rained to prophesy.

Love is of loveliness the root,
Love is of life the spring,
Love is the sole interpreter
Of every lovely thing:
This is the burden of his song,
Well may the poet sing!

A joy-inspired song he sings
Because far off he hears
A whisper silencing the storm,
A laughter through the tears,
The music of eternity
Beyond the dying years.

His song is rapture, for he sees
God's loveliness, and we,
When with his insight we are blest,
Shall share his ecstasy;
Oh, come the day when all shall sing
As blithe a song as he!

Lord Christ, Thou art the King of Love,
Thou art the Poet true;
The men who would Thy vision share
Must learn Thy works to do,
All, all shall have the singing heart
Whose feet Thy steps pursue!

PITZ ORTLER: 1882.

_THREE SISTERS._[5]

Three fountains clear as crystal spring
In one secluded garden-plot;
In shade and shelter of one cot
Three sister-doves are harbouring.

Adown one pathway hand in hand
Three Sister-Graces wend their way;
I shall not soon forget the day
I met with them in fairy land.

They _dawned_, I know not how or whence:
A halo circling round the head
Of each, whereby transfigured
They clomb the hill of frankincense.

I know not whence or how, they _bloomed_:
Each sweeter than the sweetest rose
That in the haunted garden grows
Where burns the bush still unconsumed.

And one is like a rising sun
When dewy Morn unveils her eyes;
And one is as Minerva wise;
And very lily-like is one.

And all are dear. I seem to see
The weaving of a threefold cord--
To hear a softly whispered word,
'Love makes a unity of three.'

FOOTNOTES:

[5] _See_ Note D, page 74.

_A CHRISTMAS PUZZLE._

(FOR GROWN-UP CHILDREN.)

Children know the things I know not,
Though they know not that they know;
I should know not, should love grow not,
That I know not it is so.
Flowers feebly rooted blow not,
Shallow waters overflow not,
Love is doomed unless it grow.

Fools who think to reap and sow not
Growing love will overthrow;
Churls who say 'We go' and go not
Love's rebuke must undergo;
All who love's insignia show not,
Who on love themselves bestow not,
Love, full grown, shall lay them low.

_FOUR EPIPHANIES._[6]

I.

The Pilgrim-Kings their King have