no more distressed;
He sleeps at last!

WHEN FORTUNES FROWN.

When fortunes frown, the woes, bedight
With brooding shadows, bring the night,
While dismal sorrows darkness dole,
And disappointments rise and roll
Above the longings for the light.

Despair, with hands that curse and blight,
Sows weakness in the hearts of might
Until they falter near the goal,
When fortunes frown.

But onward still! The valleys white
With Heaven's blossoms are in sight;
The Holy Mountains, knoll on knoll,
Are waiting for the Master Soul,
And he shall conquer for the right,
When fortunes frown!

WHEN WE SHALL MEET.

When we shall meet, I strangely know
The mad emotions that shall flow
Across my heart all quivering,
Beneath the raptures he shall bring
From angel years that gladdened so.

And I all shy and silent grow
Beneath his glance of gladness, though
Wild yearnings through my bosom spring,
When we shall meet.

Till joyful tears of passion show,
And to his kind embrace I throw
My heart unworthy, and I cling
With deathless fondness to the king
I worshipped in the Long Ago,
When we shall meet!

SWEET EYES OF BLUE.

Sweet eyes of blue! The stars by night,
That swoon the world with laughing light,
And touch the hills with tender glow
While all the vales are kissed below,
Beside you would no more be bright.

My worlds ye are, and while I throw
My heart to catch the beams that flow
From your fair shrine, my woes take flight,
Sweet eyes of blue!

Glad orbs of beauty! In your sight
My soul mounts up with secret might,
Till Eden's lovely bowers I know;
And as through Heaven's gates I go,
The pleasures all my sorrow smite,
Sweet eyes of blue!

HAD WE NOT MET.

Had we not met, the brooding woe
And all the griefs that greater grow,
Might not have been, and happy-wise
Our lives have laughed with lullabies
And quaffed such joys as few may know.

Our days beneath embittered skies
Where anguish moans and sorrow cries,
Might not have wept and wandered so,
Had we not met!

But ah, my darling! All we prize,--
Love and sweet trust that never dies,
Wild yearnings that with constant flow
From kindred heart to bosom go,--
Would never in our souls had rise,
Had we not met!

A SONNET.