THE PRIZE

STELLA E. SAXTON.

I know it waits for me,
Exquisite thing;
High, high I climb,
My steps ne'er faltering,
So dear the prize,
Hid in a crevice there,
A pale, soft star,
Dropped from the Alpine skies—
Fair bloom of edelweiss!

I know it waits for me,
A cherished thing;
High I must climb,
Nor heed the buffeting,
So dear the prize!
To hear the words, "Well done,
Thou faithful one!"
To know the joy that lies
In heavenly harmonies!