For A Guest Room

All words are said, And may it fall That, crowning these, You here shall find A friendly bed, A sheltering wall, Your body’s ease, A quiet mind.

May you forget In happy sleep The world that still You hold as friend, And may it yet Be ours to keep Your friendly will To the world’s end.

For he is blest Who, fixed to shun All evil, when The worst is known, Counts, east and west, When life is done, His debts to men In love alone.

ON READING THE MS. OF DOROTHY WORDSWORTH’S JOURNALS

To-day I read the poet’s sister’s book, She who so comforted those Grasmere days When song was at the flood, and thence I took A larger note of fortitude and praise.

And in her ancient fastness beauty stirred, And happy faith was in my heart again, Because the virtue of a simple word Was durable above the lives of men.

For reading there that quiet record made Of skies and hills, domestic hours, and free Traffic of friends, and song, and duty paid, I touched the wings of immortality.