DOUBT

SLOW, groping giant, whose unsteady limbs Waver and bend and cannot keep the path,

Thy feet are foul with mire, and thy knees Torn by the nettles of the wayside fen; The dust of dogmas dead is in thy mouth, Yet down the ages thou hast followed himClear-eyed Belief- who journeys with light heart.

The leaves of Hope about his head are green,

Firm falls his foot upon the path he treads,
To every day he suits his pilgrimage,
And rest at dusk is his,-complete and
deep.

For thee the bramble: thorns of vain ́

A long drink, a deep drink, it's bumpers, Dan, you know;

No heel-taps now, old pony, you must drink the river dry!

Here's to her then, -every sunrise knows

her name,

I've given it away to every star;

But tell her that I love her, and say I drank

her health

To-day at Deadman's Bar.”

THE ROSARY

Are as a string of pearls to me;
I count them over, every one apart,
My rosary.

Each hour a pearl, each pearl a prayer,
To still a heart in absence wrung;

I tell cach bead unto the end and there A cross is hung.