Her face so pure and fair Sheds light in the shady places, And the spell of her girlish graces Holds charmed the happy air. A breath of purity Forever before her flies, And ill things cease to be In the glance of her honest eyes. Around her pathway flutter, Where her dear feet wander free In youth's pure majesty, The wings of the vague desires; But the thought that love would utter In reverence expires. Not yet! not yet shall I see That face which shines like a star O'er my storm-swept life afar, Transfigured with love for me. Toiling, forgetting, and learning With labor and vigils and prayers, Pure heart and resolute will, At last I shall climb the hill And breathe the enchanted airs Where the light of my life is burning Most lovely and fair and free, Where alone in her youth and beauty, And bound by her fate's sweet duty, Unconscious she waits for me. Sister Saint Luke She lived shut in by flowers and trees And shade of gentle bigotries. On this side lay the trackless sea, On that the great world's mystery; But all unseen and all unguessed They could not break upon her rest. The world's far splendors gleamed and flashed, Afar the wild seas foamed and dashed; But in her small, dull Paradise, Safe housed from rapture or surprise, Nor day nor night had power to fright The peace of God that filled her eyes. New and Old. Miles Keogh's Horse On the bluff of the Little Big-Horn, At the close of a woful day, Custer and his Three Hundred In death and silence lay. Three Hundred to three Thousand! They had bravely fought and bled; For such is the will of Congress When the White man meets the Red. The White men are ten millions, The thriftiest under the sun; The Reds are fifty thousand, And warriors every one. So Custer and all his fighting men Lay under the evening skies, Staring up at the tranquil heaven With wide, accusing eyes. And of all that stood at noonday In that fiery scorpion ring, Miles Keogh's horse at evening Was the only living thing. Alone from that field of slaughter, Where lay the three hundred slain, The horse Comanche wandered, With Keogh's blood on his mane. And Sturgis issued this order, Which future times shall read, While the love and honor of comrades Are the soul of the soldier's creed. He said-- _Let the horse Comanche Henceforth till he shall die, Be kindly cherished and cared for By the Seventh Cavalry He shall do no labor; he never shall know The touch of spur or rein; Nor shall his back be ever crossed By living rider again And at regimental formation Of the Seventh Cavalry_, _Comanche draped in mourning and led By a trooper of Company Shall parade with the Regiment!_ Thus it was Commanded and thus done, By order of General Sturgis, signed By Adjutant Garlington. Even as the sword of Custer, In his disastrous fall, Flashed out a blaze that charmed the world And glorified his pall,