[Illustration]

“OUT OF REACH?”

You think them “out of reach,” your dead? 
  Nay, by my own dead, I deny
Your “out of reach.”—­Be comforted: 
 ’Tis not so far to die.

O by their dear remembered smiles
  And outheld hands and welcoming speech,
They wait for us, thousands of miles
  This side of “out-of-reach.”

[Illustration]

“A BRAVE REFRAIN”

When snow is here, and the trees look weird,
  And the knuckled twigs are gloved with frost;
When the breath congeals in the drover’s beard,
  And the old pathway to the barn is lost;
When the rooster’s crow is sad to hear,
  And the stamp of the stabled horse is vain,
And the tone of the cow-bell grieves the ear—­
  O then is the time for a brave refrain!

When the gears hang stiff on the harness-peg,
  And the tallow gleams in frozen streaks;
And the old hen stands on a lonesome leg,
  And the pump sounds hoarse and the handle squeaks;
When the woodpile lies in a shrouded heap,
  And the frost is scratched from the window-pane
And anxious eyes from the inside peep—­
  O then is the time for a brave refrain!

When the ax-helve warms at the chimney-jamb,
  And hob-nailed shoes on the hearth below,
And the house-cat curls in a slumber calm,
  And the eight-day clock ticks loud and slow;
When the harsh broom-handle jabs the ceil
  ’Neath the kitchen-loft, and the drowsy brain
Sniffs the breath of the morning meal—­
  O then is the time for a brave refrain!

ENVOI

When the skillet seethes, and a blubbering hot
Tilts the lid of the coffee-pot,
And the scent of the buckwheat cake grows plain—­
O then is the time for a brave refrain!

[Illustration]

IN THE EVENING

I

In the evening of our days,
  When the first far stars above
Glimmer dimmer, through the haze,
  Than the dewy eyes of love,
Shall we mournfully revert
  To the vanished morns and Mays
Of our youth, with hearts that hurt,—­
  In the evening of our days?

II

Shall the hand that holds your own
  Till the twain are thrilled as now,
Be withheld, or colder grown? 
  Shall my kiss upon your brow
Falter from its high estate? 
  And, in all forgetful ways,
Shall we sit apart and wait—­
  In the evening of our days?

III

Nay, my wife—­my life!—­the gloom
  Shall enfold us velvetwise,
And my smile shall be the groom
  Of the gladness of your eyes: 
Gently, gently as the dew
  Mingles with the darkening maze,
I shall fall asleep with you—­
   In the evening of our days.