All aweary, lonely, dreary,

Is the heart that has no mate,

Has no home so sweet and cheery,

Where a loving heart doth wait: Wait for one that cometh never With a frown, but cometh ever

With a heart that naught can sever

From its mistress at the gate;

From its loving mistress singing at the gate!

THE END.

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

TRUTH.

A VALEDICTORY DELIVERED IN CHRESTO

MATHIAN HALL.

And what is truth? The candle of the soul:
The light whereby we guide our souls aright:
A beacon light upon the shores of time
To point us to the breakers and the shoals
Where other lives, as precious as our own,
Have been forever wrecked.

Or, further still,

It is the sun of intellectual life;

Which, rising in the soul, dispels for aye
The darkness and the gloom of ignorance,
Wherein wild superstition hath held sway,
And tortured us with myriad sights and sounds
That, 'mid the gloom of our benighted brains
Seemed not of earth. And oft, in frenzy wild,
We've seized our fellow-men and tortured them,
Until in madness they've confessed a lie—
Confessed they were the authors of those things
That to themselves were wrapped in mystery.