"My Father," then cried Justin, "now my heart Reads the bright message of my dream. I see How vain and futile all philosophies,

But this the last which burns into my soul
With fire of love so wondrous; yet I see

How even they, with weak and tremulous hand,
Point toward the Christ and lead men up to Him.
I now descry His footsteps in dead years,
He guiding me unconscious, knowing Him not.
When first my limbs, full-grown in sinewy youth,
Felt the strong life 'within, my spirit glad

Moved like broad day enshrined in cloudless skies;
No care I knew, no sorrow grieved my heart,
But all was joy-a throbbing, flowing joy.

I wandered thro' the forests and the wilds,

On mountain height, above the birth of storms;
I heard unmoved the thunder at my feet,
And tottering crags that filled abysmal depths
With shattered pinnacles, and voices dread
That made earth tremble to its central fire;
I heard the lion's roar, but felt no fear:
The many-fingered forests clapped their hands,
They breathed my life, the lions were free as I,—
I felt all nature and myself were one ;

Birds, beasts, and insects, breathing flowers and trees,
And charmed life linked us in brotherhood.
I watched the rising sun from day to day
Surprise the world with glories ever new.

No clouds obscured; the rosy hands of dawn
But lifted us to realms of joyousness

And deepening light. No thought of setting day
Saddened my heart, and in the silent eve

I saw the new sun, like a golden seed,

Hid in the crimson bosom of the old,

Full of fresh life and hope and songs of birds,
To wake the morn. The fish and I were friends;
Their silvery shinings could no swifter pierce
The lucid depths and shallows than could I;
They were my brothers, too, for they had life,
And life meant joy, and joy was brotherhood.
My comrades laughed, and called me 'ocean's king,'
'Neptune, the ocean's king.' 'Not so,' said I;
'Call me not king, but rather friend of all!'
Thus passed the years, till one day in a wood,
As I lay dreaming by a moss-edged pool,
Whose twinkling eyes were laughing at the trees
That laughed in golden glories overhead,
While burnished beetles, green and amber-hued,

Skimmed o'er its waves, I heard a strange wild note,
Above the notes of birds, so beautiful,

It thrilled my soul, and made my pulses glow
With warmer life. The leaves were pushed aside,
And, stepping thro' the shadows, came a youth,
God-like in motion, tall and supple-limbed,
Drenched with the dappled sunlight, and begirt
With skin of leopard clasped about the waist
With silver. Pendant from his neck there hung
A shell, such as Apollo found at dawn,
Sea-voiced and singing to the plaintive wind,

Careless who heard. This, when he held and struck
With skilful hand, gave forth divinest sounds,
Softer than the low humming of the bees,

And sweeter than the trill of nightingale;

Or, stern and powerful, as his mood would change,
Like the loud voice that fills the midnight trees
And runs before the chariot of the storm,
Startling all nature, crying, 'Lo! he comes,
The Storm-God comes!' or, shrill as winter winds
That wail at evening round the woodman's hut,
When close-drawn lattice and the blazing hearth
And meal well earned make glad the hearts within
Of children and of sire. O youth!' I cried,

Gaining my speech at last, ‘fain would I know
The art that can so charm the sense,—not birds
Or aught on earth so beautiful. Could I
But follow thee in all thy wanderings,

But hear thee play and drink my spirit's fill
Of those wild melodies, how would not joy
Grow more intense! After such wakening life
Were poor indeed, the common lot of beasts
And flowers; but man I see is higher,

(Tho' till this hour content). These strains have roused Immortal sense within of something great;

Unutterable longings chafe the soul,

Dreams of the gods, and voices of dead years.

The liquid strains so thrilled me with their power
That, with expanded consciousness, I saw

The birth of empires, heard the rolling spheres,
Masts snapped at sea, and, in strange concourse blent,
The din of cities, cries of wasted hearts,

Marshalling of steeds, ravings of fevered men ;
While, over all the moaning of a sea,

And faint, a voice growing stronger, 'Is this all?'

If Music has such power, She, and not life,

Must be man's good. Oh, let me follow Thee,
Her worshipper, for She can satisfy.'

Then, with a smile like sunlight on his face,
He sang this song in answer, carelessly-

'O Soul, glad Soul, what wert thou without song?
Morns never smiling, wilds without a tree,
A waste of voiceless twilight wide and long,
Dark rivers dying in eternal sea,

O Soul, sad Soul, that wert thou without song.

'O Soul, sad Soul, the rivers have to die,

Morn grows to eve, trees wither by the way, Clouds hide the sun and tears fall from the sky; But Music lives though earth should melt away. Oh! joy, glad Soul, she will not let thee die.'

"He scarce had ceased when such a pain convulsed

His features as the agony that comes

At death, and with one ringing cry he shook

An adder from his foot, then wildly fled,

With face distorted, blanched with deadly fear,

Eyes glaring madly, thro' the tangled glade,

Like some chased stag that hears the hounds behind, Nor recks what lies before. I followed fast,

But swift as wind he fled. A river deep