Oh that the hand that cursed me to the lash
Would bless me back to nothing with a dash!
Unjustly I the Sin-avenger hate;

Blaspheme this awful God and curse my fate!
'Tis just: since I, who bear the eternal load,
Contemned the death of an Almighty God.

Give Them Now.

F you have gentle words and looks, my friends,
To spare for me-if you have tears to shed
That I have suffered-keep them not, I pray,
Until I hear not, see not, being dead.

If you have flow'rs to give-fair lily buds,
White roses, daisies, (meadow-stars that be
Mine own dear namesakes)-let them smile and make
The air, while yet I breathe it, sweet for me.

For loving looks, though fraught with tenderness,
And kindly tears, though they fall thick and fast,
And words of praise, alas! can naught avail
To lift the shadows from a life that's past.

And rarest blossoms, what can they suffice,
Offered to one who can no longer gaze
Upon their beauty? Flow'rs in coffins laid
Impart no sweetness to departed days.

The Prairie Path.

PON the brown and frozen sod

The wind's wet fingers shake the rain; The bare shrubs shiver in the blast

Against the dripping window-pane. Inside strange shadows haunt the room,

The flickering fire-lights rise and fall,
And make I know not what strange shapes
Upon the pale gray parlor wall.

I feel but do not see these things-
My soul stands under other skies;
There is a wondrous radiance comes

Between my eyelids and my eyes.
I seem to pull down at my feet

God's gentian flowers, as on I pass Through a green prairie still and sweet

With blowing vines and blowing grass.

And then-ah! whence can he have come?-
I feel a small hand touching mine;

Our voices first are like the breath

That sways the grass and scented vine. But clearer grow the childish words,

Of Egypt and of Hindostan;

And Archie's telling me again

Where he will go when he's a man.

The smell of pine is strangely blent
With sandal-wood and broken spice
And cores of calamus; the flowers

Grow into gems of wondrous price.
We sit down in the grass and dream;
His face grows strangely bright and fair:
I think it is the amber gleam

Of sunset in his pale gold hair.

But while I look I see a path

Across the prairie to the light;
And Archie with his small bare feet
Has almost passed beyond my sight.
Upon my heart there falls a smile,

Upon my ears a soft adieu;

I see the glory in his face,

And know his dreams have all come true.

Some day I shall go hence and home-
We shall go hence, I mean to say,
And as we pass the shoals of Time,
"My brother," I shall, pleading, say,
"There was upon the prairie wide
A spot so dear to thee and me,

I fain would see it ere we walk

The fields of Immortality."

The Last Night in Gray.

IS graduate hours at last are done,
And praise, like rich aroma,

Has made their memory halcyon
With plaudit and diploma.

His thoughts are toward the future set,
And now, as night advances,

He broods, the ambitious young cadet,
O'er fate's conflicting chances.

He notes the new sword on his knee,
And dreams, while none may heed him,

Of where, in silent years to be,

Its bloodless blade shall lead him;

Till soon, from realms of fancy drawn
By delicate gradations,

Two differing visions vaguely dawn
Among his meditations.

One is a field whose tracks recall

How war has whirled and shattered

The wild grim residue of all

Its ghastly anger shattered.

And here the watchful soldier sees

His own form starkly lying,

Where moves the twilight's pensive breeze Above the dead and dying.

But happier far, in martial state,
The next fair vision rises:
He gains, triumphant and elate,

The conqueror's prize of prizes.
Beneath a radiant mid-day sun,

He rides through welcoming masses, While the pale domes of Washington Loom stately where he passes.

"O sword," he cries, with looks that glow, With eager speech disjointed, "Which vision of the two shall grow My destiny appointed?" Ah, longing soul, you vainly wait

For portent or suggestion:

Your future in the sheath of fate

Lies like the sword you question.