Content

What wouldst thou be ?
'T is well that the answer is not for me.

'What wouldst thou be ?'
An eagle soaring rejoicingly.
One who may rise on the lightning's wing,
Till our wide, wide world seem a tiny thing ;
Who may stand on the confines of boundless space,
And the giant form of the universe trace,
While its full grand harmonies swell around,
And grasp it all with mind profound.

Such would I be,
Only stayed by infinity.

'What wouldst thou be ?'
A bright incarnation of melody.
One whose soul is a fairy lute,
Waking such tones as bid all be mute,
Breathing such notes as may silence woe,
Pouring such strains as make joy o'erflow,
Speaking in music the heart's deep emotion,
Soothing and sweet as the shell of the ocean.

Such would I be,
Like a fountain of music, all pure and free.

'What wouldst thou be ?'
A living blossom of poesy.
A soul of mingled power and light,
Evoking images rare and bright,
Fair and pure as an angel's dream ;
Touching all with a heavenly gleam ;
And royally claiming from poet-throne
Earth's treasure of beauty as all mine own.

Such would I be —
My childhood's dream in reality !

'What wouldst thou be ?'
A wondrous magnet to all I see.
A spirit whose power may touch and bind
With unconscious influence every mind ;
Whose presence brings, like some fabled wand,
The love which a monarch may not command.
As the spring awakens from cold repose
The bloomless brier, the sweet wild rose.

Such would I be,
With the love of all to encircle me
'What wouldst thou be ?'
A wavelet just rising from life's wide sea.
I would I were once again a child,
Like a laughing floweret on mountains wild ;
In the fairy realms of fancy dwelling,
The golden moments for sunbeams selling ;

Ever counting on bright to-morrows,
And knowing nought of unspoken sorrows.

Such would I be,
A sparkling cascade of untiring glee.

'What wouldst thou be?'
A blessing to each one surrounding me ;
A chalice of dew to the weary heart,
A sunbeam of joy bidding sorrow depart,
To the storm-tossed vessel a beacon light,
A nightingale song in the darkest night,
A beckoning hand to a far-off goal,
An angel of love to each friendless soul :

Such would I be.
Oh that such happiness were for me !

'What wouldst thou be ?'
With these alone were no rest for me.
I would be my Saviour's loving child,
With a heart set free from its passions wild,
Rejoicing in Him and His own sweet ways ;
An echo of heaven's unceasing praise,
A mirror here of His light and love,
And a polished gem in His crown above.

Such would I be,
Thine, O Saviour, and one with Thee !

Content
'" WHAT wouldst thou be ? "
A wavelet just rising from life's wide sea.

I would I were once again a child,
Like a laughing floweret on mountains wild ;

In the fairy realms of fancy dwelling,
The golden moments for sunbeams selling ;

Ever counting on bright to-morrows,
And knowing nought of unspoken sorrows.

Such would I be,
A sparkling cascade of untiring glee.'

Not so, not so !

For longings change as the full years flow.
When I had but taken a step or two
From the fairy regions still in view ;
While their playful breezes fanned me still
At every pause on the steeper hill,
And the blossoms showered from every shoot,
Showered and fell, and yet no fruit, —
It was grief and pain
That I never could be a child again.

Not so, not so !

Back to my life-dawn I would not go.
A little is lost, but more is won,
As the sterner work of the day is done.
We forget that the troubles of childish days
Were once gigantic in morning haze.
There is less of fancy, but more of truth,
For we lose the mists with the dew of youth ;

And a rose is born
On many a spray which seemed only thorn.

Not so, not so !

While the years of childhood glided slow,
There was all to receive and nothing to give :
Is it not better for others to live ?
And happier far than merriest games
Is the joy of our new and nobler aims :
Then fair fresh flowers, now lasting gems ;
Then wreaths for a day, but now diadems,
For ever to shine,
Bright in the radiance of Love Divine.

Not so, not so !

I would not again be a child, I know !
But were it not pleasant again to stand
On the border-line of that fairy land, —
Feeling so buoyant and blithe and strong,
Fearing no slip as we bound along,
Halting at will in the sunshine to bask,
Deeming the journey an easy task,
While Courage and Hope
Smooth with' Come, see, and conquer' each emerald slope ?

Not so, not so !

Less leaping flame, but a deeper glow !
There is more of sorrow, but more of joy,
Less glittering ore, but less alloy ;
There is more of pain, but more of balm,
And less of pleasure, but more of calm ;
Many a hope all spent and dead,
But higher and brighter hopes instead ;

Less risked, more won ;
Less planned and dreamed, but perhaps more done.

Not so, not so !

Not in stature and learning alone we grow.
Though we no more look from year to year
For power of mind more strong and clear,
Though the table-land of life we tread,
No widening view before we spread,
No sunlit summits to lure ambition,
But only the path of a daily mission,
We would not turn
Where the will-o'-the-wisps of our young dreams burn.

Then be it so !

For in better things we yet may grow.
Onward and upward still our way,
With the joy of progress from day to day ;
Nearer and nearer every year
To the visions and hopes most true and dear ;
Children still of a Father's love,
Children still of a home above !

Thus we look back,
Without a sigh, o'er the lengthening track.