and fainter still;

Yet forever the wind blows wide the sweet

ness of all the skies,

The rain cries and the snow flies, and the storm in its bosom lies.

What's life, what's life, little heart? A dream when the nights are long, Toil in the waking days, tears, and a kiss, a song.

What's life, what 's life, little heart? To beat and be glad of breath While death waits on either side, - before and behind us, Death!

POET AND LARK

WHEN leaves turn outward to the light, And all the roads are fringed with green,

The winds are still,

I

Through burning skies the ospreys flew, And near the pine-cooled shores Danced airy boat and thin canoe,

To flash of sunlit oars.

Pray to the Lord with fervent lips," The leader shouted, “pray!” Then prayer arose, and all the ships Sailed into Boston Bay.

The white wings folded, anchors down,
The sea-worn fleet in line,

Fair rose the hills where Boston town
Should rise from clouds of pine;
Fair was the harbor, summit-walled,
And placid lay the sea.

"Praise ye the Lord," the leader called; Praise ye the Lord," spake he.

66

"Give thanks to God with fervent
lips,

Give thanks to God to-day,"
The anthem rose from all the ships,
Safe moored in Boston Bay.

"Praise ye the Lord!" Primeval woods First heard the ancient song,

And summer hills and solitudes
The echoes rolled along.

The Red Cross flag of England blew
Above the fleet that day,

While Shawmut's triple peaks in view
In amber hazes lay.

"Praise ye the Lord with fervent lips,
Praise ye the Lord to-day,"
The anthem rose from all the ships
Safe moored in Boston Bay.

The Arabella leads the song

The Mayflower sings below,
That erst the Pilgrims bore along
The Plymouth reefs of snow.
Oh! never be that psalm forgot

That rose o'er Boston Bay,
When Winthrop sang, and Endicott,
And Saltonstall, that day:

"Praise ye the Lord with fervent lips,
Praise ye the Lord to-day;"
And praise arose from all the ships,
Like prayers in Yarmouth Bay.

That psalm our fathers sang we sing,
That psalm of peace and wars,
While o'er our heads unfolds its wing
The flag of forty stars.

And while the nation finds a tongue
For nobler gifts to pray,

"T will ever sing the song they sung
That first Thanksgiving Day:

"Praise ye the Lord with fervent lips,
Praise ye the Lord to-day;"
So rose the song from all the ships,
Safe moored in Boston Bay.

Our fathers' prayers have changed to psalms,

As David's treasures old

Turned, on the Temple's giant arms,

To lily-work of gold.

Ho! vanished ships from Yarmouth's tide, Ho! ships of Boston Bay,

Your prayers have crossed the centuries wide

To this Thanksgiving Day!

We pray to God with fervent lips,
We praise the Lord to-day,

As prayers arose from Yarmouth ships,
But psalms from Boston Bay.

HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH