Alone proves what that soul without earth's dross
Could be, and this, through time's far-searching fire,
Hath proved thine white beneath the deepest scan.

A woman's tribute, 'tis a tiny dot,
A merest flower from a frail, small hand,
To lay among the many petaled wreaths
About thy form,--a tribute soon forgot.

But if in all the incense to arise
In fragrance to the blue empyrean
The blended sweetness of the womens' love
Goes pouring too, in all their heartfelt sighs.

And if one woman's sorrow be among them too,
One woman's joy for labor past
Be reckoned in the mighty teeming whole,
It is enough, there is not more to do.

Within the hearts of heroes small and great
There 'bides a tenderness for weakling things
Within thy heart, the sorrowing country knows
These passions, bravest and the tenderest mate.

When man is dust, before the gazing eyes
Of all the gaping throng, his life lies wide
For all to see and whisper low about
Or let their thoughts in discord's clatter rise.

But thine was pure and undefiled,
A record of long brilliant, teeming days,
Each thought did tend to further things,
But pure as the proverbial child.

Oh, people, that thy grief might find express
To gather in some vast cathedral's hall,
That then in unity we might kneel and hear
Sublimity in sounds, voice our distress.

Peace, peace, the men of God cry, ye be bold,
The world hath known, 'tis Heaven who claims him now,
And in our railings we but cast aside
The noble traits he bid us hold.

So though divided through the land, in dreams
We see a people kneeling low,
Bowed down in heart and soul to see
This fearful sorrow, crushing as it seems.

And all the grand cathedral silence falls
Into the hearts of these that worship low,
Like tender waves of hushed nothingness,
Confined, nor kept by human earthly walls.

A STORY OF VENGEANCE.

Yes, Eleanor, I have grown grayer. I am younger than you, you know, but
then, what have you to age you? A kind husband, lovely children, while
I--I am nothing but a lonely woman. Time goes slowly, slowly for me now.

Why did I never marry? Move that screen a little to one side, please; my
eyes can scarcely bear a strong light. Bernard? Oh, that's a long story.
I'll tell you if you wish; it might pass an hour.

Do you ever think to go over the old school-days?