back! Ah, the days of heaven when
All the songs shall sing forever down the perfect ways of men,
And the lilies and the roses in the fields of death and doom
Shall engarland all the path-ways with the bright of bud and bloom!
What if long the wait and watching? What if sky and sun are black?
Songs and blossoms come to meet us, when the birds come back!

When the birds come back! When the birds come back!
O, the raptures and the rhapsodies that follow in their track!
How the memories of by-gones and the joys of other days
Smile again with angel faces down the world's entangled ways!
And the pleasures come and crown us with the garlands that we lack,
When the sunshine floods the valleys and the birds come back!

The Ways of Life.

The rough way, the hard way,
The way that seems so long!
Yet still the sweet and happy way
Across the fields of song!

The sad way, the dark way,
The way that leads above;
And still the bright and golden way
Across the fields of love!

The love way, the song way,
The way we gladly go,--
The way of blossoms sweet and fair
And all the dreams we know!

What the world may think of a man is of small consequence either to him
or the world; but what he thinks of himself is of infinite and
imperishable importance to all the realms of creation.

Mister Blue-bird.

"Mister Blue-bird! Mister Blue-bird!
Don't you think it's rather soon
For the making of your music,
And the striking of a tune?"
"I have heard the lone trees calling
And the meadows barren long,
For the laughter of the lovers
And the raptures of the song!

"I have heard the dark buds waiting,
And the roses red to be
Sent the wailing of their wishes
In a message after me!

"Never think I come too early!
I'm the messenger of spring,
And the roses and the lilies
Never waken till I sing!"

He has Lived in Vain.

The poor man who never was a country boy, and made cider, milked the
cows, ran off and went swimming, kissed the girls at apple-cuttings and
husking bees, bred stone-bruises on his heels, stacked hay in a high
wind and mowed it away in a hot loft, swallowed quinine in scraped
apple and castor oil in cold coffee, taught the calves to drink and fed
them, manipulated the churn-dasher, ate molasses and sulphur and drank
sassafras tea in the spri