Fear not! Though thou starvest, Provision is made: God gathers His harvest When our hopes fade! THE CHILD'S WISH GRANTED Do you remember, my sweet, absent son, How in the soft June days forever done You loved the heavens so warm and clear and high; And when I lifted you, soft came your cry,-- "Put me 'way up--'way, 'way up in blue sky"? I laughed and said I could not;--set you down, Your gray eyes wonder-filled beneath that crown Of bright hair gladdening me as you raced by. Another Father now, more strong than I, Has borne you voiceless to your dear blue sky. THE FLOWN SOUL (FRANCIS HAWTHORNE LATHROP) FEBRUARY 6, 1881 Come not again! I dwell with you Above the realm of frost and dew, Of pain and fire, and growth to death. I dwell with you where never breath Is drawn, but fragrance vital flows From life to life, even as a rose Unseen pours sweetness through each vein And from the air distills again. You are my rose unseen; we live Where each to other joy may give In ways untold, by means unknown And secret as the magnet-stone. For which of us, indeed, is dead? No more I lean to kiss your head-- The gold-red hair so thick upon it; Joy feels no more the touch that won it When o'er my brow your pearl-cool palm In tenderness so childish, calm, Crept softly, once. Yet, see, my arm Is strong, and still my blood runs warm. I still can work, and think and weep. But all this show of life I keep Is but the shadow of your shine, Flicker of your fire, husk of your vine; Therefore, you are not dead, nor I Who hear your laughter's minstrelsy. Among the stars your feet are set; Your little feet are dancing yet Their rhythmic beat, as when on earth. So swift, so slight are death and birth! Come not again, dear child. If thou By any chance couldst break that vow Of silence at thy last hour made; If to this grim life unafraid Thou couldst return, and melt the frost Wherein thy bright limbs' power was lost; Still would I whisper--since so fair This silent comradeship we share-- Yes, whisper 'mid the unbidden rain Of tears: "Come not, come not again!" SUNSET AND SHORE Birds that like vanishing visions go winging, White, white in the flame of the sunset's burning, Fly with the wild spray the billows are flinging, Blend, blend with the nightfall, and fade, unreturning! Fire of the heaven, whose splendor all-glowing Soon, soon shall end, and in darkness must perish; Sea-bird and flame-wreath and foam lightly blowing;-- Soon, soon tho' we lose you, your beauty we cherish. Visions may vanish, the sweetest, the dearest; Hush'd, hush'd be the voice of love's echo replying; Spirits may leave us that clung to us nearest:-- Love, love, only love dwells with us undying! THE PHOEBE-BIRD (A REPLY)