And soften in the old familiar way; For who could war with dumb, unconscious clay? O friends, I pray to-night, Keep not your kisses for my dead, cold brow; My faltering feet are pierced with many a thorn. BELLE E. SMITH. O May I Join the Choir Envisible. Longum illud tempus quum non ero magis me movet quam hoc exiguum.-CICERO. O MAY I join the choir invisible Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence: live In pulses stirred to generosity, In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn For miserable aims that end with self, In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars, To make undying music in the world, For which we struggled, failed, and agonized Its discords, quenched by meeting harmonies, And all our rarer, better, truer self, That sobbed religiously in yearning song, And what may yet be better saw within A worthier image for the sanctuary, To higher reverence more mixed with love- Which martyred men have made more glorious Whose music is the gladness of the world. Cuddle Doon. GEORGE ELIOT. THE bairnies cuddle doon at nicht, "O try and sleep, ye waukrife rogues, They never heed a word I speak ; I try to gie a froon, But aye I hap them up, an' cry, "O bairnies, cuddle doon." Wee Jamie wi the curly head- Bangs up an' cries, "I want a piece!" I rin an' fetch them pieces, drinks, Then draw the blankets up, an' cry, But ere five minutes gang wee Rab The mischief's in that Tam for tricks, But aye I hap them up, an' cry, "O bairnies, cuddle doon." At length they hear their father's fit, They turn their faces to the wa', "Hae a' the weans been gude?" he asks As he pits off his shoon. "The bairnies, John, are in their beds, An' lang since cuddled doon." An' just afore we bed oorsel' We look at oor wee lambs; Tam has his airm roun' wee Rab's neck, An' Rab his airm roun' Tam's. I lift wee Jamie up the bed, I whisper, till my heart fills up, The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht, Wi' mirth that's dear to me; But sune the big warl's cark an' care Will quaten doon their glee. Yet come what will to ilka ane, May He who sits aboon Aye whisper, though their pows be bauld, "O bairnies, cuddle doon." ALEXANDER ANDERSON. Light. THE night has a thousand eyes, And the day but one; Yet the light of the bright world dies The mind has a thousand eyes, Yet the light of a whole life dies When love is done. FRANCIS WILLIAM BOURDILLON. What My Lover Said. By the merest chance, in the twilight gloom, In the tall, wet grass, with its faint perfume, Oh I tried, but he would not let me. While he took my hand as he whispering said Oh, the clover in bloom, I love it!) In the high, wet grass went the path to hide, And he looked down into my eyes and said —- Oh, the leaves hanging lowly o'er me!) Had he moved aside but a little way, I could surely then have passed him; It was almost dark, and the moments sped, And the searching night wind found us, Oh, the whispering wind around us!) I am sure he knew, when he held me fast, For I tried to go, and I would have passed, But he clasped me close when I would have fled, And his soul came out from his lips and said (How the stars crept out where the white moon led, To listen to all that my lover said; Oh, the moon and the stars in glory!) |