Only when our souls are fed We, like parted drops of rain, 1 IN THEE, AND THOU IN ME. I AM but clay in thy hands, but Thou art the all-loving artist. Passive I lie in thy sight, yet in my selfhood I strive So to embody the life and the love thou ever impartest, That in my sphere of the finite, I may be truly alive. Knowing thou needest this form, as I thy divine inspiration, Knowing thou shapest the clay with a vision and purpose divine, So would I answer each touch of thy hand in its loving creation, Thine, thine only, this warm, dear life, O loving Creator! Thine the invisible future, born of the present, must be. SOFT, BROWN, SMILING EYES. SOFT, brown, smiling eyes, Looking back through years, In the scented air of June,- Silky rippling curls, Tresses long ago Of the peerless day That in my conscious life thy pow-Voice whose tender tones er and beauty may shine, Reflecting the noble intent thou hast in forming thy creatures; Waking from sense into life of the soul, and the image of thee; Working with thee in thy work to model humanity's features Into the likeness of God, myself from myself I would free. One with all human existence, no one above or below me; Lit by thy wisdom and love, as roses are steeped in the morn; Growing from clay to a statue, from statue to flesh, till thou know me Wrought into manhood celestial, and in thine image re-born. So in thy love will I trust, bringing me sooner or later Past the dark screen that divides these shows of the finite from thee. Break in sudden mirth, Heard far back in boyhood's spring, Silent now on earth; Why so sweet and clear, While the bird and bee Fill the balmy summer air, Come your tones to me? Sweet, ah, sweeter far Than yon thrush's trill, Sadder, sweeter than the wind, Woods, or murmuring rill, Spirit words and songs O'er my senses creep. Do I breathe the air of dreams? Do I wake or sleep? WHY? WHY was I born, and where was I I live and feel and think and know? What the allegiance that I owe Look on the millions born to blight; The souls that pine for warmth and light: To tides beyond all time and space? By fate, an exile, driven forlorn Tell me the meaning of the breath That whispers from the house of death. That chills thought's metaphysic strife, That dims the dream of After-life. Why, when the scarlet sunset floods Illume the snow and veil the stars With streaming bands and wavering bars, Or music's sensuous, soul-like wine Tell me why instincts meant for good And finite still mean suffering? pack The foul streets and the alleys black, The miserable lives that crawl Outside the grim partition wall 'Twixt rich and poor, 'twixt foul and fair, 'Twixt vaulting hope and lame despair. On that wall's sunny side, within, Hang ripening fruits and tendrils green, O'er garden-beds of bloom and spice, Make pictures in Arcadian nooks. groans; Through blinding dust, o'er bleak highway, The slant sun's melancholy ray Sees stagnant pool and poisonous weed, The hearts that faint, the feet that bleed, The grovelling aim, the flagging faith, The starving curse, the drowning death! O wise philosopher! you soothe Our troubles with a touch too smooth. Too plausibly your reasonings come. Until a wall shuts out my day,- Could I dive under pain and death, Or mount and breathe the whole heaven's breath, And in blossomed vale and grove But that time is gone and past, Can the summer always last? And the swains are wiser grown, And the heart is turned to stone, And the maiden's rose may wither; Oh, for the old true-love time, THOU hast sworn by thy God, my Jeanie, Then foul fa' the hands that wad loose sic bands, An' the heart that wad part sic luve; band, By that pretty white hand o' thine, But there's nae hand can loose my And by a' the lowing stars in heaven, That thou wad aye be mine; And I hae sworn by my God, my Jeanie, And by that kind heart o' thine, By a' the stars sown thick owre heaven, That thou shalt aye be mine. But the finger o' God abuve. Though the wee, wee cot maun be my bield, And my claithing e'er so mean, I wad lap me up rich i' the faulds o' luve, Heaven's armfu' o' my Jean. Her white arm wad be a pillow for me Fu' soon I'll follow thee, my lassie, An' sweetly I'd sleep, an' soun'. Come here to me, thou lass o' my luve, Come here, and kneel wi' me! An' I canna pray without thee. The morn-wind is sweet 'mang the beds o' new flowers, The wee birds sing kindlie an' hie; Our gudeman leans owre his kaleyard dyke, And a blithe auld bodie is he. Fu' soon I'll follow thee; I looked on thy death-cold face, my I looked on thy death-cold face; Thou seemed a lily new cut i' the bud, An' fading in its place. I looked on thy death-shut eye, my lassie, I looked on thy death-shut eye; An' a lovelier light in the brow o' heaven Fell time shall ne'er destroy. The beuk maun be taen when the Thy lips were ruddy and calm, my carle comes hame, Wi' the holie psalmodie; lassie, Thy lips were ruddy and calm; And thou maun speak o' me to thy But gane was the holy breath o' heav O, what'll she do in heaven, my las- A WET sheet and a flowing sea, |