At break of day I crossed the wooded vale; And while the morning made A trembling light among the tree-tops pale, I saw the sable birds on every limb, Clinging together closely in the shade, And croaking placidly their surly hymn. But, oh, the little land of peace and love That those night-loving wings had poised above,-- Where was it gone? Lost, lost forevermore! Only a cottage, dull and gray, In the cold light of dawn, With iron bars across the door: Only a garden where the withering heads Of flowers, presaging decay, Hung over barren beds: Only a desolate field that lay Untilled beneath the desolate day,-- Where Eden seemed to bloom I found but these! So, wondering, I passed along my way, With anger in my heart, too deep for words, Against that grove of evil-sheltering trees, And the black magic of the croaking birds. WITHOUT DISGUISE If I have erred in showing all my heart, And lost your favour by a lack of pride; If standing like a beggar at your side With naked feet, I have forgot the art Of those who bargain well in passion's mart, And win the thing they want by what they hide; Be mine the fault as mine the hope denied, Be mine the lover's and the loser's part. The sin, if sin it was, I do repent, And take the penance on myself alone; Yet after I have borne the punishment, I shall not fear to stand before the throne Of Love with open heart, and make this plea: "At least I have not lied to her nor Thee!" GRATITUDE Do you give thanks for this?--or that?" No, God be thanked I am not grateful In that cold, calculating way, with blessing ranked As one, two, three, and four,--that would be hateful. I only know that every day brings good above My poor deserving; I only feel that, in the road of Life, true Love Is leading me along and never swerving. Whatever gifts and mercies in my lot may fall, I would not measure As worth a certain price in praise, or great or small; But take and use them all with simple pleasure. For when we gladly eat our daily bread, we bless The Hand that feeds us; And when we tread the road of Life in cheer- fulness, Our very heart-beats praise the Love that leads us. MASTER OF MUSIC (In memory of Theodore Thomas, 1905) Glory of architect, glory of painter, and sculp- tor, and bard, Living forever in temple and picture and statue and song,-- Look how the world with the lights that they lit is illumined and starred, Brief was the flame of their life, but the lamps of their art burn long!