stories lie
Of Titans long ago,
The children of the lofty sky
And mother earth below?

Nay, walk not now upon the ground
Some sons of heavenly mould?
Some daughters of the Holy, found
In earthly garments' fold?

He said, who did and spoke the truth:
"Gods are the sons of God."
And so the world's Titanic youth
Strives homeward by one road.

Then live thou, sister, day and night,
An earth-child of the sky,
For ever climbing up the height
Of thy divinity.

Still in thy mother's heart-embrace,
Waiting thy hour of birth,
Thou growest by the genial grace
Of the child-bearing earth.

Through griefs and joys, each sad and sweet,
Thou shalt attain the end;
Till then a goddess incomplete--
O evermore my friend!

Nor is it pride that striveth so:
The height of the Divine
Is to be lowly 'mid the low;
No towering cloud--a mine;

A mine of wealth and warmth and song,
An ever-open door;
For when divinely born ere long,
A woman thou the more.

For at the heart of womanhood
The child's great heart doth lie;
At childhood's heart, the germ of good,
Lies God's simplicity.

So, sister, be thy womanhood
A baptism on thy brow
For something dimly understood,
And which thou art not now;

But which within thee, all the time,
Maketh thee what thou art;
Maketh thee long and strive and climb--
The God-life at thy heart.

OH THOU OF LITTLE FAITH!

Sad-hearted, be at peace: the snowdrop lies
Under the cold, sad earth-clods and the snow;
But spring is floating up the southern skies,
And the pale snowdrop silent waits below.

O loved if known! in dull December's day
One scarce believes there is a month of June;
But up the stairs of April and of May
The dear sun climbeth to the summer's noon.

Dear mourner! I love God, and so I rest;
O better! God loves thee, and so rest thou:
He is our spring-time, our dim-visioned Best,
And He will help thee--do not fear the _How._

LONGING.

My heart is full of inarticulate pain,
And beats laboriously. Ungenial looks
Invade my sanctuary. Men of gain,
Wise in success, well-read in feeble books,
Do not come near me now, your air is drear;
'Tis winter and low skies when ye appear.

Beloved, who love beauty and love truth!
Come round me; for too near ye cannot come;
Make me an atmosphere with your sweet youth;
Give me your souls to breathe in, a large room;
Speak not a word, for see, my spirit l