Watch the path of the prosperous, sunny and

smooth, and bright,

Health and wealth to give it, its full of sweetness and light;

See how the easy future is planned for the careless

feet,

Given each slight desire, flattered each vague

conceit.

Well that the outward surface gladness and peace enshrines,

Who knows the tale of the skeleton, written between the lines?

If the singer dies in solitude, his songs sigh on as sweetly;

If the statesman has a hearth disgraced, does he face the world less meetly?

So the artist's touch is fine and sure, who heeds the hand that guides it?

Does the player feel a fading life? his winning masking hides it.

Cypress and rose and laurel, Fate's reckless hand entwines;

Life reads the printed story, Death writes between

the lines.

SUSAN K. PHILLIPS.

Mabel

WEET little face, so full of slumber now

SWEE

Sweet lips unlifted now with any kiss

Sweet dimpled cheek and chin, and snowy brow-
What quietude is this?

O speak! Have you forgotten, yesterday,
How gladly you came running to the gate
To meet us in the old familiar way,
So joyous, so elate, —

So filled with wildest glee, yet so serene,
With innocence of song and childish chat,
With all the dear caresses in between
Have you forgotten that?

Have you forgotten, knowing gentler charms,
The boistrous love of one you ran to greet
When you last met, who caught you in his arms
And kissed you, in the street?

Not very many days have passed since then, And yet between that kiss and him there lies No pathway of return — unless again,

In streets of Paradise,

Your eager feet come twinkling down the gold
Of some bright thoroughfare ethereal,

To meet and greet him there, just as of old. —
Till then, farewell - farewell.

- JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY.

Longing for Home

I

SONG of a boat:

Are was once a

There was once a boat on a billow;

Lightly she rocked to her port remote,

And the foam was white in her wake like snow, And her frail mast bowed when the breeze would

blow,

And bent like a wand of willow.

II

I shaded mine eyes one day when a boat
Went curtseying over the billow,

I marked her course till a dancing mote
She faded out on the moonlit foam,

And I stayed behind in the dear loved home;
And my thoughts all day were about the boat,
And my dreams upon the pillow.

I pray you hear my song of a boat,

For it is but short:

My boat you shall find none fairer afloat,

In river or port.

Long I looked out for the lad she bore,
On the open desolate sea.

And I think he sailed to the heavenly shore,

For he came not back to me

IV

Ah me!

A

song of a nest:

There was once a nest in a hollow:

Down in the mosses and knot-grass pressed,

Soft and warm and full to the brim

Vetches leaned over it purple and dim,

With buttercup buds to follow.

Shall never light on a prouder sitter,

A fairer nestful, nor ever know

A softer sound than their tender twitter,
That wind-like did come and go.

VI

I had a nestful once of my own,
Ah, happy, happy I.

Right dearly I loved them, but when they
were grown

They spread out their wings to fly

O, one after one they flew away
Far up to the heavenly blue,
To the better country, the upper day,
And I wish I was going too.

VII

I pray you what is the nest to me,

My empty nest?

And what is the shore where I stood to see

My boat sail down to the west ?

Can I call that home where I anchor yet

Though my good man has sailed?

Can I call that home where my nest was set, Now all its hope hath failed?