Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: THE VOICES OF THE NIGHT The wind comes chanting a love-song, The waves respond with a sigh, The whippoorwill laughs at the wooing, A nightingale sings near by. A cricket sits on its hearth-rug, And listens to frog's hoarse cry, A firefly stops now in passing, To give a loving good-by. A woodpecker stops his pecking And hearkens to squirrel's low chirp, A cow in meadow is lowing, That none her place may usurp. The clock in belfry is striking The hour for tired man to rest, The wind gives a farewell greeting To bird in its downy nest. A SATIRE A Rich man knelt in his cushioned seat,— "O Lord! a blessing I crave; Oh, make me humble, and meek, and just, From mammon worship, oh, save!" He was next day in his counting-house, Not just, not humble—a knave; His God was money; his prayer, wealth, And ready all to enslave. Came in a woman all clothed in rags — "I pray thee, sir, to take heed; My wants are many, my poverty great, Oh, list, dear sir, to my need!" With scowl on brow he ordered her out. "For thee I 've nothing, nor thine, In debt is church, minister unpaid, We 're out of communion wine. A SATIRE "This month we also to heathen send Some help, their souls we must save; With this to do, how can you expect A gift, with matters so grave." The week around rolled. Again he kneeled, The man, in rich-cushioned seat,— "I give Thee, dear Lord, all my heart," — Outside was deep snow and sleet. Oh, hark to sound of funeral knell! The woman felt not the cold; She 'd passed beyond all troubles of earth, The man was counting his gold. THE PAST The dead past must bury its dead, We need its teachings nevermore, Progression is the law of God, The past is but a sealed-up door. TRACINGS OF... --This text refers to an alternate Paperback edition.