TRENTON FALLS BY MOONLIGHT. I deemed the inmost sense my soul had blessed Which in the poem of thy being dwells, And gives such store for thought's most sacred cells; And yet a higher joy was now confessed. With what a holiness did night invest The eager impulse of impetuous life, And hymn-like meanings clothed the waters' strife! With what a solemn peace the moon did rest Upon the white crest of the waterfall; The haughty guardian banks, by the deep shade, In almost double height are now displayed. Depth, height, speak things which awe, but not appall. From elemental powers this voice has come, And God's love answers from the azure dome. SUB ROSA, CRUX. In times of old, as we are told, When men more child-like at the feet Of Jesus sat, than now, A chivalry was known more bold Than ours, and yet of stricter vow, Of worship more complete. Knights of the Rosy Cross, they bore Its weight within the heart, but wore Without, devotion's sign in glistening ruby bright; The gall and vinegar they drank alone, But to the world at large would only own The wine of faith, sparkling with rosy light. They knew the secret of the sacred oil Which, poured upon the prophet's head, Could keep him wise and pure for aye. Apart from all that might distract or soil, With this their lamps they fed. Which burn in their sepulchral shrines unfading night and day. The pass-word now is lost, To that initiation full and free; Daily we pay the cost Of our slow schooling for divine degree. We know no means to feed an undying lamp; Our lights go out in every wind or damp. We wear the cross of ebony and gold, Upon a dark background a form of light, A heavenly hope upon a bosom cold, A starry promise in a frequent night; The dying lamp must often trim again, For we are conscious, thoughtful, striving men. Yet be we faithful to this present trust, Clasp to a heart resigned the fatal must; Though deepest dark our efforts should enfold, Unwearied mine to find the vein of gold; Forget not oft to lift the hope on high; The rosy dawn again shall fill the sky. And by that lovely light, all truth-revealed, The cherished forms which sad distrust concealed, Transfigured, yet the same, will round us stand, The kindred angels of a faithful band; Ruby and ebon cross both cast aside, No lamp is needed, for the night has died. Happy be those who seek that distant day, With feet that from the appointed way Could never stray; Yet happy too be those who more and more, As gleams the beacon of that only shore, Strive at the laboring oar.