. At early candle light and other poems. id the kindly rays,The romping children rolled by the back logs blaze. io8 THE B7\CK LOGS BLAZE O the back logs blaze,—then the world was fair to me,Far whiter than the outer snow the inner winter hounds were baying the cold December moon,The wooers, hand in hand, went along the lanes of June;The while the tempest roared, the mother rocked her child,Then bending oer the cradle, how wistfully she smiled!What visions of his future rose before her loving gazeAs she stooped to kiss him gently, by the back logs blaze! O the back logs blaze! I can
. At early candle light and other poems. id the kindly rays,The romping children rolled by the back logs blaze. io8 THE B7\CK LOGS BLAZE O the back logs blaze,—then the world was fair to me,Far whiter than the outer snow the inner winter hounds were baying the cold December moon,The wooers, hand in hand, went along the lanes of June;The while the tempest roared, the mother rocked her child,Then bending oer the cradle, how wistfully she smiled!What visions of his future rose before her loving gazeAs she stooped to kiss him gently, by the back logs blaze! O the back logs blaze! I can see it rise and up that happy circle when the family was allGathered near it in the evening in the dear, old , I fancy it would smooth again the wrinkles from my face,—Every tear would disappear like the snowflakes in the they fell into the flames that my heart is turning to,Could those whom God has taken forget their hymns of praiseAnd just come and sit together, by the back logs blaze. TAYLOR or AmiCA. AYLOR of Africa, tried and true, The eyes of the world are bent on you. Bearing your torch in the moral murk, Where the awful shapes forever lurk; Proud are we of the dauntless pith, Of the glorious heart you front them with. Canst thou, old Egypt, match that pair? One lying low, one battling there, One dead on the Nile with broken blade, One erect on the Congo, undismayed. Britain gave Gordon, and we gave you, Taylor of Africa, tried and no TAYLOR Or ArRICA Taylor of Africa, come and rest A night and a day in the mighty west; Bring thy face with visions plowed, Thy splendid soul that neer was cowed, Thy mind which spills through smiling lips What thy large eyes see in Apocalypse. O your quenchless hope, your manly grain Maketh Paul of Tarsus to live again! In shallow forms our souls are fast; As a canon rings to a bugle blast, Blow your trumpet our slumbers through, Taylor of Africa, tried and true. Taylor of Africa, heart of oak,Hew
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