A

A WINTRY SONNET.

ROBIN said: The Spring will never come,

And I shall never care to build again.

A Rosebush said: These frosts are wearisome,

My sap will never stir for sun or rain.

The half Moon said: These nights are fogged and slow,

I neither care to wax nor care to wane. The Ocean said: I thirst from long ago,

Because earth's rivers cannot fill the main. When springtime came, red Robin built a nest, And trilled a lover's song in sheer delight. Gray hoarfrost vanished, and the Rose with might Clothed her in leaves and buds of crimson core. The dim Moon brightened. Ocean sunned his crest, Dimpled his blue, yet thirsted evermore.

RESURGAM.

ROM depth to height, from height to loftier height, The climber sets his foot and sets his face, Tracks lingering sunbeams to their halting-place, And counts the last pulsations of the light. Strenuous thro' day and unsurprised by night He runs a race with Time, and wins the race,. Emptied and stripped of all save only Grace, Will, Love, a threefold panoply of might. Darkness descends for light he toiled to seek ; He stumbles on the darkened mountain-head,

Left breathless in the unbreathable thin air, Made freeman of the living and the dead,He wots not he has topped the topmost peak, But the returning sun will find him there.

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TO-DAY'S BURDEN.

ARISE, depart, for this is not your rest."

Oh, burden of all burdens, - still to arise

And still depart, nor rest in any wise!
Rolling, still rolling thus to east from west,
Earth journeys on her immemorial quest,
Whom a moon chases in no different guise.
Thus stars pursue their courses, and thus flies
The sun, and thus all creatures manifest
Unrest, the common heritage, the ban

Flung broadcast on all humankind,

on all Who live; for living, all are bound to die. That which is old, we know that it is man.

These have no rest who sit and dream and sigh, Nor have those rest who wrestle and who fall.

"THERE IS A BUDDING MORROW IN MIDNIGHT."

WINTRY boughs against a wintry sky;

Yet the sky is partly blue

And the clouds are partly bright.

Who can tell but sap is mounting high
Out of sight,

Ready to burst through?

Winter is the mother-nurse of Spring,

Lovely for her daughter's sake,

Not unlovely for her own;

For a future buds in everything

Grown or blown

Or about to break.

EXULTATE DEO.

ANY a flower hath perfume for its dower,

MANY

And many a bird a song,

And harmless lambs milkwhite beside their dams

Perfume and song and whiteness offering praise In humble, peaceful ways.

Man's high degree hath will and memory,

Affection and desire;

By loftier ways he mounts of prayer and praise, Fire unto fire,

Deep unto deep responsive, height to height,

Until he walk in white.