A low blue cloud lies stretched beyond the trees,
  All quiet so.  The chant of birds uplifts,
  And through the evening dusk a tremor sifts,
  The chill of night creeps close with turning keys,
  And darkness soothes each child.  The daylight flees,
  Though many voices lend their artful gifts,
  And mingle with the city’s murmured rifts. 
  While twilight covers all with mysteries,
  There is the roll of train or army truck;
  A mother calls her three year old within. 
  The most of us preparing for the night;
  Some go their way to labor for their luck,
  And others toil that we may rest or spin. 
  God guards the whole until the morning light.

THE MORNING

  The morning freshened with the dew of night,
  Was glad with crowing cock and singing bird;
  And through the mists came hope and kindly word. 
  The east aglow with early amber light. 
  As perking coffee roused the hungry sprite;
  Beside the hearth a friendly pussy purred,
  And in a crib a blue-eyed baby stirred,
  Awakened from sweet slumber of the night. 
  O dawning!  Here with all her usual charm. 
  Another day to toil for child and friend,
  One hour to praise our God, while hatreds ebbed;
  To hope and live and succor from all harm
  Those weaker ones who know not how to fend,
  And cast a beam that lights their way ahead.

O RIVER BANK

  I love to loiter by the old oak tree,
  Where waters ripple over clean white stones,
  And cresses, mint with feathered fern grown high. 
  In such a place the peaceful thoughts will come;
  There is no hurry there where nature plays. 
  Soft gentle breezes wave the grass and sedge;
  White fluffy clouds pass overhead and roll. 
  Now dreaming, I hear the cricket’s gay song. 
  O river bank you charm me always so.

THERE WILL COME A DAY

  There will come a day, sometime,
  When a bright light will shine through
  The clouds of darkness, sometime. 
  And the grass will grow anew;
  Glad bells will ring at the dawn;
  And at noon great horns will blow;
  At evening fear will be gone;
  The home lights through dusk will glow. 
  It will be a joyous day! 
  And the earth will shout with laughter,
  When world peace is made, some day. 
  We can hear the birds thereafter.

LATE AUTUMN

  The fragrant autumn winds float painted leaves
  Across the plains at sunset’s evening hour,
  A scarlet rose, a zinnia in the flower
  Stand brilliant there beneath the cottage eaves. 
  The locust hums his song, the spider weaves
  His silken web in every shady bower,
  Where thunder clouds pile high in tumbled tower;
  The farmer’s loft is bursting with great sheaves;