ith a suppliant air,
I crave they grace a sickened soul to heal.

Here, close beside this sacred font of gold,
My humble prayer, oh, father, I will lay,
With all its weight of misery untold;
And wait impatient that which thou wilt say
REVENITA.

TO REVENITA

When to the font, this morn, my lips I pressed,
A fairy's gift my fingers trembled o'er;
A sweeter prayer ne'er smile of angel blessed,
Nor gemmed a tiar that the priesthood wore.

The secret of they grief I may not know,
Since that thy lips refuse the tale to tell;
Methinks, dear child, it was the sound of woe
That woke an echo in my heart's deep well.

The wail of a spirit that a-yearning gropes
In darkness for the sunlight that is fled;
A broken idol in secret wept, and hopes--
Crushed hopes--that are to thee as are the dead.

A tender memory ling'ring yet of when
Each bounding pulse beat faster with its joy;
A something that allured, and won, and then
With waking fled, and years may not destroy

The impress which it left upon thy brain
But seek thee, child, grief's ravaging to stay?
Thy tears might fall as falls the show'ring rain,
They could not wash the heart's deep scars away.

Repine thee not; shroud not they faith in gloom;
Shrink not to meet a disappointment's frown;
Away beyond the narrow bordered tomb,
Who here have borne the cross may wear the crown.
SANSON.

TO SANSON

Whisper to him, fairies, whisper--
Whisper softly in his ear
That some one is waiting, waiting,
Listening his step to hear.

Fairies, if he knew his presence
Would a demon's spell allay,
Would he heed your timid whisperings?
Would he--will he come to-day?
REVENITA.

TO REVENITA

Fairies whisper, every whisper,
In the silence of the night,
And he catches the soft murmurs
Floating in the starry light.

And they tell him; yes, they tell him,
All in accents sweet and clear,
Of the beautiful Hereafter
That is ever drawing near.

There are loved ones, waiting, waiting,
For his footfall on the shore;
They will welcome his appearing--
They will greet him o'er and o'er.
SANSON.

TO SANSON

Oh, would the fairies to her whisper
The truths which they to him impart,
Teach her a beautiful hereafter,
A Heaven to bless a tire