ᎪᎢ ᎢᎻᎬ ᎻᎬᎪᎡᎢ

BY M. A. DEWOLFE HOWE

The heart is but a narrow space
For paltriness to find a place;
But in its precincts there is room
Sufficient unto bliss or doom.

The certainties, so few, are there,
The doubts that feed the soul with care;
The passions battling with the will

To guide their liege to good or ill;
The saving grace of reverence,
The saving hatred of pretence;

The sympathy of common birth
With all the native things of earth:
The love begun with life, the love
That years diminish not, nor move;
And-more in such a narrow space?-
The image of a woman's face.

FOOL AND WISE

BY COVENTRY PATMORE

Endow the fool with sun and moon,

Being his, he holds them mean and low;

But to the wise a little boon

Is great, because the giver's so.

SONNET

BY SNOW Longley

I dreamed last night I stood with God on high,
And saw the centuries glide, like falling rain,
Into the still pool of eternity,

Whose calm deeps scarcely rippled with their gain; And everywhere, in flower and bud and tree,

In savage beast or stirring of the clod,

In the on-marching of humanity,

I seemed to see life reaching up to God;
And little joys that I had counted great,
And loss of love with all its wealth of gain,
Seemed less than that my soul drag not its weight,
Nor stay the age-long welding of life's chain.
O God, when self would seek its own delight,
Renew to me Thy vision of the night.

FINIS

BY WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR

I strove with none, for none was worth my strife.
Nature I loved and, next to Nature, Art:

I warm'd both hands before the fire of life;
It sinks, and I am ready to depart.

JOY

BY CARL SANDBURG

Let a joy keep you.
Reach out your hands

And take it when it runs by,
As the Apache dancer
Clutches his woman.

I have seen them

Live long and laugh loud,
Sent on singing, singing,
Smashed to the heart

Under the ribs

With a terrible love.

Joy always,

Joy everywhere—

Let joy kill you!

Keep away from the little deaths.

COMPENSATION

BY THEODOSIA GARRISON

Because I craved a gift too great
For any prayer of mine to bring,
To-day with empty hands I go;
Yet must my heart rejoice to know
I did not ask a lesser thing.

Because the goal I sought lay far
In cloud-hid heights, to-day my soul
Goes unaccompanied of its own;
Yet this shall comfort me alone,
I did not seek a nearer goal.

O gift ungained, O goal unwon!
Still am I glad, remembering this,
For all I go unsatisfied,

I have kept faith with joy denied,
Nor cheated life with cheaper bliss.

THE ANODYNE

BY SARAH N. Cleghorn

In the late evening, when the house is still,

For an intense instant,

I lift my clean soul out of the soiled garments of mortality.

No sooner is it free to rise than it bends back earth

ward

And touches mortal life with hands like the hands that troubled the waters of Bethesda.

So this incorruptible touches the corrupt;

This immortal cools with a touch

The beaded forehead of mortality.