Life is but Death's fair offspring,

And Day the child of Night.

"Tis thus we rise by setting

Through darkness reach our day;
Our own way hourly losing,
To find the eternal way.

"Tis by defeat we conquer—
Grow rich by growing poor;
And from our largest givings
We draw our fullest store.
Then let the blossoms perish,
And let the fragrance go;
All the surer and the larger

Is the harvest we shall know.

All the sweeter and the louder
Our song of harvest-home,
When earth's ripe autumn smileth,
And the reaping-day has come.

THE FIREMAN.

R. T. CONRAD

The city slumbers. O'er its mighty walls
Night's dusky mantle soft and silent falls;

Sleep o'er the world slow waves its wand of lead,
And ready torpors wrap each sinking head.
Stilled is the stir of labor and of life;

Hushed is the hum, and tranquillized the strife.
Man is at rest, with all his hopes and fears;

The young forget their sports, the old their cares;
The grave are careless; those who joy or weep,
All rest contented on the arm of sleep.

Sweet is the pillowed rest of beauty now,
And slumber smiles upon her tranquil brow;
Her bright dreams lead her to the moonlit tide,
Her heart's own partner wandering by her side.
"Tis a summer's eve: the soft gales scarcely rouse
The low-voiced ripple and the rustling boughs;
And faint and far, some minstrel's melting tone
Breathes to her heart a music like its own.

asp.) When, hark! oh horror! what a crash is there!
What shriek is that which fills the midnight air?
(f) "Tis "FIRE! FIRE!" She wakes to dream no more!
The hot blast rushes through the blazing door!

The dim smoke eddies round; and hark! that cry! (f) "Help! help! Will no one aid? I die I die!"

She seeks the casement; shuddering at its height,
She turns again; the fierce flames mock her flight;
Along the crackling stairs they fiercely play,
And roar, exulting, as they seize their prey.

(f.) "Help! help! Will no one come?" She says no more,
But, pale and breathless, sinks upon the floor.

Will no one save thee? Yes, there yet is one
Remains to save, when hope itself is gone;
When all have fled-when all but he would fly,
The fireman comes to rescue or to die!

He mounts the stair-it wavers 'neath his treaú;
He seeks the room-flames flashing round his head;
He bursts the door, he lifts her prostrate frame,
And turns again to brave the raging flame.
The fire-blast smites him with its stifling breath,
The falling timbers menace him with death,
The sinking floors his hurried steps betray,
And ruin crashes round his desperate way;
Hot smoke obscures-ten thousand cinders rise-
Yet still he staggers forward with his prize.
(f.) He leaps from burning stair to stair.

On! on!
Courage! One effort more, and all is won!
The stair is passed-the blazing hall is braved!
Yet on! Once more!

(f.) Still on!

Thank Heaven, she's saved!

THE PICKET-GUARD.

"All quiet along the Potomac," they say,
Except now and then a stray picket
Is shot, as he walks on his beat to and fro,
By a rifleman hid in the thicket.
"Tis nothing: a private or two, now and then,
Will not count in the news of a battle;
Not an officer lost-only one of the men,
Moaning out all alone the death-rattle.

All quiet along the Potomac to-night,

Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming;
Their tents in the rays of the clear autumn moon,
Or the light of the watch-fires are gleaming.

A tremulous sigh as the gentle night-wind
Through the forest-leaves softly is creeping,
While the stars up above, with their glittering eyes,
Keep guard, for the army is sleeping.

There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread
As he tramps from the rock to the fountain,
And thinks of the two in the low trundle-bed

Far away in the cot on the mountain.
His musket falls slack; his face, dark and grim,
Grows gentle with memories tender,

As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep-
For their mother-may Heaven defend her!

The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then-
That night when the love, yet unspoken,
Leaped up to his lips-when low, murmured vows
Were pledged to be ever unbroken.

Then, drawing his sleeve roughly over his face,
He dashes off tears that are welling,
And gathers his gun closer up to its place,
As if to keep down the heart-swelling.

He passes the fountain, the blasted pine-tree;
The footstep is lagging and weary;

Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light,
Toward the shade of the forest so dreary.
Hark! was it the night-wind that rustled the leaves?
Was it moonlight so wond'rously flashing?
It looked like a rifle: "Ha! Mary, good-by,"
And the life-blood is ebbing and plashing.

All quiet along the Potomac to-night-
No sound save the rush of the river,

While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead-
The picket's off duty forever.

JESUS' SEAT.*

MISS F. EASTWOOD.

Far, far away o'er the deep blue sea
Lived a man who was kind as kind could be.
He loved little children, and spread every day
A table from which none went empty away.
Poor children came in from the alley and street,
With rags on their backs, and no shoes on their feet;
Girls and boys, large and small, some naughty and rude,
But John Falk loved them all and did them all good.
And while they were eating, he often would tell
Of the Lord Jesus Christ, who on earth did once dwell;
How he loved little children-each one of them there
He was watching from heaven with tenderest care-

* Published by the American Tract Society.

And how happy and blessed would be the child's part
Who would let that dear Savior come dwell in his heart.
Each day, when the children assembled to eat,
He taught them to offer this grace for their meat:
"Bless, Jesus, the food thou hast given us to-day,
And come and sup with us, dear Jesus, we pray.'

But once, when the children had finished this prayer,
One poor little fellow stood still by his chair
For a moment, then ran to the closet where stood
The bright cups of tin and the platters of wood.
"Now what is the matter?" said Falk to the child.
The little one looked in his kind face, and smiled:
"We asked the Lord Jesus just now, in our grace,
To sup with us here, but we've given him no place.
If he should come in, how sad it would be!
But I'll put him a stool close here beside me."
Then the boy, quite contented, sat down to his food;
He was hungry and tired, and his supper was good.
But a few moments after, he heard at the door
A knock low and timid-one knock, and no more.
He started to open it, hoping to meet

The Lord Jesus Christ come to look for his scat;
But when it was open, he no one could see
But a poor little child much poorer than he;
His face blue with hunger; his garments, so old,
Were dripping with rain; and he shivered with cold.
"Come in!" cried the boy, in a tone of delight;

"I suppose the Lord Christ could not come here to-night,
Though we asked him to come and partake of our bread,
So he's just sent you down to us here in his stead.
The supper is good, and we'll each give you some,
And tell the Lord Christ we are glad you have come.

From that time, when the children assembled to eat,
There was always one place called "the Lord Jesus' seat;"
And the best that they had was placed there each day
For one who was poorer and hungrier than they.
And the Lord Jesus Christ, in reply to their grace,
Sent always some person to sit in his place;

And sweet was the food that the Lord did provide

For the stranger he sent them to eat at their side.

Dear friends, who have heard this short story, you know
The words that our Savior once spake when below:
If we wish for his presence to hallow our bread,
We must welcome the stranger he sends in his stead.
When we set out our feasts, this our motto must be,
"As ye do to my poor, ye have done unto me!"

ABOU BEN ADHEM.

LEIGH HUNT.

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold:
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the Presence in the room he said,

"What writest thou?" The vision raised its head, And, with a look made of all sweet accord,

Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord."
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men."
The angel wrote, and vanish'd. The next night

It came again, with a great wakening light,

And showed the names whom love of God had blessed, And, lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.

DORA.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

With Farmer Allan at the farm abode

William and Dora. William was his son,

And she his niece. He often look'd at them,

And often thought "I'll make them man and wife."

Now Dora felt her uncle's will in all,

And yearn'd towards William; but the youth, because He had been always with her in the house,

Thought not of Dora.

Then there came a day

When Allan call'd his son, and said, "My son,

I married late, but I would wish to see
My grandchild on my knees before I die :
And I have set my heart upon a match.
Now therefore look to Dora; she is well
To look to; thrifty too beyond her age.
She is my brother's daughter: he and I
Had once hard words, and parted, and he died
In foreign lands; but for his sake I bred
His daughter Dora; take her for your wife;
For I have wish'd this marriage, night and day,