once tasted air,
O earliest loss! O latest prize!
Would God that I were there!

THE WILDERNESS

From Life's enchantments,
Desire of place,
From lust of getting
Turn thou away, and set thy face
Toward the wilderness.

The tents of Jacob
As valleys spread,
As goodly cedars,
Or fair lign aloes, white and red,
Shall share thy wilderness.

With awful judgments,
The law, the rod,
With soft allurements
And comfortable words, will God
Pass o'er the wilderness.

The bitter waters
Are healed and sweet,
The ample heavens
Pour angel's bread about thy feet
Throughout the wilderness.

And Carmel's glory
Thou thoughtest gone,
And Sharon's roses,
The excellency of Lebanon
Delight thy wilderness.

Who passeth Jordan
Perfumed with myrrh,
With myrrh and incense?
Lo! on his arm Love leadeth her
Who trod the wilderness.

UNDER A WILTSHIRE APPLE TREE

Some folks as can afford,
So I've heard say,
Sets up a sort of cross
Right in the garden way
To mind 'em of the Lord.

But I, when I do see
Thic apple tree
An' stoopin' limb
All spread wi' moss,
I think of Him
And how he talks wi' me.

I think of God
And how he trod
That garden long ago:
He walked, I reckon, to and fro
And then sat down
Upon the groun'
Or some low limb
What suited Him
Same as you see
On many a tree,
And on this very one
Where I at set o' sun
Do sit and talk wi' He.

An' mornings, too, I rise an' come
An' sit down where the branch be low;
A bird do sing, a bee do hum,
The flowers in the border blow,
An' all my heart's so glad an' clear
As pools be when the sun do peer:
As pools a laughin' in the light
When mornin' air is swep' an' bright,
As pools what got all Heaven in sight
So's my heart's cheer
When He be near.

He never pushed the garden door,
He left no footmark on the floor;
I never heard 'Un stir nor tread
An' yet His Hand do bless my head,
And when 'tis time for work to start
I takes Him with me in my heart.

And when I die, pray God I see
At very last thic apple tree
An' stoopin' limb,
An' think o' Him
And all He been to me.

G. K. CHESTERTON

SONNET WITH THE COMPLIMENTS OF THE SEASON

(To a popular leader, to be congratulated on the avoidance of a strike
at Christmas.)

I know you. You will hail the huge release,
Saying the sheathing of a thousand swords,
In silence and injustice, well accords
With Christmas bells. And you will gild with grease
The papers, the employers, the polic