THE TRYST.
The harvest moon in yellow haze Is steeping all the sea and land, Is kindling paths and shining ways Around the hills, across the sand.
And there are only thou and I— O sweetheart, I've no eyes to note The glory of the sea and sky, I see a softly rounded throat,
A face uplifted, pure and sweet, Two blue eyes filled with trust and love; Enough, the sea sings at our feet, The harvest moon sails just above.
A GOOD WOMAN.
Her eyes are the windows of a soul Where only the white thoughts spring, And they look, as the eyes of the angels look, For the good in everything.
Her lips can whisper the tenderest words That weary and worn can hear, Can tell of the dawn of a better morn Till only the cowards fear.
Her hands can lift up the fallen one From an overthrow complete, Can take a soul from the mire of sin And lead it to Christ's dear feet.