My kind love crowned me with a crown of flowers.

Softly they touched my forehead and my hair;
Gay, sunny, yellow, and sweet-breathed they were--

Soft flowers and tender hands, gay sun, soft skies;
And sweeter, tenderer yet, his loving eyes.

Ah! but it should have been with thorns he crowned me,
Who follow Christ, while cold skies blackened round me.

Dear love, I will accept from you cold frown,
Sharp words, hard touch, as symbols of His crown.


* * * * *


MAURICE HEALY


_IN MEMORIAM_

"Lord, teach us how to pray," they said;
And Jesus raised His weary head,
Bowed by the sorrows of the way,
And taught His children how to pray.

"Lord, teach me how to pray," I cried;
And Jesus sent you to my side