The solemn service made them strong;
Each turned and greeted with a kiss
His fellow: all stood spirit-filled,
No longer like a knife they seemed,
Which stained with blood deals deadly wounds;
But like the sacred golden quill
Which rising soars up to the sky,
And writes for ages yet unborn
The mighty deeds their fathers did.
The priest withdrew. The sun sank down
Behind the loftiest mountain peaks.
The troop marched on.
CHANGE
By Velma Byers
A year ago I could not bear to meet
The first spring days when sweet mild winds blow free:
The sudden flash of silver wings in flight
Meant only aching emptiness to me.
But now the soft enamoured fire of spring
Brings tears but for its swift and lovely light,
And all my days are sweet, remembering
You loved me first upon an April night.
