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THE SURVIVORS.

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THE SURVIVORS.

N this sad hour, so still, so late,

IN

When flowers are dead and birds are flown, Close-sheltered from the blasts of Fate,

Our little love burns brightly on.

Amid the wrecks of dear desire

That ride the waves of life no more;
As stranded voyagers light their fire
Upon a lonely island shore.

And though we deem that, soft and fair,
Beyond the tempest and the sea,

Our hearts' true homes are smiling, where
In life we never more shall be,

Yet we are saved, and we may rest;
And, hearing each the other's voice,
We cannot hold ourselves unblest,
Although we may not quite rejoice.

We'll warm our hearts and softly sing
Thanks for the shore whereon we're driven;
Storm-tossed no more, we'll fold the wing,
And dream forgotten dreams of heaven.

H. W. P.

THINE.

'HE tide will ebb at day's decline.

THE

(Ich bin dein.)

Impatient for the open sea,

At anchor rocks the tossing ship, —
The ship that only waits for thee;
Yet, with no tremble of the lip,

I say again, thy hand in mine,

(Ich bin dein).

Too many clusters break the vine.

(Ich bin dein.)

The tree whose strength and life outpour

In one exultant blossom-gush

Must flowerless be for evermore ;

--

We walk this way but once, friend, — hush!

Our feet have left no trodden line.

(Ich bin dein.)

Who heaps his goblet wastes his wine.
(Ich bin dein.)

The boat is moving from the land,
I have no chiding and no tears,
Now give me back my empty hand,
To battle with the cruel years!
Behold the triumph shall be mine!
(Ich bin dein.)

ELIZABETH AKERS.

ALL THE RIVERS.

195

"A

ALL THE RIVERS.

LL the rivers run into the sea."
Like the pulsing of a river,

The motion of a song,

Wind the olden words along

The tortuous windings of my thought, whenever

I sit beside the sea.

All the rivers run into the sea.
O you little leaping river,

Laugh on beneath your breath!
With a heart as deep as death,

Strong stream, go patient, brave and hasting never,
I sit beside the sea.

All the rivers run into the sea.

Why the striving of a river,

The passion of a soul?

Calm the eternal waters roll

Upon the eternal shore. Somewhere, whatever
Seeks it finds the sea.

All the rivers run into the sea.

O thou bounding, burning river,
Hurrying heart! - I seem

To know (so one knows in a dream)

That in the waiting heart of God for ever

Thou too shalt find the sea.

ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS.

SONG.

N the summer twilight,

IN

While yet the dew was hoar,

I went plucking purple pansies

Till my love should come to shore.
The fishing-lights their dances
Were keeping out at sea,

And "Come," I sang, "my true love,
Come hasten home to me!"

But the sea it fell a-moaning,

And the white gulls rocked thereon,

And the young moon dropped from heaven,
And the lights hid, one by one.

All silently their glances

Slipped down the cruel sea,

And "Wait," cried the night and wind and

storm,

"Wait till I come to thee!"

HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD.

"WHEN THE TIDE COMES IN."

WHEN the tide comes in,

At once the shore and sea begin

Together to be glad.

What the tide has brought

No man has asked, no man has sought:

"WHEN THE TIDE COMES IN."

What other tides have had

The deep sand hides away;

The last bit of the wrecks they wrought

Was burned up yesterday.

When the tide goes out,

The shore looks dark and sad with doubt.
The landmarks are all lost.

For the tide to turn

Men patient wait, men restless yearn.
Sweet channels they have crossed,
In boats that rocked with glee,
Stretch now bare stony roads, that burn
And lead away from sea.

When the tide comes in
In hearts, at once the hearts begin
Together to be glad.

What the tide has brought

They do not care, they have not sought.
All joy they ever had

The new joy multiplies;
All pain by which it may be bought

Seems paltry sacrifice.

When the tide goes out,

The hearts are wrung with fear and doubt:
All trace of joy seems lost.

Will the tide return?

In restless questioning they yearn.

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