THE MYSTIC
The mystic sits by the sacred stream
Watching the sun as it mounts the sky;
And life to him is a haunting dream
Or a motley pageant passing by.
Sorrow and joy go on their way,
Passion and lust and love and hate;
Only a band of mummers they,
Blindly led by the hand of fate.
Though the pageant is real and himself the dream,
Though men are born and strive and die,
Yet the mystic sits by the sacred stream
Watching the sun go down the sky.
AD EPISCOPI COLLEGIUM
Here in the beautiful valley, here where the fair rivers meeting,
Mingle their waters in silence and wander afar to the sea,
Now does thy son returning offer thee homage and greeting,
Now do my wandering footsteps turn, O Mother, to thee.
Gleam in the light of the sunset cross and turret and tower,
Mirrored majestic and silent down by the willow-clad shore;
Far through the valley resounding, telling the evensong hour,
Echoes the old bell's tolling, calling me back once more.
Here in the halls where I lingered, there in the woods where I wandered,
On campus and river and hillside other young lives are aglow,
Dreaming the dreams that I dreamed, thinking the thoughts that I pondered
Deeming the pathway long and the swift-footed hours slow.