DICIT EI IESUS: EGO SUM VIA [Io. xiv. 6.] Thou art the Way and if that way I tread, The way of sombre gloom, That by the opened tomb, Leads to thy wounded Side and bruised Head, Shall I find peace and rest from hopes long dead ? Beauty and light I sought in golden youth, Music and joyous song My heart enthralled so long, Till disillusion turned my joy to ruth; Shall I find these in Thee, 0 Perfect Truth ? Love with his eyes so bright, so passionate, With beckonings so sweet, Led my all-willing feet Through flow'ry paths to his shrine consecrate, But Thou art Love, 0 Lamb immaculate Gone, gone are these; lost in the creeping years, Beauty and Heart's delight, Fair love and Music bright, That once enshrined my dearest hopes and fears, Can'st Thou my griefs console, 0 Fount of Tears ? And if in length of days these passions wild Are stilled, these voices dumb; And if to Thee I come Frank and unfearful as a little child, Can'st Thou forget past years, 0 undefiled? W.G.J. AERON VALLEY. 0, I have heard the cuckoo call Along the hedge that skirts the town, And I have seen the hawthorn-bud That lights the hedgerow's sombre brown; And well I know, in Aeron Vale Sweet is the murm'ring of the dove, And softly through the tangled thorn The blackbird hymns his waking love. Now droops the hazel's gilded store Of silken tassels o'er the stream; In field and hedgerow, copse and brake The lavish primrose spills her cream A light breeze lifts the singing leaves Of woods adream with violets, Or stirs along the river's bed The long green grass the ripple frets. When I come back to rest at last, With all my wand'ring davs behind, Let it be spring in Aeron Vale, With wild birds calling down the wind, With pale faint haze in April skies O'er meadows silver-soft with dew, And the deep throb of quickening earth Where youth and life are born anew. ELLEN A. C. Lloyd-Williams. "Mae eiliad serch yn hwy nag oes o uffern. J -W.J.G. Cyn dechreu amser ar y gorwel draw, Cyn creu y byd mewn dychryn ac mewn braw Arfaethodd Duw ein tynged ni ein dau, Fe roddodd rym angerddol dwyfol serch I ni ei ddinod blant, yn fab a merch, A chariad yn dragwyddol i barhau. Mae deddfau dynion a gorchmynion Duw Yn croch lefaru'n uchel yn fy nglyw, Ond gyda thi ni chlywaf sill na si, Mil gwell i mi yw gwg a gwawd y byd, A phoenau ffiamau uffern fwrn i gyd, A cholli nef y nef­na'th golli di. IXION. A PRISON CALENDAR, 1919. January's darkness fell Gloomier in my prison cell. Clanged the brazen chapel bell O'er law's humanitarian hell; But Christ the water turned to wine, And bread to Holy Eucharist. February with its snows, Drear and dismal, comes and goes Day by day in branded clothes Silent the convicts march in rows, But Christ in whispered fellowship Does not disdain the felon's lip. March comes with indignation rude To break this silent servitude. To lift the hearts that brood and brood, In the despair of solitude. Our bars like blazoned crosses stand, While Christ's dawn reddens all the land. April with sunshine and with shower, And daffodil and gilly-flower, Brings Spring's sweet healing skill and power To make our prison yard her bower. So Christ in winter prisoned earth, Bursts through the heart of man to birth. May comes and goes-but no release, And through the world is talk of peace To come on signing Satan's lease Of blood, compelling wars to cease; Christ's peace comes silent through the bars, As I look upward at the stars. So pass the months away. Come soon To mellow meadows, scented June, With curlew crv and blackbird's tune, And corncrake 'neath the harvest moon. 0 Christ, is harvest time at hand ? Then send Thy reapers through the land. G.M.LL.D.