Aspen

Aspen By Grace Ingles Frost LOVELY, slender things are they, Like sylph-formed dryads standing in a row With all the pristine gladness of youth's day. Their quivering, wind-blown tresses gleaming through — Tresses wherein nestle golden wings Whose silver-fleeced throat exultant flings Unto the breeze a matin ecstasy. Satin- gowned, to me, they seem to be Reflecting here and there a sheen of sun Yet they are but each one an aspen tall — A symphony of life God's hand has spun. Midsummer in a Mountain Meadow By Mark Hart THE wind blows by with rushing sighs, Each leaf, a fan, reflects the gleam Of mellow sunshine, soft and cool From portal rays of blue and gold To tender blossoms — nature's love. Then stillness holds, as though no breath Were wafted through the fragrant space; The quiet seems to mock, or jest, The wind that's gone, or coming yet To play again the leaflets dance. The breeze, the sigh, the quietude Each has its turn as day wears by; The evening sun, in sinking low Leaves us a melancholy air Of sacred thoughts and memories. Penetration By Nina Brinkerhoff tn^iS evening and the sun has set; J. To radiant glow shines o'er the western hills — But far, far in the distant south I see The whole glad sky with golden glory thrills! 'Tis twilight and a song is sung; No answering note is heard from list'ners near — ■ But on, on where the echoes scarcely reach One heart is stirred and banished is a tear! 'Tis night, and through th' enveloping gloom A whispered word of cheer the stillness breaks; It goes unheard, until, in God's own time Its joyful strain some sorrowing heart awakes ! A . T a time of year when every- thing is warm and dusty in towns, when grain is ripe and fruit is ready for the garnering, it is a lovely, refreshing experience to go into groves and canyons, where streams are, and cool breezes. -Not always can we leave home and the duties which press from every side, except in imagination; and on such a little vacation the poems of this page take us. "Aspen" is the tree which borders the road We travel along the way; "Midsummer in a Moun- tain Meadow" the time, and our destination. The other lines, while not particularly cooling in theme, carry within themselves the joyous- ness of beauty, the exhilaration of rhythm. The Li&hthouse By Adele Skoo J'D like to be a lighthouse for ships that go to sea, The little ships with gleaming sails that toss so easily, Whose compasses get broken so they know not where to go, And they're apt to flounder on a reef, or strike a rock; and so I'd like to be a lighthouse when the billows churn to foam And dash aboard the deck, and eastern winds begin to moan, I'd like to point the dangers out to strug- gling ships that be, — The little ships that brave the storms, the little ships at sea. The Rain By Georgina Eakins * I 'HE rain is a blind man JL How do I know? I can hear his cane tap-tapping go As he walks on our roof On a showery day. Tapping and feeling all his way. Poor old man! Sometimes the rain is a horse. How can I tell? Don't I hear on the house his hoofs full well? He prances and pounds When the winds beat and dash And the doors and shutters and window sash Rattle and bang. A Prayer at the Summit By Lavenia Bradbury Horsley WHEN I stand On the peak of life's hill When I've traversed The wide sunny slope, And my face, I must turn to the gloaming, God give me The peace that's in hope. Give me faith, That's as strong .as the oak tree. And patience Serene as the dove, When she croons In the green grassy meadow That's kissed Bv the sunshine above. And oh Help my heart to remember When my path's Hid in darkness and gloom, That back. Where my feet have once trodden, The apple And peach are in bloom. May I see As I wind down the shade slope The beauty In twilight and rest And feel The sweet joy of fulfillment As the sun Fades away in the west. I Built a House for Hope By Clioe Lovett Cleaves J BUILT a house for Hope on quiv'ring sands, And smirking I invited Hope within; But she was swift to see the brazen bands Wherein I thought to wed her to my sin. Seeing that she refused my house and fled I moped for many an hour in sorrow's maze, And cursed, and raged, and wished myself were dead; Yet all I did increased my mental haze. Then I myself revived and built again, And built this time on rock by good device. I called to Hope, and showed her how by pain Of action, and by disregard of price I had rebuilt upon another plane. Then Hope returned and entered in a. trice.