BISHOP THOMAS J. CONATY.
Said one, who upward turned his eye,
To scan the trunks from earth to sky:
“These trees, no doubt, well rooted grew
When ancient Nineveh was new;
And down the vale long shadows cast
When Moses out of Egypt passed,
And o’er the heads of Pharaoh’s slaves
And soldiers rolled the Red Sea waves.”
“How must the timid rabbit shake,
The fox within his burrow quake,
The deer start up with quivering hide
To gaze in terror every side,
The quail forsake the trembling spray,
When these old roots at last give way,
And to the earth the monarch drops
To jar the distant mountain-tops.”
in The Brownies Through California.
MARCH 19 AND MARCH 20.
A WINDOW AND A TREE IN ALTADENA.
By my window a magician, breathing whispers
Stands and waves a wand above me till the flowing of my soul,
Like the tide’s deep rhythm, rises in successive swells that widen
All my circumscribed horizon, till the finite fades away;
And the fountains of my being in their innermost recesses
Are unsealed, and as the seas sweep, sweep the waters of my soul
Till they reach the shores of Heaven and with ebb-tide bear a pearl
Back in to the heart’s safe-keeping, where no thieves break through
* * * * *
By my window stands confessor with his
hands outstretched to bless me,
And on bended knee I listen to his low “Absolvo te.”
Ne’er was mass more sacramental, ne’er confessional more solemn,
And the benediction given ne’er shall leave my shriven soul.
* * * * *
Just a tree beside my window—just
a symbol sent from Heaven—
But with Proteus power it ever changes meaning—changes form—
And it speaks with tongues of angels, and it prophesies the rising
Of the day-star which shall shine out from divinity in man.
LANNIE HAYNES MARTIN.
IN THE REDWOOD CANYONS.
Down in the redwood canyons cool and deep,
The shadows of the forest ever sleep;
The odorous redwoods, wet with fog and dew,
Touch with the bay and mingle with the yew.
Under the firs the red madrona shines,
The graceful tan-oaks, fairest of them all,
Lean lovingly unto the sturdy pines,
In whose far tops the birds of passage call.
Here, where the forest shadows ever sleep,
The mountain-lily lifts its chalice white;
The myriad ferns hang draperies soft and white
Thick on each mossy bank and watered steep,
Where slender deer tread softly in the night—
Down in the redwood canyons dark and deep.