, "And _that_ I have missed!"

To the end of the day that was full of care
The song in his heart was strong and new,
And the woman who loved him heard it too:
"Now that his soul is awake, I dare
Hope that he understands me," she said;
But I fear he didn't--until he was dead!

THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT

"A Merry Christmas!" You who make each day
A little less unhappy for some soul
Weighted with sorrow; you who have been gay
For others' sake--although you paid the toll
In the still watches of the weary night,
Fighting despair. You who have faced the world
With spirit and put cowardice to flight;
You, with your rugged banner still unfurled--
"A Merry Christmas!" For in you I see
The Vision of the Man that I would be!

"A Merry Christmas!" Through the winter chill,
The singing spring--hot summer and drear fall,
You go your way, seeking for good, not ill,
Remembering life's joy and not its gall;
Clasping the hand that trembles, when you may,
Spending your love whole-heartedly the while
For those who need it _now_, nor wait that day
When they no longer care for word or smile.
Doing your part with all sincerity--
A Vision of the Man that I would be!

THE REASON

The fetching airs you have; the way you sing, dear;
The pretty uplift of your round, firm chin;
Into my heart the sunshine daily bring, dear;
To be downcast when you're here were a sin!
Yet ev'ry motion, ev'ry smile and word, dear,
I know full well--and lost are their effect.
All of your bell-like tones you see, I've heard, dear,
When they were meant for me--and came direct.

That golden hair! How well you know its worth, dear,
To draw enraptured praise from lovers bold!
I, too, know well that from its very birth, dear,
Its meshes have entrapped the young and old.
Yet, when I watch you laughing, teasing--you, dear,
Who have been given such a hold on hearts,
I do not thrill as all the others do, dear;
Lost on me (in a manner) are your arts!

Not that I'm jealous, indifferent, or cold, dear;
Not that I don't approve of all your charms;
Not that you're "just a little bit too old," dear;
Nor that you are a tiny babe in arms!
No, no; you're sweet, and fresh, and fair, dear,
Unspoiled, delightful--really "all the rage."
But somehow I can't seem to rightly care, dear--
I wooed your mother--when she was your age!

THE MODERN WAY

Of tender missives--decorated treasures--
Of violets and roses, passin