DEATH, THY servant, is at my door. He has crossed the unknown sea and brought thy call to my home. The night is dark and my heart is fearful-yet I will take up the lamp, open my gates and bow to him my welcome. It is thy messenger who stands at my door. I will worship him with folded hands, and with tears. I will worship him placing at his feet the treasure of my heart. He will go back with his errand done, leaving a dark shadow on my morning; and in my desolate home only my forlorn self will remain as my last offering to thee.
IN THE DEEP shadows of the rainy July, with secret steps, thou walkest, silent as night, eluding all watchers. To-day the morning has closed its eyes, heedless of the insistent calls of the loud east wind, and a thick veil has been drawn over the ever- wakeful blue sky. The woodlands have hushed their songs, and doors are all shut at every house. Thou art the solitary wayfarer in this deserted street. Oh my only friend, my best beloved, the gates are open in my house-do not pass by like a dream.