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Show A WANDERING LITANY. By Arthur Stringer. When my life has enough of love, and my spirit enough of mirth. When the ocean no longer beckons me, when h , roadway oalls no more, I 0h, on the anvil of Thy wrath, remalce me, God, that day! When the lagh of the wave bewilders, and L shrink from the sting of the rain," When I hate the gloom of Thy steel-gray wastes, and slink to the lamp-Ht shore, Oh, purge me In Thy primal fires, and' fliqg me on my way! When I house me close in a twillt inn, when I brood by a dying fire, When I kennel and cringe with fat coittent, where a pillow and loaf are sure, ' Oh, on the anvil of Thy wrath, remake me, God, i that day! ! 1 When I quail at the snow on the uplands, when I crawl from the glare of the sun, When the trails that are long invite me not, and the half-way lamps allure, S Oh, purge me in Thy primal fires, and fling me on my way! t When the wine has all ebbed from an April, when the. Autumn of life forgets The call and the lure of the widening Wes' Uip wind in the straining rope, i Oh, on the anvil of Thy wrath, remake me, God, that day! When I waken to hear adventurers strange throng valiantly forth by night, ' , To the sting of the salt-spume, dust of the plain, i and width of the western nlope, , Oh, purge me in Thy primal fires, and fling me on my way! When swarthy and oareless and grim they throng out under my rose-grown sash, And I I bide me there by the coals, and I know not heat nor hope, Then, on the anvil of Thy wrath, remake me, God, that day! From the Smart Set. |