| VOL. VII. | MAY, 1900. | NO. 5 |
| The voice of one who goes before to make The paths of June more beautiful, is thine, Sweet May! Without an envy of her crown And bridal; patient stringing emeralds And shining rubies for the brows of birch And maple; flinging garlands of pure white And pink, which to their bloom add prophecy; Gold cups o'erfilling on a thousand hills And calling honey-bees; out of their sleep The tiny summer harpers with bright wings Awaking, teaching them their notes for noon — May, sweet-voiced one, going thus before, Forever June may pour her warm, red wine Of life and passion — sweeter days are thine! |
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— H. H.
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| We may hear the bird sing but we cannot descry The heart of the singer; the great mystery Of the singing is hidden from sight, and the heart Of the sweet singing bird has a vision apart; We may listen intently to catch the sweet theme, But who can interpret the soul of the dream? We may hear the bird sing, catch each generous note That pours to the air from its quivering throat, See the breast rent with ardors; unfathomed, deep-stirred Folded under the song lies the soul of the bird, Unsounded and soundless, too deep for our reach Though we listen entranced to its, musical speech; Who sees the lark's soul as it mounts from the sod, Who sees the clear soul has a vision of God! |