I know He is both true and kind, And has my good at heart. His discipline will only bind With cords which naught can part, My heart's affections to His throne, And fit me for my rest, Nor do I tread life's path alone; _He knows_, and I am blest. "SALUT AUX BLESSIS" A group of mounted officers Ride up and fall in line; Their gleaming swords hang at their sides, Chevrons their arms entwine; They bare their heads as pass along A train of wounded men, Their shattered comrades from the field They ne'er may meet again. "_Salut aux Blessis!_" loud they cry. The wounded soldiers hear, And for a time forget their pain, And swell the lusty cheer. Thus should it be in other lines; The men who lead the van Should e'er accord a brother's cheer To every wounded man. The "rank and file" the wounds receive; Sometimes the leader, too; But honest wounds none should despise; The bearer may be true. He stood his ground 'gainst mighty odds, And dared the shot and shell; So bare your heads, ye scarless ones, And say, "_Thou hast done well!_" SONNET Each human life with mysteries is replete; They press upon us in its early dawn, And multiply apace as years roll on, And at each turn we must their problems meet. Reason is blind, and fails their end to see, Misjudges God and gathers only woe, And from this spring much turbid waters flow. Only the pure in heart from doubt are free; They read aright the writing on the wall Which solves the problems of our earthly lot; To them God draws aside the veil, and shows The golden threads with which the garment glows, And why one dwells in palace, one in cot, And how His love is working good to all. BROTHERHOOD Is brotherhood to flesh confined? Is there no kinship of the soul? To have it thus, I am resigned, If 'tis my God-appointed goal; For there are those whom I hold dear, Who claim with me a common sire, That we, with one accord, revere, And love holds out midst flood and fire. But is the family so small Of which I fondly claim a part? Is there no other I may call A brother, and within my heart Cherish for him, whate'er his name, Or rank, or color, or his creed, A love of pure and changeless flame, And feel I render but his meed? Thank God for brotherhood so broad That all the human race may share A kinship, never yet outlawed, Tho' types of it have been too rare. But bigotry is doomed to die, And hate, a relic of the past; The golden age is drawing nigh, And all one family at last! SHE DEARLY LOVED THE FLOWERS I saw her first when she was old, Her form devoid of grace; Her locks that once were yellow gold Were white, and on her face Were furrows deep, which told of pain, And toil, and worldly fret, Which all, alas, had been in vain, But nature claimed the debt.