MUSIC by JOHN VANCE CHENEY

Take of the maiden's, of the mother's sigh,
Of childhood's dream, the hope and peace that bless
Old age; take of the lover's kiss, caress,
Of light it kindles in the loved one's eye;
Of June's long shadows, Autumn's evening sky,
Of roses, of the south wind's tenderness,
Of stars that burn through pine-tops, sprays that tress
The willow-banks where brooks run stillest by;
Take of the blissful lisping of young Spring,
Take of the last faint, pleading grief of Fall,
Of joy and woe that sleep and waking bring, —
The costliest offerings of the great, the small;
Now, pour into the empty soul each thing,
And let the Finger touch that moveth all.

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