Murmuring softly, murmuring still,
"God around me, God above me,
God to guard me, God to love me."

I am Bega, least of bells;
Weaving wonder, wind-born spells.
High above the morning mist,
Wreathed in rose and amethyst,
Still the dreams of music float
Silver from my silver throat,
Whispering beauty, whispering peace.
When great Tatwin's golden voice
Bids the listening land rejoice,
When great Turkeful rings and rolls
Thunder down to trembling souls,
Then my notes, like curlews flying,
Sinking, falling, lifting, sighing,
Softly answer, softly cease.
I, with all the airs at play,
Murmuring softly, murmuring say,
"God around me, God above me,
God to guard me, God to love me."

Marjorie L. C. Pickthall

Love as brethren, be pitiful, be courteous: not rendering evil for evil
or railing for railing: but contrariwise blessing.

For he that will love life, and see good days, let him refrain his
tongue from evil, and his lips that they speak no guile:

Let him eschew evil, and do good; let him seek peace and ensue it.

For the eyes of the Lord are over the righteous, and His ears are open
unto their prayers: but the face of the Lord is against them that do
evil.

And who is he that will harm you, if ye be followers of that which is
good?

I. Peter, III.

A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT

What was he doing, the great god Pan,
Down in the reeds by the river?
Spreading ruin and scattering ban,
Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat,
And breaking the golden lilies afloat
With the dragon-fly on the river.

He tore out a reed, the great god Pan
From the deep, cool bed of the river:
The limpid water turbidly ran,
And the broken lilies a-dying lay,
And the dragon-fly had fled away,
Ere he brought it out of the river.

High on the shore sat the great god Pan,
While turbidly flow'd the river;
And hack'd and hew'd as a great god can,
With his hard, bleak steel at the patient reed,
Till there was not a sign of a leaf, indeed,
To prove it fresh from the river.

He cut it short, did the great god Pan,
(How tall it stood in the river!)
Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man,
Steadily from the outside ring,
And notch'd the poor, dry, empty thing
In holes, as he sat by the river.

"This is th