THE ABIDING LOVE

It SINGETH low in every heart,
We hear it each and all-
A song of those who answer not,
However we may call;
They throng the silence of the breast,
We seem them as of yore-
The kind, the brave, the sweet,
Who walk with us no more.

'Tis hard to take the burden up
When these have laid it down;
They brightened all the joy of life,
They softened every frown;
But, Oh, 'tis good to think of them
When we are troubled sore!
Thanks be to God that such have been.
Although they are no more.

More homelike seems the vast unknown
Since they have entered there;
To follow them were not so hard,
Wherever they may fare;
They cannot be where God is not,
On any sea or shore;
Whate'er betides, thy love abides,
Our God, forever more.

--John White Chadwick

NEED OF LOVING

FOLK need a lot of loving in the morning;
The days is all before, with cares beset-
The cares we know, and they that give no warning;
For love is God's own antidote for fret.

Folk need a heap of loving at the noontime-
In the battle lull, the moment snatched from strife-
Halfway between the waking and the croontime,
While bickering and worriment are rife.

Folk hunger so for loving at the nighttime,
When wearily they take them home to rest-
At slumber song and turning-out-the-light time-
Of all the times for loving, that's the best.

Folk want a lot of loving every minute-
The sympathy of others and their smile!
Till life's end, from the moment they begin it,
Folks need a lot of loving all the while.

--Strickland Gillilan

IF I HAD TO KNOW

IF I HAD known what trouble you were bearing;
What griefs were in the silence of your face;
I would have been more gentle, and more caring,
And tried to give you gladness for a space.
I would have brought more warmth into the place,
If I had known.

If I had known what thoughts despairing drew you;
(Why do we never try to understand?)
I would have lent a little friendship to you,
And slipped my hand within your hand,
And made your stay more pleasant in the land,
If I had known.

--Mary Carolyn Davies

YOU AND I

MY HAND is lonely for your clasping dear;
My ear is tired waiting for your call.
I want your strength to help, your laugh to cheer;
Heart, soul and senses need you, one and all.
I droop without your full, frank sympathy;
We ought to be together, you and I;
We want each other so, to comprehend
The dream, the hope, things planned or seem, or wrought.
Companion, comforter and guide and friend,
As must as love asks love, does thought ask thought.
Life is so short, so fast the lone hours fly,
We ought to be together, you and I.

--Henry Alford

FORGET THEE?

"FORGET thee?" If to dream by night and muse on thee by day,
If all the worship deep and wild a poet's heart can pay,
If prayers in absence breathed for thee to Heaven's protecting power,
If winged thoughts that flit to thee-a thousand in an hour-
If busy fancy blending thee with all my future lot-
If this thou call'st "forgetting," thou, indeed, shalt be forgot!

"Forget thee?" Bid the forest-birds forget their sweetest tune;
"Forget thee?" Bid the sea forget the swell beneath the moon;
Bid the thirsty flowers forget to drink the eve's refreshing dew;
Thyself forget thine own "dear land," and it's "mountains wild and blue."
Forget each old familiar face, each long-remember'd spot-
When these things are forgot by thee, then thou shalt be forgot!

Keep, if thou wilt, thy maiden peace, still calm and fancy-free,
For God forbid thy gladsome heart should grow less glad for me;
Yet, while that heart is still unwon, oh! bid not mine to rove,
But let it nurse its humble faith and uncomplaining love;
If these, preserved for patient years, at last avail me not,
Forget me then; but ne'er believe that thou canst be forgot!

--John Moultrie

THOU HAST WOUNDED THE SPIRIT THAT LOVED THEE

THOU hast wondered the spirit that love thee,
And cherished thine images for years,
Thou has taught me at last to forget thee,
In secret in silence, and tears,
As a young bird when left by its mother,
Its earliest pinions to try,
Round the nest will still lingering hover,
Ere its trembling wings to try.

Thus we're taught in this cold world to smother
Each feeling that once was so dear;
Like that young bird I'll seek to discover
A home of affection elsewhere.
Though this heart may still cling to thee fondly
And dream of sweet memories past,
Yet hope, like the rainbow of summer,
Gives a promise of Lethe at last.

Like the sunbeams that play on the ocean,
In tremulous touches of light,
Is the heart in its early emotion,
Illumined with versions as bright.
Yet ofttimes beneath the waves swelling,
A tempest will suddenly come,
All rudely and wildly dispelling
The love of the happiest home.

--Mrs. David Porter