Yet one dear thought in my heart is resting
As I face the path I must tread ere long,
When wearied with life's unending questing,
Its tawdry joys and its idle jesting,
I shall pass to the midst of the missing throng.
That here I have known your heart's dear thrilling,
Your helping hand and your watchful eye,
My life with your tender love fulfilling.
I know but this, and am strangely willing
To learn your love and in learning—die.
GUY WETMORE CARRYL. Columbia Spectator.
~Safe.~
When I picked up her glove
I let Fate decide it.
So great was my love,
When I picked up her glove;
'Twas as soft as a dove
And her hand was inside it.
When I picked up her glove
I let Fate decide it.
W. Columbia Spectator.
~Her Winsome Smile.~
Her winsome smile! It beams on me
From where the choir makes melody,
Behind the parson; maid demure,
Her witching eyes my thoughts allure,
Although, in church, this should not be.
Pale Luna's light, the dimpling sea,
Are very taking, I'll agree;
But to her smile all else is poor—
Her winsome smile.
The preacher, in a mournful key,
Shoves on the Year of Jubilee,
Shows present times without a cure,
With pessimistic portraiture—
His back is turned, he cannot see
Her winsome smile.
HARRY KEISER MUNROE. Wesleyan Argus.