FEBRUARY SEVENTH

Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted;

If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, returning

Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of refreshment;

That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain.

Evangeline

FEBRUARY EIGHTH

Think of thy brother no ill, but throw a veil over his failings,

Guide the erring aright; for the good, the heavenly shepherd

Took the lost lamb in his arms, and bore it back to its mother.

This is the fruit of Love, and it is by its fruits that we know it.

FEBRUARY NINTH

The Children of the Lord's Supper

Love is the creature's welfare, with God; but Love among mortals

Is but an endless sigh! He longs, and endures, and stands waiting,

Suffers and yet rejoices, and smiles with tears on

The Children of the Lord's Supper

his eyelids.

Hope, so is called upon earth, his recompense, Hope, the befriending,

Does what she can, for she points evermore up to heaven, and faithful

Plunges her anchor's peak in the depths of the grave, and beneath it

Paints a more beautiful world, a dim, but a sweet play of shadows!

FEBRUARY ELEVENTH

The Children of the Lord's Supper

All is of God! If he but wave his hand,
The mists collect, the rain falls thick and loud,
Till, with a smile of light on sea and land,

Lo! he looks back from the departing cloud.
The Two Angels

FEBRUARY TWELFTH

Angels of Life and Death alike are his;
Without his leave they pass no threshold o'er;
Who, then, would wish or dare, believing this,
Against his messengers to shut the door?

FEBRUARY THIRTEENTH

The Two Angels

When winter winds are piercing chill,

And through the hawthorn blows the gale,

With solemn feet I tread the hill,

That overbrows the lonely vale.

Woods in Winter

FEBRUARY FOURTEENTH

O'er the bare upland, and away

Through the long reach of desert woods, The embracing sunbeams chastely play, And gladden these deep solitudes.

FEBRUARY FIFTEENTH

The day is ending,

The night is descending;
The marsh is frozen,
The river dead.

Through clouds like ashes

The red sun flashes

Woods in Winter

On village windows

That glimmer red.

Afternoon in February

FEBRUARY SIXTEENTH

A radiance, streaming from within,
Around his eyes and forehead beamed,
The Angel with the violin,

Painted by Raphael, he seemed.

He lived in that ideal world

Whose language is not speech, but song.

The Wayside Inn

To me the thought of death is terrible,
Having such hold on life. To thee it is not
So much even as the lifting of a latch;
Only a step into the open air

Out of a tent already luminous

With light that shines through its transparent walls.

pure

in heart! from thy sweet dust shall grow Lilies, upon whose petals will be written

"Ave Maria" in characters of gold!

FEBRUARY EIGHTEENTH

The Golden Legend

The night is come, but not too soon;

And sinking silently,

All silently, the little moon

Drops down behind the sky.

Within my breast there is no light,
But the cold light of stars;
I give the first watch of the night
To the red planet Mars.

The Light of Stars

FEBRUARY NINETEENTH

O star of strength! I see thee stand
And smile upon my pain;

Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand,

And I am strong again.

The star of the unconquered will,
He rises in my breast,

Serene, and resolute, and still,

And calm, and self-possessed.

FEBRUARY TWENTIETH

And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art,
That readest this brief psalm,
As one by one thy hopes depart,
Be resolute and calm.

O fear not in a world like this,
And thou shalt know erelong,
Know how sublime a thing it is
To suffer and be strong.

The Light of Stars

The Light of Stars

FEBRUARY TWENTY-FIRST

The prayer of Ajax was for light;
Through all that dark and desperate fight,
The blackness of that noonday night,

He asked but the return of sight,

To see his foeman's face.

The Goblet of Life