There is the silence that comes between husband

and wife.

There is the silence of those who have failed;

And the vast silence that covers

Broken nations and vanquished leaders.

There is the silence of Lincoln,

Thinking of the poverty of his youth.
And the silence of Napoleon

After Waterloo.

And the silence of Jeanne d'Arc

Saying amid the flames, "Blessed Jesus"-
Revealing in two words all sorrows, all hope.
And there is the silence of age,

Too full of wisdom for the tongue to utter it
In words intelligible to those who have not lived
The great range of life.

And there is the silence of the dead.

If we who are in life cannot speak

Of profound experiences,

Why do you marvel that the dead
Do not tell you of death?

Their silence shall be interpreted

As we approach them.

Reprinted by permission of, and by special arrangement with, The Macmillan Company. Copyrighted by The Macmillan Company.

The Mystic

Cale Young Rice

For biographical note concerning the author, see "The Chant of the Colorado," page 11.

Here is poem full of music and rhythm. Make the most of the music that you can, not losing sight of the thought. Deliver the "Just beyond lies God" refrain slowly each time, with an impressive pause, not too long, before it.

THERE is a quest that calls me,

In nights when I am lone,

The need to ride where the ways divide
The Known from the Unknown.

I mount what thought is near me

And soon I reach the place,

The tenuous rim where the Seen grows dim
And the Sightless hides its face.

I have ridden the wind,

I have ridden the sea,

I have ridden the moon and stars.

I have set my foot in the stirrup seat

Of a comet coursing Mars.

And everywhere

Thro' the earth and air

My thought speeds, lightning-shod,

It comes to a place where checking pace

It cries, "Beyond lies God!"

It calls me out of the darkness,

It calls me out of sleep,

"Ride! ride! for you must, to the end of Dust!"

It bids-and on I sweep

To the wide outposts of Being,

Where there is Gulf alone

And thro' a Vast that was never passed

I listen for Life's tone.

I have ridden the wind,

I have ridden the night,

I have ridden the ghosts that flee

From the vaults of death like a chilling breath
Over eternity.

And everywhere

Is the world laid bare

Ether and star and clod

Until I wind to its brink and find

But the cry, "Beyond lies God!"

It calls me and ever calls me!
And vainly I reply,

"Fools only ride where the ways divide
What is from the Whence and Why!"
I'm lifted into the saddle

Of thoughts too strong to tame
And down the deeps and over the steeps
I find-ever the same.

I have ridden the wind,

I have ridden the stars,

I have ridden the force that flies

With far intent through the firmament
And each to each allies.

And everywhere

That a thought may dare

To gallop, mine has trod

Only to stand at last on the strand

Where just beyond lies God.

Reprinted by permission of the author and The Century Company, the publishers of the author's works, among which are, "Sea Poems," "Shadowy Thresholds," "Songs to A. H. R.," "Wraiths and Realities," "Earth and New Earth," and "Trails Sunward.”

Earth

John Hall Wheelock

John Hall Wheelock is a literary worker of note, and has been long connected with the publishing house of Charles Scribner's Sons, N. Y. He is a contributor to Harper's, Scribner's, The Century, and other magazines, and has published many volumes of poetry.

This poem, "Earth," taken from the author's book, "Dust and Light," shows great depth and breadth. It should be read slowly, with somewhat of grandeur and majesty. At times the style may approach the scriptural.

GRASSHOPPER, your fairy song

And my poem alike belong
To the deep and silent earth
From which all poetry has birth;

All we say and all we sing
Is but as the murmuring

Of that drowsy heart of hers

When from her deep dream she stirs:

If we sorrow or rejoice,

You and I are but her voice.

Deftly does the dust express
In mind her hidden loveliness,

And from her cool silence stream

The cricket's cry and Dante's dream:
For the earth that breeds the trees
Breeds cities too, and symphonies;
Equally her beauty flows
Into a savior, or a rose—

Toiling up the steep ascent

Towards the complete accomplishment

When all dust shall be, the whole
Universe, one conscious soul.

Yea, the quiet and cool sod

Bears in her breast the dream of God.
If you would know what earth is, scan
The intricate, proud heart of man,
Which is the earth articulate,
And learn how holy and how great,
How limitless and how profound
Is the nature of the ground-
How without terror or demur
We may entrust ourselves to her
When we are wearied out, and lay
Our faces in the common clay.

For she is pity, she is love,
All wisdom she, all thoughts that move
About her everlasting breast
Till she gathers them to rest:
All tenderness of all the ages,
Seraphic secrets of the sages,
Vision and hope of all the seers,
All prayer, all anguish, and all tears