THE TWILIGHT HOUR.

'Tis a pleasant hour, the twilight,

That comes between light and gloom, When the shadows are deep'ning round me Within the quiet room.

When the cares of day are ended,

And its noises are hushed and still— And the past and the present blended Come passing at my will.

Oh! the pictures are bright that gather
Painted on memory's wall;

Though some are shaded with sadness,
Yet I love, I love them all.

There are the pictures of childhood,

The gleeful long-ago;

When the birds and the flowers were playmates, And the fleecy flakes of snow.

And there are youth's bright treasures;
And the hands that once clasped ours,
When the days were filled with pleasure,
And eternal seemed the hours.

And there is the loving mother,
Who still seems bending near
Her little ones close to gather,

To comfort and bless and cheer.

And the years fly swiftly backward,
And the circle has met once more,
And we dream it is still unbroken-
And the grief and pain are o'er.

And so I love the twilight!

Day, like life's cares, has fled, While night brings star-eyed angels Around their wings to spread.

OLD HYMN TUNES.

Give me a grand old hymn !

One that will lead the spirit on, As through some forest old and dim Where foot hath seldom gone.

Give me a grand old hymn!

Like ocean waves that ceaseless break Against some high cliff's beetling rim, And solemn music make.

Of sounds that craze the ear,

Though Science holds on high his wand, Beneath God's roof I would not hear,— My spirit lists beyond

Where sings the bird his song

To welcome morning's rosy beams;

Or the winds sweep along

A choral from the woodland streams.

The sounds that please the ear
Where crime and folly meet,

Within God's house I would not hear;
My spirit fain would greet

Each solemn stealing tone
That gives it rest, and brings
To weary hearts sorrowing, alone,
A healing on its wings.

Give me a grand old hymn!

That bears the soul afar
From earthly trifles poor and dim,
Beyond each sun and star.
Give me a grand old hymn!

THE APRIL RAIN.

The April rain, the April rain,

How like to tears from human eyes! Sounding like sorrow's sad refrain,

But think-it falls from earthly skies.

There wiped away, there wiped away,
For smiles shall fill Heaven's blest abode;
Though here like children lost we stray,
And weeping strive to find the road.

O glorious hope, O glorious hope!

We pass through earth a heaven to gain!

With earthly ills man could not cope
Were all his strivings here in vain.

Each coming Spring, each coming Spring,
Shall bring new life before his eyes;
With every bird that plumes its wing,
Soul-like to heaven his thought shall rise.

LIFE.

A few more days,

And months and years;

A few more duties,

Smiles and tears;

Spring still shall shower her blossoms down,

With fairy fingers plat earth's crown.

A few more hopes

And memories:

A few more songs,

And summer skies;

Autumn shall drop her leaflets sere,
And Winter fill the heart and year.

And we, whose days.

Are as the grass,

Like tale that's told

So shall we pass.

Who, who, within their hearts will keep

A thought of us?—and turn and weep

And weeping say,

The summer day

Gave sweeter cheer

When they were here!

Who, who shall look with sadder eyes
Upon a mound, new-raised that lies?

But flowers shall creep,

And skies shall weep,
And insects pass

Amid the grass;

And earth with fond and last caress

Fold in her arms the worn-out dress.

THE FUTURE CHURCH.

[George W. Chaney, a disciple of Col. Rob. Ingersoll, said in one of his meetings out west, that their church would be the church of the future.] The Future Church

what shall it be?

Not scoffers of the Deity,

Scoffers of Holy Writ, from God set free!

Rather to lead us, give a little child,

For heaven still looks from out his young eyes mild;

Who speaks of heaven, be it the undefiled.

For man, where'er on earth his footsteps stray, Must catch some stains upon the world's highway.

No Christs are seen upon the earth to-day.