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That sovereign content,

In other days,

I heard not with thy music blent,
Walking these shadowy ways;

Nor could I know such wisdom meant
For me, nor could I praise.

Still from its placid spring

That note of might!

Thou heedest not what voice may sing Victorious delight.

Raptures must pass; the abiding thing Is clear and peaceful sight.

FRANCE.

WHEN Shall the livid Furies that torment
Thy glorious spirit be forever gone,
And thou obey the star that beckons on
Thy heavenly strength in direful transports spent?
Thou wast the star of men, and nations went

With upraised vision when thy radiance shone;
And none may bear thy torch, and none may don
Thy wreath, dislustered though it be, and rent.
In thy unquiet eye now frenzy wakes,

And where thou standest grand even in despair, Around thee come fierce shapes from out the air. Ambition, reeling, lifts her whip of snakes,

The vipers spring that coil in Faction's hair, And Anarchy her scourge of scorpions shakes.

Then in the souls where the mild wonder shone
Is sorrowing, and desolate vacancy
Where was the babbling of truth's infant cry,
And the first lisping of its cradle tone.

But they who nourish the divine behest
Shall see the truth grow stronger every day,
And 'mid the shock of anxious creeds shall lay
The head reposeful on its tranquil breast.

DAISIES.

DAISIES, that, like the eagle's lidless eye,
Look straight into the hot orb of the sky,
And frolic in its splendor all day long,

I deemed you once but born to dance and shine,
But now I count your strength a thing divine,
Gayly to eye the sun with glances strong.

A happy lot is yours to nod and toss
Your sunny heads when changeful zephyrs cross
Your shining surf in all the meadow-lands.
Happy ye are when strolling lovers pass,
To twinkle like young planets in the grass;
Or yield your flower-souls in children's hands.

I envy you, ye have the birds so near,
Brushing your straggling ranks without a fear,
Pecking the gold that stars your white-plumed

caps.

Ye live a wakeful dream 'twixt sky and sod, And, when ye perish, die as would a god,

Last looking at the sun from maidens' laps.

E

ERNST HELD.

RNST HELD was born in the old university town of Halle on the Saale, in Germany, June 28th, 1823. He lived through a happy childhood in a closely united loving family circle. His father was an evangelical minister and his mother a minister's daughter. Ministers, artists, musicians, professors and students of the university and of the various schools frequented his home and implanted intellectual and artistic seeds in the minds and hearts of the young boys in the Held family. There hardly passed a family festival without an original contribution in verses from one or the other family members, and readings of short dramatical works were frequently had in the family, with the roles distributed among the members. Having passed through the excellent preparatory schools of Halle, young Held entered in 1840, after his father's death, the state service of Prussia as mining engineer, and attended later, from 1845 to 1847, the university lectures in Halle and Berlin. He had just made the state examination, when the great revolution of 1848 drove him in the ranks of the republican party, and after its collapse to America and Syracuse, where he arrived on Christmas eve of 1848. Instead of entering into the scientific manufacture of salt, as he had first planned, he took up music, which he had studied under the best masters of Halle, as a profession and has pursued it ever since, steadfastly and with satisfying results, to which his wife, née Martha H. Thomson, has contributed considerably by her painstaking preparation of elementary pupils.

HUNOLD'S LOVE SONGS.

I.

RISE, O sun of golden splendor,
From the storm-tossed, turbid stream!
Shine, O Love-joy, warm and tender,
Break in flames from hidden gleam!
Without shrinking, without sinking,
One joy only and one stress,
Dwells within all wishing, thinking,
And but one great happiness!

What there is a-moving, living,
What in space a-floating seems,
What makes waves a-sinking, heaving,
And what rings and sings in dreams,
All that's swaying or is staying
In life's realm, beneath, above,

All its being and decaying
Hath in it the breath of love!

P. D.

Our waning life with clutching grasp holds fast
To friendship, love and fresh-blown loveliness;
Since Death 'cross many thresholds rudely past,
Snatching his prey and leaving sore distress.

Let's welcome, then, with grateful hearts and cheer,
Each sunny ray, though slanting it may be!
Let's fill each hour, for loved ones far and near,
With words and deeds of helpful ministry!

AWAKE, AWAKE!

AWAKE, awake! The night gloom flies away, And life rejoices in the rising day.

Awake, awake!

Cast off thy griefs; they're chrildren of the night; Gird on thy joys; they'll make thy labor light, Awake, awake!

Wake, mournful heart! The light hath balm for pain.

Wake, happy soul! All dead will live again!
Awake, awake!

R

HENRY NASON KINNEY.

EV. HENRY NASON KINNEY was born in Chicago, January 30th, 1856, of New England ancestry. His education was pursued under favorable auspices, in the Boston Latin School and Harvard University, where he was graduated. He then entered Andover Theological Seminary. During his course in the Seminary he wrote verse, and he has been a contributor to the Golden Rule and other religious weeklies. He was connected, in college, with the Boston Journal, Globe, and Cambridge Press. In Andover he was chosen class poet on graduation. His first pastorate was in Fergus Falls, Minn. While pastor in Winsted, Conn., he was President of the Connecticut State Union of Socities of Christian Endeavor. Mr. Kinney's ministerial life has been a very active one, yet he has from time to time written many excellent poems. In 1893 he became pastor of Good Will Church, Syracuse, N. Y., where he now resides with his family, Mrs. Kinney and two daughters. E. N. P.

IN SHALLOWS.

DEEP seas have limpid shallows near the shore,
Where infant feet may wade on sloping beach,
Or in pink pools gleams sea-wealth within reach
More fine than on mid-ocean's marly floor.

Unversed am I in nature's secret lore,
Or shibboleths of scientific speech;
But common things an obvious lesson teach
In border-land of beauty at my door.

255

Shod with green grass and helmeted with blue
· Of shining skies, I walk the glad earth through,
In love with rocks, the hazy mountain's hue,
Cool neighb'ring woods where unknown warblers
sing,

The thousand nameless draperies of Spring:
Coof that I am, these make of me a King!

NOON.

I LOVE not most day's seneschal, the sun,

At dawn, when, like a babe, in careless plight, All rosy from his nurse's arms, the night, He creeps, a callow innocent, upon The morn; nor when, his lotted cycle run, He sinks with waning, evanescent light Into his tomb of twilight, out of sight, An old man of a day, his duties done; But when, at noon, to amplest splendor grown, Pausing magnificent above the blue, He seems, from his far, empyrean throne, Most lavishly his largesses to strew: Then he and I that grander glory own Of labor done, and labor yet to do!

HERE ARE WE, LORD.

ENLISTMENT HYMN FOR CHRISTIAN ENdeavor.

HERE are we, Lord, and who are we,
Thy trusted laborers to be?

A feeble few, and this our all,
To hear and answer to Thy call.

Would that the noble, mighty, wise, Might view Thee with disciples' eyes! Yet when the great Thy suit disdain, Shalt Thou, oh Master! call in vain?

Thine arm is strong, though ours be weak; Thou speakest, though we can not speak; Thy touch is peace, though ours be pain; We fail: Thy purposes remain.

Oh God, does love accomplish aught?
Does joy in service count for naught?
If these avail, oh God, then we
Will dare Thy laborers to be.

SHY SINGERS.

I HEARD in Woods a liquid note,
And sought its source in feathered throat.

I found the bird; 'twas brown and gray; It saw me, and it flew away.

Not always arias are best

From birds in gayest plumage dressed,

But when shy singers flood the air With matin song or evening prayer.

DEATH AND I.

DEATH, what am I? A lesser accident

Than made me man will liken me to thee. Then am I thou, for one brief season lent To earth's inapposite activity? Or am I I? O death! I am content Here to be I forever; let me be.

MOTHER.

Sound asleep in satin bed,
She who weary vigils kept,
Sound asleep, who never slept,
While was one uncomforted!

-The Dead Mother.

QUEENSTOWN.

At Queenstown many an Irish lass
Over the rail by rope did pass,
Exchanged shillalahs and Celtic sass
For English silver and Yankee gas.
-City of Berlin.

SLANDER.

Any little yellow cur

Can bark at night and cause a stir,
Rouse the pious from their beds,
Set the world at loggerheads.
-Dog in the Night.

ASSURANCE.

Tyro am I-no genius-but may grow;
I please myself. If I the world distress,
Greater than I have given critics woe.
-Assurance.

H

HENRY ORRIN SIBLEY.

ENRY ORRIN SIBLEY was born in Royalton, Niagara co., N. Y., August 19th, 1845His early life was largely spent in the public schools. At the age of sixteen he entered Lockport Union High School, and attended several years, but, owing to illness, he was obliged to leave before graduation. For four years thereafter he studied literature and taught vocal music. On recovering his health he returned to school and was graduated in 1870. After graduation Mr. Sibley took an

active interest in the affairs of his native town and filled elective offices. From 1874 to 1885 he was principal in several public schools of the State. September, 1885, he entered Syracuse University, and was graduated in June, 1889. Before graduation, Mr. Sibley was unanimously elected librarian of the University Library, which is the third largest college library in the State, and contains the celebrated collection of the great German historian, Leopold Von Ranke. In this position he has shown marked originality and ability in classifying and cataloguing the library, the methods employed having been devised by him expressly for the stacking in use. July 3rd, 1890, he was united in marriage to Miss Mary J. O'Bryon, of Elmira, N.Y., also a graduate of the class of '89. During 1891– 93, Mr. Sibley pursued a post-graduate course in Latin in the university, and secured on the presentation of a Latin thesis the degrees of A. M. and Ph. D. In 1892 he was elected instructor in library economy. Dr. Sibley always loved poetry, and can recite from memory hundreds of pages. He was the poet of the national convention of the Phi Delta Theta College Fraternity in Atlanta, Ga., in 1891, and on many memorial, educational and anniversary occasions he was the poet of the day. He has set many of his shorter poems to music, and they have often been rendered with effect at public exercises. His verse abounds in happy images and striking figures, and most of his efforts have the ring of true poetry. O. W. W.