And ever, with the golden seeds,
He sowed an hundred gracious deeds—­
Some act of helpful charity,
A saving word of cheer, may be,
To some poor soul in bitter need! 
And life wore on from gold to gray;
The world went by, another way: 
“Tho’ long and wearisome my task,
Dear Lord, ’tis but a tithe I ask,
And Thou will grant me that, some day!”

One morn upon his humble bed,
They found Ben Hafed lying dead,
God’s light upon his worn old face,
And God’s ineffable peace and grace
Folding him round from feet to head. 
And lo! in cloudless sunshine rolled
The glebe but late so bare and cold,
Between fair rows of tree and vine
Rich clustered, sweating oil and wine,
Shone all in glorious harvest gold!

And One whose face was strangely bright
With loving ruth—­whose garments white
Were spotless as the lilies sweet
That sprang beneath His shining feet—­
Moved slowly thro’ those fields of light;
“Blest be Ben Hafed’s work—­thrice blest!”
He said, and gathered to His breast
The harvest sown in toil and tears: 
“Henceforth, thro’ Mine eternal years,
Thou, faithful servant, cease and rest!”

WINTER BOUND.

If I could live to see beyond the night,
  The first spring morning break with fiery thrills,
And tremble into rose and violet light
  Along the distant hills!

If I could hear the first wild note that swells
  The blue bird’s silvery throat when spring is here,
And all the sweet, wind ruffled lily bells
  Ring out the joyous matins of the year!

Only to smell the budding lilac blooms
  The balmy airs from sprouting brake and wold,
Rich with the strange ineffable perfumes
  Of growing grass and newly furrowed mold!

If I could hear the rushing waters call
  In the wild exultation of release,
Dear, I might turn my face unto the wall
  And fall asleep in peace!

MISLED.

Thro’ moss, and bracken, and purple bloom,
  With a glitter of gorses here and there,
Shoulder deep in the dewy bloom,
  My love, I follow you everywhere! 
By faint sweet signs my soul divines,
  Dear heart, at dawning you came this way,
By the jangled bells of the columbines,
  And the ruffled gold of the gorses gay.

By hill and hollow, by mead and lawn,
  Thro’ shine and shade of dingle and glade,
Fast and far as I hurry on
  My eager seeking you still evade. 
But, were you shod with the errant breeze,
  Spirit of shadow and fire and dew,
O’er trackless deserts of lands and seas
  Still would I follow and find out you.

Like a dazzle of sparks from a glowing brand,
  ’Mid the tender green of the feathery fern
And nodding sedge, by the light gale fanned,
  The Indian pinks in the sunlight burn;
And the wide, cool cups of the corn flower brim
  With the sapphire’s splendor of heaven’s own blue,
In sylvan hollows and dingles dim,
  Still sweet with a hint of the morn—­and you!