Songs Ysame Part 10

When She Came Home.

"When she comes home again, a thousand ways I fashion to myself the tenderness Of my glad welcome."

RILEY.

"WHEN she comes home," I thought with throbbing heart, That danced a measure to my mind's refrain.

Again from out the door I leaned and looked, Where she should come along the leafy lane.

And then she came.--I heard the measured sound Of slow, oncoming feet, whose heavy tread Seemed trampling out my life. I saw her face.

Then through my brain a sudden numbness spread.

The earth seemed spun away, the sun was gone, And time, and place, and thought. There was no thing In all the universe, save one who lay So still and cold and white, unanswering Save by a graven smile my broken moan.

She had come home, yet there I knelt _alone_.

A Resolve.

THE fields of thought are plowed so deep, So carefully are tilled, That all the granaries of the world With plenteous store are filled.

Unless I deeper plow and sow, What sheaf, then, can I bring?

So like the black-bird in the field, I'll eat the wheat and sing.

Stranded.

WE found a wreck cast up on the sh.o.r.e, Battered and bruised, and scarred and rent, And I spoke aloud, "Here was worthless work, And a barque unfit to the sea was sent."

But he said, my friend, in his gentle mood, "Nay, none may say but the barque was good, For none can tell of the seas it sailed, Of the waves it braved and the storms withstood."

Then we spoke no more, but I mutely mused And thought, oh, heart and oh, life of man That we find wrecked! we may never know How brave you were when your course began.

At Last.

WHAT will you give me, O World, O World!

If I run in the race and win?

Will you give me a fame that can never fade, Will you give me a crown that will never rust, Can you save my soul from the pall of sin, Can you keep my heart from the dust?

What will you give me, O Earth, O Earth!

If I fight in the fray and win?

More than you gave those kings, who lay Ages past in forgotten clay?

Can you give me more than the grave shuts in, Or the years can bear away?

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, Fame will fade and crowns will rust.

Give me, O Earth, but your true embrace, When the battle is lost or won.

Hide me away from the day's white face, From the eye of the dazzling sun.

So I may lay my head on your breast, Forget the struggle and be at rest; Forget the laurels that fade away, The love that lasts but a wild, brief day; Forget it all, on your bosom pressed, Forever at rest--at rest!