resounded there. A Presence filled the valleys and gilded the
mountain-tops,--breathed upon the plains, and they sprang up in lilies
and roses,--flashed upon the waters, and they flowed to spheral
melody,--swept through the forests, and they, too, trembled into song.
And though now the warmth has faded out, though the ruddy tints and
amber clearness have paled to ashen hues, though the murmuring melodies
are dead, and forest, vale, and hill look hard and angular in the sharp
air, you know that it is not death. The fire is unquenched beneath. You
go your way not disconsolate. There needs but the Victorious Voice. At
the touch of the prince's lips, life shall rise again and be perfected
forevermore.




PONCHUS PILUT

BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY


Ponchus Pilut _used_ to be
1st a _Slave_, an' now he's _free_.
Slaves wuz on'y ist before
The War wuz--an' _ain't_ no more.

He works on our place fer us,--
An' comes here--_sometimes_ he does.
He shocks corn an' shucks it.--An'
He makes hominy "by han'!"--