This is to little Dorothy D.
Granddaughter mine so sweet is she.
Long ago a poet knew
A dear little girl called Dorothy Q.;
But I am convinced she could not be
Any sweeter than Dorothy D.

Dorothy Douglas, may you grow
Into the dearest girl I know:
May you be loyal, frank and true,
Just as your mother is; may you
Loving, joyous, and honest be,
Like your father, my Dorothy D.

Welcome into the great, strange world,
Now where the dogs of war have hurled
Bitter cries that have stunned our ears, —

CHRIST SPEAKS FROM A CRUCIFIX IN BRITTANY

M Y people, oh! my people, pass not by,
Or passing, turn again and look, for lo!
The shadow of my rough hewn cross and me
Hangs in the waning West, a great Plus Sign,
And bids you add us, add my cross and me,
To every joy and every pain of yours.
My arms outstretched, my weary head and feet
Nailed to the rugged cross are like the sign
The little children make to show that more,

On the far hill, where all your people love you
Silent you lie,
'Neath the Scotch cross that rises there above you
Under the sky.

Stanch as its stone, the hand you held out gladly,
To meet the need
Of those who turned to you; whOnow greet sadly
What was decreed.

Deep in your heart's far innermost recesses,
You held your Own,—
Scorning all lighter loves and their caresses—
You gave alone

All that you had—and it was worth the keeping—
To those who bore
Your honored name. Ah! may you now be reaping
That love—and more!

I LOVED you for your loving ways,
The ways that many did not know;
Although my heart would beat and glow
When Nations crowned you with their bays.

I loved you for the tender hand
That held my own so close and warm,
I loved you for the winning charm
That brought gay sunshine to the land.

I loved you for the heart that knew
The need of every little child;
I loved you when you turned and smiled, —
It was as though a fresh wind blew.

I loved you for your loving ways,
The look that leaped to meet my eye,

I SAW Sleep stand by an enchanted wood,
Thick lashes drooping o'er her heavy eyes:
Leaning against a flower-cupped tree she stood,
The night air gently breathed with slumbrous sighs.
Such cloak of silence o'er the world was spread,
As on Nile sands enshrouds the mighty dead.

About her birds were dumb, and blooms were bowed,
And a thick heavy sweetness filled the air;
White robed she seemed; and hidden as in a cloud,
A star-like jewel in her raven hair.
Downward to earth her cold torch would she turn

Faith , linnets are a throuble, lad;
They must be screened an' fed,
An' sunned beyont your cabin door,
An' carried back to bed!

Faith, love it is a burthen, gerrl;
'Tis iver give an' take;
Aye, knowin' how ye give too much
An' niver count the ache!

Och, childer,' ma'am, are worrisome,
An' fret an' throuble fall
On wimmen whin their childer' come;
They have no peace at all!

But song an' love an' childer', faith,
These things you're gettin' free,
These things you've held to pest ye so,

They died for love and beauty,
Those heroes debonnair;
They died for faith and duty
To make the earth more fair.

We'll live, that love and beauty
May evermore abide;
We'll live the faith and duty
For which our heroes died.

I SEE my love in every little child
Whose eyes meet mine with laughter in their blue;
I hear him in the note, half sweet, half wild,
When bird calls bird their promise to renew;
I feel him in the ardor of the sun
That woos the fragrance from the waking flower,
And maple buds, rose flushed by beauty, won
To swift fulfilment of the Sun God's power.
The world is young once more as he was young,
With life and love reborn in everything—
O singing hearts! My own is faint and wrung;
The rapture and the riot of the Spring

Love is a talent, like the gift of song
That thrills its cadenced passion on the ear,
So Love, with harmony as rich and clear
Strikes on the chord of Life, a vibrant, strong,
Full note, that turns to right the cruel wrong,
That lifts the lonely, stills the starting tear,
Heals the bruised heart and casteth out all fear
With peace that only can to Love belong.

But if the singer sing not, then the high,
Sweet resonance shall harsh and tuneless fall —
Thus Love, if only garnered and not given,
Of its own atrophy must droop and die —

When the creed begins to throttle
Life-expression, love-endeavour,
Save the wine, but scrap the bottle;
Love must be our light forever.

But the word must be the new one,
Gleaming and forever glowing,
And the vine must be the true one,
Every year new blossoms showing.