All happiness that human heart may know I find with you; and when you go away, Those hours become a winding-sheet of woe, And make a ghastly phantom of To-day. LOVE MUCH. Love much. Earth has enough of bitter in it. Cast sweets into its cup whene’er you can. No heart so hard, but love at last may win it. Love is the grand primeval cause of man. All hate is foreign to the first great plan. Love much. Your heart will be led out to slaughter, On altars built of envy and deceit. Love on, love on! ’tis bread upon the water; It shall be cast in loaves yet at your feet, Unleavened manna, most divinely sweet. Love much. Your faith will be dethroned and shaken, Your trust betrayed by many a fair, false lure. Remount your faith, and let new trusts awaken. Though clouds obscure them, yet the stars are pure; Love is a vital force and must endure. Love much. Mens’ souls contract with cold suspicion: Shine on them with warm love, and they expand. ’Tis love, not creeds, that from a low condition Leads mankind up to heights supreme and grand. Oh, that the world could see and understand! Love much. There is no waste in freely giving; More blessed is it, even, than to receive. He who loves much, alone finds life worth living, Love on, through doubt and darkness; and believe There is no thing which Love may not achieve. ONE OF US TWO. The day will dawn, when one of us shall hearken In vain to hear a voice that has grown dumb. And morns will fade, noons pale, and shadows darken, While sad eyes watch for feet that never come. One of us two must sometime face existence Alone with memories that but sharpen pain. And these sweet days shall shine back in the distance, Like dreams of summer dawns, in nights of rain. One of us two, with tortured heart half broken, Shall read long-treasured letters through salt tears, Shall kiss with anguished lips each cherished token, That speaks of these loved-crowned, delicious years. One of us two shall find all light, all beauty, All joy on earth, a tale forever done; Shall know henceforth that life means only duty. Oh, God! Oh, God! have pity on that one. HER REVERIE. We were both of us--aye, we were both of us there, In the self-same house at the play together, To her it was summer, with bees in the air-- To me it was winter weather. We never had met, and yet we two Had played in desperate woman fashion, A game of life, with a prize in view, And oh! I played with passion. ’Twas a game that meant heaven and sweet home-life For the one who went forth with a crown upon her; For the one who lost--it meant lone strife, Sorrow, despair and dishonor.