Last night at last I could have slept,

And yet delayed my sleep till dawn, Still wandering. Then it was I wept:

For unawares I came upon

Those glades where once she walked with me. And as I stood there suddenly,

All wan with traversing the night, Upon the desolate verge of light Yearned loud the iron-bosomed sea.

Even so, where Heaven holds breath and heare
The beating heart of Love's own breast, —
Where round the secret of all spheres

All angels lay their wings to rest,-
How shall my soul stand rapt and awed,
When, by the new birth borne abroad
Throughout the music of the suns,
It enters in her soul at once

And knows the silence there for God!

Here with her face doth memory sit

Meanwhile, and wait the day's decline,

Till other eyes shall look from it,

Eyes of the spirit's Palestine,

Even than the old gaze

tenderer:

While hopes and aims long lost with her Stand round her image side by side,

Like tombs of pilgrims that have died About the Holy Sepulchre.

SISTER HELEN.

'WHY did you melt your waxen man,

Sister Helen?

To-day is the third since you began.'

'The time was long, yet the time ran,

Little brother.'

(O Mother, Mary Mother,

Three days to-day, between Hell and Heaven!)

'But if you have done your work aright,

Sister Helen,

You'll let me play, for you said I might.'

'Be very still in your play to-night,

Little brother.'

(O Mother, Mary Mother,

Third night, to-night, between Hell and Heaven!)

You said it must melt ere vesper-bell,

Sister Helen;

If now it be molten, all is well.'

Even so,

nay, peace! you cannot tell,

Little brother.'

(O Mother, Mary Mother,

O what is this, between Hell and Heaven?)

'Oh the waxen knave was plump to-day,

Sister Helen;

How like dead folk he has dropped away!' "Nay now, of the dead what can you say,

Little brother?'

(0 Mother, Mary Mother,

What of the dead, between Hell and Heaven?)

'See, see, the sunken pile of wood,

Sister Helen,

Shines through the thinned wax red as blood!' 'Nay now, when looked you yet on blood,

Little brother?'

(O Mother, Mary Mother,

How pale she is, between Hell and Heaven!)

'Now close your eyes, for they're sick and sore,

Sister Helen,

And I'll play without the gallery door.'

'Aye, let me rest,

-

- I'll lie on the floor,

Little brother.'

(O Mother, Mary Mother,

What rest to-night, between Hell and Heaven ?)

'Here high up in the balcony,

Sister Helen,

The moon flies face to face with me.'

'Aye, look and say whatever you see,

Little brother.'

(O Mother, Mary Mother,

What sight to-night, between Hell and Heaven?)

Outside it's merry in the wind's wake,

Sister Helen;

In the shaken trees the chill stars shake.'

Hush, heard you a horse-tread as you spake,

Little brother?'

(O Mother, Mary Mother,

What sound to-night, between Hell and Heaven?)