Wherever men will let them. Every waste
And solitary place is glad for them,
Since the old prophets sang, so, until now.”
“Phebe” has a prominent place in the book—the poem that drew from Mr. Howells, when he was editor of the “Atlantic,” a most graceful note of acceptance:—
My dear Miss Larcom,—You take rejections so sweetly, that I have scarcely the heart to accept anything of yours. But I do like “Phebe,” and I am going to keep her.
“Shared” excited admiration; and was pronounced by one competent critic to be the best religious lyric of the decade:—
“The air we breathe, the sky, the breeze,
The light without us and within,
Life, with its unlocked treasuries,
God’s riches, are for all to win.”