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Dear Lord! Not only by the western sea,
Not only in our sunset land, but there
In Amiens, of ancient Picardy,
The first home of her hope, the cradle fair
Of her great work of love, is heard her children's prayer.

And where the Tiber and the Arno flow;
And where the Alps reach upward to the skies;
Beneath the Cordilleros' peaks of snow;
In fair Peru; and where the shadow lies
Of palm tree, as of pine, the selfsame voices rise.

Those who in youth beneath her gentle rule
Learn their first lesson; those who forth have passed
Into the wide world's strife, a sterner school,
To learn a sterner lore, alike have cast
Their cares aside to-day and backward turn at last.

Back to the fold of peace, back to Thy love,
Our early home; we know the meadow lands;
We know of old the autumn-tinted grove.
We feel the blessing from Thine outstretched hands;
In welcome as of yore Thine imaged figure stands.

Speak to our hearts that we may not forget
The lesson of to-day; bear with us still.
Bend, O Thou Love! more perfectly and yet
More closely unto Thine our wayward will,
Till our world-tired hearts with heaven impulse thrill.

Speak, Lord, that in Thy presence not one spirit
Shall stand unmoved this hour, and not one face
Uplifted to Thine own but shall inherit
Its aureole of Thy undying grace,
No heart but in Thy Heart shall find its fitting place.

—Helen Grace Smith.

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