_by John P. Wade_.
Hello, Central! give me Heaven! (This club of ours, I trow,
Is near enough to ‘Heaven’ for a mortal here below.)
Just tell me, is the President all ready for his cue
To start the talent flowing—while I am passing through?
“I just reached town this morning and now I’m outward bound;
I’m waiting at the grating like a ‘purp’ that’s in the pound.
Yes, I’m waiting with a heart-ache—I don’t mind telling you—
Sick with longing to be with you—instead of passing through.
“I know just what they’re doing. I can hear the old gong ring.
The toastmaster is asking now some angel fair to sing.
I wonder who the Guests of Honor are, and what they’ll do
While gathered ’round the festive board—as I am passing through?
“Hello! are these the Pleiads? Well, before I take my leave,
I wish to say I envy you this pleasant Sunday eve!
Here’s hoping that I’ll see you all before you say adieu
To the season on the circle. So long! I’m passing through.”
Springtime Again!
_by S. Frances Herschel_.
_Illustration by W. D. Stevens._
Up from the Southland the sweet Spring is stealing;
Up by the brooksides and over the fields!
Valiant old Winter goes scuttling before her;
Force which has ruled us reluctantly yields.
Where is Spring’s pathway? ’Tis everywhere round us!
Over the hillsides and over the plains.
Kist is the broad old Earth back unto Life, until
Never a vestige of Winter remains.
Isn’t there ever a corner forgotten,
Far to the eastward or far to the west?
Some lonely hillside or coarse little meadow,
Some quiet woodland away from the rest?
Never a hillside or valley forgotten;
No little corner unkist by the Spring;
Each little bush has been touched and awakened,
Each little robin is trying to sing.
In through the depths of the woodland she’s stealing,
Seeking and finding each little live thing,
Waiting so surely the thrill of her coming—
Joy universal—the Coming of Spring!
[Illustration: “_Springtime Again!_”]