_Scribner’s_ _Tertius van Dyke_ GOD’S WILL God meant me to be hungry, So I should seek to find Wisdom, and truth, and beauty, To satisfy my mind. God meant me to be lonely, Lest I should wish to stay In some green earthly Eden Too long from heaven away. God meant me to be weary, That I should yearn to rest This feeble, aching body Deep in the earth’s dark breast. _Harper’s_ _Mildred Howells_ ON THE BIRTH OF A CHILD Lo--to the battle-ground of Life, Child, you have come, like a conquering shout, Out of a struggle--into strife; Out of a darkness--into doubt. Girt with the fragile armor of Youth, Child, you must ride into endless wars, With the sword of protest, the buckler of truth, And a banner of love to sweep the stars.... About you the world’s despair will surge; Into defeat you must plunge and grope-- Be to the faltering, an urge; Be to the hopeless years, a hope! Be to the darkened world a flame; Be to its unconcern a blow-- For out of its pain and tumult you came, And into its tumult and pain you go. _The Independent_ _Louis Untermeyer_ TO A CHILD FALLING ASLEEP Over the dim edge of sleep I lean, And in her eyes’ illimitable grey distances, Look down into the shadow-tinted space,-- The cloudy air of sleep,-- To see the rose-lit petal of a Child’s fair soul Seek dreamily the farther gloom, Where waking eyes may follow her no more. One more last time her lids are lifted, And in her look I read a wistful fare-thee-well; Her spirit waves a twinkling white hand, Her bark is out upon the sea of dream,-- The calm, grey sea, full and immovably established, That drinks the river of my love, without o’erflowing, Nor ever gives my image back to me. When o’er the sun-swept land Murmuring twilight spread her dusky tent, A Stranger passed before our friendly sun,-- Between the dark and dawn,-- A Stranger whom we love but never see. And as she came and cast her blue benignant shadow over all, She set a silver trumpet to her lips, And blew a note that thrilled in Children’s hearts; Because in little hearts the echo-fairies love to play, Roaming the scented meadows there, Where Love has been and sown the amaranthine flowers, Out of whose pristine cups are born the singing stars. And as the first free rainbow bubble sailed, Launched by the Stranger with the silver pipe, Upon the listening air; As first the hollow note Kissed the sweet lips and died of happiness, The little Child unfurled her sails. I stood there on the very verge of sleep, And called to her, And Love’s own self had deigned to wait within my heart, (Because I kept it always fit for Childish guests) And would have given welcome had she stayed. But then I saw the eyelids close, And knew that Azrael who championed her soul, Had shut the gates lest I should see More than my life could bear.