It Might Have Been.

We will be what we could be. Do not say, "It might have been, had not or that, or this." No fate can keep us from the chosen way; He only might, who is.

We will do what we could do. Do not dream Chance leaves a hero, all uncrowned to grieve. I hold, all men are greatly what they seem; He does, who could achieve.

We will climb where we could climb. Tell me not Of adverse storms that kept thee from the height. What eagle ever missed the peak he sought? He always climbs who might.

I do not like the phrase, "It might have been!" It lacks all force, and life's best truths perverts: For I believe we have, and reach, and win, Whatever our deserts.

IF.

Dear love, if you and I could sail away, With snowy pennons to the winds unfurled, Across the waters of some unknown bay, And find some island far from all the world;

If we could dwell there, ever more alone, While unrecorded years slip by apace, Forgetting and forgotten and unknown By aught save native song-birds of the place;

If Winter never visited that land, And Summer's lap spilled o'er with fruits and flowers, And tropic trees cast shade on every hand, And twinèd boughs formed sleep-inviting bowers;

If from the fashions of the world set free, And hid away from all its jealous strife, I lived alone for you, and you for me-- Ah! then, dear love, how sweet were wedded life.

But since we dwell here in the crowded way, Where hurrying throngs rush by to seek for gold, And all is common-place and work-a-day, As soon as love's young honeymoon grows old;

Since fashion rules and nature yields to art, And life is hurt by daily jar and fret, 'Tis best to shut such dreams down in the heart And go our ways alone, love, and forget.

GETHSEMANE.

In golden youth when seems the earth A Summer-land of singing mirth, When souls are glad and hearts are light, And not a shadow lurks in sight, We do not know it, but there lies Somewhere veiled under evening skies A garden which we all must see-- The garden of Gethsemane.

With joyous steps we go our ways, Love lends a halo to our days; Light sorrows sail like clouds afar, We laugh, and say how strong we are. We hurry on; and hurrying, go Close to the border-land of woe, That waits for you, and waits for me-- Forever waits Gethsemane.

Down shadowy lanes, across strange streams Bridged over by our broken dreams; Behind the misty caps of years, Beyond the great salt fount of tears, The garden lies. Strive as you may, You cannot miss it in your way. All paths that have been, or shall be, Pass somewhere through Gethsemane.

All those who journey, soon or late, Must pass within the garden's gate; Must kneel alone in darkness there, And battle with some fierce despair. God pity those who can not say, "Not mine but thine," who only pray, "Let this cup pass," and cannot see The purpose in Gethsemane.

DUST-SEALED.

I know not wherefore, but mine eyes See bloom, where other eyes see blight. They find a rainbow, a sunrise, Where others but discern deep night.

Men call me an enthusiast, And say I look through gilded haze: Because where'er my gaze is cast, I see some thing that calls for praise.

I say, "Behold those lovely eyes-- That tinted cheek of flower-like grace." They answer in amused surprise: "We thought it such a common face."

I say, "Was ever scene more fair? I seem to walk in Eden's bowers." They answer with a pitying air, "The weeds are choking out the flowers."

I know not wherefore, but God lent A deeper vision to my sight. On whatsoe'er my gaze is bent I catch the beauty Infinite;

That underlying, hidden half That all things hold of Deity. So let the dull crowd sneer and laugh-- Their eyes are blind, they cannot see.