  He started on the left road and I went on the right, We were young and strong and the way was long and we travelled day an' night; And O the haste and O the waste! and the rush of the busy throng! The worried eye, and the quick good-bye, and the need to hurry along! Odd times we met on the main highway and told our hopes and fears, And after every parting came a wider flood of years. I love to tell of the last farewell, and this is the way it ran: "I don't know when I'll see you again—take care of yourself, ol' man." Put the Beta pin upon his breast, with rosemary and rue, The cap and gown, the scarlet and brown and the symbol of '82, And lay him low with a simple word as the loving eye grows dim: "He took care of more than his share—O Christ! take care of him." The snow is falling on the head and aye the heart grows cold; The new friend comes to claim a share of that we gave the old, And men forget while the eye is wet and bend to the lug of the load, And whether or when they will meet you again is ever a chance of the road. The babes are boys, the boys are men, and slowly, year by year, New faces throng the storied halls and old ones disappear. As the hair is grayed and the red lips fade let friend be friend, for aye We come and go and ere we know have spoken a long good-bye. TO MY FRIEND A. B.The veil of care is lifted from his face! How smooth the brow where toil had left its trace! How confident the look, how calm the eyes Once keen with life and restless enterprise! And gone the lines that marked the spirit's haste To do its work, nor any moment waste. Imperial peace and beauty crown his head, God's superscription writ upon the dead. Behold, herein, his dream, his inmost thought As if in time-washed Parian marble wrought. Truly he read the law we must obey: Man moulds the image and God gives the clay, And if it's cast of God or CÆsar is To each all render what is rightly his. Thousands at noontide are climbing the hills under Nain, like an army Fleeing the carnage of war, seeking where it may rest and take counsel; Some with the blind or the palsied, some bearing the sick on their shoulders, Lagging but laboring hard, so they be not too far from the Prophet; Some bringing only a burden of deep and inveterate longing. Hard by the gate of the city their Captain halts and is waiting. Closer the multitude presses and widens afar on the hillside; Thronged are the ways to the city with eager and hastening comers. Heard ye? A man was delivered from death by his power, and the story Crosses the murmuring host like a wave passing over the waters, How at the touch of his finger this day, the dead rose and was living. Hushed are the people; the Prophet is speaking; his hand is uplifted— Lo! the frail hand that ere long was to stop the mad rush of the tempest. Quickly their voices are hushed, and the fear of Jehovah is on them. Jesus stood high on a hillock. His face, so divinely impassioned, Shone with the light that of old had illumined the dreams of the prophets. Gently he spake, like a shepherd who calleth his flock to green pastures. Hiding her face and apart from the people, a woman stood weeping, Daughter of woe! on a rosary strung with her tears ever counting Treasures her heart had surrendered and writ on her brow was the record. Hope and the love of her kindred and peace and all pleasure had left her Chained to the pillar of life like a captive, and Shame was her keeper. Long spake the Prophet, and scarcely had finished when came the afflicted, Loudly entreating: "Make way for the blind!" and the people were parted, Silent with pity, and many were suffered to pass; but the woman Felt no miraculous touch, for the press kept her back and rebuked her. "Why comest thou to the Prophet?" they said. "Get thee hence and be silent; "He hath no mercy for thee or thy kind"; and the woman stood weeping. Now when the even was come over Nain, and the bridge of the twilight, Silently floating aloft on the deepening flood of the shadows, Rested its timbers of gold on the summits of Tabor and Hermon, Jesus came, weary, to sup at the house of one Simon, a Pharisee, Dwelling at Nain. Far behind him the woman came, following slowly; Entered the gate in the dusk, and when all were reclining at supper, Stood by the Prophet, afraid, like a soul that has come to its judgment, Weeping, her head bowing low, her hair hanging loose on her shoulders. Then there was silence, and Jesus was moved, so he spake to the woman: "Daughter, what grieves thee so sore?" and she spake not, but dumb with her weeping Sank at his feet; and her tears fell upon them like rain, and she kissed them. Simon, amazed when the Prophet forbade not the woman to touch him, Rose to rebuke her; but seeing His face, how it shone with compassion, Waited; and Jesus then spake: "I have somewhat to say to thee, Simon. "A man had two debtors of pence, and the one owed five hundred, "The other owed fifty; and when they had nothing to pay he forgave them "All that they owed; wherefore which of the two will most love him?" Simon said, thoughtfully: "He, I suppose, to whom most was forgiven." Jesus made answer: "Thou judgest well. Consider this woman. "Weary with travel and sore were my feet, but thou gavest no water; "She, to wash them, hath given the tears of her love and her sorrow, "Wiping them dry with her hair; and hath kissed them and bathed them with ointment. "Wherefore, O woman, weep not! I forgive thee thy sins which are many. "Go thou in peace." And those who were with Him at meat were astonished. "Lo! she spoke not, she asked not and yet He forgave her," they whispered.
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