The poem found below, by P. Habberton Fulham, in London Outlook, gives a striking figure that would well symbolize a human experience in passing from a season of darkness and trouble into one of joy and light:
As some great captain, ere the morn be red,
Might watch his tired ranks sleeping in
Linger a moment, with some sense of me.
Then bid reveille sound o'er quick and
So the loth sun-god leaves his cloudy bed.
Then, swift the heavy hangings striding
Bids the dawn's silver bugles sound anew.
His golden banners streaming overhead -
Like camp-fire smoke the mist of morning
Like strewed arms seem the dewy glis-
And, as that shining clarion peals on high,
Up spring the trees like bright-faced war-
Behind him each his cloak of shadow
And one great shout of color shakes the