THE LOTUS-WORSHIPPERS

By Frank Oliver Call

With silent feet in trailing robes of white

They crept from shadowy temples, far beyond

Tall bamboo groves, to seek the lotus-pond

That gleamed like some dark jewel through the night

Upon great Buddha's breast. The crimson height

Echoed their chanting as the morning dawned,

And each bud, breaking from its silver bond,

Lifted its cup to catch the golden light.

And here beside this mist-bound northern lake,

Encircled by tall spires of Gothic firs,

The ancient beauty-worship wakes and stirs

Within me, as I watch the morning break

Upon white lily-buds, whose lips agleam

Whisper the secret of the world-old dream.