Her sin, her flight; the sorrow and the strife,
And the return; and then clear, low and calm,
“Praise God for me, my sisters;” and the psalm
Rang up to heaven, far and clear and wide,
Again and yet again, then sank and died;
While her white face had such a smile of peace,
They saw she never heard the music cease;
And weeping sisters laid her in her tomb,
Crowned with a wreath of perfumed hawthorn bloom.

And thus the Legend ended.  It may be
Something is hidden in the mystery,
Besides the lesson of God’s pardon shown,
Never enough believed, or asked, or known. 
Have we not all, amid life’s petty strife,
Some pure ideal of a noble life
That once seemed possible?  Did we not hear
The flutter of its wings, and feel it near,
And just within our reach?  It was.  And yet
We lost it in this daily jar and fret,
And now live idle in a vague regret. 
But still our place is kept, and it will wait,
Ready for us to fill it, soon or late: 
No star is ever lost we once have seen,
We always may be what we might have been. 
Since Good, though only thought, has life and breath,
God’s life—­can always be redeemed from death;
And evil, in its nature, is decay,
And any hour can blot it all away;
The hopes that lost in some far distance seem,
May be the truer life, and this the dream.

VERSE:  ENVY

He was the first always:  Fortune
Shone bright in his face. 
I fought for years; with no effort
He conquered the place: 
We ran; my feet were all bleeding,
But he won the race.

Spite of his many successes
Men loved him the same;
My one pale ray of good fortune
Met scoffing and blame. 
When we erred, they gave him pity,
But me—­only shame.

My home was still in the shadow,
His lay in the sun: 
I longed in vain:  what he asked for
It straightway was done. 
Once I staked all my heart’s treasure,
We played—­and he won.

Yes; and just now I have seen him,
Cold, smiling, and blest,
Laid in his coffin.  God help me! 
While he is at rest,
I am cursed still to live:- even
Death loved him the best.

VERSE:  OVER THE MOUNTAIN

Like dreary prison walls
The stern grey mountains rise,
Until their topmost crags
Touch the far gloomy skies: 
One steep and narrow path
Winds up the mountain’s crest,
And from our valley leads
Out to the golden West.

I dwell here in content,
Thankful for tranquil days;
And yet, my eyes grow dim,
As still I gaze and gaze
Upon that mountain pass,
That leads—­or so it seems—­
To some far happy land,
Known in a world of dreams.

And as I watch that path
Over the distant hill,
A foolish longing comes
My heart and soul to fill,
A painful, strange desire
To break some weary bond,
A vague unuttered wish
For what might lie beyond!