THE CONGRESS OF WOMEN.

18 T

Pink-throated lizards pant within the shade;

The horned toad runs rustling in the heat;

The shadowy gray coyote, born afraid,

Steals to some brackish spring and laps and prowls Away, and howls and howls and howls and howls,

Until the solitude is shaken with an added loneliness. Thy sharp mescal shoots up a giant stalk,

Its century of yearning, to the sunburnt skies,

And drips rare honey from the lips Of yellow waxen flowers, and dies.

Some lengthwise sun-dried shapes, with feet and hands And thirsty mouths pressed to the sweltering sands, Make here and there a gruesome, graveless spot Where someone drank thy scorching hotness and is not; God must have made thee in His anger, and forgot.

Another poem is that entitled “ Motherhood,” by Mary H. Field.

MOTHERHOOD.

Far, far away, across a troubled sea My wistful eyes espy

The quiver of a little snowy sail Unfurled against the sky.

So faint, so far, so veiled in softest haze Its quiet shimmering,

Sometimes methinks no mortal thing it is,

But gleam of angel’s wing.

With my own heart-throb throbs the tiny sail;

My sighs its pennons move;

And hither steadfast points its magnet toward The pole-star of my love.

What precious gifts do freight this mystic bark There is no sign to show.

What frail, small mariner is there enshrined No mortal yet may know.

I only know the soul divine moves there,

’Mid two eternities;

Before this secret of the Lord I bow With veiled and reverent eyes.

And vainly does my restless love essay To haste the coming sail;

Dear God! not e’en to save from sunken reefs Can love of mine avail.

Yet, will I keep vigil, and in peace,

Like Mary, “dwell apart;”

Close to the mysteries of God art thou My brooding mother heart.

Ah, heavenly sweet will be my recompense When, every fear at rest,

My little bark, all tranquilly, shall lie Safe anchored on my breast.