LOVE IN AGE.

FOR us, the almond-tree
Doth flourish now:

Its whitest bloom is on our brow.
Let others triumph as they may
And wear their garlands gay
Of olive, oak, or bay:
Our crown of glory is, instead,
The hoary head.

Our threescore years and ten,
That measure life to mortal men,
Have lingered to a longer length
By reason of our strength;
Yet, like a tale that hath been told,
They all have passed, and now, be-
hold!

We verily are old;

(Forbidden him from on high) Till, with an unrecorded cry, He laid him down to die.

So too, for us, the end is nigh.
Our mortal race is nearly run;
Our earthly toil is nearly done!
Ah, thou and I,

Who in the grave so soon shall lie,
Have little time to see the sun-
So little it is nearly none!

What then?

Amen!

All hail, my love, good cheer!
Keep back thy unshed tear!
Not thou nor I
Shall mourn or sigh.
Nay now, we twain-
Old man, old wife.

The few days that remain

With head down bent,

And mantle rent,

In dole for her who lay in death,
And to the Sons of Heth
The silver shekels gave
For Mamre's gloomy cave,
To be her grave; —

Or, older still, like him
Who, feeble not of limb,
With eyes not dim,

Upclimbed, with staff in hand,

To where Mount Nebo cleft the sky, And looked and saw the Promised Land

For now at length we quaff
The last, best wine of life,
The very last - the very best,
The double cup of love and rest.

What though the groaning world declare

RECOMPENSE.

THE Temple of the Lord stood open wide,

And worshippers went up from many lands,

Who, kneeling at the altar, side by side,

Made votive offerings with uplifted hands.

Their gifts were gold, and frankincense, and myrrh.

Then, with a lustrous gleam and rapturous stir,

While all the people trembled and turned pale.

There flew an angel to the altar-rail, Who, with anointed eyes, keen to discern,

Gazed, noting all the kneelers, who they were,

And what was each one's tribute to the Lord,

And, gift for gift, with sudden, swift return,

Bestowed on every suppliant his reward.

O mocking recompense! To one, a spear!

To many, each a thorn! To some a nail!

To all, a cross! But unto none a crown!

At last, they saw the angel disappear. Then, as their timid hearts shook off their fear,

Some rose in anger, flung their treasures down,

And cried, "Such gifts from Heaven as these, we spurn! They are too cruel, and too keen to bear!

They are too grievous for a human breast!

Heaven sends us heartache, misery, and despair!

We knelt for blessing, but we rise un

blest!

If Heaven so mock us, we will cease to pray!"

They left the altar, and they went their way;

But their blaspheming hearts were then self-torn

take,

Or others That we are ever overborne with strong;

that we are not always

care;

That we should ever weak or heart

less be,

Anxious or troubled, when with us is prayer,

with a shower!

are with Thee?

A GARDEN so well watered before

morn

Is hotly up, that not the swart sun's blaze,

Down beating with unmitigated rays, Nor arid winds from scorching places borne,