st's child-eyes, with love aflame!

IN HEAVEN NO HEART STILL HEAVES

Lo! God lets drop blue doves which ground the mind
Like clover; then, with drawing to the skies,
His pleasure is to watch the flocks arise.
Here, there, they mount; they show no cloud, no wind,
Can hinder homing; and the angels find
No transport, like the sight, for, to their eyes,
'Tis more souls for the joy, which glorifies
The Father, traced to love by pigeon-kind.

Oh, to his love, how great our spirit's worth!
Each is as all. In heaven, no heart still heaves.
The sun sinks with its last of lingering eves,
And, then, if dearest doves of azure birth,
Wife, parent, child, be missed, off mercy leaves
With stars for eyes, to search the darks of earth.

ST. PETER'S CATHEDRAL IN ROME

This temple is soul-startling. 'Tis to me
A thunder storm in stone, with Sinai flare
Across the Ages. 'Tis the Fiend's despair
And the Arch-angel's Triumph. It sets free
The mind and soul with certitude, Christ's key
Which, like the Sun, opes Heaven--the Good and Fair.
Still, oft, what darkness drowns the sun's noon glare
Within the Temple! 'Tis from Calvary.

Oh, 'tis from Calvary's grief. 'Tis Christ's emotion,
On from the Cross, that from His glory known,
The German should have fled and, frantic, thrown
Away his soul to Strauss or Kant's vague notion,
Unhumaning, till, in the Kaiser, grown
A Neitche whirl-wind in a crimson ocean.

MY BUGLER BOY

With heart pain and with quiver of the lip,
I bid my boy "good bye," with words of cheer.
I hug him to my heart to hide a tear,
And hold him close so long, that no tongue-slip
Could more betray my bodings for his ship,
Or troop, when landed. It is when I hear
My daughters' voices, that I shame off fear
And take my boy's both hands with firmest grip.

Go, son, and, though with thy young life 'tis blown,
Blare thou the Bugle, rousing man to sweep
The monsters back to Hell's profoundest deep,
Where, mocking Spring and Sun-rise, they have grown
On longings for the sea, the world must weep
When, from its heart, the hope of Peace has flown.

KAISER, BEWARE

Dost thou, mad Kaiser, for historic name,
Set fire to Europe? Is it joy to gaze
At blacker smoke than Etna's, and a blaze
That wakes up Chaos, wi