sun, my son in his grave, in his rude-dug grave I deposited;

Ending my vigil strange with that- vigil of night and battle-field dim;

Vigil for boy of responding kisses (never again on earth responding ;)

Vigil for comrade swiftly slain-vigil I never forget, how as day brighten'd,

I rose from the chill ground, and folded my soldier well in his blanket,

And buried him where he fell.

Walt Whitman

KNOWN AND UNKNOWN

FROM In Memoriam

DEAR far off,woe and weal

EAR friend, far off, my lost desire,

O loved the most, when most I feel There is a lower and a higher;

Known and unknown, human, divine;

Sweet human hand and lips and eye; Dear heavenly friend that canst not die, Mine, mine, for ever, ever mine!

Strange friend, past, present, and to be,
Loved deeplier, darklier understood;
Behold, I dream a dream of good
And mingle all the world with thee.

Thy voice is on the rolling air;

i hear thee where the waters run;
Thou standest in the rising sun,

And in the setting thou art fair.

What art thou then? I cannot guess;
But tho' I seem in star and flower

To feel thee some diffusive power,
I do not therefore love thee less:

My love involves the love before;

My love is vaster passion now;

Tho' mix'd with God and Nature thou, I seem to love thee more and more.

Far off thou art, but ever nigh;

I have thee still, and I rejoice;
I prosper, circled with thy voice;
I shall not lose thee tho' I die.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson.

WAITING

ERENE, I fold my hands and wait,

SE

Nor care for wind, or tide, or sea;
I rave no more 'gainst time or fate,
For, lo! my own shall come to me.

I stay my haste, I make delays,
For what avails this eager pace?
I stand amid the eternal ways,

And what is mine shall know my face.

Asleep, awake, by night or day,

The friends I seek are seeking me;
No wind can drive my bark astray,
Nor change the tide of destiny.

What matter if I stand alone?

I wait with joy the coming years;
My heart shall reap where it has sown,
And garner up its fruit of tears.

The waters know their own and draw
The brook that springs in yonder height;
So flows the good with equal law
Unto the soul of pure delight.

The stars come nightly to the sky;
The tidal wave unto the sea;

Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high,

Can keep my own away from me.

John Burroughs

THE PILGRIM'S SCRIP

Give me solitude-give me Nature-give me again, O Nature, your primal sanities.

So did Guy betimes discover
Fortune was his guard and lover;

Whitman

In strange junctures, felt, with awe
His own symmetry with law.

The rules to men made evident
By Him who built the day,
The columns of the firmament

Not firmer based than they.

Emerson

Emerson