is threshold in the self-same way
To clasp his hand and vainly try to say
Words that shall soothe the heart that's stricken numb.

And I shall be among them in that place
So still and silent, where she used to sing--
The glad, sweet spirit that has taken wing--
Where shone the radiance of her lovely face,
And where she met him oft with fond embrace,
I shall step in to share his sorrowing.

Beside the staircase that has known her hand
And in the hall her presence made complete,
The home her life endowed with memories sweet
Where everything has heard her sweet command
And seems to wear her beauty, I shall stand
Wondering just how to greet him when we meet.

I dread the very silence of the place,
I dread our meeting and the time to speak--
Speech seems so vain when sorrow's at the peak!
Yet though my words lack soothing power or grace,
Perhaps he'll catch their meaning in my face
And read the tears which glisten on my cheek.

THE JOYS WE MISS

There never comes a lonely day but what we miss the laughing ways
Of those who used to walk with us through all our happy yesterdays.
We seldom miss the earthly great--the famous men that life has known--
But, as the years go racing by, we miss the friends we used to own.

The chair wherein he used to sit recalls the kindly father true,
For, oh, so filled with fun he was, and, oh, so very much he knew!
And as we face the problems grave with which the years of life are filled,
We miss the hand which guided us and miss the voice forever stilled.

We little guessed how much he did to smooth our pathway day by day,
How much of joy he brought to us, how much of care he brushed away;
But now that we must tread alone the thoroughfare of life, we find
How many burdens we were spared by him who was so brave and kind.

[Illustration: _"The Joys We Miss"_

_From a painting by_ M. L. BOWER.]

Death robs the living, not the dead--they sweetly sleep whose tasks
are done;
But we are weaker than before who still must live and labor on.
For when come care and grief to us, and heavy burdens bring us woe,
We miss the smiling, helpful friends on whom we leaned long years ago.

We miss the happy, tender ways of those who brought us mirth and cheer;
We never gather round the hearth but what we wish our friends were near;
For peace is born of simple things--a kindly word, a good-night kiss,
The prattle of a babe, and love--these are the vanished joys we mis