By H.S. HASKINS.
_The diminishing of lights in Paris houses as a precaution
against a raid by the enemy's aeroplanes is the new
rule.--Cable Dispatch._
The gaslights cast a saffron glow,
The ghostly tapers sputter low,
The lampwicks smolder, dimly red.
(Beware the gray shapes overhead!)
Lock tight the windows, bar the door!
Have done with laughter, sing no more,
For fear lays hand upon the throat.
(Beneath the stars the airmen float.)
Hush, hush, my babe, lest fiends that fly
Shall come to still your hunger cry.
Let grief not speak its tale aloud!
(Black death is racing with a cloud.)
Through heav'n's eternal window panes,
Far, far above the swift air lanes,
God's starlight shines forever more.
(How restless glide the ships of war!)