Few of the younger poets have a more vital and personal conviction of spiritual things than Mr. Knowles, and its evolution is interesting to note. There is abundant evidence in his earlier verse that he was bred after the strictest letter of the law; but while his faith was “fixed to form,” it was seeking “centre everywhere,” and the later volume widens to an encompassing view worthy the vision of a poet,—the view that finds nothing impervious to the irradiation of spirit. It is variously sung, but most nobly, perhaps, in the following poem: In buds upon some Aaron’s rod The childlike ancient saw his God; Less credulous, more believing, we Read in the grass—Divinity. From Horeb’s bush the Presence spoke To earlier faiths and simpler folk; But now each bush that sweeps our fence Flames with the awful Immanence! To old Zacchæus in his tree What mattered leaves and botany? His sycamore was but a seat Whence he could watch that hallowed street. But now to us each elm and pine Is vibrant with the Voice divine, Not only from but in the bough Our larger creed beholds Him now. To the true faith, bark, sap and stem Are wonderful as Bethlehem; No hill nor brook nor field nor herd But mangers the incarnate Word! * * * * * Again we touch the healing hem In Nazareth or Jerusalem; We trace again those faultless years; The cross commands our wondering tears. Yet if to us the Spirit writes On Morning’s manuscript and Night’s, In gospels of the growing grain, Epistles of the pond and plain, In stars, in atoms, as they roll Each tireless round its occult pole, In wing and worm and fin and fleece, In the wise soil’s surpassing peace,— Thrice ingrate he whose only look Is backward focused on the Book, Neglectful what the Presence saith, Though He be near as blood and breath! The only atheist is one Who hears no voice in wind or sun, Believer in some primal curse, Deaf in God’s loving universe! Mr. Knowles has not embraced the diffusive faith that has no faith to stay it, but is endeavoring to read the newer meaning into the older truths, which is the present-day office of singer and seer. In the matter of personal valor, of optimistic, intrepid mood, Mr. Knowles’ work is altogether commendable. He awaits with buoyant cheer what lies beyond the turn o’ the road. His poem “Fear,” from the first collection, was widely quoted at the time because of its heartening tone, and in his new volume, “A Challenge,” “A Twofold Prayer,” and many another sounds the same invincible note. “Laus Mortis” is a hymn to death holding within it the truer acceptation of that natural and therefore kindly change: Nay, why should I fear Death, Who gives us life, and in exchange takes breath? He is like cordial Spring That lifts above the soil each buried thing; Like autumn, kind and brief— The frost that chills the branches frees the leaf;