For Daily Inspiration 



A PAGE OF FUGITIVE VERSE 



Expectancy 



BY WILBUR DrBOIS. 



The distant hills were misty-gray, 

 A spectral outline in the east; 



Sere were the woods, and, sealed in frost, 

 The brooks their melody had ceased. 



The heavens were veiled in gentle gloom — 



And yet the spirit felt a glow, 

 A rapture wild that leaped to meet 



The coming glory of the snow! 



"Wmter Morning on the Farm 



BV EOY FARRELL GREEXE. 



The north wind bites uncovered nose and 

 ears, 



And seems to freeze the blood within your 

 veins. 



The snow is drifted deep upon the plains, 

 And pasture coves where thick-grown wood- 

 land clears. 

 The icicles, impending rows of spears 



By low eaves clutched, gleam threat'ning 



o'er your head, 

 And in the orchard, quite with frost o'er- 

 spread, 



The school boy's trap, a figure-four, appears. 



You quick forget life's trials, cares and 

 pains. 



You walk with almost reverential tread 

 Through thickets where the berry bushes 

 red 



Are interlaced, like yarn in tangled skeins, 

 And note, around the farm home, row on 

 row 



Of rabbit tracks — soft dimples in the snow. 



Love's Way 



BY CORA A. MATSON DOLSON. 



I built me a mansion stately and grand, 

 Richest of dwellings in all the land. 

 Wide were its portals and fair to see. 

 Love, I would take her to dv/ell with me. 



Love she gathered her cloak of brown, 

 Said me a "Nay" with her eyes bent down, 

 Went her way to a lowly door 

 One had fashioned whom we call poor. 



There sh€ goes out and in with him, 

 Brightens his hearth, while my own is dira. 

 Wee heads crowd 'neath the doorway vi:ie, 

 Never the laugh of a child from mine. 



I Wouldn't Be Cross 



I wouldn't be cross, dear, it's never worth 

 while; 



Disarm the vexation by wearing a smile; 

 Let hap a disaster, a trouble, a loss. 

 Just meet the thing boldly, and never be 

 cross. 



I wouldn't be cross, dear, with people at 

 home; 



They love you so fondly; whatever may 

 come. 



You may count on the kinsfolk around you 

 to stand. 



Oh, loyally true in a brotherly band! 

 So, since the fine gold far exceedeth the 

 dross, 



I wouldn't be cross, dear, I wouldn't be cross. 



I wouldn't be cross with a stranger, ah, no! 

 To the pilgrims we meet on the life path, we 

 owe 



This kindness, to rire them good cheer as 

 they pass. 



To clear out the Hint stones and plant the 



soft grass; 

 No, dear, with a stranger in trial or loss, 

 I perchance might be silent, I wouldn't be 



cross. 



No bitterness sweetens, no sharpness may 

 heal 



The wound wiich the soul is too proud to 

 reveal. 



No envy hath oeace; by a fret and a jar 

 The beautiful work of our hands we may 

 mar. 



Let happen what may, dear, of trouble and 

 loss, 



I wouldn't be cross, dear, I wouldn't be 

 cross. 



— Margaret E. Sangster. 



Trust 



"I in. glad to think I am not bound to make 



the wrong go right. 

 I u". only to discover and to do 

 "^'V th cheerful heart the work that God 



appoints. 

 i will trust in Him 



I'hat he can hold His own; and I will take 

 His will, above the work He sendeth me 

 To be my chiefest good." 



— Jean Ingelow. 



