TO BARBARA.

AS when a storm in the summer spreads darkly around the horizon,

Hushing the happy sounds of bird and of beast in the meadows,

While in the cool of the forest pipes still unceasing a wood-thrush,

Trusting the goodness of God, sure shelter and refuge await him,

Singing out bravely and clearly, unheeding the roll of the thunder,

Patter of drops mid the branches, vanguard of the army behind them, -

And, climbing the cattle-cropped hill, or toiling on dustladen highways,

Wayfarers weary are cheered with thoughts of their homes and their children, -

Oft thus my heart is thrilled, while exile and labor oppress it,

With joy at the thought of my home and the dear ones that look for my coming,

When I hear - but in memory - thy voice, soft falling as dew-drops on roses,

Mid silence that love in my soul makes to list to the fanciful echoes.

J. K. M.