Of her ye take from us;—ay, let her yearn
Back, back to us once more; before this gray
Whitens, and hearts that love her are laid low.
A NAME
Many the names, the souls, the faces dear
That I have longed to frame in verse sincere;
But one high name, sweet soul, and face of love
Seemed ever my poor art, O, far above.
Like Mary's, stricken with sorrow was that face;
Like hers it wore a most majestic grace.
That soul was tender as the sunset sky,
And full of lofty dream her days went by;
That name—than God's alone there is no other
Holy as thine to me, O sacred Mother!
JOHN GEORGE NICOLAY
WASHINGTON, D. C., SEPTEMBER, 1901
This man loved Lincoln, him did Lincoln love;
Through the long storm, right there, by Lincoln's side,
He stood, his shield and servitor; when died
The great, sweet, sorrowful soul—still high above
All other passions, love for the spirit fled!
To this one task his pure life was assigned:
He strove to make the world know Lincoln's mind:
He served him living, and he served him dead.
So shall the light from that immortal fame
Keep bright forever this most faithful name.
THE COMFORT OF THE TREES
McKINLEY: SEPTEMBER, 1901
Gentle and generous, brave-hearted, kind,
And full of love and trust was he, our chief;
