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SENT TO THE DINNER GIVEN IN HONOR OF WALT WHITMAN'S SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY, AT CAMDEN, N.J., MAY 31, 1889, AT 5 O'CLOCK P.M.

"Splendor of ended day floating and filling me,"[B] Comes to my mind as I think of the hour When our poet and friend will be lovingly drinking The mystical cup of the seventy years' power.

Were I the man-of-war bird he has pictured Nothing could keep me from flying that way. But, though absent in body, there's nothing can hinder My tasting the joys of that festive birthday;

For on the swift wings of the ending day's splendor My soul will glide in to drink deep the cup's wealth. Who knows but the poet's keen sense of pure friendship Will feel, 'midst the joy, what I drink to his health?-- Splendor of ended day Be but the door Opening the endless way Life evermore.

[B] "Song at Sunset."--W. W.

SONNETS.

THE KNOWN GOD.

(Suggested by Arlo Bates' sonnet, "The Unknown God," published in the BOSTON COURIER of August 21, 1887.)

If Paul in Athens' street left nothing more Than what he found when deep in sacred thought, He stood and marvelled o'er what had been wrought,-- The To the Unknown God of heathen lore,-- Then were he only one on thought's wide shore To lose his name in others. But, heaven-taught, Undaunted, and in words experienced-fraught, Declared he God as known forevermore.

Paul's words, made deep and strong by martyred life, Are more than vision deified. They are Love's balm to permeate true mental strife, And bring to sin-sick weary souls a star Of hope born of temptation's struggles rife. To the Known God. Through Paul we dare thus far.

August, 1887.

TO PHILLIPS BROOKS.

O type of manhood, strong, serene, and chaste, Attuned to law of man as well as God, We hail thee as a guide, who, having trod With Christ the spirit-fields, in eager haste Makes glad return to give us blessed taste Of fruit there found. Through thee our feet are shod With gospel-peace, while thy imperial rod Becomes our need in times of drought or waste.

How can we thank thee for thy helpful cheer, O master-spirit of the priests of earth? By daily doing penance without fear, Or resting satisfied in deeds of worth? O no! 'Tis when we breathe love's atmosphere, And live like thee the life of heavenly birth.

Boston, 1890.