Stand here, and watch the wondrous birth of Dreams
From out the Gate of Silence. Time and Tide,
With fingers on their lips, forever bide
In large-eyed wonderment, where Thoughts and
Themes Of days long flown pass down the slumbrous streams
To ports of Poet-land and Song-land. Side
By side the many-colored Visions glide,
And leave a wake where Fancy glows and gleams.
And then the bells! One stands with low-bowed head
While list'ning to their silver tongues recite
The sweet tale of the Angelus--there slips
A white dove low across the tiling red--
And as we breathe a whispered, fond "Good night,"
A "Pax vobiscum" parts the Padre's lips.
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XXIII No. 5 NOVEMBER, 1910