The Dawn

He shook his head as he turned away-- "Is it life or death?" "We shall know by day." Out from the wards where the sick folk lie, Out neath the black and bitter sky. Past one o'clock and the wind is chill, The snow-clad streets are ghostly still; No friendly noise, no cheering light, So calm the city sleeps to-night, I think its soul has taken flight.

Back to the empty home--a thrill, A shudder at its darkened sill, For the clock chimes as on that morn, That happy day when she was born. And now, inexorably slow, To life or death the hours go. Time's wings are clipped; he scarce doth creep. Tonight no drug could bring you sleep; Watch at the window for the day; 'Tis all that's left--to watch and pray. But I think the prayer of an anguished heart Must pierce that bleak sky like a dart, And tear that pall of clouds apart.

The poplars, edging the frozen lawn, Shudder and whisper: "Wait till dawn."

Two spirits stand beside her bed Softly stroking her curly head. Death whispers, "Come"--Life whispers, "Stay." Child, little child, go not away. Life pleads, "Remember"--and Death, "Forget." Little child, little child, go not yet. By all your mother's love and pain, Child of our heart, child of our brain, Stay with us; go not till you see The Fairyland that life can be. . . . . . . . . The poplars, edging the frozen lawn, Are dancing and singing. "Thank God--the Dawn!"

Professor Frederick E. Pierce, B.A. 1904, has produced three volumes of poems, of which The World that God Destroyed exhibits an epic sweep of the imagination. He imagines a world far off in space, where every form of life has perished save rank vegetation. One day in their wanderings over the universe, Lucifer and Michael meet on this dead ball. A truce is declared and each expresses some of the wisdom bought by experience.

The upas dripped its poison on the ground Harmless; the silvery veil of fog went up From mouldering fen and cold, malarial pool, But brought no taint and threatened ill to none. Far off adown the mountain's craggy side From time to time the avalanche thundered, sounding Like sport of giant children, and the rocks Whereon it smote re-echoed innocently. Then in a pause of silence Lucifer Struck music from the harp again and sang.

"I am the shadow that the sunbeams bring, I am the thorn from which the roses spring; Without the thorn would be no blossoming, Nor were there shadow if there were no gleam. I am a leaf before a wind that blows, I am the foam that down the current goes; I work a work on earth that no man knows, And God Works too,--I am not what I seem.

"There comes a purer morn whose stainless glow Shall cast no shadow on the ground below, And fairer flowers without the thorn shall blow, And earth at last fulfil her parent's dream. Oh race of men who sin and know not why, I am as you and you are even as I; We all shall die at length and gladly die; Yet even our deaths shall be not what they seem."

Then Michael raised the golden lyre, and struck A note more solemn soft, and made reply.

"There dwelt a doubt within my mind of yore; I sought to end that doubt and laboured sore; But now I search its mystery no more, But leave it safe within the Eternal's hand. The tiger hunts the lamb and yearns to kill, Himself by famine hunted, fiercer still; And much there is that seems unmingled ill; But God is wise, and God can understand.

"All things on earth in endless balance sway; Day follows night and night succeeds the day; And so the powers of good and evil may Work out the purpose that his wisdom planned. Eternal day would parch the dewy mould, Eternal night would freeze the lands with cold; But wise was God who planned the world of old; I rest in Him for He can understand.

"Yet good and evil still their wills oppose; And serving both, we still must serve as foes On yon far globe that teems with human woes; And sin thou art, though God work through thy hand. But here the race of man is now no more; The task is done, the long day's work is o'er; One hour I'll dream thee what thou wert of yore, Though changed thou art, too changed to understand."

All day sat Michael there with Lucifer Talking of things unknown to men, old tales And memories dating back beyond all time. And all night long beneath the lonely stars, That watched no more the sins of man, they lay, The angel's lofty face at rest against The dark cheek scarred with thunder. Morning came, And each departed on his separate way; But each looked back and lingered as he passed.

Some of his best work, however, appears in short pieces that might best be described as lyrics of the farm, or, to use a title discarded by Tennyson, Idylls of the Hearth. Mr. Pierce knows the lonely farm-houses of New England, both by inheritance and habitation, and is a true interpreter of the spirit of rural life.

One of the best-known of the group of Yale poets is Brian Hooker, who was graduated from Yale in 1902, and for some years was a member of the Faculty. His Poems (1915) are an important addition to contemporary literature. He is a master of the sonnet-form, as any one may see for himself in reading