In Vanity Fair, as we strive for place, As we rush and jostle and crowd and hurry, We know the goal is not worth the race-- We know the prize is not worth the worry; That all our gain means loss for another; That in fighting for self we wound each other; That the crown of success weighs hard and presses The brow of the victor with thorns--not caresses; That honors are empty and worthless to wear, In Vanity Fair. But in Vanity Fair, as we pass along, We meet strong hearts that are worth the knowing; ’Mong poor paste jewels that deck the throng, We see a solitaire sometimes glowing. We find grand souls under robes of fashion, ’Neath light demeanors hide strength and passion; And fair fine honor and Godlike resistance, In halls of pleasure may have existence; And we find pure altars and shrines of prayer, In Vanity Fair. A GIRL’S AUTUMN REVERIE. We plucked a red rose, you and I, All in the summer weather. Sweet its perfume and rare its bloom, Enjoyed by us together. The rose is dead, the summer fled, And bleak winds are complaining; We dwell apart, but in each heart We find the thorn remaining. We sipped a sweet wine, you and I, All in the summer weather. The beaded draught we lightly quaffed, And filled the glass together. Together watched its rosy glow, And saw its bubbles glitter; Apart, alone, we only know The lees are very bitter. We walked in sunshine, you and I, All in the summer weather. The very night seemed noonday bright When we two were together. I wonder why with our good-by O’er hill and vale and meadow There fell such shade, our paths seemed laid Forevermore in shadow. We dreamed a sweet dream, you and I, All in the summer weather, Where rose and wine and warm sunshine Were mingled in together. We dreamed that June was with us yet, We woke to find December. We dreamed that we two could forget, We woke but to remember. GETHSEMANE. In golden youth, when seems the earth A summer land of singing mirth, When souls are glad and hearts are light, And not a shadow lurks in sight, We do not know it, but there lies, Somewhere veiled under evening skies, A garden all must sometime see-- The garden of Gethsemane. With joyous steps we go our ways; Love lends a halo to our days. Light sorrows sail like clouds afar, We laugh and say how strong we are! We hurry on, and, hurrying, go Close to the borderland of woe That waits for you, and waits for me, Forever waits--Gethsemane.