Who may decide If good or if evil His life shall betide. No tender caresses Ever to know, Nor guidance, nor blessing—   Poor little Joe. 

 

     FATE. 

Ruth was a laughing-eyed prattler, Thoughtless, and happy, and free; She planted a seed in the garden, And said: "It will grow to a tree—       A beautiful blossoming tree." 

The birds and the squirrels played round it, As careless and merry was she, But not tree ever grew from her planting—   No beautiful blossoming tree. 

Ruth was a winsome-faced maiden, Happy, and hopeful, and free; She planted a seed in the garden, And smilingly waited to see—       A beautiful blossoming tree. 

She covered the ground up with flowers, The butterfly came, and the bee, But no tree ever grew from her planting—   No beautiful blossoming tree. 

Ruth was a pale saddened woman, Thoughtful, with tremblings and fears, She planted a seed in the garden, And watered the place with her tears—       And watched it with tremblings and fears. 

The winds and the rains beat upon it, The lightnings flashed o'er it in glee; But she sleeps 'neath the tree of her planting—   A beautiful blossoming tree. 

 

     THE GHOSTS IN THE HEART. 

They came in the hush of the midnight, In the glare of the noonday start Out from the graves we made them—   The graves we made in the heart. 

There is love with its fickle fancies; Its grave was so wide and deep, And we heaped the mound with oblivion, But the soul of love could not sleep. 

And hate! ah, we buried it deeper Than all the rest of the train; But one word through memory flashing, And its ghost comes back again. 

There are phantoms of sunshiny hours That fled when the summer time fled, And specters that mock while they haunt us, Long buried, but never dead. 

And ever and ever an hour Will come that the heart-wraiths control, Till down from Eternity's tower A banshee shall ring for the soul. 

 

     ONLY A TRAMP. 

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