There are hermit souls that live withdrawn
In the place of their self-content;
There are souls like stars, that dwell apart,
One day, through the primeval wood,
A calf walked home, as good calves should;
But made a trail all bent askew,
A crooked trail as all calves do.
“The proper way for a man to pray”
said Deacon Lemuel Keyes,
“and the only proper attitude
is down upon his knees.”
We've lived for forty years, dear wife,
And walked together side by side,
And you to-day are just as dear
As when you were my bride.
They met and they talked where the crossroads meet,
Four men from the four winds come,
THE TOWN of Hay is far away,
The town of Hay is far;
Between its hills of green and gray
Its winding meadows are.
'How is business?' asks the young man of the Spirit of the Years;
'Tell me of the modern output from the factories of fate,
What is the world’s true Bible -- ‘tis the highest thought of man,
The thought distilled through ages since the dawn of thought began.
Men seem as alike as the leaves on the trees,
As alike as the bees in a swarming of bees
'There will be a war in Europe,
Thrones will be rent and overturned,'
('Go and fetch a pail of water,' said his wife).