There is a power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast-- The desert and illimitable air-- Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near. And soon that toil shall end; Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend, Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form; yet on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon depart: He who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone, Will lead my steps aright. FOOTNOTE: [18] By permission of D. Appleton & Co., publishers. THE WEDDING-GOWN ETTA W. PIERCE "Bring it from the oaken press; full fifty years ago I sewed those seams, my heart all full of youth and hope and Joe-- Joe, whose wife I was to be--my lover, strong and brown, Captain of the stanchest craft that sailed from Gloucester town. It seems a worthless thing to hold so carefully in store, This poor, old, faded bridal dress, which no bride ever wore; Cut in the curious style of half a century ago, With scanty skirt and 'broidered bands--my own hands shaped it so. Niece Hester, spread it on my bed--my eyes grow blind with tears; I touch its limp and yellow folds, and lo! the long dead years Come trooping back like churchyard ghosts. This was my wedding-gown-- 'Twas made the year the equinox brought woe to Gloucester town. "Ah, I remember well the night I walked the beach with him-- The moon was rising just above the ocean's purple rim, And all the savage Cape Ann rocks shone in her mellow light; The time was spring, and heaven itself seemed close to us that night. We heard the cool waves beat the shore, the seabird's startled cry; Like spirits in the dark, we saw the coasters flitting by. High in their towers the beacons burned, like wintry embers red, From Ipswich, down the rough sea-line, to crag-girt Marblehead. 'I love you, Nan!' Joe said, at last, in his grave, simple way-- I'd felt the words a-coming, child, for many a long, glad day. I hung my head, he kissed me--oh, sweetest hour of life! A stammering word, a sigh, and I was Joe's own promised wife.