The Fairest Land
Tell me, gentle traveler, thou
Rumi
Who hast wandered far and wide,
Seen the sweetest roses blow,
And the brightest rivers glide;
Say, of all thine eyes have seen,
Which the fairest land has been?
"Lady, shall I tell thee where
Nature seems most blest and fair,
Far above all climes beside?---
'Tis where those we love abide:
And that little spot is best
Which the loved one's foot hath pressed.
"Though it be a fairy space,
Wide and spreading is the place;
Though 'twere but a barren mound,
'Twould become enchanted ground.
"With thee yon sandy waste would seem
The margin of paradise stream;
And thou canst make a dungeon's gloom
A bower where new-born roses bloom."
Reach Your Hand To Me
Reach your hand to me, my friend,
James Whitcomb Riley
With its heartiest caress -
Sometime there will come an end
To its present faithfulness -
Sometime I may ask in vain
For the touch of it again,
When between us land or sea
Holds it ever back from me.
Sometime I may need it so,
Groping somewhere in the night,
It will seem to me as though
Just a touch, however light,
Would make all the darkness day,
And along some sunny way
Lead me through an April-shower
Of my tears to this fair hour.
O the present is too sweet
To go on forever thus!
Round the corner of the street
Who can say what waits for us? -
Meeting - greeting, night and day,
Faring each the self-same way -
Still somewhere the path must end.
Reach your hand to me, my friend!
IN the garden of our affections
In the russet dawn,
there are certain loyal natures
that continue faithful through all
things ; as in the kingdom of vegeta-
tion there are certain finely organized
and sensitive growths of flower and
vine, which are so susceptible to
warmth, and light, and beauty, that
they do nothing all their lives but
look at the sun.
with a sublime faith, they watch the
East for his coming. Turning on
their slender stems all day long, they
follow him as he makes the circuit
of the sky ; and at nightfall, after he
has sunk from sight, we behold again
these flowers, their faces westward
now, with the dewdrops shining on
their petals, like tears gathered in the
eyes of parted friendship.
John McLandburgh
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