But scarce my prayer was said Ere from that place I turned; I trembled, I hung my head, My cheek, shame-smitten, burned; For there where I bowed down In my boastful agony, I thought of thy cross and crown―― O Christ! I remembered thee. ¹ Copyright, The Century Co. * * * * * MEMORIAL DAY.¹ _From “Five Books of Song” (1894)._ SHE saw the bayonets flashing in the sun, The flags that proudly waved; she heard the bugles calling; She saw the tattered banners falling About the broken staffs, as one by one The remnant of the mighty army passed; And at the last Flowers for the graves of those whose fight was done. She heard the tramping of ten thousand feet As the long line swept round the crowded square; She heard the incessant hum That filled the warm and blossom-scented air―― The shrilling fife, the roll and throb of drum, The happy laugh, the cheer. Oh glorious and meet To honor thus the dead, Who chose the better part, Who for their country bled! ――The dead! Great God! she stood there in the street, Living, yet dead in soul and mind and heart―― While far away His grave was decked with flowers by strangers’ hands to-day. ¹ Copyright, The Century Co. * * * * * A WOMAN’S THOUGHT.¹ _From “Five Books of Song” (1894)._ I AM a woman――therefore I may not Call him, cry to him, Fly to him, Bid him delay not! And when he comes to me, I must sit quiet; Still as a stone―― All silent and cold. If my heart riot―― Crush and defy it! Should I grow bold, Say one dear thing to him, All my life fling to him, Cling to him―― What to atone Is enough for my sinning! This were the cost to me, This were my winning―― That he were lost to me. Not as a lover At last if he part from me, Tearing my heart from me, Hurt beyond cure―― Calm and demure Then must I hold me, In myself fold me, Lest he discover; Showing no sign to him By look of mine to him What he has been to me―― How my heart turns to him, Follows him, yearns to him, Prays him to love me. Pity me, lean to me, Thou God above me! ¹ Copyright, The Century Co. Illustration: (‡ decoration) JOHN HAY. AUTHOR OF “LITTLE BREECHES.” ASIDE from General Lew Wallace and Edmund Clarence Stedman few business men or politicians have made a brighter mark in literature than the subject of this sketch.