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But if we must humor ignorance because it's blind

and old If the choir's to be pestered, I will seek another


Now in the "amen corner" of the church sat

Brother Eyer, Who persisted every Sabbath-day in singing with

the choir. He was poor, but genteel-looking, and his hair as

snow was white, And his old face beamed with sweetness when he

sang with all his might. His voice was cracked and broken, age had touched

his vocal chords, And nearly every Sunday he would mispronounce

the words Of the hymns, and 'twas no wonder, he was old

and nearly blind, And the choir rattling onward always left him far


Of course the motion carried, and one day a coach

and four, With the latest style of driver, rattled up to Eyer's

door; And the sleek, well-dressed committee, Brothers

Sharkey, York, and Lamb, As they crossed the humble portal, took good care

to miss the jamb.

They found the church's trouble sitting in his old

arm chair, And the Summer's golden sunbeam lit his brow

and snowy hair; He was singing · Rock of Ages" in discordant

voice and low, But the angels understood him, it was all he cared

to know.

The chorus stormed and blustered, Brother Eyer

sang too slow, And then he used the tunes in vogue an hundred

years ago; At last the storm-cloud bursted, and the church

was told, in fine, That the brother must stop singing, or the choir

would resign.

Said York: “We're here, dear brother, with the

vestry's approbation, To discuss a little matter that affects the congre

gation;" “And the choir, too,” said Sharkey, giving Brother

York a nudge, "And the choir, too!” he echoed with the grave.

ness of a judge.

Then the pastor called together in the vestry-room

one day Seven infiuential members who subscribe more

than they pay, And having asked God's guidance in a printed

pray'r or two, They put their heads together to determine what

to do.

It was the understandin' when we bargained for

the chorus, That it was to relieve us that is, do the singin'

for us;

They debated, thought, suggested, till at last

“ dear Brother York," Who last winter made a million on a sudden rise

in pork, Rose and moved that a committee wait at once on

Brother Eyer, And proceed to rake him lively “ for disturbin' of

the choir."

If we rupture the agreement, it is very plain, dear

brother, It will leave our congregation and be gobbled by


Said he: In that 'ere organ I've invested quite a

pile, And we'll sell it if we can not worship in the

latest style; Our Philadelphy tenor tells me, 'tis the hardest

thing For to make God understand him when the brother

tries to sing.

We don't want any singin'exceptin' what we've

bought! The latest tunes are all the rage; the old ones

stand for naught; And so we've all decided-are you list'nin', Brother

Eyer? That you'll have to stop your singin', for it fury

tates the choir."

The old man slowly raised his head, a sign that he

did hear, And on his cheek the trio caught the glitter of a

tear; His feeble hands pushed back the locks white as

the driven snow, As he answered the committee in a voice both

meek and low:

· We've got the biggest organ, the dressiest choir

in town,

We pay the steepest sal’ry to our pastor, Brother


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The choir missed him for awhile, but he was soon

forgot, A few church-goers watched the door: the old

man entered not, For, where every voice grows sweet and strong, he

sang his heart's desires, Where there are no church committees and no

fashionable choirs!


AJALON. All day through the valley of Ajalon flowed The red tide of battle, and evening showed How thick and how bloody, upon the fair grass, The dead lay unburied in Beth-horon's pass!

The armies of Israel, at Gibeon's call,
In thousands came up from the camps at Gilgal;
In thousands they came, with the sling and the

To punish in battle the foes of the Lord.

In every land, whose honored sod,
By martyrs and by heroes trod,
Is green to-day, Remembrance weaves
The patriot's crown of sadeless leaves.

- Decoration Day.
All nature with the echo rings.
A man like Garfield never dies,
Though silent in his robes he lies:
The name he leaves to you and me
Makes better all humanity.

- In Memoriam.

Who says they watch in vain who watch

With an unfaltering trust?
For them the sea gives up its dead,
And earth yields more than dust.

- The Ida May. REMEMBRANCE. When does the heart forget the love

That first within it grew ?
When does the hand forget the touch
Of fingers warm and true ?

-Her Wedding Night.

And high in the heavens the fast-rolling sun
Obeys the command of the soldier of Nun;
And the Queen of the skies, in vestments so pale,
Has stopped in her course over Ajalon's vale.

The Amorite mother is watching afar
For the coming of those she sent to the war;



God," and " Thoughts about Christ."

His complete poetical works are now in preparation for publication. Dr. Nevin is the son of Major David Nevin, one of the most successful and widely known citizens of Cumberland Valley. He was married in 1837 to Ruth Channing Little, of Hollis, N. H., and has been ably seconded throughout his professional life by the intelligence and devotion of this estimable lady.

W. C. N.

“I AM WITH YOU ALWAYS.” ALWAYS with me! always with me!

Words of cheer and words of love Thus the risen Saviour whispers

From His dwelling place above.

With me when with sin I struggle,

Giving strength and courage too, Bidding me to falter never,

But to Him be ever true.

With me in the hour of sorrow,

When my heart is press'd with grief, Pointing to a brighter morrow

And imparting sweet relief.

DWIN H. NEVIN, D.D., well-known through

out the Presbyterian Church as a pulpit orator of power and eloquence, is perhaps more widely and generally known by the hymns and religious poems of which he is the author. Born in the beautiful and romantic Cumberland Valley of Pennsylvania (at Shippensburgh) in 1814; of a strong imaginative and poetic temperament, which was stimulated and developed by his surroundings, he began to write poetry at an early age, and although few of his youthful productions have been preserved, they were sufficiently marked to cause him to be recognized as a youth of decided poetic talent. Entering upon the work of the ministry at the age of twenty-two (1836) he rejected all overtures to settle in the East where the work of the minister is comparatively easy, and largely a matter of routine. He therefore engaged in active ministerial work in Ohio, which was one of the frontier Western states at that early day, and his voice and pen were potent influences in molding public sentiment upon the important moral reformatory questions which then agitated the country. His strong sense of justice caused him to warmly espouse the cause of human freedom and he stood shoulder to shoulder with Chase, Giddings, Stanton and Sherman at a time when it required bravery and great personal sacrifices to advocate the cause of liberty to the slave. His poetry has found its way to all parts of the world where the English language is spoken, and his hymns are sung throughout Christendom by different evangelical denominations. Numerous accounts of his life have been published and from some of these the principal events in his history have been extracted for the purpose of completing this brief biographical sketch. He was graduated at Jefferson College and Princeton Theological Seminary and was licensed to preach by the First Presbytery of Philadelphia in 1836. His first pastorial charge was at Portsmouth, Ohio, where he had a successful ministry of several years. In 1841, at the age of 27, he was called to the Presidency of Franklin College, Ohio, and while in this position he raised funds and secured the erection of a new college building, and the institution gained wide repute under his administration. He was subsequently pastor at Mt. Vernon and Cleveland, Ohio, and at Boston, Mass., and his last charge before relinquishing the active work of the ministry was the First Reformed Church of Philadelphia, where he remained several years. Dr. Nevin is an eloquent speaker, and an apt and ready debater. He was recently elected an honorary member of the Victoria Institute and Philosophical Society of Great Britain," of which the Earl of Shaftesbury is president. He is the author of “ The Minister's Hand Book,' The Man of Faith,' The City of

With me when the storm is sweeping

O'er my pathway dark and drear, Waking hope within my bosom,

Stilling every anxious fear.

With me when I toil in sadness,

Sowing much and reaping none, Telling me that in the future

Golden harvests shall be won.

With me in the lonely valley

When I cross the chilling stream, Lighting up the steps to glory

Like the ancient prophet's dreani.

Always with me' always with me!

Pilot on the surging main, Guiding to the distant haven

Where I shall be home again.


“COME up hither! come away!”

Thus the ransom'd spirits sing; Here is cloudless, endless day;

Here is everlasting spring.

Come up hither! come and see

Heaven's glories yet untold; Brighter than the sun they be,

Richer than the purest gold.

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Trust Thy blood to cleanse my soul;
Trust Thy grace to make me whole;
Trust Thee, living, dying too;
Trust Thee all my journey through;
Trust Thee till my feet shall be
Planted on the crystal sea.


Storms sometimes round me gather, and my fears
Break forth in mingled sighs and bitter tears,
But hope sweeps all my gloomy fears away
And turns my midnight darkness into day;
Its radiance calms and soothes my ruffled breast
Till through me spreads the quietude of rest.

- The Star of Hope.

Deep! Deep! and far are the ways,

No eye can discern the end,
But near me is felt the heart
And touch of a loving friend.

- Somewhere. AMBITION. Mount up on high! as if on eagles' wings,

Catch inspiration from the arching skies; The soul with more seraphic music sings, As nearer to her bright'ning home she flies.

- Mount Up!

SOMETIME in the future, I cannot tell when,

We'll win in the battle for God and the right; True wisdom and virtue will reign among men, And earth will be radiant with love and with


The vices that torment and burden the heart

Will flee as the new world of beauty appears, And sorrow and anguish will swiftly depart,

And life be no longer embittered with tears.



HE name

“ Dora Greenwell” was for many years supposed to be the pseudonym of a writer of rare spiritual insight and fine poetic genius. It was very generally surmised that she was a member of the Society of Friends; and there was much ground for this supposition. As time wore on, and book followed book, some of the facts of her personal history became known and were occasionally referred to in the public press. But for a very long period little was really known of her actual life, and many mistakes gained currency. It eventually transpired that Dora Greenwell was a native of the county of Durham, England, the daughter of a respected and popular magistrate and deputy lieutenant, and that two of her brothers were clergymen of the Church of England, one of them being a Minor Canon of Durham Cathedral. She herself also belonged to the same communion.

“ Dorothy was the baptismal name of Miss Greenwell, but she was always called “ Dora" in her family circle, and by all her friends. father, Mr. William Thomas Greenwell, lived upon his estate at Lanchester, nine miles distant from any town. She was born at Green well Ford on December 6, 1821. Sad reverses befell the household of Greenwell Ford in the year 1848, when, owing no doubt to mismanagement, the property had to be sold. For a time thereafter, Miss Greenwell, with her father and mother, resided at Ovingham Rectory, in Northumberland, where her eldest brother, William, was holding the living for a friend. It was while she lived in this village that she issued her earliest volume of poems, which was published by Mr. Willia, n Pickering and extended to a little over two hundred pages. The reception which it met with led to the issue of a second volume in 1850. After leaving Ovingham, she had no settled home for some time, but lived principally, until 1854, with her brother, the Rev. Alan Greenwell, at Golbourne Rectory, in Lancashire.

When Miss Greenwell left the Lancashire rectory for her native county she was in her thirty-third year. She settled quietly down with her mother in the fine old city of Durham, amongst many friends and relatives — her father having died in 1854. Now began the period of her greatest intellectual efforts. Her correspondence during these years is fraught with so much interest that one easily discovers in it the germs of many of her profoundest writings. She was destined to become an accomplished essayist, and to produce some prose works which claim a very high place among books of a deeply thoughtful and spiritual kind.

In 1861 Alexander Strahan & Co., of Edinburgh, issued a volume of her poetry which included some

of the earlier poems; and in 1867 the same publisher brought out a new volume with the earlier poems left out and some later ones taking their place. During some seven or eight years Miss Greenwell wrote some poems which were finally published by Bell and Daldy, with the title, “ Carmina Crucis.” "The Soul's Legend," and “Camera Obscura,” two small volumes, were published respectively in 1873 and 1876.

Miss Greenwell made her home in Durham for eighteen years. This home was broken up at her mother's death in 1871. Torquay, Clifton, and London became, for briefer or longer periods, the places of her residence. In the autuma of 1881 Miss Green well went to her brother at Clifton, much weakened in health, and suffering frɔm the results of an accident. She failed rapidly in the following spring, and the shadows fell thickly around. Death released the buoyant spirit from its mortal coil on the evening of Wednesday, March 29, 1882. She was buried in Amo's Vale Cemetery, Bristol.

W. D.



In the dark and narrow street,

Into a world of woe,
Where the tread of many feet

Went trampling to and fro,

A child was born - speak low!
When the night and morning meet.

Full seventy summers back

Was this, so long ago.
The feet that wore the track

Are lying straight and low,-
Yet hath there been no lack

Of passers to and fro.

Within the narrow street

This childhood ever played;
Beyond the narrow street

This manhood never strayed;

This age sat still and prayed
Anear the trampling feet.

The tread of ceaseless feet

Flowed through his life, unstirred
By waters' fall, or fleet

Wind music, or the bird
Of morn; these sounds are sweet,

But they were still unheard.

Within the narrow street

I stood beside a bed. -
I held a dying head

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