OH SEEK me not within a tomb- I pierce a little wall of gloom I brothered with the things that pass, I go to brother with the grass And with the sunning leaf. Not death can sheathe me in a shroud; *Reprinted, with the author's permission, from "The Quest," published by The Macmillan Company. I join the armies of the cloud, Oh, subtle in the sap athrill, Athletic in the glad uplift, My God and I shall interknit As rain and ocean, breath and air; 12 16 Is prayer! 20 John G. Neihardt. THE OXEN CHRISTMAS EVE, and twelve of the clock. An elder said as we sat in a flock We pictured the meek mild creatures where Nor did it occur to one of us there So fair a fancy few believe In these years! Yet, I feel, If someone said on Christmas Eve "Come; see the oxen kneel 8 12 "In the lonely barton by yonder coomb Our childhood used to know," I should go with him in the gloom, Hoping it might be so. 16 Thomas Hardy. TRYSTE NOËL THE OX he openeth wide the Doore, Now soon from Sleep A Starre shall leap, And soone arrive both King and Hinde: Amen, Amen: But O, the Place co'd I but finde! Trewe eyes of Pitty ore the Mow, And on his lovelie Neck, forspent, The Blessed layes her Browe. Around her feet Full Warme and Sweete His bowerie Breath doth meeklie dwell: Amen, Amen: But sore am I with Vaine Travel! 15 The Ox is host in Judah stall And Host of more than onelie one, 20 Our Lorde her littel Sonne. Glad Hinde and King Their Gyfte may bring, But wo'd to-night my Teares were there, 25 Amen, Amen: Between her Bosom and His hayre! Louise Imogen Guiney. IN THE HOSPITAL BECAUSE on the branch that is tapping my pane A sun-wakened leaf-bud, uncurled, Is bursting its rusty brown sheathing in twain, I know there is Spring in the world. Because through the sky-patch whose azure and white My window frames all the day long, A yellow-bird dips for an instant of flight, I know there is Song. Because even here in this Mansion of Woe 8 Where creep the dull hours, leaden-shod, Compassion and Tenderness aid me, I know 12 There is God. Arthur Guiterman. CREATION IN THE beginning, there was nought No future rushing to the past, But one rapt Now, that knew not Space or Time. Formless it was, being gold on gold, And void-but with that complete Life Where music could no wings unfold Till lo, God smote the strings of strife! "Myself unto Myself am Throne, Myself unto Myself am Thrall I that am All am all alone," He said, "Yea, I have nothing, having all." 16 And, gathering round His mount of bliss The angel-squadrons of His will, He said, "One battle yet there is And power that knows no strife or cry, 24 |