The broad gold wake of the afternoon;
The silent fleck of the cold new moon;

The sound of the hollow sea's release
From stormy tumult to starry peace;

With only another league to wend;
And two brown arms at the journey's end!

These are the joys of the open road-
For him who travels without a load.

BLISS CARMAN.

LAMBS

The great beauty of Katharine Tynan's poetry is its tender affectionateness. She has a fine ear for metre ; some syllables are not quite regular, but when read with attention to time as well as stress, they disclose the beauty of the variety.

I SAW the ewes lying,

Their lambs bleating and crying,

Poor lambs, weary of travel, on the green sod. Sore-foot, crying and bleating,

Each sweet to its sweeting

And thought of another lamb, the Lamb of God.

In the sweet May so tender,

With trees in their new splendour, I heard a lamb cry for its milky dam, With a low bleat and weary,

As one dear to its dearie

And thought on another lamb, dear Mary's lamb.

Each lamb beside its mother,

Its own, not any other,

Comforted with her milk, lay sweetly at rest,
Full fed and safe from harm,

As a child in the mother's arm

I thought of a downy head at Mary's breast.

I saw the lambs playing
No darling lost or straying,
About their mothers on the dewy heath,
Around the daisies and clover,

Each small love by its lover-
And thought of Mary's boy in Nazareth.

A lamb so soft and curled

Oh sweetest name in the world!

The Child, the Son, the Lamb; Oh heavenly Name! That holds in its completeness

All lovely things and sweetness

The Holy Spirits' thought for the Son-" God's Lamb."

KATHARINE TYNAN HINKSON.

ST. FRANCIS TO THE BIRDS

I cannot think that St. Francis believed the birds understood his sermons, or that the fishes did either. No, this was his way of doing poetry, and lovely poetry indeed. All the poets have preached, in their way, to birds and beasts. St. Francis, a great saint of the Middle Ages, in Italy, founded an Order for the help of poor human creatures that is at this day working all over the world.

LITTLE sisters, the birds:

We must praise God, you and I-
You, with songs that fill the sky,
I, with halting words.

All things tell His praise,

Woods and waters thereof sing,
Summer, Winter, Autumn, Spring,

And the night and days.

Yea, and cold and heat,

And the sun and stars and moon,
Sea with her monotonous tune,

Rain and hail and sleet,

And the winds of heaven,

And the solemn hills of blue,

And the brown earth and the dew,

And the thunder even,

And the flowers' sweet breath.

All things make one glorious voice;
Life with fleeting pains and joys,

And our brother, Death.

S P.

Little flowers of air,

With your feathers soft and sleek, And your bright brown eyes and meek He hath made you fair.

He hath taught to you

Skill to weave in tree and thatch Nests where happy mothers hatch Speckled eggs of blue.

And hath children given:

When the soft heads overbrim

The brown nests, then thank ye Him In the clouds of heaven.

Also in your lives

Live His laws Who loveth you. Husbands, be ye kind and true; Be home-keeping, wives

Love not gossiping;

Stay at home and keep the nest ; Fly not here and there in quest Of the newest thing.

Live as brethren live:

Love be in each heart and mouth;
Be not envious, be not wroth,

Be not slow to give.

When ye build the nest,

Quarrel not o'er straw or wool;
He who hath, be bountiful

To the neediest.

Be not puffed nor vain

Of your beauty or your worth, Of your children or your birth, Or the praise you gain.

Eat not greedily:

Sometimes for sweet mercy's sake
Worm or insect spare to take ;
Let it crawl or fly.

See ye sing not near

To our church on holy day,
Lest the human-folk should stray
From their prayers to hear.

Now depart in peace:

In God's name I bless each one; May your days be long i' the sun And your joys increase.

And remember me,

Your poor brother Francis, who Loves you, and gives thanks to you For this courtesy.

Sometimes when ye sing,

Name my name, that He may take
Pity for the dear song's sake

On my shortcoming.

KATHARINE TYNAN HINKSON.