And she mimicked a soldier's warlike stride, and tossed back her dear
little head.

She had gone for many a year, and never came back before;
But I think she dwells in a Near-by Land, since song jarred open the
door;
Yes, I think it is surely a Near-by Land, that place where our loved
ones are,
For the song would never have reached her ear had she been on a
distant star.

Two roadways lead from this land to That, and one is the road of
Prayer,
And one is the road of Old-time Songs, and every note is a stair.



OH, POOR, SICK WORLD



Lord of all the Universe, when I think of YOU,
Flinging stars out into space, moving suns and tides;
Then this little mortal mind gets the larger view,
And the carping self of me runs away and hides.

Then I see all shadowed paths leading out to Light;
See the false things fade away, leaving but the True;
See the wrong things slay themselves, leaving only Right;
When this little mortal mind gets the larger view.