Wind Voices

WIND VOICES. (For the Improvement Era.) 'We are the voices of the wandering wind" — Edwin Arnold. Wind, in the bough, decked at Summer's hest, What murmurest thou when roses blow? — "I rock each young bird in its nest Like child cradled on mother-breast, To my lullaby rustling low." Wind, at the city's corners gusty, Why whistlest thou so vacant and bold? — ' '0, the rise of my joy was lusty! In the drift of these by-ways dusty, It fell, and the heart o' the year's a-cold." Wind, where the sky-line stretcheth, How weird is thy song on the wires! — ' 'The call of Love's quick'ning breath, The hint of the ceased pulse of death, Are the song of my woven lyres." Wind, when the panes are shaken, To list theejl cannot forbear! — "I wail of love's faith forsaken: Of sunlit hopes by night o'ertaken, And I shriek in a wild despair." Wind, in the branch slow-started, Where the moon's pure light is shed, — Whispereth thou of the departed? — ' 'Peace waft I to the mournful-hearted, And signal tidings of the dead." Wind, when sere leaves fall faster, How strong is thy psalm of the gale ! Like the rush of infinite water On a shore of the hereafter, And a countless host's all-hail! Florence L. Lancaster. London, England.