To bloom for me!

His balmy fingers left a thrill

Within my breast that warms me still."

Then gazed she down some wilder, darker hour,
And said when Mary questioned, knowing not:
"Who art thou, mother of so sweet a flower?"-
"I a
am the mother of Iscariot."

SACRIFICE*

When apple boughs are dim with bloom
And lilacs blossom by the door,
How sweetly poignant the perfume
From springs that are no more!

Strange how that faint, familiar scent
Of early lilacs after rain

By subtle alchemy is blent

With childhood's tenderest joy and pain.

Agnes Lee

Are weary mothers seen through tears; They broke their lives from day to day To pour this fragrance down the years. Ada Foster Murray

And go I must, my dears,

And journey while I may,

Though heart be sore for the little House
That had no word but Stay.

Maybe, no other way

Your child could ever know

Why a little House would have you stay,

When a little Road says, Go.

Josephine Preston Peabody

MY MIRROR*

There is a mirror in my room

Less like a mirror than a tomb,

There are so many ghosts that pass
Across the surface of the glass.

When in the morning I arise
With circles round my tired eyes,
Seeking the glass to brush my hair
My mother's mother meets me there.

If in the middle of the day
I happen to go by that way,
I see a smile I used to know-
My mother, twenty years ago.

But when I rise by candle-light
To feed my baby in the night,
Then whitely in the glass I see

My dead child's face look out at me.

Aline Kilmer

*From Candles That Burn by Aline Kilmer. Copyright, 1919, by George H. Doran Company, Publishers.

RELIGION IN CONTEMPORARY POETRY

The religious spirit is in the poetry of to-day, not as a theme in itself, and not as propaganda, but as an all-pervading force. Few poems that are poems in any real sense are written "about religion," or in defense of doctrines. This is probably very fortunate for poetry and for religion. For unless a poet has been caught in a tremendous tide of popular religious feeling, a reformation or a rebirth of spirituality, his poems that discuss doctrines and his poems purposefully written "about religion” are likely to be dry and hard in their didacticism. Or, if they escape the dangers of aridity, poems made in this purposeful way are likely to fall into sticky sloughs of sentimentality whither only ladies of Don Marquis' Hermione group are likely to go to seek them. Among such persons any poem in which the holy name of God is mentioned, will, if read with perfervid intensity, bring instantaneous applause, no matter what the artistic value of the poem may be, no matter what is said about Him. Therefore it may be a very good thing that we have few poems of this kind, for, if we had more, many of them would probably be travesties of poetry and of religion.

Moral didacticism in poetry is seldom pleasing to the contemporary poet. He prefers to leave lessons to the teacher and sermons to the preacher. For this reason many thoughtful persons have questioned the moral value and the moral importance of our contemporary poetry. But sincere thinking should suggest the idea that poetry may be very valuable morally, even when morals are not pointed out and explained in it. "Rhymed ethics" and "rhythmical persuasions" are not necessarily productive of the finest worship and wonder.

The fact is simply this, that the modern poet believes that explanations often hurt that beauty which they are meant to

serve. Therefore he paints his picture, sings his song, tells his story, and hopes that the light of his spirit shining through his work will accomplish the essential revelation. He trusts our intelligence. He believes that people who have honest and competent noses can tell a sprig of mignonette from a slice of onion when both are held in convenient juxtaposition. He thinks that he does not need to argue with us about what is bad and what is good. He knows that he must truly tell the truth about life and beautifully show the beauty in it. He knows, also, that his own sympathies will be in his poems almost without his consent. In his sympathetic sharing of beauty and truth he provides a discipline for the human spirit, for to share beauty and truth is to be changed by them. And forever and forever the disciplined spirits of many good men and women create, uphold, and inspire good morals. It can not be otherwise. The water of the swamp is brackish because it is in the swamp. The water of the spring is sweet because it is in the spring. In the disciplined spirits of the multitude and in their power to perceive and share beauty and truth is the regeneration of the race. Poetry is not impertinent comment on conduct. It is the sharing of the best in life. Can we truly say that it has no moral value?

Religion is in contemporary poetry then, or, if you like, God is in it, as a spirit. This spirit touches all great themes. In the minds of the moderns it is one with the love of man, one with the love of man and woman, one with the joy that we feel in the evanescent glory of a sunset, one with the desire for democracy and with the passions of the evolving race. It is the motive power of our humanitarian idealism. It belongs to hero-worship. It is in accord with that fearless and passionate love of the search for truth, no matter how stern a thing truth may prove to be when it is found, that is a distinguishing characteristic of the devotees of science. And, since this is true, we may as well admit that, in a broad, general way, all good poems are religious.

But poems have been written by many of our contemporaries

that are religious in a special way. They are the expression of emotions commonly called religious. They are songs of worship and wonder. Or they are poems that have their source of strength in symbols and personalities which have long been associated with religion in the minds of the people. Such poems are exceedingly valuable and should be carefully considered.

One of the loveliest of modern lyrics of worship is "Lord of My Heart's Elation" by Bliss Carman. It is quite essentially a modern poem. No doctrine is urged upon us in any line of it. The poet has not tied himself down to earth with strands of opinion. The faith of the poem is a brave, agnostic faith, a faith that does not know. The poem is a poem of affirmation only in so far as it affirms the little knowledge which the poet shares with Everyman.

"As the foamheads are loosened
And blown along the sea,

Or sink and merge forever
In that which bids them be.

"I, too, must climb in wonder,
Uplift at thy command,-
Be one with my frail fellows
Beneath the wind's strong hand,

"A fleet and shadowy column
Of dust or mountain rain,
To walk the earth a moment
And be dissolved again."

But out of this little knowledge comes the pure lyric cry of worship and self-surrender:

"Be thou my exaltation

Or fortitude of mien,

Lord of the world's elation,
Thou breath of things unseen!"