A Saint in a stained glass window,
To the memory of one
Who “lived the life,”
In sin and strife,
Is the epitome of fun.
A bit of colored crockery,
A picture wrought in glass,
His memory’s mockery
’Tis best to let it pass.
A Saint in a stained glass window,
A blest memorial true,
When it reflects the beauty of
The memory of you.
DUST TO DUST
I take a bone—I gaze at it in wonder—You, O bit of strength that was. In you today I see the whited sepulchre of nothingness—but you were the shaft that held the wagon of Life. Your strength held together the vehicle of Man until God called and the Soul answered.
LULLABY TREE
Cradle a thought on a bough of a tree,
Where it will swing so lazily,
Where it will gather to its heart
All in Nature’s lovely mart.
For every lovely living thing
Stops to talk by a tree and sing,
Of what has gone on that very day
In fields and forests far away.
If little thoughts hear happily
All that’s said about a tree,
They’ll grow to be so wise and true,
They’ll come back to the heart of you
Much stronger, grown in beauty free,
Because their cradle was a tree.