We must believe—­
Impelled since infancy to seek some clear
Fulfillment, still withheld all seekers here;—­
For never have we seen perfection nor
The glory we are ever seeking for: 
But we have seen—­all mortal souls as one—­
Have seen its promise, in the morning sun—­
Its blest assurance, in the stars of night;—­
The ever-dawning of the dark to light;—­
The tears down-falling from all eyes that grieve—­
  The eyes uplifting from all deeps of grief,
Yearning for what at last we shall receive.... 
                 Lord, I believe: 
                     Help Thou mine unbelief.

We must believe—­
For still all unappeased our hunger goes,
From life’s first waking, to its last repose: 
The briefest life of any babe, or man
Outwearing even the allotted span,
Is each a life unfinished—­incomplete: 
For these, then, of th’ outworn, or unworn feet
Denied one toddling step—­O there must be
Some fair, green, flowery pathway endlessly
Winding through lands Elysian!  Lord, receive
  And lead each as Thine Own Child—­even the Chief
Of us who didst Immortal life achieve.... 
                 Lord, I believe: 
                   Help Thou mine unbelief.

A GOOD MAN

I

A good man never dies—­
  In worthy deed and prayer
And helpful hands, and honest eyes,
  If smiles or tears be there: 
Who lives for you and me—­
  Lives for the world he tries
To help—­he lives eternally. 
  A good man never dies.

II

Who lives to bravely take
  His share of toil and stress,
And, for his weaker fellows’ sake,
  Makes every burden less,—­
He may, at last, seem worn—­
  Lie fallen—­hands and eyes
Folded—­yet, though we mourn and mourn,
  A good man never dies.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

THE OLD DAYS

The old days—­the far days—­
  The overdear and fair!—­
The old days—­the lost days—­
  How lovely they were! 
The old days of Morning,
  With the dew-drench on the flowers
And apple-buds and blossoms
  Of those old days of ours.

Then was the real gold
  Spendthrift Summer flung;
Then was the real song
  Bird or Poet sung! 
There was never censure then,—­
  Only honest praise—­
And all things were worthy of it
  In the old days.

There bide the true friends—­
  The first and the best;
There clings the green grass
  Close where they rest: 
Would they were here?  No;—­
  Would we were there!... 
The old days—­the lost days—­
  How lovely they were!

[Illustration]