Conscious Or Unconscious?

The earthquake's shock, the thunder's roar, The lightning's vivid chain, The ocean's strength, the deluge's pour, The wildest hurricane,

Are moods that Nature loves to show To man who boasts his birth From conscious force she could not know Because denied soul-worth.

But is it true she does not share A knowledge in God's plan? Must not she His own secret bear To so touch soul of man?

Those who deny this see not clear Into the heart of things; For how could otherwise God here Reveal His wanderings?

POEMS OF LOVE.

LOVE'S HOW AND WHY.

How do I love thee? Oh, who knows How the blush of the rose Can its secret disclose? Oh, who knows?

Why do I love thee? Ah, who cares Sound a passion he shares With the angels? Who dares, Yes, who dares?

LOVE'S GUERDON.

Thine eyes are stars to hold me To love's pure rapturous height. Thy thoughts are pearls to lead me To truth beyond earth's sight. Thy love is life to keep me Forever in God's light.

A BIRTHDAY GREETING.

Thy birthday, dear? Oh, would I had the poet's art By which I could my wish impart For thy new year; But e'en a poet's pen of gold Would fail my wish to thee unfold In earthly sphere.

Thy birthday, dear? Oh, would I had the painter's skill Prophetic visions to fulfill For thy new year; But e'en a painter's rarest brush Would but my holy visions crush, Or fail to cheer.

Thy birthday, dear? Oh, would I had sweet music's aid To vitalize the prayers I've made For thy new year; Alas! not even music's best Could put in form my soul's behest For thee, my dear.

That only will expression find In purest depths of thine own mind This coming year; As, guided by the inner light, There'll come to thee the new-born sight Of ravished seer.

But in this sight thou may'st so feel Eternal beauty o'er thee steal-- God's gift, my dear-- That thou can'st find the blessed art By which to make e'en depths of heart In form appear.

Yet, it may be a heaven's birthday Will have to dawn for us to say Our best things, dear. For, as thou know'st, Truth's deepest well Must e'er reflect, its depths to tell Heaven's atmosphere.

THREE KISSES.

The kiss still burns upon my brow, That kiss of long ago, When in the flush of love's first hour He said he loved me so.

Another burns yet deeper still, The kiss of wedded bliss, When soul met soul in rapture sweet-- Oh, pure love's burning kiss!

The third was laid away with him, A kiss for heaven's day, (O heart abide God's way)-- When in the life beyond earth's change,

Beyond these mysteries sad and strange, New life will spring from out the old, New thoughts will larger truth unfold, And love have endless sway.

IF I WERE ONLY SURE.

If I were only sure He loves me still, As in the realms of beauteous space (Alas! so far from my embrace) He bides God's will, I could be more content to bear The bitter anguish and despair Which now me fill.

If I were only sure He waits for me To join him in the heavenly realm (Oh, how the thought does overwhelm) When body-free, I could the better bear my fate, As day by day I learn to wait In silent agony.

O Father, in my doubt One thing is sure, That Thou, all love, could ne'er destroy (Death only is in earth's alloy) Such love so pure As that which blessed our union here, The love which knew no change nor fear-- Such must endure.

ABSENCE.

The days are happy here, dear, But happier would they be Could'st thou be near to bless me With love's sweet ministry;

Then all this beauty round me Would on my memory lie, As prayers of sainted mother, Or childhood's lullaby.

Hotel Look-Off, Sugar Hill, N.H.

A LOVE SONG.

Oh! ecstasy rare Comes down to share The heart that with human love trembles; While all on the earth Is crowned with new birth And everything heaven resembles.

But grief and despair Have latent their share In hearts that with human love tremble, Since fires of love Enkindled above In frail earthen vessels assemble.

Still, ecstasy rare Comes down to share The heart that with human love trembles; While all on the earth Is crowned with new birth And everything heaven resembles.

IN HER GARDEN.

She picks me June roses. Were ever such roses? Their fragrance would honor The heavenly halls.

She finds me pet pansies. Such wondrous-eyed pansies, And lovely nasturtiums That run on the walls.

Sweet peas she's now bringing, While all the time singing. And I? Ask the flowers To tell what befalls.

LOVE'S WISH.

Would I were beautiful! Then you at Beauty's shrine might freely dine, A welcome guest For joy's bequest. But, dear, if this were so,-- If I were Beauty's child, all undefiled, To make you blest In beauty's quest,

You might forget to see The soul's pure hidden shrine wherein e'er shine The things that test Love's true behest. Would I were beautiful, That you might better see the soul in me! That wish is best, Is 't not, dearest?