Part 25 (1/2)

Comes surging over me.

And a pa.s.sionate longing fills me For the roses, the dusk and the dew,-- For the beautiful Summer vanished-- For the moonlit talks--and you.

WHAT WE NEEDED.

What does our country need? Not armies standing With sabres gleaming ready for the fight.

Not increased navies, skillful and commanding, To bound the waters with an iron might.

Not haughty men with glutted purses trying To purchase souls, and keep the power of place.

Not jeweled dolls with one another vieing For palms of beauty, elegance and grace.

But we want women, strong of soul, yet lowly, With that rare meekness, born of gentleness, Women whose lives are pure and clean and holy, The women whom all little children bless.

Brave, earnest women, helpful to each other, With finest scorn for all things low and mean.

Women who hold the names of wife and mother, Far n.o.bler than the t.i.tle of a Queen.

O these are they who mold the men of story, These mothers, ofttimes shorn of grace and youth, Who, worn and weary, ask no greater glory Than making some young soul the home of truth, Who sow in hearts all fallow for the sowing The seeds of virtue and of scorn for sin, And, patient, watch the beauteous harvest growing And weed out tares which crafty hands cast in.

Women who do not hold the gift of beauty As some rare treasure to be bought and sold, But guard it as a precious aid to duty-- The outer framing of the inner gold; Women who, low above their cradles bending, Let flattery's voice go by, and give no heed, While their pure prayers like incense are ascending: _These_ are our country's pride, our country's need.

”LEUDEMANN'S-ON-THE-RIVER.”

Toward even when the day leans down To kiss the upturned face of night, Out just beyond the loud-voiced town I know a spot of calm delight.

Like crimson arrows from a quiver The red rays pierce the waters flowing While we go dreaming, singing, rowing To Leudemann's-on-the-River.

The hills, like some glad mocking-bird, Send back our laughter and our singing, While faint--and yet more faint is heard The steeple bells all sweetly ringing.

Some message did the winds deliver To each glad heart that August night, All heard, but all heard not aright; By Leudemann's-on-the-River.

Night falls as in some foreign clime, Between the hills that slope and rise.

So dusk the shades at landing time, We could not see each other's eyes.

We only saw the moonbeams quiver Far down upon the stream! that night The new moon gave but little light By Leudemann's-on-the-River.

How dusky were those paths that led Up from the river to the hall.

The tall trees branching overhead Invite the early shades that fall.

In all the glad blithe world, oh, never Were hearts more free from care than when We wandered through those walks, we ten, By Leudemann's-on-the-River.

So soon, so soon, the changes came.

This August day we two alone, On that same river, not the same, Dream of a night forever flown.

Strange distances have come to sever The hearts that gayly beat in pleasure, Long miles we cannot cross or measure-- From Leudemann's-on-the-River.

We'll pluck two leaves, dear friend, to-day.

The green, the russet! seems it strange So soon, so soon, the leaves can change!

Ah, me! so runs all life away.

This night wind chills me, and I s.h.i.+ver; The Summer time is almost past.