Under the snow, in the dark and th… A pale little sprout was humming; Sweetly it sang, ’neath the frozen… Of the beautiful days that were co… “How foolish your songs!” said a l…

This is the baby who doesn’t do a… This is the lady who loves to wear… This is their big sister, this is… And this stout thumb is their grea…

Beside an incubator stood The would-be mother of a brood. With drooping wings and nodding he… These are the clucked-out words sh… ‘O, vile invention of the age,

Use all your hidden forces. Do not miss the purpose of this li… and do not wait for circumstance to mold or change your fate. In your own self lies destiny.

The sweet young Spring walks over… It flushes and glows on moor and l… The birds are singing in careless… The brook flows cheerily on to the… And I know that the flowers are b…

The Wife The house is like a garden, The children are the flowers, The gardener should come methinks And walk among his bowers,

Do you know where the summer bloom… Where there never is rain on a pic… Where the thornless rose in its be… And little boys never are called f… Then, oh! hey! it is far away–

I look down the lengthening distan… Far back to youth’s valley of hope… How strange seemed the ways of exi… How infinite life and its scope! What dreams, what ambitions came t…

I look to Science for the cure of… To patient righting of a thousand… To final healing of a thousand ill… Blind runner now, and cruel egotis… It yet leads on to more than morta…

Hark! high o’er the rattle and cla… Of traffic-filled streets, do you… And pushing and rushing to see wha… Like herds of wild cattle, go pell… There’s a fire in the city! the en…

In France I saw a hill-a gentle s… Rising above old tombs to greet th… From soft spring skies. Beyond th… But those green graves bespeak a b… There was a row of narrow beds, ne…

Every morning, as I walk down From my dreary lodgings, toward th… I see at a window, near the street… The face of a woman, fair and swee… With soft brown eyes and chestnut…

Friend of my youth, let us talk of… Of the long lost golden hours. When “Winter” meant only Christma… And “Summer” wreaths of flowers. Life has grown old, and cold, my f…

Oh! that is a beautiful land, I w… The land of the Gone-away Souls. Yes, a lovelier region by far than… (Though this is a world most fair)… The goodliest goal of all good goa…

Slipping away—slipping away! Out of our brief year slips the M… And Winter lingers, and Summer fl… And Sorrow abideth, and Pleasure… And the days are short, and the ni…