Now rises on the morn

Calm slumber's waking hour. A cymbal, tender
In tone as eyes are mild in prayer, and pure
And sweet as pulse of love divine upon
An angel's harp, inspires to joy the kindling
Lids of eyes that dawn on Heaven's glory,
With strange delight to see, on pearly hinges
Swing, the gates of Paradise. And those orbs,
Opening wide and wider still, with wonder
Still behold temples of flowing sheen, with
Purple shade subdued, and, unsubstantial
As a spirit fair, high on the golden bars
Of mellifluous morn upborne. A balmy
Incense from streams of rifted light teems forth,
All senses swaying to the throne beatic,
Supernal raised on song from angel choirs.

On a throne of light, rising wide beyond
The joy where thought can dwell, the Lord of
Hosts

All Paradise illumes, his gentle eyes,
Large and of cerulean hue, for ever

Bent on new and lustrous hope for the earthly
Peace of man. His face, tender and serene,
And with celestial thought imbued, and fair,
Mercy foretells to planets yet unborn.

And now the mighty Lord of all the realms
Of space, and of mysteries defiant

As the loose wind, which sows its will upon
The pregnant storm, and of all created
And uncreated things, the Holy Spirit
Assumes, oval in form, and refulgent
As the sun, still looming on the sight
Entranced, till the dazed orbs recede beneath
Their closing lids. And now softly moving,
As gentle breath of summer air along
The lily's path, in fleecy cloud embowered,
The highest spirit holy in Heaven's intnost
Temple shines, protean and multifold,
To sense insensible, as the spirit

To the thought, sharing with man the glory
And the light and beautitude immortal.

HUGH FARRAR MCDERMOTT.

AFTER MANY DAYS.

I REALLY am obliged to you for bringing back my book,

It moves me much to look whereon I thought no

more to look,

It minds me of the early time wherein 'twas lent to you,

When life was young, and hope was fair and this

old book was new.

How well does memory recall the gilt this volume

wore

The day it first attracted me, at Fitch and Billing's

store,

And also I remember how I could not buy, unless I practiced some economy in articles of dress.

Nor have I yet forgotten how my foolish heart beat higher,

At owning what my cultured friends must certainly admire,

And vividly I recollect you called around that day, Admired it and borrowed it and carried it away.

And now it comes to me again across the lapse of time,

Wearing the somewhat battered look of those beyond their prime;

O, man, O, book! The years go by and leave you both, alack!

With faded color, worn in sides-a weakness of the back.

Excuse these foolish tears, they come unbidden as
I find,
The finger-marks,-
mankind.

,—a silent proof of service to

Old book, you need a rest-but ere you're laid upon the shelf,

Just try to hang together, till I read you through myself.

MRS. GEORGE ARCHIBALD.

THE NATURE OF LOVE.

LOVE is a fire in air,

Love is a rose in spring,

Love is a crystal sphere,

A melody, a mirroring. Love is a blossom, love a flower, Love is the gleaming of a shower Of dew-drops from an orange bower.

Love is a golden star,

A fragrance of the night,

A rainbow in the air,

A cloud, a lost delight;

Love, 'tis the sense of Heaven near,
The memory of Heaven gone,
The last leaf of the lingering year,
The faint smell of the dawn.

JOHN PHILIP VARLEY.

198.

Evil is only the slave of Good.

Sorrow the servant of joy;

And the soul is mad that refuses food
Of the meanest in God's employ.
199.

There's not a strain to Memory dear,

Nor flower in classic grove,

There's not a sweet note warbled here,

But minds us of Thy love,

O Lord, our Lord, and spoiler of our foes,

There is no light but Thine! with Thee all beauty glows.

200.

The loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind.

201.

The twentieth year is well-nigh past
Since first our sky was overcast:
Ah, would that this might be the last!
My Mary!

202.

Nae man can tether time or tide.

203.

He is retired as noon-tide dew,

Or fountain in a noon-day grove; And you must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love.

204.

Woe awaits a country when

She sees the tears of bearded men.

205.

And this should be the human sum

Of knowledge, to know mortal nature's nothing

ness;

Bequeath that science to thy children, and

'Twill spare them many tortures.

206.

All actual heroes are essential men, And all men possible heroes.

207.

And Thought leapt out to wed with Thought, Ere Thought could wed itself with speech.

208.

The world was sad! the garden was a wild! And man, the hermit, sigh'd-till woman smiled!

209.

Withoute women were al our joye lose; Wherefore we ought alle women to obeye In all goodnesse; I can no more say.

210.

O fairest of creation, last and best

Of all God's works, creature in whom excelled Whatever can to sight or thought be formed, Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet!

211.

A perfect woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a spirit still and bright,
With something of an angel light.

212.

She's one, who when she fills the term for which on earth she's sent to us,

Flies back to heaven the angel that she was when she was lent to us.

213.

O, woman! in our hours of ease,
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please
And variable as the shade

By the light quivering aspen made;
When pain and anguish wring the brow,
A ministering angel thou!

214.

O woman! lovely woman! nature made thee
To temper man; we had been brutes without you.
Angels are painted fair, to look like you;
There's in you all that we believe of heaven;
Amazing brightness, purity and truth,
Eternal joy, and everlasting love.

215.

The mission of woman: permitted to bruise
The head of the serpent, and sweetly infuse,
Through the sorrow and sin of earth's register'd

curse,

The blessing which mitigates all; born to nurse, And to soothe, and to solace, to help and to heal The sick world that leans on her.

216.

O woman, born first to believe us;
Yea, also born first to forget;
Born first to betray and deceive us,
Yet first to repent and regret!

O first then in all that is human,
Lo! first where the Nazarene trod;

O woman! O beautiful woman!
Be, then, first in the kingdom of God.
217.
Women know

The way to rear up children (to be just);
They know a simple, merry, tender knack
Of tying sashes, fitting baby-shoes,
And stringing pretty words that make no sense,
And kissing full sense into empty words;
Which things are corals to cut life upon,
Although such trifles.

218.

Auld nature swears, the lovely dears Her noblest work she classes, O; Her 'prentice han' she tried on man, And then she made the lasses, O!

II.

In rain or shine, through peace an' war,
It's still been, as appears,

A member of our family, for

Some five an' fifty years;

It's stood right there, through thick an' thin, An' kep' track of the sun,

An' raked its own opinions in

'Bout what we mortals done; It's hed good watch o' young an' old (An' looked so mild an' meek!) Some anecdotes ther' would be told, If our old clock could speak!

How ol' folks went to church, one night, An' left us all-sly elves

If we'd conduct there-good an' right-
A meetin' by ourselves;

But neighbor gals an' boys in teens
Walked in-an' first we knew,
We fell to playin' "Oats peas beans,"
"Snap up and catch 'em," too;
We scattered, when, by good ear-luck
She heard the big gate creak:

The ol' clock frowned an' ticked an' struck
But couldn't make out to speak!