So let who will erect an altar shrine
       To meek-browed Constancy, and sing her praise. 
     Unto enlivening Change I shall build mine,
       Who lends new zest and interest to my days.

     [Illustration:  “...AND LIGHT AND BEAUTY BLESSED THE LAND”]

     THE BEAUTIFUL LAND OF NOD.

     Come, cuddle your head on my shoulder, dear,
       Your head like the golden-rod,
     And we will go sailing away from here
       To the beautiful Land of Nod. 
     Away from life’s hurry and flurry and worry,
       Away from earth’s shadows and gloom,
     To a world of fair weather we’ll float off together,
       Where roses are always in bloom.

     Just shut your eyes and fold your hands,
       Your hands like the leaves of a rose,
     And we will go sailing to those fair lands
       That never an atlas shows. 
     On the North and the West they are bounded by rest,
       On the South and the East, by dreams;
     ’Tis the country ideal, where nothing is real,
       But everything only seems.

     Just drop down the curtains of your dear eyes
       Those eyes like a bright bluebell,
     And we will sail out under starlit skies,
       To the land where the fairies dwell.

     Down the river of sleep our barque shall sweep,
       Till it reaches that mystical Isle
     Which no man hath seen, but where all have been,
       And there we will pause awhile. 
     I will croon you a song as we float along
       To that shore that is blessed of God,
     Then, ho! for that fair land, we’re off for that rare land,
       That beautiful Land of Nod.

     [Illustration:]

     THE TIGER.

     In the still jungle of the senses lay
     A tiger soundly sleeping, till one day
     A bold young hunter chanced to come that way.

     “How calm,” he said, “that splendid creature lies! 
     I long to rouse him into swift surprise.” 
     The well aimed arrow shot from amorous eyes,

     And lo! the tiger rouses up and turns,
     A coal of fire his glowing eyeball burns,
     His mighty frame with savage hunger yearns.

     He crouches for a spring; his eyes dilate—­
     Alas! bold hunter, what shall be thy fate? 
     Thou canst not fly; it is too late, too late.

     Once having tasted human flesh, ah! then,
     Woe, woe unto the whole rash world of men. 
     The wakened tiger will not sleep again.

     ONLY A SIMPLE RHYME.

     Only a simple rhyme of love and sorrow,
       Where “blisses” rhymed with “kisses,” “heart,” with “dart:” 
     Yet, reading it, new strength I seemed to borrow,
       To live on bravely and to do my part.

     A little rhyme about a heart that’s bleeding—­
       Of lonely hours and sorrow’s unrelief: 
     I smiled at first; but there came with the reading
       A sense of sweet companionship in grief.