CLIMBING.

ALWAYS long
| To climb up high
That | may be
Near to the sky,
Which floats far up
Above the world
Of toil and strife.
Then do | leave
Behind me smoke,
And dust, and noise.
To blaze my trail
Where none have trod
Upward, onward
With healthful stride.
| would look up
And laugh and live—
Great winds, strong gusts
Would blow me back.
Rounding great crags,
Lost. in sunlight
| stand enthralled
By the splendor.
| go forward
Until | climb
Up near the peak—
Silent mountains,
Dark with great pines
And paths of wood,
My feet may tread
Lakes and lost trails,
Moss-covered rocks;
To these great joys
| give my heart—
Still wand'ring on
To my dream home,

Little log hut,

A dog, a fire.

When the long day
Draws to its close,
Candlelight, books,
Curling blue smoke,
Flick'ring shadows, .

_ And for my friends,
_ Small babbling brooks,

[11]

Great swaying trees,
Passionate winds,
Trailing blue mist.
In the silence

| sometimes find
My soul, | think.
God grant that |,
Through all my life,
May climb up high
Though down on earth
In reality;

And at cross-trails
O, may | choose
The path that leads
On high to life
Which sees beauty
In everything!

May | never

Be dazzled by

The false glitter

Of worldly joys;
And when one peak
In life | reach,
God keep me still
Unsatisfied.

—ALICE MACPHERSON.