We've winters and summers and autumns and springs, We've Aprils and Augusts, Octobers and MaysThe world is so full of a number of things. Though minor the key of my lyrical strings, I change it to major when pæaning praise: I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings. Each morning a myriad wonderments brings, With pansies and roses and pendants and rings, With purples and yellows and scarlets and grays, I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings. So pardon a bard if he carelessly sings A solo indorsing these Beautiful Days— The world is so full of a number of things, I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings. COMMUNION BY SOPHIE JEWETT Dusk of a lowering evening, And an exiled heart alone. .... Warm, as with sun of the tropic, Sweet, as with breath of blown roses, WHEN YOU ARE OLD BY WILLIAM BUTLER Yeats When you are old and gray and full of sleep And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep; How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true; But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face. And bending down beside the glowing bars, From THE DEATH SONG IN THE MASQUE OF TALIESIN BY RICHARD HOVEY Man from his blindness attaining the succor of sight, God from his glory descends to the shape we can see; Life, like a moon, is a radiant pearl in the night Thrilled with his beauty to beacon o'er forest and sea; Life, like a sacrifice laid on the altar, delight Kindles as flame from the air to be fire at its core! Joy, joy, joy in the deep and the height! Joy in the holiest, joy evermore, evermore! THE OPTIMIST BY GRAHAM R. TOMSON . Heed not the folk who sing or say In sonnet sad or sermon chill, "Alas! alack! and well-a-day! This round world's but a bitter pill!" Poor porcupines of fretful quill! Sometimes we quarrel with our lot: We, too, are sad and careful-still, We'd rather be alive than not. What though we wish the cats at play Though Sophonisba drop the tray And all our worshipped Worcester spill, Though May be cold and June be hot, Though April freeze and August grill,— We'd rather be alive than not. And, sometimes, on a summer's day To self and every mortal ill We give the slip, we steal away, To lie beside some sedgy rill; The darkening years, the cares that kill, A little while are well forgot; Deep in the broom upon the hill We'd rather be alive than not. Pistol, with oaths didst thou fulfil A LITTLE SONG OF LIFE BY LIZETTE WOODWORTH Reese Glad that I live am I; And the fall of dew. After the sun the rain After the rain the sun; All that we need to do, From PSALM CIII BY DAVID Bless the LORD, O my soul: And all that is within me, bless his holy name. Bless the LORD, O my soul, And forget not all his benefits: Who forgiveth all thine iniquities; Who healeth all thy diseases; Who redeemeth thy life from destruction; Who crowneth thee with lovingkindness and tender mercies; Who satisfieth thy mouth with good things; So far hath he removed our transgressions from us. So the LORD pitieth them that fear him. For he knoweth our frame; He remembereth that we are dust. As for man, his days are as grass: As a flower of the field, so he flourisheth. For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone; |