Seek any fetich undivine,
Be any superstition's thrall,
From Heaven or Hell will come a sign;
But thou alone art deaf to all.
THREE DOVES
By James Jeffrey Roche
Seaward, at morn, my doves flew free;
At eve they circled back to me.
The first was Faith; the second, Hope;
The third, the whitest, Charity.
Above the plunging surges play
Dream-like they hovered, day by day.
At last they turned, and bore to me
Green signs of peace thro' nightfall gray,
No shore forlorn, no loveliest land
Their gentle eye had left unscanned,
'Mid hues of twilight-heliotrope
Or daybreak fires by heaven-breath fanned
Quick visions of celestial grace,—
Hither they waft, from earth's broad space,
Kind thoughts for all humanity,
They shine with radiance from God's face.
Ah, since my heart they choose for home,
Why loose them,—forth again to roam?
Yet look; they rise with loftier scope
They wheel in flight toward Heaven's pure dome.
