Exalt them to pure worlds of dreams;

Their love of good; their rage at wrong;
Their hours when struggling thought makes way;
Their hours when fancy drifts to song
Lightly and glad as bird-trills may;

All these are truths. And if as true
More graceless scrutiny that reads,
"These fruits amid strange husking grew;"
"These lilies blossomed amongst weeds;"

Here no despoiling doubts shall blow,
No fret of feud, of work-day jars.
We know them but as friends may know,
Or they are known beyond the stars.




John Bernard O'Hara.



Happy Creek


The little creek goes winding
Thro' gums of white and blue,
A silver arm