Their hopes, their dreams, are cold and dead as these

Quaint, time-worn gravestones crumbling on the soil.

Yet they once lived and struggled years ago;

Their hearts beat madly as these hearts of ours—

And now is all undone in dreamless rest?

See, a great city stands against the glow—

Their city, they who here beneath the flowers

Have known so long God’s gift of peace, most blest!

Where Cross-Roads Part

Glad roads of Spring—O lanes of laughing May

As fleeting as the shadow-clouds at play

With sunbeams rife upon the grassy green;

O golden lanes—through roads that lie between

Amid what darkened sweep lost I the way?

Or was’t the stripling Youth, whose roundelay

Awoke the echoes of the throbbing day

And changed to gladness all the world’s dull mien,

Glad roads of Spring?

Apart I stand, distraught with lone dismay,

No more Youth’s gladsome biddings to obey,

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