We must believe-- Being from birth endowed with love and trust-- Born unto loving;--and how simply just That love--that faith!--even in the blossom-face The babe drops dreamward in its resting-place, Intuitively conscious of the sure Awakening to rapture ever pure And sweet and saintly as the mother's own, Or the awed father's, as his arms are thrown O'er wife and child, to round about them weave And wind and bind them as one harvest-sheaf Of love--to cleave to, and _forever_ cleave.... Lord, I believe: Help Thou mine unbelief. We must believe-- Impelled since infancy to seek some clear Fulfillment, still withheld all seekers here;-- For never have we seen perfection nor The glory we are ever seeking for: But we _have_ seen--all mortal souls as one-- Have seen its _promise_, in the morning sun-- Its blest assurance, in the stars of night;-- The ever-dawning of the dark to light;-- The tears down-falling from all eyes that grieve-- The eyes uplifting from all deeps of grief, Yearning for what at last we shall receive.... Lord, I believe: Help Thou mine unbelief. We must believe-- For still all unappeased our hunger goes, From life's first waking, to its last repose: The briefest life of any babe, or man Outwearing even the allotted span, Is each a life unfinished--incomplete: For these, then, of th' outworn, or unworn feet Denied one toddling step--O there must be Some fair, green, flowery pathway endlessly Winding through lands Elysian! Lord, receive And lead each as Thine Own Child--even the Chief Of us who didst Immortal life achieve.... Lord, I believe: Help Thou mine unbelief. A GOOD MAN I A good man never dies-- In worthy deed and prayer And helpful hands, and honest eyes, If smiles or tears be there: Who lives for you and me-- Lives for the world he tries To help--he lives eternally. A good man never dies. II Who lives to bravely take His share of toil and stress, And, for his weaker fellows' sake, Makes every burden less,-- He may, at last, seem worn-- Lie fallen--hands and eyes Folded--yet, though we mourn and mourn, A good man never dies. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE OLD DAYS The old days--the far days-- The overdear and fair!-- The old days--the lost days-- How lovely they were! The old days of Morning, With the dew-drench on the flowers And apple-buds and blossoms Of those old days of ours. Then was the _real_ gold Spendthrift Summer flung; Then was the _real_ song Bird or Poet sung! There was never censure then,-- Only honest praise-- And all things were worthy of it In the old days. There bide the true friends-- The first and the best; There clings the green grass Close where they rest: Would they were here? No;-- Would _we_ were _there_!... The old days--the lost days-- How lovely they were! [Illustration] [Illustration]