A leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared
Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared.

I left my place to know them by their name,
Finding them butterfly-weed when I came.

The mower in the dew had loved them thus,
By leaving them to flourish, not for us,

Nor yet to draw one thought of ours to him,
But from sheer morning gladness at the brim.

The butterfly and I had lit upon,
Nevertheless, a message from the dawn,

That made me hear the wakening birds around,
And hear his long scythe whispering to the ground,

And feel a spirit kindred to my own;

So that henceforth I worked no more alone;

But glad with him, I worked as with his aid,
And weary, sought at noon with him the shade;

And dreaming, as it were, held brotherly speech
With one whose thought I had not hoped to reach.

"Men work together," I told him from the heart, "Whether they work together or apart."

BYRON

BY JOAQUIN MILLER

In men whom men condemn as ill
I find so much of goodness still,
In men whom men pronounce divine

I find so much of sin and blot,

I do not dare to draw a line

Between the two, where God has not.

FOR MERCY, COURAGE, KINDNESS, MIRTH
BY LAWRENCE BINYON

For Mercy, Courage, Kindness, Mirth,
There is no measure upon earth.

Nay, they wither, root and stem,
If an end be set to them.

Overbrim and overflow

If your own heart you would know.
For the spirit, born to bless,
Lives but in its own excess.

THE WORLD'S NEED

BY ELLA WHEELER WILCOX

So many gods, so many creeds,
So many paths that wind and wind,
While just the art of being kind
Is all the sad world needs.

RIX

ACCELERATORS FOR SLUGGISH BLOOD

(Poems of High Voltage)