The swallow had a broken wing,
And after all my journeying

There was no water in the spring-
My friend has said me nay.

But yet somehow I needs must sing
As on a luckier day.

Dusk falls as gray as any tear,
There is no hope in sight!

But something in me seems so fair,
That like a star I needs must wear
A safety made of shining air
Between me and the night.
Such inner weavings do I wear
All fashioned of delight!

I need not for these robes of mine
The loveliness of earth,

But happenings remote and fine

Like threads of dreams will blow and shine

In gossamer and crystalline,

And I was glad from birth.

So even while my eyes repine,

My heart is clothed in mirth.

OVER THE SHOULDERS AND SLOPES OF THE DUNE

BY BLISS CARMAN

Over the shoulders and slopes of the dune
I saw the white daisies go down to the sea,

A host in the sunshine, an army in June, The people God sends us to set our hearts free.

The bobolinks rallied them up from the dell,
The orioles whistled them out of the wood,
And all of their singing was "Earth it is well,"
And all of their dancing was "Life, thou art good."

Golden hands,

Golden wings,

GOLDEN HANDS

(AUTHOR UNKNOWN)

With thy fiery radiance

Scorch and consume all ills and evil,

And bring the day

That will press my heart against the heart of God.

From PSALM XCV

O come, let us sing unto the LORD:

Let us make a joyful noise to the Rock of our salvation.
Let us come before his presence with thanksgiving,
And make a joyful noise unto him with psalms.
For the LORD is a great God,

And a great King above all gods.

In his hand are the deep places of the earth:
The strength of the hills is his also.

The sea is his, and he made it:
And his hands formed the dry land.
O come, let us worship and bow down:
Let us kneel before the LORD our maker.

THE PLACE OF REST

BY A. E.

The soul is its own witness and its own refuge

Unto the deep the deep heart goes,
It lays its sadness nigh the breast:
Only the Mighty Mother knows
The wounds that quiver unconfessed.

It seeks a deeper silence still;
It folds itself around with peace,
Where thoughts alike of good or ill
In quietness unfostered cease.

It feels in the unwounding vast
For comfort for its hopes and fears:
The Mighty Mother bows at last;
She listens to her children's tears.

Where the last anguish deepens-there
The fire of beauty smites through pain:
A glory moves amid despair,
The Mother takes her child again.

A BLACKBIRD SUDDENLY

BY JOSEPH AUSLANDER

Heaven is in my hand, and I

Touch a heart-beat of the sky,

Hearing a blackbird's cry.

Strange, beautiful, unquiet thing,
Lone flute of God, how can you sing
Winter to spring?

You have outdistanced every voice and word, And given my spirit wings until it stirred Like you a bird!

ANGLER

BY ISABEL FISKE CONANT

I go a-fishing
With a jointed rod,
In a still river

By a field of God.

Sometimes the sinker

Is a leaden grief.
Sometimes the bait is

Joy, light as a leaf.

Few the soft splashes
On a sunny day,

The circles widen mostly
When the skies are gray.

Even when returning
With no shining string,
I have watched by water
And heard the thrush sing.

THE SECRET

BY JESSIE B. RITTEN HOUSE

I go in vesture spun by hands
Upon no loom of earth,
I dwell within a shining house
That has no walls nor hearth;

I live on food more exquisite
Than honey of the bee,
More delicate than manna
It falls to nourish me;

But none may see my shining house,

Nor taste my food so rare,

And none may see my moon-spun robe
Nor my star-powdered hair.

JOY

BY HILDA CONKLING

Joy is not a thing you can see.

It is what you feel when you watch waves breaking,