The leaping of heart unto heart with bliss that can never be

spoken;

The passion that maddens, and shows how God may be thrust from His creatures.

For this do I tremble and start when the rose on the vine taps my shoulder,

For this when the storm beats me down my soul groweth bolder and bolder.

66

६

ва

Julia C. R. Jarr

O WIND THAT BLOWS OUT OF THE WEST!"

O wind that blows out of the West!

Thou hast swept over mountain and sea,
Dost thou bear on thy swift, glad wings
The breath of my love to me?
Hast thou kissed her warm, sweet lips?
Or tangled her soft, brown hair?

Or fluttered the fragrant heart

Of the rose she loves to wear?

O sun that goes down in the West!
Hast thou seen my love to-day,
As she sits in her beautiful prime
Under skies so far away?

Hast thou gilded a path for her feet,

Or deepened the glow on her cheeks,
Or bent from the skies to hear

The low, sweet words she speaks?

O stars that are bright in the West
When the hush of the night is deep!

Do ye see my love as she lies

Like a chaste, white flower, asleep?

Does she smile as she walks with me
In the light of a happy dream,
While the night-winds rustle the leaves,
And the light waves ripple and gleam?

O birds that fly out of the West!

Do ye bring me a message from her,

As sweet as your love-notes are

When the warm spring breezes stir?
Did she whisper a word of me

As your tremulous wings swept by,

Or utter my name, mayhap,

In a single passionate cry?

O voices out of the West!

Ye are silent, every one,
And never an answer comes

From wind, or stars, or sun!
And the blithe birds come and go

Through the boundless fields of space,

As reckless of human prayers

As if earth were a desert place!

THE PLACE.

"I go to prepare a place for you."

O Holy Place, we know not where thou art! Though one by one our well-beloved dead From our close claspings to thy bliss have fled, They send no word back to the breaking heart; And if, perchance, their angels fly athwart

The silent reaches of the abyss widespread, The swift, white wings we see not, but instead Only the dark void keeping us apart.

Where did He set thee, O thou Holy Place?
Made he a new world in the heavens high-hung,
So far from this poor earth that even yet
Its first glad rays have traversed not the space
That lies between us, nor their glory flung
On the old home its sons can ne'er forget?

But what if on some fair, auspicious night,

Like that on which the shepherds watched of old, Down from far skies, in burning splendor rolled, Shall stream the radiance of a star more bright Than ever yet hath shone on mortal sight—

Swift shafts of light, like javelins of gold,
Wave after wave of glory manifold,
From zone to zenith flooding all the height?
And what if, moved by some strange inner sense,
Some instinct, than pure reason wiser far,
Some swift clairvoyance that annulleth space,

All men shall cry, with sudden joy intense,
"Behold, behold this new resplendent star-

Our heaven at last revealed!-the Place! the Place!"

Then shall the heavenly host with one accord
Veil their bright faces in obeisance meet,
While swift they haste the Glorious One to greet.
Then shall Orion own at last his lord,

And from his belt unloose the blazing sword,

While pale proud Ashtaroth, with footsteps fleet, Her jeweled crown drops humbly at his feet, And Lyra strikes her harp's most rapturous chord. O Earth, bid all your lonely isles rejoice!

Break into singing, all ye silent hills,

And ye, tumultuous seas, make quick reply!

Let the remotest desert find a voice!

The whole creation to its center thrills,

For the new light of Heaven is in the sky!

DISCONTENT.

I.

THE BRIER ROSE.

I cling to the garden wall

Outside, where the grasses grow;

Where the tall weeds flaunt in the sun,
And the yellow mulleins blow.
The dock and the thistle crowd
Close to my shrinking feet,
And the gypsy yarrow shares
My cup and the food I eat.

The rude winds toss my hair,

The wild rains beat me down,

The way-side dust lies white

And thick on my leafy crown.

I cannot keep my robes

From wanton fingers free, And the veriest beggar dares Το stop and gaze at me.

Sometimes I climb and climb

To the top of the garden wall,
And I see her where she stands,
Stately and fair and tall-
My sister, the red, red Rose,

My sister, the royal one,
The fairest flower that blows

Under the summer sun!