while

Thine office is berated,

'Tis only by the vile and weak

That thou art feared and hated.

"And though thy work on earth has given

To all a shade of sadness; Consider every saint in heaven Remembers thee with gladness!"

SARAH HELEN WHITMAN.
[U. s. A.]

A STILL DAY IN AUTUMN.

I LOVE to wander through the woodlands hoary

In the soft light of an autumnal day, When Summer gathers up her robes of glory,

And like a dream of beauty glides

away.

leaves and flowers

she lingers,

Serenely smiling through the golden

mist,

Shows its bright wings and softly

that only

glides away.

His shout and whistle broke the air, As cheerily he plied

His garden-spade, or drove his share Along the hillock's side.

He marked the fire-storm's blazing flood
Roaring and crackling on its path,
And scorching earth, and melting wood,
Beneath its greedy wrath;

He marked the rapid whirlwind shoot,
Trampling the pine-tree with its foot,
And darkening thick the day
With streaming bough and severed root,
Hurled whizzing on its way.

His gaunt hound yelled, his rifle flashed,
The grim bear hushed his savage growl;
In blood and and foam the panther
gnashed

His fangs, with dying howl;
The fleet deer ceased its flying bound,
Its snarling wolf-foe bit the ground,
And, with its moaning cry,
The beaver sank beneath the wound
Its pond-built Venice by.

Humble the lot, yet his the race,

When Liberty sent forth her cry, Who thronged in conflict's deadliest place,

To fight, -to bleed, -to die! Who cumbered Bunker's height of red, By hope through weary years were led, And witnessed Yorktown's sun Blaze on a nation's banner spread, A nation's freedom won.

CHRISTOPHER P. CRANCH.

[U. S. A.]

STANZAS.

THOUGHT is deeper than all speech,
Feeling deeper than all thought;
Souls to souls can never teach
What unto themselves was taught.

We are spirits clad in veils; Man by man was never seen; All our deep communing fails

To remove the shadowy screen.

Heart to heart was never known,

Mind with mind did never meet;

I questioned not her peace with God,
Nor pried into her guiltless mind,
Like those unskilful surgeon-priests
Who rack the soul with probings blind.

For I've seen men who meant not ill
Compelling doctrine out of Death,
With Hell and Heaven acutely poised
Upon the turning of a breath;

While agonizing judgments hung
Ev'n on the Saviour's helpful name;
As mild Madonna's form, of old,
A hideous torture-tool became.

I could but say, with faltering voice
And eyes that glanced aside to weep,
"Be strong in faith and hope, my child;
He giveth his beloved sleep.

"And though thou walk the shadowy vale
Whose end we know not, He will aid;
His rod and staff shall stay thy steps.'
"I know it well," she smiled and said.

She knew it well, and knew yet more My deepest hope, though unexprest, The hope that God's appointed sleep But heightens ravishment with rest.

My children, living flowers, shall come And strew with seed this grave of thine, And bid the blushing growths of Spring Thy dreary painted cross entwine.

Thus Faith, cast out of barren creeds, Shall rest in emblems of her own; Beauty still springing from Decay, The cross-wood budding to the crown.

BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC.

MINE eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord:

He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword;

His truth is marching on.

I have seen him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps;

evening dews and damps;

And sight, who had but eyes before;

It is nothing now,

less eyes?

When airs from paradise refresh my

brow,

I feel the stirrings of a gift divine: Within my bosom glows unearthly fire, Lit by no skill of mine.

C. F. ALEXANDER.

THE BURIAL OF MOSES.

By Nebo's lonely mountain

On this side Jordan's wave,

In a vale in the land of Moab
There lies a lonely grave.

And no man knows that sepulchre,
And no man saw it e'er,

For the angels of God upturned the sod,
And laid the dead man there.