It may be that Death's bright angel A WOMAN'S QUESTION BY ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER Before I trust my fate to thee, I break all slighter bonds, nor feel Is there one link within the past Or is thy faith as clear and free Does there within thy dimmest dreams If so, at any pain or cost, O, tell me before all is lost! Look deeper still: if thou canst feel, Within thy inmost soul, That thou hast kept a portion back, Is there within thy heart a need One chord that any other hand Lives there within thy nature hid On all things new and strange? It may not be thy fault alone, Couldst thou withdraw thy hand one day That fate, and that to-day's mistake, - Some soothe their conscience thus; but thou Ay, answer not, — I dare not hear; The words would come too late; Yet I would spare thee all remorse, So comfort thee, my fate: Whatever on my heart may fall, Remember, I would risk it all! IN THE OLD CHURCH CHOIR BY LOWELL OTUS REESE The world was young in those days of ours. All builded of birds and of sweet spring flowers, But the world rolled back and love reigned instead For Someone sat in the seat ahead When we sang in the old church choir. Someone with eyes of the downcast brown. To see and feel as I felt that night When we sang in the old church choir! The Preacher prayed with a will. And when The Preacher preached of the bleeding Lamb, The church is gone, and the Preacher long Hark! out of the new church, deep and strong, Sweet as in the days of the crimson tam, THE OLD SWIMMIN'-HOLE BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! whare the crick so still and deep Looked like a baby-river that was lying half asleep, Before we could remember anything but the eyes But the merry days of youth is beyond our controle, And it's hard to part ferever with the old swimmin'hole. Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! In the happy days of yore, From the old man come back to the old swimmin' hole. Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! In the long, lazy days When the humdrum of school made so many run-a ways, How plesant was the jurney down the old dusty lane, Whare the tracks of our bare feet was all printed so planc You could tell by the dent of the heel and the sole They was lots o' fun on hand at the old swimmin' hole. But the lost joys is past! Let your tears in sorrow roll Like the rain that ust to dapple up the old swimmin' hole. Thare the bulrushes growed, and the cattails so tall, Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! When I last saw the place, But never again will theyr shade shelter me! And I wish in my sorrow I could strip to the soul, And dive off in my grave like the old swimmin'-hole. |