A PROPHECY.

WITH lifted head and high prophetic mouth
Half-opened, in the days of nations' drouth

She gave her voice to heaven; and all the land
Stood round expectant, as the people stand
To hear a Sibyl speak of peace or war.

So in those summer days did she declare
Rain upon Earth; and as the people prayed
Long, loudly and prophetically brayed.

ONLY A SMILE.

ONLY a smile, from one of a crowd,
Because the world was rainy and loud,
And the wind ran gustily down the street
With buffeting dance of boisterous feet;
Only a smile, but passing sweet,

For the world was rainy and loud.

Only a smile, not anything more,

For further response the rude wind bore

High out of our reach. Yet unto us straight

The strong world stooped, as a slave, in its state, At the token of that which is passing great,

A smile, not anything more.

THE FELLOWSHIP OF HUMANITY.

As one who, late at eve returning home
Under the stars, hears on the common road

A fellow-footstep fall, and sees one come
Dimly, he knows not whom, nor can forebode;

But cries to him 'God speed thee,' and is glad

Hearing his restful answer through the night, And dreams of love, and though his heart be sad Feels darkly some strange instinct of delight:

So I to thee. If on this earthly way

Our paths had lain together, I perchance

In the sweet sunlight had beheld thy day
And known thee as thou art-as in a trance,—

And loved thee, and thou me.

But seeing now

Sad night compels us, and our way is won Though ignorance and blindness to the brow

Of that fair mountain of the morning Sun

Whence Truth is manifest, let us remain

In word and action strangers, yet in heart One and well-known by every joy and pain

That makes divine our little human part.

THE FELLOWSHIP OF SUFFERING.

O WEARY child of man, O mortal friend,
Afar, unseen, by road or river bend,

By mountain, plain, or city, still the same,
Human, unfriended, with the piercing flame
Of endless sorrow in thine aching heart :
Hear me, for unto thee my spirit yearns ;
Touch me, behold me, where the twilight turns,
Uplifting white arms to the tireless morn:
Hear me, for in thy torment I am torn ;
Hear me, for in thy passion I have part.

O child, O child, how sadly sang the world
Its old old song of keen cold carelessness,
How blindly blew the wind of loneliness
About thy soul in frozen garments furled ;