Footpath April, 1874 _Austin Dobson_ 170 Turn of the Tide May, 1874 _Caroline 171 Biggs_ Turn of the Tide May, 1874 _A. M. 173 Stoddart_ Turn of the Tide May, 1874 _G. A. Simcox_ 174 Compromise May, 1874 _Thomas 175 Webster_ Farewell _Mentia Taylor_ 176 [Picture: Aubrey House (back view)] [Picture: Aubrey House (front view)] CRADLE. THE human heart is cradle of deep love, Which growing and expanding from its birth, Ever finds space within that living cot; Howe’er remotely o’er this beauteous earth Its subtle influences may joy impart, Whilst nestling in the human heart. The human mind is cradle of high thought, Ever aspiring to extend its sphere, To penetrate those mysteries of life Philosophy has fail’d to render clear. Howe’er expansive, thought will ever find Its cradle in the human mind. The human soul is cradle of deep faith, Of aspirations, and of purpose strong, To kindle into life the seeds of truth— Eradicate the germs of vice and wrong. Howe’er these seeds develop and increase, Within man’s soul they’ll find their place. Three living cradles in one living form, Expanding ever from their early birth; High thought and sweet affection in ye dwell, And Faith which hallows all things on this earth. Each human being in himself may find Three living cradles—soul, heart, mind. THE SOUND OF BELLS. O HAPPY bells that thrill the air Of tranquil English summer-eves, When stirless hang the aspen leaves, And Silence listens everywhere. And sinks and swells the tender chime, Sad, as regret for buried fears, Sweet, as repentant yearning tears— The fit voice of the holy time. O wond’rous voice! O mystic sound! We listen, and our thoughts aspire Like spiritual flame, from fire That idly smoulders on the ground. Forgotten longings have new birth For better, purer, nobler life, Lifted above the noisy strife That drowns the music of this earth. And human sorrow seems to be A link unto diviner things, The budding of the spirit’s wings That only thus can soar—and see. The twilight fades—the sweet bells cease, The common world’s come back again, But for a little space, its pain And weariness are steep’d in peace. MIRROR. I SEE myself reflected in thine eyes, The dainty mirrors set in golden frame Of eyelash, quiver with a sweet surprise, And most ingenuous shame.