Peace, peace, the men of God cry, ye be bold,
The world hath known, 'tis Heaven who claims him now,
And in our railings we but cast aside
The noble traits he bid us hold.

So though divided through the land, in dreams
We see a people kneeling low,
Bowed down in heart and soul to see
This fearful sorrow, crushing as it seems.

And all the grand cathedral silence falls
Into the hearts of these that worship low,
Like tender waves of hushed nothingness,
Confined, nor kept by human earthly walls.




A STORY OF VENGEANCE.


Yes, Eleanor, I have grown grayer. I am younger than you, you know, but
then, what have you to age you? A kind husband, lovely children, while
I--I am nothing but a lonely woman. Time goes slowly, slowly for me now.

Why did I never marry? Move that screen a little to one side, please; my
eyes can scarcely bear a strong light. Bernard? Oh, that's a long story.
I'll tell you if you wish; it might pass an hour.