PEACE AT THE GOAL. From the soul of a man who was homeless Came the deathless song of home. And the praises of rest are chanted best By those who are forced to roam. In a time of fast and hunger, We can talk over feasts divine; But the banquet done, why, where is the one Who can tell you the taste of the wine? We think of the mountain’s grandeur As we walk in the heat afar-- But when we sit in the shadows of it We think how at rest we are. With the voice of the craving passions We can picture a love to come. But the heart once filled, lo, the voice is stilled, And we stand in the silence--dumb. THE LAW. Life is a Shylock; always it demands The fullest usurer’s interest for each pleasure. Gifts are not freely scattered by its hands; We make returns for every borrowed treasure. Each talent, each achievement, and each gain Necessitates some penalty to pay. Delight imposes lassitude and pain, As certainly as darkness follows day. All you bestow on causes or on men, Of love or hate, of malice or devotion, Somehow, sometime, shall be returned again-- There is no wasted toil, no lost emotion. The motto of the world is give and take. It gives you favors--out of sheer goodwill. But unless speedy recompense you make, You’ll find yourself presented with its bill. When rapture comes to thrill the heart of you, Take it with tempered gratitude. Remember, Some later time the interest will fall due. No year brings June that does not bring December. RECOMPENSE. Straight through my heart this fact to-day, By Truth’s own hand is driven: God never takes one thing away, But something else is given. I did not know in earlier years, This law of love and kindness; I only mourned through bitter tears My loss, in sorrow’s blindness. But, ever following each regret O’er some departed treasure, My sad repining heart was met With unexpected pleasure. I thought it only happened so; But Time this truth has taught me-- No least thing from my life can go, But something else is brought me. It is the Law, complete, sublime; And now with Faith unshaken, In patience I but bide my time, When any joy is taken. No matter if the crushing blow May for the moment down me, Still, back of it waits Love, I know, With some new gift to crown me. DESIRE. No joy for which thy hungering heart has panted, No hope it cherishes through waiting years, But if thou dost deserve it, shall be granted For with each passionate wish the blessing nears. Tune up the fine, strong instrument of thy being To chord with thy dear hope, and do not tire. When both in key and rhythm are agreeing, Lo! thou shalt kiss the lips of thy desire.