“What aileth thee, O Hagar?  Rise and take
    The lad, and stand him on his feet.  I’ll make
    Of him a nation great.”  Her eyes were opened;
    And she saw a well, from which with joyful haste
    She filled her flask and gave the weakling lad
    A draught which gave him back to health
    And life again.

          Water!—­a type of Christ,
    God’s son, that whosoever will may drink
    That everflowing stream of love and live
    Eternally!  The angel’s prophecy foretold
    Those countless hordes, those tented caravans,
    Whose graceful steeds have plied through centuries past
    Those barren, trackless wastes; some of the men
    Who, Egypt-bound with spicery and balm,
    Halted beside the lonely pit, and bartered there
    For that young lad whose coat dyed in the blood
    Of kids, made Jacob with wild agony exclaim,
    “This is my Joseph’s coat!  He has, no doubt,
    Been rent in twain by beasts!”

          The wanderers soon
    Lay down to rest, ’neath starry skies to wait
    Another dawn, and on the mother’s face
    There must have been a light of joy divine;
    For had she not held intercourse with Heaven? 
    Were not its guardian bands around them then
    In desert weird and wild?

          Ye weary souls,
    Tired travelers on the sands of time,
    Trust God and look to him for strength! 
    The angel of his word speaks faith and peace,
    And presses to the thirsting lip the cup
    Of immortality!

MUSINGS

“Childhood and youth are vanity.”

    Often o’er life’s pathway straying
    Come sweet strains of long ago,
    To the chords of memory playing
    Music sweet and music low.

    When upon the gray rock musing
    ’Neath the tree by childhood’s home,
    In the wild bird’s note so soothing
    Tenderly these strains will come.

    Gazing on the deep fringed mountain,
    Distance robing it in blue,
    Quaffing the familiar fountain,
    Each repeats the story too.

    Wandering by the streamlet flowing
    Where we played in hours of glee,
    Hear its murmurs coming, going,
    Tell of joys that used to be.

    Wandering in the leafy wildwood
    Sometimes in our leisure hours,
    In the sunny days of childhood
    How much fairer seemed its flowers!

    Watching from the hill the sunset
    ’Neath the spreading chestnut tree,
    Youthful dreams and visions come yet
    Through the years so magically.

    Yet how vain these memories olden
    If they do not teach the truth
    That within the city golden
    Only, dwells perpetual youth.

BARTIMAEUS