IN A GALE If he I love were on the sea, My God, how I would pray to Thee! And now I know that I should pray, With urgent tears, to Thee on high, That Thou would'st call Thy storm away Lest other women's loved ones die; And on my knees should supplicate With all the strength that in me lies: (For other women watch and wait With anguish written in their eyes.) Lord, show them pity evermore! For oh, my dear is safe ashore, CONSCIENCE Underneath the night sky, and out upon the heath, But set my feet in well worn paths that other feet have trod! Underneath the night sky the ghosts begin to creep- Oh, give me friends and fireside to warm my soul and me! Cecily Fryer Crimson as ever skin pomegranate wore, When timid love first entered in, Eleanore, Were those soft, blushing cheeks of thine that flush no more Alas!-since they no more are mine, Eleanore. White as the gleaming seeds within the cloven core Which now withhold their benison and blessing, nor Gold as the gold upon the stem, or louis d'or— Sharper and sweeter were the lips I hungered for Scarlet and rich, red as a rose, forevermore Ah, no! I'll not think that of thee. I set more store Ripe was the scarlet fruit that fell. The branch that bore Perhaps the spring will come again, but nevermore That first, full love that ripened red, although we pour Will never grow again. Alas! All that is o'er, Crimson as ever fruit that grew and branches bore Which spring will yet bring forth for me; but that's no score Whereon my heart can happy be, Eleanore. Fair was the fruit I gathered first: now, as before, That seems the best-and worst, Eleanore! Dean B. Lyman, Jr. LOVE LASTS LIKE A LILY Love lasts like a lily, Tender on Time's trail; Breathing burning beauty, Solomon J. D. Fendell | KINSHIP I sit in the shade of a tree and sing As though, when this was come to birth, I am akin to this old tree, Its shining leaves sing in the sun As I unto my little one; We share creation's leap and thrill, O Power that gave, make my love strong! Akin to all these growing things My eager spirit sunward springs; And deep I sink my roots, and deeper, With each soft breath of the wee sleeper! Flora Shufelt Rivola VOYAGE Out of the night I hear a voice, Out of the sea a cry. The swift, white arms of the reaching waves Toss as we pass them by; The foam hands grasp in the emptiness, I lean to the night, I lean to the sea, Where the barren stretch of the moon-laced waves There is no comfort in the dark, I may not come to you. Hortense Flexner |