Man, why should thought of death cause thee to weep;
    Since death be but an endless, dreamless sleep?

PRAYER AT SUNRISE

    O mighty, powerful, dark-dispelling sun,
    Now thou art risen, and thy day begun. 
    How shrink the shrouding mists before thy face,
    As up thou spring’st to thy diurnal race! 
    How darkness chases darkness to the west,
    As shades of light on light rise radiant from thy crest! 
    For thee, great source of strength, emblem of might,
    In hours of darkest gloom there is no night. 
    Thou shinest on though clouds hide thee from sight,
    And through each break thou sendest down thy light.

    O greater Maker of this Thy great sun,
    Give me the strength this one day’s race to run,
    Fill me with light, fill me with sun-like strength,
    Fill me with joy to rob the day its length. 
    Light from within, light that will outward shine,
    Strength to make strong some weaker heart than mine,
    Joy to make glad each soul that feels its touch;
    Great Father of the sun, I ask this much.

THE GIFT TO SING

    Sometimes the mist overhangs my path,
    And blackening clouds about me cling;
    But, oh, I have a magic way
    To turn the gloom to cheerful day—­
      I softly sing.

    And if the way grows darker still,
    Shadowed by Sorrow’s somber wing,
    With glad defiance in my throat,
    I pierce the darkness with a note,
      And sing, and sing.

    I brood not over the broken past,
    Nor dread whatever time may bring;
    No nights are dark, no days are long,
    While in my heart there swells a song,
      And I can sing.

MORNING, NOON AND NIGHT

    When morning shows her first faint flush,
    I think of the tender blush
    That crept so gently to your cheek
    When first my love I dared to speak;
    How, in your glance, a dawning ray
    Gave promise of love’s perfect day.

    When, in the ardent breath of noon,
    The roses with passion swoon;
    There steals upon me from the air
    The scent that lurked within your hair;
    I touch your hand, I clasp your form—­
    Again your lips are close and warm.

    When comes the night with beauteous skies,
    I think of your tear-dimmed eyes,
    Their mute entreaty that I stay,
    Although your lips sent me away;
    And then falls memory’s bitter blight,
    And dark—­so dark becomes the night.

HER EYES TWIN POOLS

    Her eyes, twin pools of mystic light,
    The blend of star-sheen and black night;
    O’er which, to sound their glamouring haze,
    A man might bend, and vainly gaze.