R.W. GILDER. At Night. The sky is dark, and dark the bay below Save where the midnight city's pallid glow Lies like a lily white On the black pool of night. O rushing steamer, hurry on thy way Across the swirling Kills and gusty bay, To where the eddying tide Strikes hard the city's side! For there, between the river and the sea, Beneath that glow,--the lily's heart to me,-- A sleeping mother mild, And by her breast a child. R.W. GILDER. "Still in Thy Love I Trust." Still in thy love I trust, Supreme o'er death, since deathless is thy essence; For, putting off the dust, Thou hast but blest me with a nearer presence. And so, for this, for all, I breathe no selfish plaint, no faithless chiding; On me the snowflakes fall, But thou hast gained a summer all-abiding. Striking a plaintive string, Like some poor harper at a palace portal, I wait without and sing, While those I love glide in and dwell immortal. A.A. FIELDS. The Future. What may we take into the vast Forever? That marble door Admits no fruit of all our long endeavor, No fame-wreathed crown we wore, No garnered lore. What can we bear beyond the unknown portal? No gold, no gains Of all our toiling: in the life immortal No hoarded wealth remains, Nor gilds, nor stains. Naked from out that far abyss behind us We entered here: No word came with our coming, to remind us What wondrous world was near, No hope, no fear. Into the silent, starless Night before us, Naked we glide: No hand has mapped the constellations o'er us, No comrade at our side, No chart, no guide. Yet fearless toward that midnight, black and hollow, Our footsteps fare: The beckoning of a Father's hand we follow-- His love alone is there, No curse, no care. E.R. SILL. Prescience. The new moon hung in the sky, The sun was low in the west, And my betrothed and I In the churchyard paused to rest-- Happy maiden and lover, Dreaming the old dream over: The light winds wandered by, And robins chirped from the nest. And lo! in the meadow-sweet Was the grave of a little child, With a crumbling stone at the feet, And the ivy running wild-- Tangled ivy and clover Folding it over and over: Close to my sweetheart's feet Was the little mound up-piled. Stricken with nameless fears, She shrank and clung to me, And her eyes were filled with tears For a sorrow I did not see: Lightly the winds were blowing, Softly her tears were flowing-- Tears for the unknown years And a sorrow that was to be! T.B. ALDRICH. In August. All the long August afternoon, The little drowsy stream Whispers a melancholy tune, As if it dreamed of June And whispered in its dream.