Had oft impressed me, so I want
    My soul influenced by it,
  And bought a loaf of bread and sought
    A stream where I could try it.

  I cast my bread upon the waves
    And fancied then to await it;
  It had not floated far away
    When a fish came up and ate it.

  And if I want both fish and bread,
    And surely both I’m wanting,
  About the only way I see
    Is for me to go fishing.

LIZA MAY

  Little brown face full of smiles,
  And a baby’s guileless wiles,
      Liza May, Liza May.

  Eyes a-peeping thro’ the fence
  With an interest intense,
      Liza May.

  Ah, the gate is just ajar,
  And the meadow is not far,
      Liza May, Liza May.

  And the road feels very sweet,
  To your little toddling feet,
      Liza May.

  Ah, you roguish runaway,
  What will toiling mother say,
      Liza May, Liza May?

  What care you who smile to greet
  Everyone you chance to meet,
      Liza May?

  Soft the mill-race sings its song,
  Just a little way along,
      Liza May, Liza May.

  But the song is full of guile,
  Turn, ah turn, your steps the while,
      Liza May.

  You have caught the gleam and glow
  Where the darkling waters flow,
      Liza May, Liza May.

  Flash of ripple, bend of bough,
  Where are all the angels now? 
      Liza May.

  Now a mother’s eyes intense
  Gazing o’er a shabby fence,
      Liza May, Liza May.

  Then a mother’s anguished face
  Peering all around the place,
      Liza May.

  Hear the agonizing call
  For a mother’s all in all,
      Liza May, Liza May.

  Hear a mother’s maddened prayer
  To the calm unanswering air,
      Liza May.

  What’s become of—­Liza May? 
  What has darkened all the day? 
      Liza May, Liza May.

  Ask the waters dark and fleet,
  If they know the smiling, sweet
      Liza May.

  Call her, call her as you will,
  On the meadow, on the hill,
      Liza May, Liza May.

  Through the brush or beaten track
  Echo only gives you back,
      Liza May.

  Ah, but you were loving—­sweet,
  On your little toddling feet,
      Liza May, Liza May.

  But through all the coming years,
  Must a mother breathe with tears,
      Liza May.

THE MASTERS

  Oh, who is the Lord of the land of life,
    When hotly goes the fray? 
  When, fierce we smile in the midst of strife
    Then whom shall we obey?

  Oh, Love is the Lord of the land of life
    Who holds a monarch’s sway;
  He wends with wish of maid and wife,
    And him you must obey.