SHORTENED LIVES

To us it seemed his life was too soon done,
Ended, indeed, while scarcely yet begun;
God, with His clearer vision, saw that he
Was ready for a larger ministry.

Just so we thought of Him, whose life below
Was so full-charged with bitterness and woe,
Our clouded vision would have crowned Him
King,

He chose the lowly way of suffering.

Remember, too, how short His life on earth,— But three-and-thirty years 'twixt death and birth. And of those years but three whereof we know, Yet those three years immortal seed did sow.

It is not tale of years that tells the whole
Of Man's success or failure, but the soul
He brings to them, the songs he sings to them,
The steadfast gaze he fixes on the goal.

LAGGARD SPRING

Winter hung about the ways,

Very loth to go.

Little Spring could not get past him,

Try she never so.

This side, that side, everywhere,

Winter held the track.

Little Spring sat down and whimpered,

Winter humped his back.

Summer called her,-"Come, dear, come!

Why do you delay?"

"Come and help me, Sister Summer,

Winter blocks my way."

Little Spring tried everything,

Sighs and moans and tears,

Winter howled with mocking laughter,

Covered her with jeers.

LAGGARD SPRING (continued)

Winter, rough old surly beggar,

Practised every vice,

Pelted her with hail and snow storms,
Clogged her feet with ice.

But, by chance at last they caught him
Unawares one day,

Tied his hands and feet, and dancing,
Sped upon their way.

LONELY BROTHER

Art thou lonely, O my brother?
Share thy little with another!
Stretch a hand to one unfriended,
And thy loneliness is ended.
So both thou and he

Shall less lonely be.

And of thy one loneliness

Shall come two's great happiness.

COMFORT YE!

"Comfort ye, my people!"
Saith your God,-
"And be ye comforted!
And-be-ye-comforted!"

Roughly my plough did plough you,
Sharp were my strokes, and sore,
But nothing less could bow you,
Nothing less could your souls restore
To the depths and the heights of my longing,
To the strength you had known before.

For-you were falling, falling,
Even the best of you,

Falling from your high calling;

And this, My test of you,

Has been for your souls' redemption

From the little things of earth,

What seemed to you death's agony

Was but a greater birth.