--
The host was a host of dead.

Let the gardener but pass his scythe o'er the grass--
And the life of a daisy is sped!

* * * * *

MONICA SALEEBY

_RETROSPECT_

You loved the child of fifteen years.
I knew not this vast thing.
Your great heart shrank beneath your fears;
You left me wondering.

Now fourteen years have passed us by;
Our souls meet once again;
And, meeting, I have asked you why
Our ways apart have lain?

And now your answer comes at last:--
"I loved you in that day."
Oh, strange reply! Oh, tender past!
Oh, long love locked away!

And now, yes, I have climbed Love's hill;
My heart is bound, yet free.
And is there not some young child still
For you to love in me?

You have the right to love her yet,
For he who loves me grown
Knew not the child you'll ne'er forget;
I give her for your own.

Oh, keep her young within your breast,
Allow her to survive;
For love of you _I'll_ do my best
To keep your child alive.

* * * * *

FRANCIS MEYNELL

_ANY STONE_

A myriad years God toiled to mould
A nerveless stone to His intent--
From peace to war, from heat to cold,
It triumphed against the Omnipotent:
God strove until His strength grew old,
Then cried "Thy help, My firmament!"

The stars in succour gave their light,
The aiding moon her ocean-sway;
At dawn and dusk the hosts of night
Watched round the battle-fires of day ...
To set the dust He loved aright
God called His winds to that array,

And all the burden of the world,
And all the tears from all men's eyes,
Drought, dew, and every flower unfurled,
The priest, the fire, the sacrifice,
The pillared cloud, His thunder hurled--
Victor, He held as nought the price!

Thus loved, thus wrought, God deemed the stone
Fit bed for beasts to lie upon.

* * * * *

O God of Gods, make short my days
Of blind approach to her and Thee;
Life-long upon Thy rugged ways
Her heart has danced: she calls to me.
Hast Thou forgotten me alone,
O Watcher where the wild beast lies?--
Mould to Thy will this other stone
--A stone, yet precious in her eyes.

_LUX IN TENEBRIS_

Spirit of smiles and tears, you came to me in the night,
The golden moon aglow in your hair, and the spear-driven light
Of an army of stars in your eyes, weary with truant sleep.
O little skilled in self, who thought y