boy again for one short day.

I can see the gleaming river 'mid the willows winding blue,
I can hear the schoolboys shouting by the shore,
Then the bell begins its calling, echoing the valley through,
And the schoolboys turn toward the chapel door:
Laggard footsteps, scarcely creeping,
To the bell's low tolling keeping
Measured tread, as oft before my own have done;
Ah, the longing ceasing never
For a part in life's endeavour,
And to-day I count the gains that I have won!

I can hear it calling, calling, though its tongue no longer swings,
For within my heart its notes are ringing free,
As with silent step before me, Memory the old scene brings
And I think the old bell's voice is calling me.
Then I see the old loved faces
Grouped about their wonted places,
As the boyish voices chant their song of praise;
Gone all thought of joy or sorrow,
Loss to-day or gain to-morrow,
And I live again the life of other days.

On a Swiss Mountain

Lad, the mighty hills are calling,
Hills of promise gleaming bright,
And the floods of sunshine falling
Fill their deepest vales with light.

There the young dawn's golden fire
Beckons to a brighter day,
Untrod paths of youths' desire,
Heights unconquered far away.

Steep and dark and spectre-haunted
Winds the pathway to the height;
Sturdy youth with heart undaunted
Deems the toiling short and light.

Short or