The Lute of Life

d winds a willing arm about His brother when the storms are out, And lends him all the help he can? No matter what may be his creed, A kind God knights him for the deed. The man, however scorned and poor, Who bares his arm for truth, and breaks A lance for crippled justice, shakes A shower of good from shore to shore,? And Heaven, unfolding, gilds with grace The swart lines of his sturdy face. However lowly be his guise, The man who finds it in his breast To brave the worst and hope the best, Is nobly poised, and in him lies The bursting germ whose bloom shall be The badge of immortality. A LEGEND BEAUTIFUL 'Twas thus the Dervish spake: "Upon our right There stands unseen an angel with a pen, Who notes down each good deed of ours, and then Seals it with kisses in the Master's sight. Upon our left a sister-angel sweet Keeps daily record of each evil act, But, great with love, folds not the mournful sheet Till deepest midnight, when, if, conscience-racked, We lift to Allah our repentant hands, She smiles and blots the record where she stands; But if we seek not pardon for our sin, She seals it with a tear, and hands it in." THE GREEN LANES OF THE PAST I care not to gaze at the years coming on, Thick-mantled in mist and with doubts overcast, But would rather stray back to the days that are gone, Along the green lanes of the past? Across the cool meadows of memory, where The birds ever sing, and the wild w...