Of vigor is not there; and, though the morn
Is passing fair and beautiful, he breathes
Its freshness as if it were a pestilence.

He gave
to her the water and the bread,
But spoke no word, and trusted not himself
To look upon her face, but laid his hand,
In silent blessing, on the fair-haired boy,
And left her to her lot of loneliness.

Should Hagar weep? May slighted woman turn,
And, as a yine the oak hath shaken off,
Bend lightly to her leaning trust again?
Oh, no! by all her loveliness—by all
That makes life poetry and beauty, no I

Make her a slave; steal from her cheek the rose
By needless jealousies; let the last star
Leave her a watcher by your couch of pain;
Wrong her by petulance, suspicion, all
That makes her cup a bitterness -yet give
One evidence of love, and earth has not

An emblem of devotedness like hers.

But, oh! estrange her once it boots not how

By wrong or silence anything that tells

A change has come upon your tenderness
And there is not a feeling out of heaven
Her pride o'ermastereth not.

She went her way with a strong step and slow-
Her pressed lip arched, and her clear eye undimmed
As if it were a diamond, and her form

Borne proudly up, as if her heart breathed through.
Her child kept on in silence, though she pressed
His hand till it was pained; for he had read
The dark look of his mother, and the seed
Of a stern nature had been breathed upon.

The morning passed, and Asia's sun rode up
In the clear heaven, and every beam was heat.
The cattle of the hills were in the shade,
And the bright plumage of the Orient lay

On beating bosoms in her spicy trees.
It was an hour of rest! but Hagar found
No shelter in the wilderness, and on

She kept her weary way, until the boy

Hung down his head, and opened his parched lips
For water; but she could not give it him.

She laid him down beneath the sultry sky

For it was better than the close, hot breath
Of the thick pines - and tried to comfort him;
But he was sore athirst, and his blue eyes
Were dim and blood-shot, and he could not know
Why God denied him water in the wild.

She sat a little longer, and he grew
Ghastly and faint, as if he would have died.
It was too much for her. She lifted him,
And bore him farther on, and laid his head
Beneath the shadow of a desert shrub;

And, shrouding up her face, she went away,

And sat to watch, where he could see her not,

Till he should die; and, watching him, she mourned:

God stay thee in thine agony, my boy!
I cannot see thee die; I cannot brook
Upon thy brow to look,

And see death settle on my cradle joy.
How have I drunk the light of thy blue eye!
And could I see thee die?

"I did not dream of this when thou wast straying,
Like an unbound gazelle, among the flowers;
Or wiling the soft hours,

By the rich gush of water-sources playing,
Then sinking weary to thy smiling sleep,
So beautiful and deep.

"Oh, no! and when I watched by thee the while, And saw thy bright lip curling in thy dream, And thought of the dark stream

In my own land of Egypt, the far Nile,

How prayed I that my father's land might be
An heritage for thee!

"And now the grave for its cold breast hath won thee! And thy white, delicate limbs the earth will press; And, oh! my last caress

Must feel thee cold; for a chill hand is on thee.
How can I leave my boy, so pillowed there
Upon his clustering hair!"

She stood beside the well her God had given
To gush in that deep wilderness, and bathed
The forehead of her child until he laughed
In his reviving happiness, and lisped
His infant thought of gladness at the sight
Of the cool plashing of his mother's hand.

TEL

A PSALM OF LIFE.

TELL me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,

And things are not what they seem!

Life is real! life is earnest !

And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul!

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and time is fleeting,

And our hearts, though stout and brave,

Still, like muffled drums, are beating

Funeral marches to the grave.

HE earth is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof;

THE

The world and they that dwell therein.

For he hath founded it upon the seas,
And established it upon the floods.
Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord?
And who shall stand in his holy place?
He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart;
Who hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity,
Nor sworn deceitfully,

He shall receive the blessing from the Lord,
And righteousness from the God of his salvation.
This is the generation of them that seek Him-
That seek thy face, O Jacob! Selah.

Lift up your heads, O ye gates;

And be ye lifted up, ye everlasting doors;
And the King of glory shall come in.
Who is the King of glory?

The Lord, strong and mighty,

The Lord, mighty in battle.

Lift up your heads, O ye gates!

Even lift them up, ye everlasting doors;

And the King of glory shall come in.

Who is the King of glory?

The Lord of hosts, He is the King of glory.

CHARITY.

Without charity, all gifts are as nothing.

HOUGH I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and

a

ling cymbal. And, though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and, though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing. And, though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and, though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.

Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not: charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; rejoiceth not in iniquity, but,rejoiceth in the truth; beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.`

Charity never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease, whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. For we know in part,