“My days lapse never over into night;
       My nights encroach not on the rights of dawn. 
     I rush not breathless after some delight;
       I waste no grief for any pleasure gone. 
     My July noons burn not the entire year. 
     Heart, hearken well!” “Yes, yes; go on; I hear.”

     “I do not strive to make my sunsets’ gold
       Pave all the dim and distant realms of space. 
     I do not bid my crimson dawns unfold
       To lend the midnight a fictitious grace. 
     I break no law, for all God’s laws are good. 
     Heart, hast thou heard?” “Yes, yes; and understood.”

     DROUTH.

     Why do we pity those who weep?  The pain
       That finds a ready outlet in the flow
       Of salt and bitter tears is blessed woe,
     And does not need our sympathies.  The rain
     But fits the shorn field for new yield of grain;
       While the red, brazen skies, the sun’s fierce glow,
       The dry, hot winds that from the tropics blow
     Do parch and wither the unsheltered plain. 
     The anguish that through long, remorseless years
       Looks out upon the world with no relief
     Of sudden tempests or slow-dripping tears—­
       The still, unuttered, silent, wordless grief
     That evermore doth ache, and ache, and ache—­
     This is the sorrow wherewith hearts do break.

     THE CREED.

     Whoever was begotten by pure love,
     And came desired and welcome into life,
     Is of immaculate conception.  He
     Whose heart is full of tenderness and truth,
     Who loves mankind more than he loves himself,
     And cannot find room in his heart for hate,
     May be another Christ.  We all may be
     The Saviours of the world if we believe
     In the Divinity which dwells in us
     And worship it, and nail our grosser selves,
     Our tempers, greeds, and our unworthy aims,
     Upon the cross.  Who giveth love to all;
     Pays kindness for unkindness, smiles for frowns;
     And lends new courage to each fainting heart,
     And strengthens hope and scatters joy abroad—­
     He, too, is a Redeemer, Son of God.

     [Illustration:  “CAME DESIRED AND WELCOMED INTO LIFE”]

     PROGRESS.

     Let there be many windows to your soul,
     That all the glory of the universe
     May beautify it.  Not the narrow pane
     Of one poor creed can catch the radiant rays
     That shine from countless sources.  Tear away
     The blinds of superstition; let the light
     Pour through fair windows broad as Truth itself
     And high as God.

               Why should the spirit peer
     Through some priest-curtained orifice, and grope
     Along dim corridors of doubt, when all
     The splendor from unfathomed seas of space
     Might bathe it with