Still now its beauty folds Thee, and—­as she
Who kissed Thy garment and had health from Thee—­
I feel the sun, or hear some bird in bliss,
And Thou hast then my sudden, humble kiss.

SECRET PRAYER

Since that with lips which moved in one we prayed,
  So that God ceased to hear us speak apart,
What law irrevocable have we made? 
  How shall He hear a solitary heart

When He did need that we, to have His ear,
  Should go aside and pray together there
With urgent breath?  Ah, now I pause and fear—­
  How shall uprise my lonely, separate prayer?

THE UNHEEDED

Upon one hand your kisses chanced to rest: 
I smiled upon the other hand and said
“Poor thing,” when you had gone:  and then in quest
Of pity rose a clamour from the dead—­
Some way of mine, some word, some look, some jest
Complained they too went all uncoveted ... 
That night I took these troubles to my breast,
And played that you and I, my own, were wed;
Those troubles were our child, with eyes of fear,—­
A wailing babe, whom I, his mother dear,
Must soothe to quiet rest and calm relief,
And urge his eyes to sleeping by and by. 
“O hush,” I said, and wept to see such grief;
“Hush, hush, your father must not hear you cry.”

DREAM OF DEATH

In sleep my idle thoughts were sadly led
  By wild dark ways:  it strangely seemed that I
Must join the number of the silent dead,
  And with my young and fearful heart must die.

But ah, what drew my bitter moans and sighs,
  And pierced my sleeping spirit, was that she
Who with the saddest tears would close these eyes
  And with maternal passion mourn for me,

She on some pleasure-errand stayed away. 
  Ah, bitter, bitter thought!  Ah, lonely death
To seek me in the night!  And not till day
  Had come and soothed my fear, and calmed my breath,

And in the sun my new life I could kiss,
  And look with prayer and hope to future years,
Did I discern God’s mercy still in this—­
  That I was spared the anguish of her tears.

* * * * *

RUTH TEMPLE LINDSAY

MATER SALVATORIS

Ah, wilt thou turn aside and see
The little Child on Mary’s knee? 
Enter the stable bleak and cold,
Grope through the straw and myrrh and gold;
Seek in the darkness near and far—­
Lift up the lantern and the Star. 
Rough shepherds came to love and greet,
There knelt three kings at Mary’s feet. 
Ah! draw thee nigh the holy place—­
He sleepeth well in her embrace,
The little Saviour of thy race—­
Then raise thine eyes to Mary’s face.

But wilt thou come in years to be? 
She held Him dead across her knee. 
Stretch Him aloft on planks of wood;
Offer Him gall for tears and blood. 
Blazon thy hatred far and near: 
Lift up the hammer and the spear. 
Red thorns about his head were wound—­
There lay three nails upon the ground. 
Yea I Heed the Lover of thy race—­
He lieth dead in her embrace. 
Ah! scourge thy soul with its disgrace: 
Then raise thine eyes to Mary’s face.