A road goes up a pleasant hill, And a little house looks down: Ah! but I see the roadway still And the day I left the town. The day I left my father’s home, It’s many a year ago, And a heart and hope were brave to roam the long, long road I know. The long, long road by hill and plain, It’s tired the heart might be: But hope stayed bright in sun or rain, And a Voice that called to me. A Voice that called me over the hill And out of the little town: Ah! but I see the roadway still. And the good house looking down. The house that spake me never a No! As I started brave away, But said with a blessing, Go! And followed me every day. It followed me down the road of years, For a father’s heart is true, And joy is sweet in a mother’s tears For the deeds her child may do. The poor little deeds, all powerless For the Kingdom of God would be, Save in His mercy will He bless The road that goes with me: The road that left a pleasant hill, Where a little house looks down: Ah! but I bless the roadway still, And the land beyond the town. MICHAEL EARLS, S.J. THE LILAC The scent of lilac in the air Hath made him drag his steps and pause Whence comes this scent within the Square, Where endless dusty traffic roars? A push-cart stands beside the curb, With fragrant blossoms laden high; Speak low, nor stare, lest we disturb His sudden reverie! He sees us not, nor heeds the din Of clanging car and scuffling throng; His eyes see fairer sights within, And memory hears the robin’s song As once it trilled against the day, And shook his slumber in a room Where drifted with the breath of May The lilac’s sweet perfume. The heart of boyhood in him stirs; The wonder of the morning skies, Of sunset gold behind the firs, Is kindled in his dreaming eyes: How far off is this sordid place, As turning from our sight away He crushes to his hungry face A purple lilac spray. WALTER PRICHARD EATON GOD, THROUGH HIS OFFSPRING NATURE, GAVE ME LOVE God, through his offspring Nature, gave me love, Though man in opposition saith me nay, And taketh from my heart its life to-day, As through the valley of the world I rove. Still unaccompanied, within the grove That doth enamored beings hold at play, My spirit must pursue its lonely way, And strive to pluck some flowers that bloom above. Oh, wherefore then doth Nature give desire To have that which mankind may not possess, And force him to endure on earth hell’s fire, And live in one perpetual distress? Some evil power must such love inspire, And with it masquerade in Cupid’s dress! CHARLES GIBSON TO MUSIC “Music, the language, the atmosphere of the Soul.” Fly back where Melodies like lilies grow, My weary heart is bending low; Fly higher yet to joyful realms above, Where holy Angels dwell in love. Fly higher still and hear the Angel throng And bring to me their Glory-song: Ah Music, thou and I above the World May dwell where heaven with shining song is pearled!