God give to these within this temple here, Clear vision of the dignity of toil, That virtue in them may its blossoms rear Unspotted, fragrant, from the lowly soil. God bless the givers for their noble deed, Shine on them with the mercy of Thy face, Who come with open hearts to help and speed The striving women of a struggling race. A ROADWAY Let those who will stride on their barren roads And prick themselves to haste with self-made goads, Unheeding, as they struggle day by day, If flowers be sweet or skies be blue or gray: For me, the lone, cool way by purling brooks, The solemn quiet of the woodland nooks, A song-bird somewhere trilling sadly gay, A pause to pick a flower beside the way. BY RUGGED WAYS By rugged ways and thro' the night We struggle blindly toward the light; And groping, stumbling, ever pray For sight of long delaying day. The cruel thorns beside the road Stretch eager points our steps to goad, And from the thickets all about Detaining hands reach threatening out. "Deliver us, oh, Lord," we cry, Our hands uplifted to the sky. No answer save the thunder's peal, And onward, onward, still we reel. "Oh, give us now thy guiding light;" Our sole reply, the lightning's blight. "Vain, vain," cries one, "in vain we call;" But faith serene is over all. Beside our way the streams are dried, And famine mates us side by side. Discouraged and reproachful eyes Seek once again the frowning skies. Yet shall there come, spite storm and shock, A Moses who shall smite the rock, Call manna from the Giver's hand, And lead us to the promised land! The way is dark and cold and steep, And shapes of horror murder sleep, And hard the unrelenting years; But 'twixt our sighs and moans and tears, We still can smile, we still can sing, Despite the arduous journeying. For faith and hope their courage lend, And rest and light are at the end. LOVE'S SEASONS When the bees are humming in the honeysuckle vine And the summer days are in their bloom, Then my love is deepest, oh, dearest heart of mine, When the bees are humming in the honeysuckle vine. When the winds are moaning o'er the meadows chill and gray, And the land is dim with winter gloom, Then for thee, my darling, love will have its way, When the winds are moaning o'er the meadows chill and gray. In the vernal dawning with the starting of the leaf, In the merry-chanting time of spring, Love steals all my senses, oh, the happy-hearted thief! In the vernal morning with the starting of the leaf. Always, ever always, even in the autumn drear, When the days are sighing out their grief, Thou art still my darling, dearest of the dear, Always, ever always, even in the autumn drear. TO A DEAD FRIEND It is as if a silver chord Were suddenly grown mute, And life's song with its rhythm warred Against a silver lute.