It is the turtle-dove. The blood beats in our ears.
Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.
So gentle it can scarce be felt, a waft of air blows over us, the
first sweet breath of summer. A veil of faint and subtle perfume
drifts around us. The vines with the tender grape give a good smell.
And evermore as its enchantment is cast about us we are as once we
were when first we came beneath its spell; we are by the smokehouse
at the old home place; we stand in shoes whose copper toes wink and
glitter in the sunlight, a gingham apron sways in the soft breeze,
and on the green, upspringing turf dances the shadow of a tasseled
cap. Life was all before us then. Please God, it is not all behind
us now. Please God, our best and wisest days are yet to come the
days when we shall do the work that is worthy of us. Dear one,
mother of my children here and Yonder - and Yonder - the best and
wisest days are yet to come. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come
away.
THE SWIMMING-HOLE
It is agreed by all, I think, that the two happiest periods in a
man's life are his boyhood and about ten years from now. We are
exactly in the position described in the hymn:
"Lo! On a narrow neck of land
'Twixt two unbounded seas we stand,
And cast a wishful eye.
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