the temple gates.

He heaves no sighs and he sheds no tears,
For his heart is bronze, and he does not know
That his temple has been for a thousand years
But a mound of dust where the bamboos grow.

So here he sits through the nights and days,
And the sun goes up and down the sky;
But he often looks with a wistful gaze
At the crowds that always pass him by.

And his eyes half closed in a mystic dream
Of his poppy-land of long ago,
Turn back to the shores of the sacred stream
And the kneeling throng he used to know.

But he sometimes smiles as he sees the crowd
Of human folk that pass him by;
Then he wraps himself in his mystic shroud,--
And the sun once more goes down the sky.

Through a Long Cloister

Through a long cloister where the gloom of night
Lingers in sombre silence all the day,
Across worn pavements crumbling to decay
We wandered, blindly groping for the light.
A door swung wide, and splendour infinite
Streamed through the painted glass, and drove away
The lingering gloom from choir, nave and bay,
And a great minster's glory met our sight.

Blindly along life's cloister do we grope,
We seek a gate that leads to life immortal,
We see it loom before us dim and vast,
And doubt's dark shadows veil the light of hope:
When lo, Death's hand flings wide the sombre portal,
And light unfading meets our gaze at last.

The Chambly Rapid

There's a spirit in the rapid, calling, calling through the night,
There's a gleam upon the water, burning pale and burning bright.
Woe to him who hears the calling! Woe to him who sees the light!

My son and I had left St. Jean,
Our paddles dipping in the blue,
And many miles to north had gone
Along the silent Richelieu;
The night came down, we thought of rest;
A threatening cloud hung in the west.

No warning sound the river made
Save for the rapid's muffled roar,
As 'neath the pine-trees' deepening shade
We camped upon that luckless shore;
No sound the night-wind bore to me
Save one weird echo from Chambly.

The night grew dark and darker still,
The pale-faced moon was hid from sight,
When o'er the waters black and chill
We saw a ghastly, gleaming light,---
A fitful fire, pale and blue,
That burned my inmost spirit through.

And like some baleful gle