| I have a rendezvous with Death |
| At some disputed barricade, |
| When Spring comes back with rustling shade |
| And apple-blossoms fill the air— |
| I have a rendezvous with Death |
| When Spring brings back blue days and fair. |
| |
| It may be he shall take my hand |
| And lead me into his dark land |
| And close my eyes and quench my breath— |
| It may be I shall pass him still. |
| I have a rendezvous with Death |
| On some scarred slope of battered hill, |
| When Spring comes round again this year |
| And the first meadow-flowers appear. |
| |
| God knows't were better to be deep |
| Pillowed in silk and scented down, |
| Where Love throbs out in blissful sleep, |
| Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath— |
| Where hushed awakenings are dear.... |
| But I've a rendezvous with Death |
| At midnight in some flaming town, |
| When Spring trips north again this year, |
| And I to my pledged word am true, |
| I shall not fail that rendezvous. |
| |
| Alan Seeger. |
| Let us be kind; |
| The way is long and lonely, |
| And human hearts are asking for this blessing only— |
| That we be kind. |
| We cannot know the grief that men may borrow, |
| We cannot see the souls storm-swept by sorrow, |
| But love can shine upon the way to-day, to-morrow— |
| Let us be kind. |
| |
| Let us be kind; |
| This is a wealth that has no measure, |
| This is of Heaven and earth the highest treasure— |
| Let us be kind. |
| A tender word, a smile of love in meeting, |
| A song of hope and victory to those retreating, |
| A glimpse of God and brotherhood while life is fleeting— |
| Let us be kind. |
| |
| Let us be kind; |
| Around the world the tears of time are falling, |
| And for the loved and lost these human hearts are calling— |
| Let us be kind. |
| To age and youth let gracious words be spoken; |
| Upon the wheel of pain so many lives are broken, |
| We live in vain who give no tender token— |
| Let us be kind. |
| |
| Let us be kind; |
| The sunset tints will soon be in the west, |
| Too late the flowers are laid then on the quiet breast— |
| Let us be kind. |
| And when the angel guides have sought and found us, |
| Their hands shall link the broken ties of earth that bound us, |
| And Heaven and home shall brighten all around us— |
| Let us be kind. |
| |
| W. Lomax Childress. |
| Oh! listen to the water mill, through all the livelong day, |
| As the clicking of the wheels wears hour by hour away; |
| How languidly the autumn wind does stir the withered leaves |
| As in the fields the reapers sing, while binding up their sheaves! |
| A solemn proverb strikes my mind, and as a spell is cast, |
| "The mill will never grind again with water that is past." |
| |
| The summer winds revive no more leaves strewn o'er earth and main, |
| The sickle nevermore will reap the yellow garnered grain; |
| The rippling stream flows on—aye, tranquil, deep and still, |
| But never glideth back again to busy water mill; |
| The solemn proverb speaks to all with meaning deep and vast, |
| "The mill will never grind again with water that is past." |
| |
| Ah! clasp the proverb to thy soul, dear loving heart and true, |
| For golden years are fleeting by and youth is passing too; |
| Ah! learn to make the most of life, nor lose one happy day, |
| For time will ne'er return sweet joys neglected, thrown away; |
| Nor leave one tender word unsaid, thy kindness sow broadcast— |
| "The mill will never grind again with water that is past." |
| |
| Oh! the wasted hours of life, that have swiftly drifted by, |
| Alas! the good we might have done, all gone without a sigh; |
| Love that we might once have saved by a single kindly word, |
| Thoughts conceived, but ne'er expressed, perishing unpenned, unheard. |
| Oh! take the lesson to thy soul, forever clasp it fast— |
| "The mill will never grind again with water that is past." |
| |
| Work on while yet the sun doth shine, thou man of strength and will, |
| The streamlet ne'er doth useless glide by clicking water mill; |
| Nor wait until to-morrow's light beams brightly on thy way, |
| For all that thou canst call thine own lies in the phrase "to-day." |
| Possession, power and blooming health must all be lost at last— |
| "The mill will never grind again with water that is past." |
| |
| Oh! love thy God and fellowman, thyself consider last, |
| For come it will when thou must scan dark errors of the past; |
| Soon will this fight of life be o'er and earth recede from view, |
| And heaven in all its glory shine, where all is pure and true. |
| Ah! then thou'lt see more clearly still the proverb deep and vast, |
| "The mill will never grind again with water that is past." |
| |
| Sarah Doudney. |