I count this thing to be grandly true:
That a noble deed is a step toward God,
Lifting the soul from the common clod
To a purer air and a broader view.

We rise by the things that are under 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 reach of sensual things,
While our feet still cling to the heavy clay.

Wings for the angel, but feet for 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 wills; But the dreams depart, and the vision falls, And the sleeper wakes on his pillow of stone.

Heaven is not reached by 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.

THE DAY'S DEMAND.

God give us men. A time like this demands

Strong minds, great hearts, true faith and ready hands;

Men whom the lust of office does not kill;

Men whom the spoils of office cannot buy;

Men who possess opinions and a will;

Men who have honor; men who will not lie;
Men who can stand before a demagogue

And damn his treacherous flatteries without winking;
Tall men, sun crowned, who live above the fog,

In public duty and in private thinking.

For while the rabble, with their thumbworn creeds,
Their large professions and their little deeds,
Mingle in selfish strife, lo! Freedom weeps,
Wrong rules the land, and waiting Justice sleeps.

TO MY DOG BLANCO.

My dear, dumb friend, low lying there,
A willing vassal at my feet,
Glad partner of my home and fare,
My shadow in the street.

I look into your great brown eyes,
Where love and loyal homage shine,
And wonder where the difference lies
Between your soul and mine.

For all of good that I have found,
Within myself or human kind,
Hath royally informed and crowned
Your gentle heart and mind.

I scan the whole broad earth around

For that one heart, which, leal and true,
Bears friendship without end or bound,
And find the prize in you.

I trust you as I trust the stars;

Nor cruel loss, nor scoff, nor pride,

Nor beggary, nor dungeon bars,
Can move you from my side.

As patient under injury

As any Christian saint of old,
As gentle as a lamb with me,
But with your brothers bold;

More playful than a frolic boy,
More watchful than a sentinel,
By day and night your constant joy
To guard and please me well.

I clasp your head upon my breast

The while you whine and lick my hand.
And thus our friendship is confessed,
And thus we understand.

Ah, Blanco! Did I worship God
As truly as you worship me,
Or follow where my master trod
With your humility.

Did I sit fondly at His feet

As you, dear Blanco, sit at mine,
And watch Him with a love as sweeet,
My life would grow divine.

OLLEY,

MARIETTA (" JOSIAH

ALLEN'S

WIFE"), an American humorist and poet; born near Adams, Jefferson County, N. Y., in 1844. At a very early age she began to write short sketches and poems; which, under the pseudonym

Jemyma," appeared first in an Adams newspaper, and later in Peterson's Magazine. While writing for Peterson she adopted the name by which she afterward became so well known to the literary public. It was during the early days of her literary "apprenticeship that the Christian Union spoke of one of her short metrical contributions as "a sweet little poem." Her early verses appeared also in the Independent, and in other periodicals, and generally went the rounds of