Frolic's dearth and labor's glut
Clamp your mind into a rut?
Does your spirit cease to burgeon?—
Summon the Celestial Surgeon;
Bid R. Hovey make you play;
Pluck the figs of E. Millay,
(Serve them with a pinch of salt!);
Take the open road with Walt.

Is the world drab, gross, malign?—
Flush your brow with beauty's wine.
Through its dream stuff be new born;
Stand with Ruth amid the corn;
Heed "the studious cloister's" hymn
And "the young-eyed cherubim.”

Are you cold with melancholy?—
Certain psalms are passing jolly.
Never let a sigh disgrace you

When Bliss Carman's tune can brace you!
Rout the imps with Yeats's guile,
Masefield's chuckle, Milton's smile.

Or is life so blurred with sorrow
That you shudder at tomorrow?
Feel the Stygian world new born
As you sound Pandora's horn!
See the murky sky relume

As you touch her helm and plume!

R. H. S.

RI

STIMULANTS FOR A FAINT HEART

(Poems of Courage)

AT THE END OF THE DAY

BY RICHARD HOVEY

There is no escape by the river,
There is no flight left by the fen;
We are compassed about by the shiver
Of the night of their marching men.
Give a cheer!

For our hearts shall not give way.

Here's to a dark to-morrow,

And here's to a brave to-day!

The tale of their hosts is countless,

And the tale of ours a score;

But the palm is naught to the dauntless,

And the cause is more and more.

Give a cheer!

We may die, but not give way.

Here's to a silent morrow,

And here's to a stout to-day!

God has said: "Ye shall fail and perish;
But the thrill ye have felt to-night

I shall keep in my heart and cherish
When the worlds have passed in night."
Give a cheer!

For the soul shall not give way.