And leave the husks. Thou'rt very beautiful, He there? For he has never since come back. Men die to win. My husband didst thou take, A CHRISTMAS HYMN By JOHN PAUL BOCOCK ['Book Treasures of Mæcenas,' 1904. By permission of Mrs. John Paul Bocock.] Sweet as she sat in the twilight dim Echoed the strains of her Christmas hymn, "Now, O Lord, for Thy tender grace, For the deathless love in Thy pitying face, For the pangs Thou hast borne that we might not bear, For the blessed sense of Thy constant care— For Thy dear sake be our sins forgot; Change our hearts, Thou who changest not! "Help us, Lord, in the dark and cold, To feed Thy lambs. From the sheltering fold "Now, in the glow of the Christmas-tide, For the sake of that tree on which Thou hast died, But is blessed with the love we would learn from Thee IN THE LIBRARY By JOHN PAUL BOCOCK ['Book Treasures of Mæcenas,' 1904. By permission of Mrs. John Paul Bocock.] Here in immemorial peace Sorrow finds a swift surcease, And Care knits her "ravelled sleeve" Here the vines that Virgil trained And that famed Bandusian font, Here, from its Arcadian wood, Charlemagne comes hunting here, Old-world phantoms, dearer far Hic manet felicitas. THE HEART OF FIRE By WALTER KEMPER BOCOCK [The Antiphon to the Stars,' 1907. By permission of Mrs. R. B. Willis.] Spoke the Volcano: "The curse is upon me! Bathed in the sunlight; Storms were below me; Peaceful my summit. On their horizon. "Now the foundations Tremble below me. Earth is unsettled; Hell's fiends are raging Penned in my bosom. Heaven is hidden by There is no firmament; Save when the tempest Showering the world with All of my verdure Burning to blackness; Leaving me hideous, Slept the volcano Ages and ages. Sunshine was bathing All of his landscapes. Higher his summit; Mined from his bosom; Fair were the flowers, Healthgiving waters Flowed from his fountains. Said the Great Spirit: "Heaven surrounds thee! Hell that o'erwhelmed thee Was of thy making.” IMPERATOR ORBIS By WALTER KEMPER BOCOCK ['The Antiphon to the Stars,' 1907. By permission of Mrs. R. B. Willis.] I, it is I, who divide the world to my faithfullest vassals; Swaying the sceptre of olive for them that peaceably hear me; Throneless and crownless I sit in an office upstairs or a cellar. heavens; Nevertheless the Czars, the Kaisers, the Kings, and the Sultans, Presidents, ministers, generals, admirals, governors, speakers, Keep their ears to the ground, and trembling do as I bid them. I was begotten of Order, but nursed at the bosom of Freedom! Skilful am I to cut them up when I have outgrown them, Making my vesture over to suit my work and my season. I am the world's perpetual court of high arbitration; Most of my cases are settled without the aid of another. I am election day, the polling place, and the ballot. I am the stock exchange, the lecture room, and the pulpit. GOD BLESS YOU, DEAR By WILLIAM PAGE CARTER ['Echoes from the Glen in Divers Keys,' 1904.] If I should say to-night, "God bless you, dear," If I should say to-night, "I'm tired, dear," And say, and say, "Sweet rest!" Oh, would you hear? And if I said "I'm tired," would its tone Go up behind the stars, and would you hear, If I should say to-night, "God bless you, dear?" If I should say to-night, "The years are drear," Me say to-night, to-night, "God bless you, dear?" |