I would not for the world, love, give you pain, Or ever compass what would cause you grief; And, oh, how well I know that tears are vain! But love is sweet, my dear, and life is brief; So if some day before you I should go Beyond the sound and sight of song and sea, 'T would give my spirit stronger wings to know That you remembered still and wept for me. SLOW THROUGH THE DARK Slow moves the pageant of a climbing race; Their footsteps drag far, far below the height, And, unprevailing by their utmost might, Seem faltering downward from each hard won place. No strange, swift-sprung exception we; we trace A devious way thro' dim, uncertain light,-- Our hope, through the long vistaed years, a sight Of that our Captain's soul sees face to face. Who, faithless, faltering that the road is steep, Now raiseth up his drear insistent cry? Who stoppeth here to spend a while in sleep Or curseth that the storm obscures the sky? Heed not the darkness round you, dull and deep; The clouds grow thickest when the summit's nigh. THE MURDERED LOVER Say a mass for my soul's repose, my brother, Say a mass for my soul's repose, I need it, Lovingly lived we, the sons of one mother, Mine was the sin, but I pray you not heed it. Dark were her eyes as the sloe and they called me, Called me with voice independent of breath. God! how my heart beat; her beauty appalled me, Dazed me, and drew to the sea-brink of death. Lithe was her form like a willow. She beckoned, What could I do save to follow and follow, Nothing of right or result could be reckoned; Life without her was unworthy and hollow. Ay, but I wronged thee, my brother, my brother; Ah, but I loved her, thy beautiful wife. Shade of our father, and soul of our mother, Have I not paid for my love with my life? Dark was the night when, revengeful, I met you, Deep in the heart of a desolate land. Warm was the life-blood which angrily wet you Sharp was the knife that I felt from your hand. Wept you, oh, wept you, alone by the river, When my stark carcass you secretly sank. Ha, now I see that you tremble and shiver; 'T was but my spirit that passed when you shrank! Weep not, oh, weep not, 't is over, 't is over; Stir the dark weeds with the turn of the tide; Go, thou hast sent me forth, ever a rover, Rest and the sweet realm of heaven denied. Say a mass for my soul's repose, my brother, Say a mass for my soul, I need it. Sin of mine was it, and sin of no other, Mine was it all, but I pray you not heed it. PHILOSOPHY I been t'inkin' 'bout de preachah; whut he said de othah night, 'Bout hit bein' people's dooty, fu' to keep dey faces bright; How one ought to live so pleasant dat ouah tempah never riles, Meetin' evahbody roun' us wid ouah very nicest smiles.