As man may, he fought his fight, Lay him low, lay him low, What cares he? he cannot know: Fold him in his country's stars, Roll the drum and fire the volley! What to him are all our wars, What but death-bemocking folly ? Lay him low, lay him low, Leave him to God's watching eye, Trust him to the hand that made him. Mortal love weeps idly by: God alone has power to aid him. HORATIUS BONAR. A LITTLE WHILE. BEYOND the smiling and the weeping I shall be soon; Beyond the waking and the sleeping, Love, rest, and home! Lord, tarry not, but come. Beyond the blooming and the fading I shall be soon; Beyond the shining and the shading, Love, rest, and home! Lord, tarry not, but come. Beyond the rising and the setting Beyond the calming and the fretting, Love, rest, and home! Lord, tarry not, but come. Beyond the gathering and the strowing Love, rest, and home! Lord, tarry not, but come. Beyond the parting and the meeting Beyond the farewell and the greeting, Love, rest, and home! Lord, tarry not, but come. Beyond the frost-chain and the fever Love, rest, and home! Lord, tarry not, but come. THE INNER CALM. CALM me, my God, and keep me calm, Calm me, my God, and keep me calm, Calm me, my God, and keep me Calm in the sufferance of wrong, calm, Let thine outstretchèd wing Be like the shade of Elim's palm 'Beside her desert spring. Like Him who bore my shame, Calm mid the threatening, taunting throng. Who hate thy holy name; Yes, keep me calm, though loud and Calm when the great world's news rude. The sounds my ear that greet, Calm in the hour of buoyant health, with power My listening spirit stir; Calm as the ray of sun or star And her heart, with its sweet secret Through our voices runs the tender name! O TIME! Who know'st a lenient hand OH! when 'tis summer weather, to lay Softest on sorrow's wound, and slowly thence— Lulling to sad repose the weary sense The faint pang stealest, unperceived away; On thee I rest my only hope at last, And think when thou hast dried the bitter tear That flows in vain o'er all my soul held dear, I may look back on every sorrow past, And the yellow bee, with fairy sound, The waters clear is humming round, In some retreat, To hear the murmuring dove, And to wind through the greenwood And meet life's peaceful evening with But when 't is winter weather, a smile. And crosses grieve, the friends with whom, in the roamed through the greenwood together. ANNA C. BRACKETT. IN GARFIELD'S DANGER. Is it not possible that all the love From all these million hearts, which breathless turns "What news?" and then, "We cannot spare him yet!" Bear on, brave heart! The land does not forget. MARY E. BRADLEY. BEYOND RECALL. THERE was a time when death and I You thought me dead: you called |