O'er lonely heath and darksome hill,
As shivering home I went,
The mocking Wizard whispered shrill,
'Thou'dst better been content!'




The Gipsy's Prayer.


[Illustration: The Gipsy's Prayer]

Our altar is the dewy sod--
Our temple yon blue throne of God:
No priestly rite our souls to bind--
We bow before the Almighty Mind.

Oh, Thou whose realm is wide as air--
Thou wilt not spurn the Gipsies' prayer:
Though banned and barred by all beside,
Be Thou the Outcast's guard and guide.

Poor fragments of a Nation wrecked--
Its story whelmed in Time's neglect--
We drift unheeded on the wave,
If God refuse the lost to save.

Yet though we name no Fatherland--
And though we clasp no kindred hand--