THE BATTALION.
9
R WOCCIRH’S HOVE DHEflJVI.
MRS. NETTIE P. HOUSTON BRINGHURST.
We all have waking visions—I have mine,
And being young, and fanciful, and
counted fair,
I sometimes dream of love.
And sitting all alone, and musing still,
While yet the firelight flickers dim,
I ask mi’self if I should learn to love,
If my stii heart could wake to life,
How would I love, and how would I be
loved ?
I would be loved in calmness—
Trusted and not feared.
I do not ask that he be proud and cold,
But calm, and grave, and very strong—
A king, like Saul, among the sons of
men,
And kinglier o’er himself.
He must not tremole at my slightest
frown,
Nor shudder if another meets my eye;
I would not rule, nor yet would I be
ruled;
I scorn the tyrant as I scorn the slave.
There is a love of sweet equality,
The love God gave and smiled upon,—
For it was very good.
He whom I love must be my king,
But I must be his queen; w 1 ***'
And he should yield me, as my tribute
due,
The reverence I had earned.
Not only by my womanhood, but by my
gentleness,
Long-suffering, the patient sweetness,
Only love can teach;
For looking on me he should feel and
know
That peace and rest which follow after
toil.
I do not ask for him the world’s ap
plause,
His deeds the annals of a nation’s pride,
His name upon the lips of men;
But I mutt feel his power—
Must know he could be what earth’s he
roes are—
I could not love him were he not thus
great.
His hand must be both safe and strong:
A hand to shield, to trust, to lay mine
own within,
To stake my life upon;
A hand that might have fought with
Hercules,
Yet would not harm the worm before his
path;
For though the heart of woman loveth
oft
A thing she doth unwillingly despise,
It is a pitiful, imperfect love that hath
not
For the corner-stone the rock of Faith.
His heart must be most tender and most
true—
A heart that loves, and pities, and be
friends
Earth’s suffering children, whether high.
Or yet among the lowly and the poor.
And he must love me perfectly.
If I should ever meet this man,
While he bent down to kiss my shining
hair,
Or smooth its clusters from their clinging
rest,
A sweet, unspoken language in his touch.
Would lift my bright eyes to the light of
his;
And, as in fair Judea, when the world
was young,
Sarah with reverence said to Abraham.
My lips should call him “ Lord! ”
Athletic Branch of A. C. A.
A few words in regard to this feature
of the Y. M. C. A., may not at this
time be out of place. Its history is
brief. Some two years ago it was.
thought that the interests and influ
ences of the association might be con-
sideiably advanced by the addition of