Love, deathless and forgiving, crowns with bays
The future and our hopes, as full of grace,
As youth had fondly dreamed in other days,
When first we knew how sweet was her embrace.
God's endless purpose guides the feet of men;
Beyond our pride we meet in love again!

THE DYING HERO.

His greatness hath not left him; till the years
Have won the nation from her children dead,
And robbed her of remembrance where she rears
Her monuments above the blood they shed,
Will his name want for homage; with sad fears
The Union winds her garlands o'er his head,
And fondly wreathes her love, bedewed with tears,
To bless the hero on his dying bed.

His luster lives untarnished; as he lies
Where Malady has bound him in wild pain,
And only Death can loose the heavy chain
That galls her captive while his nature dies,
He seems far greater in his country's eyes,
Than if an Appomattox spake again.

SONNET.

Somehow, someway, I can not see the light;
The giant hills of doubting reach the skies,
Abiding shadows bring eternal night,
And on my ways no suns of morning rise;
Dark mysteries across the years of might
Crush down my hopes, until each yearning dies,
Until my soul is weary, dim my sight,
And ghostly echoes mock my fainting cries.

Ah, I shall know beyond these narrow years,
The glorious mornings of eternal day,
Where perfect love and tender trust shall play,
And smiles and laughter banish all the tears,
And all the heavy mists of doubts and fears
Shall leave my longing soul somehow, someway!

GREATNESS LIVES APART.

Great natures live apart; the mountain gray
May call no comrade to his lonely side;
The giant ocean, wrapped in storm and spray,
Has no companion for her endless tide;
The forest monarch, where his parents died,
Can find no brother in his lofty sway,
And mighty rivers chafe their margins wide
Where infant rills and childish fountains play.

So heroes live; no raptured blossoms start
Where rugged heights of human glory end;
No tender songs of loving beauty blend
Their chorus in the great man's peerless heart;
Fate fills their souls with magnitude, and art
Supplies their lives with no congenial friend.

POEMS.

Poems are holy things. Eternal Truth,
Borrowing the robes of song and lovely grown,
In them her glory unto man pro