ing secret of His way with us.

No planet knows that this
Our wayside planet, carrying land and wave,
Love and life multiplied, and pain and bliss,
Bears, as chief treasure, one forsaken grave.

Nor, in our little day,
May His devices with the heavens be guessed,
His pilgrimage to thread the Milky Way
Or His bestowals there be manifest.

But in the eternities,
Doubtless we shall compare together, hear
A million alien Gospels, in what guise
He trod the Pleiades, the Lyre, the Bear.

O, be prepared, my soul!
To read the inconceivable, to scan
The million forms of God those stars unroll
When, in our turn, we show to them a Man.

MATERNITY

One wept whose only child was dead,
New-born, ten years ago.
"Weep not; he is in bliss," they said.
She answered, "Even so.

"Ten years ago was born in pain
A child, not now forlorn.
But oh, ten years ago, in vain,
A mother, a mother was born."

WILL H. OGILVIE

THERE'S A CLEAN WIND BLOWING

There's a clean wind blowing
Over hill-flower and peat,
Where the bell heather's growing,
And the brown burn flowing,
And the ghost-shadows going
Down the glen on stealthy feet.
There's a clean wind blowing,
And the breath of it is sweet.

There's a clean wind blowing,
And the world holds but three:
The purple peak against the sky,
The master wind, and me.
The moor birds are tossing
Like ships upon the sea;
There's a clean wind blowing
Free.

There's a clean wind blowing,
Untainted of the town,
A fair-hitting foeman
With his glove flung down.
Will ye take his lordly challenge
And the gauntlet that he throws,
And come forth among the heather
Where the clean wind blows!

THE GARDEN OF THE NIGHT

The Night is a far-spreading garden, and all through the hours
Glisten and glitter and sparkle her wonderful flowers.
First the great moon-rose full blooming; the great bed of stars
Touching with restful gold petals the woodland's dark bars;
Then arc-lights like asters that blossom in street and in square,
And lamps like primroses beyond them in planted parterre;
Great tulips of crimson that rise from the factory towers;
White lilies that drop from deep windows: all flowers, the Night's flowers!

Blooms on the highway that twinkle and fade like the stars,
Golden and red on the vans and the carts and the cars;
Clusters of bloom in the village; lone homesteads a-light,
Decking the lawns of the darkness,