SUPPLEMENT. O ye uncrowned but kingly kings! O ye uncrowned but kingly kings! The heart leaps wildly at your thought; And the brain fires as if it caught Shreds of your mantle; ye have fought Not vainly, if your glory brings O ye uncrowned but kingly kings! Ye priests of God, but tyrants' stings, Uncrowned but still the kingliest kings! ANNIE R. ANNAN. RECOMPENSE. THE summer coaxed me to be glad, Entreating with the primrose hue Of sunset skies, with downward calls From viewless larks, with winds that blew The red-tipped clover's breast abroad, And told the mirth of waterfalls; In vain! my heart would not be wooed From the December of its mood. The clear-eyed Greeks saw oft their god of sleep Wandering about through the black midnight hours, Soothing the restless couch with slumbers deep, And scattering thy medicated flow.. ers, Till hands were folded for their final rest, Press on! surmount the rocky steeps, He fails alone who feebly creeps; Clasping white poppies o'er a pulse- Be thou a hero! let thy might less breast. We have a clearer vision; every hour Kind hearts and hands the poppy juices mete, And panting sufferers bless its kindly power, And weary ones invoke its peaceful sleep. Health has its rose, and grape and joyful palm, The poppy to the sick is wine and balm. I sing the poppy! The frail snowy weed! The flower of mercy! that within its heart Doth keep "a drop serene" for human need, A drowsy balm for every bitter smart. For happy hours the rose will idly blow The poppy hath a charm for pain and woe. Tramp on eternal snows its way, Press on! if Fortune play thee false Taking old gifts and granting new. Makes up for follies past and Therefore, press on! and reach the goal, And gain the prize and wear the crown; Faint not! for to the steadfast soul Come wealth and honor and re nown. To thine own self be true, and keep Thy mind from sloth, thy heart from soil; Press on! and thou shalt surely reap A heavenly harvest for thy toil! ANNIE BERRY BENSEL. THE LADY OF THE CASTLE. SEE you yonder castle stately? On the rocks it stands alone, Gleaming in the silver moonlight Like a sentinel of stone. Years ago in that old castle Dwelt a lady, proud and grand; Fairer than the fairest lady You might find in all the land. It was on her bridal morning- Soon she reached the massive gateway, And her dark eyes sparkled bright, As she saw a gay procession Wending towards the castle height. For she knew it was her lover, Just between them and the castle But Count Rupert saw the lady Standing by the gateway there, Dauntlessly he turned his charger, Heeding not the cry, "Beware!" I look around on earth and sky, My ear drinks in from field and fell Oh no! no! no! Of happy thoughts from Thee. My faith is strong; out of itself No Talmud on the Rabbi's shelf Still let me turn on earth a childlike gaze, And trust the whispered charities that bring Tidings of human truth; with inward praise Small Greek I know, nor Hebrew Watch the weak motion of each com O pious quack! thy pills are good; Nor honey less what it doth brew, Oh no! no! no! PLEASURES lie thickest where no pleasures seem: There's not a leaf that falls upon the ground But holds some joy, of silence or of sound, Some sprite begotten of a summer dream. Though councils decree and de- The very meanest things are made clare; Like a tree in the open air, The soul its foliage fair Spreads forth, O God, to Thee! |