Hand in hand to the pasture bars We came loitering, Lou and I, Long ere the fireflies coaxed the stars Out of their hiding-place on high. O how sadly the cattle moo! Louella Wainie! where are you? Laughingly we parted here-- "I will go this way," said she, "And you will go that way, my dear"-- Kissing her dainty hand at me-- And the hazels hid her from my view. Louella Wainie! where are you? Is there ever a sadder thing Than to stand on the farther brink Of twilight, hearing the marsh-frogs sing? Nothing could sadder be, I think! And ah! how the night-fog chills one through. Louella Wainie! where are you? Water-lilies and oozy leaves-- Lazy bubbles that bulge and stare Up at the moon through the gloom it weaves Out of the willows waving there! Is it despair I am wading through? Louella Wainie! where are you? Louella Wainie, listen to me, Listen, and send me some reply, For so will I call unceasingly Till death shall answer me by and by-- Answer, and help me to find you too! Louella Wainie! where are you? THE TEXT The text: Love thou thy fellow man! He may have sinned;--One proof indeed, He is thy fellow, reach thy hand And help him in his need! Love thou thy fellow man. He may Have wronged thee--then, the less excuse Thou hast for wronging him. Obey What he has dared refuse! Love thou thy fellow man--for, be His life a light or heavy load, No less he needs the love of thee To help him on his road. WILLIAM BROWN "He bore the name of William Brown"-- His name, at least, did not go down With him that day He went the way Of certain death where duty lay. He looked his fate full in the face-- He saw his watery resting-place Undaunted, and With firmer hand Held others' hopes in sure command.-- The hopes of full three hundred lives-- Aye, babes unborn, and promised wives! "The odds are dread," He must have said, "Here, God, is one poor life instead." No time for praying overmuch-- No time for tears, or woman's touch Of tenderness, Or child's caress-- His last "God bless them!" stopped at "bless"-- Thus man and engine, nerved with steel, Clasped iron hands for woe or weal, And so went down Where dark waves drown All but the name of William Brown. WHY Why are they written--all these lovers' rhymes? I catch faint perfumes of the blossoms white That maidens drape their tresses with at night, And, through dim smiles of beauty and the din Of the musicians' harp and violin, I hear, enwound and blended with the dance, The voice whose echo is this utterance,-- Why are they written--all these lovers' rhymes?