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SONGS OF COMRADES.
Mother, mine earth, be kind ;
Let me, on you reclined,
Dream out my folly, my sin, and my pain ;
Rise as a plant newly bathed with the rain,
Fresh with the fanning of wind.
Fountain so still, so clear,
Let me stoop down and hear
All of the wisdom that babbles so sweet
Hast thou no welcome the stranger to greet ?
Hast thou thy secrets, held dear ?
Life, like an autumn day,
Fruitful, shall glide away,
Rich with the wisdom of birds and of bees,
Sweet with the fragrance of blossoming trees,
Bright with the dragon-flies gay.
Glorious life, and good !
Nightshade, be thou monk's hood,
Moss for my pillow and rock for my wall ;
Hunted of many, but hidden from all,
Safe in the sheltering wood.
