Brutal, and mean, and dark enough,
God knows some natures are;
But He, compassionate, comes near,
And shall we stand afar?

Our cruse of oil will not grow less
If shared with hearty hand;
For words of peace and looks of love
Few natures can withstand.
Love is the mighty conqueror,
Love is the beauteous guide,
Love, with her beaming eyes, can see
We've all our angel side.

THE BRIGHT SIDE.

'HERE is many a rest in the road of life,
If we only would stop to take it,
And many a tone from the better land,
If the querulous heart would wake it!

To the sunny soul that is full of hope,

And whose beautiful trust ne'er faileth,
The grass is green and the flowers are bright,
Though the wintry storm prevaileth.

Better to hope, though the clouds hang low,
And to keep the eyes sti 1 lifted;

For the sweet blue sky will soon peep through,
When the ominous clouds are rifted!
There was never a night without a day,
Or an evening without a morning;
And the darkest hour. as the proverb goes,
Is the hour before the dawning.
There is many a gem in the path of life,
Which we pass in our idle pleasure,
That is richer far than the jeweled crown,
Or the miser's hoarded treasure:
It may be the love of a little child,

Or a mother's prayers to Heav、n;
Or only a beggar's grateful thanks
For a cup of water given.

Better to weave in the web of life
A bright and golden filling,
And do God's will with a ready heart
And hands that are swift and willing,
Than to snap the delicate, slender threads
Of our curious lives asunder,

And then blame heaven for the tangled ends,
And sit and grieve and wonder.

CARVING A NAME.

WROTE my name upon the sand,

And trusted it would stand for aye; But soon, alas! the refluent sea

Had washed my feeble lines away.

I carved my name upon the wood,
And, after years, returned again;

I missed the shadow of the tree

That stretched of old upon the plain.

To solid marble next my name
I gave as a perpetual trust;
An earthquake rent it to its base,
And now it lies o'erlaid with dust.

All these have failed. In wiser mood
I turn and ask myself, "What then?
If I would have my name endure,
I'll write it on the hearts of men,
'In characters of living light,

From kindly words and actions wrougin:
And these, beyond the reach of time,
Shall live immortal as my thought."

HORATIO ALGER.

THE HARDEST TIME OF ALL.

'HERE are days of deepest sorrow
In the season of our life;
There are wild, despairing moments;
There are hours of mental strife.
There are hours of stony anguish,
When the tears refuse to fall;
But the waiting-time, my brothers,
Is the hardest time of all.

Youth and love are oft impatient,

Seeking things beyond their reach;
And the heart grows sick with hoping,
Ere it learns what life can teach.
For, before the fruit be gathered,
We must see the blossoms fall;
And the waiting-time, my brothers,
Is the hardest time of all.

We can bear the heat of conflict;
Though the sudden, crushing blow,
Beating back our gathered forces,
For a moment lay us low,
We may rise again beneath it,
None the weaker for our fall;
But the waiting-time, my brothers,

Is the hardest time of all.

Yet, at last, we learn the lesson,
That God knoweth what is best,
And a silent resignation

Makes the spirit calm and blest:
For, perchance, a day is coming
For the changes of our fate,
When our hearts will thank Him meekly
That He taught us how to wait.

MY SHIPS.

HAVE ships that went to sea,
Long ago, long ago;
With what tidings I can learn,
I've been waiting their return,
But the homeward gales for me
Never blow, never blow.

In the distance they are seen
On the deep, on the deep,
Plowing through the swelling tide,
With the dim stars for a guide,
While the angry waves between
Never sleep, never sleep.
There are breakers setting in
For the shore, for the shore;
And it may be, in their frown,
That my ships will all go down,
With their precious freight within,
Evermore, evermore.

There is little cheer for me,

Waiting so, waiting so;

Waiting through the starless night

For the coming of the light,

For my ships which went to sea
Long ago, long ago.

I've a ship which went to sea

Years ago, years ago,

And the gallant little craft
Beats the tempest fore and aft,

While the homeward gales to me
Ever blow, ever blow.

The roads and fields are buried deep
Under the snow,

The hedges lie in a tangled heap
Under the snow.

And the little grey rabbits under them creep,
While the twittering sparrows cunningly peep
From the sheltering briers, and cosily sleep
Under the snow.

The rough old barn and the sheds near by,
The mounted straw of the wheat and rye,
Are covered with snow;

The straggling fences are softened with down
Every post is white, with a beautiful crown
Of drifted snow.

And I think, as I sit in the gloaming here,
Watching the objects disappear,

How many things are folded low

Under the drifts of the falling snow;

There are hearts that once were full of love

There are lips that once were like the rose;

There are bosoms that once were stung with woes;
There are breasts that once were true and strong;
There are forms that once were praised in song:
O, there's a strange and mighty throng
Under the snow!

Another mound will soon lie deep
Under the snow,

And I shall with the pale ones sleep
Under the snow.

O God! stream on my soul Thy grace,
That in the love-light of Thy face

I may rejoice, when death shall place
My pulseless heart and body low
Under the snow!

JOHN H. BONNAR.
WRITING WITH DIAMONDS.

LITTLE child, beside the widow-pane,

Held in his hand a diamond, pure and
bright,

And saw in every clear and burning plane
A mirrored rainbow, trembling in the light

Across the pane he drew the tiny stone,
And, smiling, watched the dainty, penciled line,
Till on the smooth and polished surface shone
A boyish thought in letters crystalline.

"Not there, my son! not there," his father said,
And, stooping down, he took the jeweled ring.
Then, turning from the glass with eyes dismayed.
The boy looked up with eager questioning.

Coming to join our march,

"Not there, my child! though every word appear

As threaded silver shining in the sun.

The jewel-point has left it crisp and clear;

The diamond's work can never be undone.

'Thine eye may weary, but the line must stand;

Thy thought may change, but here 'tis traced in light;

The fairest touches wrought by childish hand

May yet offend thy manhood's fairer sight.

"Nay, school thy hand, and wait a future day,
When thou may'st write with bolder mastery:
Give not this gem to fancy's careless play;
'Tis but for Him who wields it thoughtfully."

O daily life! thy fair and crystal page

By erring hands is written o'er and o'er,
In deeds that live beyond the present age,
In characters that stand for evermore.

We cannot pause. 'Tis not for human will
To check the pen or shun its solemn trust;
But living souls, discerning good and ill,

May leave their records beautiful and just.

The immortal truth demands each thoughtful hour,
Our work must live through all futurity;
The highest glory born of conscious power
Is but for him who wields it reverently.

GOING AND COMING.

OING-the great round sun,
Dragging the captive day
Over beyond the frowning hill,
Over beyond the bay-
Dying:

Coming-the dusky night,
Silently stealing in,

Wrapping himself in the soft, warm couch,
Where the golden-haired day hath been
Lying.

Going-the bright, blithe spring.

Blossoms! how fast ye fall, Shooting out of your starry sky Into the darkness all

Blindly!

Coming-the mellow days,

Crimson and yellow leaves;

Languishing purple and amber fruits, Kissing the bearded sheaves

Kindly.

Going-our early friends.

Voices we loved are dumb;

Footsteps grow dim in the morning dew; Fainter the echoes come

Ringing:

Shoulder to shoulder pressed,

Gray-haired veterans strike their tents For the far-off purple WestSinging.

Going this old, old life.

Beautiful world, farewell!

Forest and meadow, river and hill,

Ring ye a loving knell

O'er us!

Coming-a noble life;

Coming-a better land;

Coming-a long, long, nightless day; Coming-the grand, grand

Chorus !

EDWARD A. Jenks.

TOLL, THEN, NO MORE.

'OLL for the dead, toll! toll!

No, no! Ring out, ye bells, ring out and shout!

For the pearly gates they have entered in, And they no more shall sin― Ring out, ye bells, ring! RING!

Toll for the living, toll! toll!

No, no! Ring out, ye bells, ring out and shout! For they do His work 'mid toil and din

They, too, thy goal shall winRing out, ye bells, ring! RING! Toll for the coming, toll! toll!

No, no! Ring out, ye bells, ring out and shout! For 't is theirs to conquer, theirs to win

The final entering in

Ring out, ye bells, ring! RING!

'00 late, too late, was never said

Of morning sun, or bud, or flower:
The light is true to hill and glade,

The rose-bud opens to the hour,
The lark ne'er asks the day to wait;
But man awakes "too late, too late!"
Too late, too late, our anger burns;

The sun goes down before the flame
To gentle words of kindness turns,

And we are scourged with inward shame, To think our breasts have harbored hate, And pride bows down too late, too late!

"Too late, too late!" the poor man cries; He asks his right, the court delays, Till ruin comes in fearful guise.

In vain he pleads, in vain he prays; The law requires too much debate,

And justice comes too late, too late!

"Too late, too late!" who has not said?

The mail has closed-the train is goneThe time has fled-the debt not paid— The aid not sought-the work not done : Neglect makes up life's weary freight, And then we cry, "Too late, too late!" JAMES WESTON.

"What with my brats and sickly wife," Quoth Dick, "I'm almost tired of life; So hard my work, so poor my fare, 'Tis more than mortal man can bear. "How glorious is the rich man's state! His house so fine, his wealth so great! Heaven is unjust, you must agree; Why all to him? Why none to me?

"In spite of what the Scripture teaches,
In spite of all the parson preaches,
This world (indeed I've thought so long)
is ruled, methinks, extremely wrong.
"Where'er I look, howe'er I range,
'Tis all confused and hard and strange;
The good are troubled and oppressed,
And all the wicked are the blessed."

Quoth John, "Our ignorance is the cause
Why thus we blame our Maker's laws;
Parts of His ways alone we know ;
'Tis all that man can see below.

"See'st thou that carpet, not half done, Which thou, dear Dick, hast well begun? Behold the wild confusion there,

So rude the mass it makes one stare!

"A stranger, ignorant of the trade,
Would say, no meaning's there conveyed;
For where's the middle? where's the border?
Thy carpet now is all disorder."

Quoth Dick, "My work is yet in bits,
But still in every part it fits;
Besides, you reason like a lout-
Why, man, that carpet's inside out."

Says John, "Thou say'st the thing I mean,
And now I hope to cure thy spleen;
This world, which clouds thy soul with doubt,
Is but a carpet inside out.

"As when we view these shreds and ends,
We know not what the whole intends;
So, when on earth things look but odd,
They're working still some scheme of God.

"No plan, no pattern, can we trace;
All wants proportion, truth, and grace;
The motley mixture we deride,
Nor see the beauteous upper side.

"But when we reach that world of light,
And view those works of God aright,
Then shall we see the whole design,
And own the workman is divine.

"What now seem random strokes, will there All order and design appear;

Then shall we praise what here we spurned,

For then the carpet shall be turned."

ILY bells! lily bells! swinging and ringing

Sweet golden bells on the still summer air, Are ye calling the birds to their matins of singing,

Summoning nature to worship and prayer?

Lily bells! lily bells! daintily swaying,

Poising your petals like butterflies' wings,

As the breeze murmurs round you, pray, what is he saying?

Is he whispering love-words and soft, pretty things? Lily bells! lily bells! 'mid the long grasses

Gleaming like sunbeams in still shady bower, Have you stolen your gold from the sun as he passes? Are ye guarding your treasure in bud and in flower?

Lily bells! lily bells! bowing and bending,

Are ye nodding a welcome to me as I go?

Do ye know that my heart bears a love never-ending For bright golden lily-bells all in a row?

Lily bells! lily bells! down in the meadows,

As I see your fair forms 'mid the mosses and brake, My heart wanders back to the past, with its shadows, To Christ, and the wise, loving words that He spake. "Consider the lilies"-yes, this was His teaching, "The modest field-lilies that toil not nor spin, Yet even to them is my loving care reaching, My heart takes the feeblest and lowliest in."

Lily bells! lily bells! waving and swinging,
If Jesus, my Master, can watch over you,
I'll go to Him daily, with gladness and singing,
Believing He'll love me and care for me too.

Lily bells! lily bells! bending and swaying,
Ring out your sweet peals on the still summer air;
I would ye might lure all to trusting and praying,
And teach them sweet lessons of God's loving care.

THE WAY TO HEAVEN.

EAVEN is not gained at a single bound;

But we build the ladder by which we rise From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, And we mount to its summit round by round.

I count this thing to be grandly true,

That a noble deed is a step towards God—
Lifting the soul from the common sod
To purer air and broader view.

We rise by things that are 'neath our feet;
By what we have mastered of good and gain;
By the pride deposed and the passion slain,
And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet.
We hope, we aspire, we resolve, we trust,

When the morning calls us to life and light, But our hearts grow weary, and, ere the night Our lives are trailing the sordid dust.

We hope, we resolve, we aspire, we pray,

And we think that we mount the air on wings
Beyond the recall of sensual things,
While our feet still cling to the heavy clay.

Wings for the angels, but feet for the men:

We may borrow the wings to find the way— We may hope and resolve and aspire and pray, But our feet must rise, or we fall again.

Only in dreams is a ladder thrown

From the weary earth to the sapphire walls; But the dreams depart, and the vision falls, And the sleeper wakes on his pillow of stone. Heaven is not reached at a single bound;

But we build the ladder by which we rise From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, And we mount to its summit round by round. Josiah Gilbert Holland.

THREE WORDS OF STRENGTH.

HERE are three lessons I would writeThree words, as with a burning pen, In tracings of eternal light,

Upon the hearts of men.

Have hope. Though clouds environ round, And gladness hides her face in scorn,

Put off the shadow from thy brow-
No night but hath its morn.

Have faith. Where'er thy bark is driven-
The calm's disport, the tempest's mirth-
Know this: God rules the hosts of heaven,
The inhabitants of earth.

Have love. Not love alone for one;

But man, as man, thy brother call; And scatter, like the circling sun, Thy charities on all.

Thus grave these lessons on thy soul—

Hope, faith, and love—and thou shalt find Strength when life's surges rudest roll, Light when thou else wert blind.

FREDERICK SCHILLER

THE NAUTILUS AND THE AMMONITE.

HE nautilus and the ammonite

Were launched in friendly strife;
Each sent to float, in its tiny boat,
On the wild, wild sea of life.
For each could swim on the ocean's brim,
And when wearied its sail could furl,
And sink to sleep in the great sea-deep,
In its palace all of pearl.

And theirs was a bliss more fair than this
Which we taste in our colder clime;
For they were rife in tropic life-

A brighter and better clime.

They swam 'mid isles whose summer smiles

Were dimmed by no alloy;

Whose groves were palm, whose air was balm,
And life-one only joy!

They sailed all day through creek and bay,
And traversed the ocean deep;
And at night they sank on a coral bank,
In its fairy bowers to sleep.
And the monsters vast of ages past

They beheld in their ocean-caves ;
They saw them ride in their power and pride,
And sink in their deep sea-graves.

And hand in hand, from strand to strand,
They sailed in mirth and glee;
These fairy shells, with their crystal cells,
Twin sisters of the sea.

And they came at last to a sea long past,
But as they reached its shore,
The Almighty's breath spoke out in death,
And the ammonite lived no more.

So the nautilus now, in its shelly prow,
As over the deep it strays,
Still seems to seek, in bay and creek
Its companion of other days.