A music wonderful entranced Which led to heights afar; Ever it beckoned on, and on, My guiding star. The chains that hitherto had held,-- How worthless proved their pow’r! Instead of wishing Life to pass I thanked God for each hour. _Let others bow before Wealth’s shrine, And tribute render up For the pleasures manifold it brings To overflow Life’s cup. But at your altar, Muse, I kneel And reverential pray, When darkness would have claimed my soul,-- You held its blight at bay._ CONCEPTION To the many you give of your lighter vein Laughter and gay repartee. But the deeper side,--that which thinks things out, You give to me. With the many you play Life’s make-believe game; ’Tis a bantering light they see When they look in your eyes, their earnest gaze You save for me. The many accept you for what you would seem; From such blundering am I free: I know you for your own true self,--the self You are to me. AWAKENING Oh, truth was mine before. I knew The sun was gold; the skies of day were blue; But the wonder of things, dear--_this_ never grew Until into my life, God’s grace sent _you_. THE HOUSE BUILT ON SANDS We will go, he said, far, far away, And a world make of our own. A kingdom, such as never before On land or sea, has been known. She smiled into his eyes,--and oh! the look Of perfect trust she gave As he gathered her close, vowing the while Allegiance unto the grave. Well, they went away and made their world As others had done before, For the time being love blinding them To the confine of its shore. They were all-in-all to each other, alone, And it mattered not a whit, That, in the scheme of things outside the pale, They were not permitted to fit. Defiance they flung in the face of dissent! Life,--was it not their right To live it as they wanted to? And they would, all warning despite. Why burden the pages by writing down Their history in detail? Was ever yet such a compact made That was known _not_ to fail. ’Twas a question of time,--“_The house built on sands_” From its moorings slipped away; They who court Fate’s disfavor--or soon--or late, “Pass under the rod” of her sway. TO A BUTTERFLY Butterfly, Butterfly, Roaming thro’ the air-- Flying here, flying there, Flying--ev’rywhere. Bending o’er the roses’ petals, Drinking of their dew, Then away--with quick dart-- Cleaving towards the blue!