Longing is God's fresh heavenward will With our poor earthly striving; We quench it, that we may be still Content with merely living. But would we learn that heart's full scope Oh! let us hope that, to our praise When we were simply good in thought, -James Russell Lowell. Honest Poverty. IS there for honest poverty Our toils' obscure, and a' that; What though on hamely fare we dine Wear hodden gray, and a' that; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, A man's a man for a' that! For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, and a' that, The honest man, though e'er sae poor, You see yon birkie ca'd a lord, Wha struts and stares, and a' that, Though hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that; For a' that, and a' that, His riband, sta' and a' that; A king can make a belted knight, Their dignities, and a' that; Then let us pray that come it may, That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth It's coming yet, for a' that- 'WAS growin' dark so terrible fasht, 'TW Paddy's Excelsior. Whin through a town up the mountain there pashed A broth of a boy, to his neck in the shnow; As he walked, his shillaleh he swung to and fro, He looked mortal sad, and his eye was as bright Through the windows he saw, as he thraveled along, And then if it falls, it's not meself it'll crush, Be jabbers!" "Whisht a bit," said an owld man, whose hair was white A bright, buxom young girl, such as likes to be kissed, While shmiling upon her, he made this reply THE HE heart of man, walk it which way it will, Sequestered or frequented, smooth or rough, Down the deep valley amongst tinkling flocks, Or 'mid the clang of trumpets and the march Of clattering ordnance, still must have its halt, Its hour of truce, its instant of repose, Gradation. As for his life the victim pleaded. A hawk surprised him at his meal "What crime, Sir Hawk, have I committed ?" "Peace," quoth the captor; "you must die, For you are not so strong as I." Down swooped an eagle, who had spied With grim delight the state of matters; "Release me, king," the victim cried, "You tear my very flesh to tatters." "Nay," quoth the eagle, "you must die, For you are not so strong as I." A bullet whistled at the word, And struck him ere his feast was ended; "Ah, tyrant!" shrieked the dying bird, "To murder him who ne'er offended!" "Oh," quoth the sportsman, "you must die, For you are not so strong as I." --Anonymous. WH Ungranted. HERE do they go to-the ungranted prayers, The baffled hope, lost love, and wasted yearning; The sweet, vain dreams, the patient slighted cares, Are they stored up in some great solemn bank, As the rich hues, that in the westward sank, Or do they, blended in a gracious breath, Who knows, who knows? Our darlings from us glide; Through age on age, so priest and poet saith, Cling fast, fond hands; look up, true eyes to heaven; Through dusk and doubt hold to the saving faith! -Anonymous. IN The Fire-Fiend. 'N the deepest dearth of midnight, while the sad and solemn swell Still was floating, faintly echoed from the Forest chapel bell Fainting, falteringly floating o'er the sable waves of air That were through the midnight rolling, chafed and billowy with the tolling In my chamber I lay dreaming by the firelight's fitful gleaming, And my dreams were dreams foreshadowed on a heart fore-doomed to care! How I revel on the prairie! How I roar among the pines! How I laugh when from the village o'er the snow the red flame shines, And I hear the shrieks of terror, with a life in every breath! How I scream with lambent laughter as I hurl each crackling rafter [higher! Down the fell abyss of fire, until higher! higher! Leap the high priests of my altar in their merry dance of death! "I am monarch of the fire! I am vassal-king of death! World-encircling, with the shadow of its doom upon my breath! With the symbol of hereafter flaming from my fatal face! I command the eternal fire! Higher! higher! higher! higher! Leap my ministering demons, like phantasmagoric lemans Hugging universal nature in their hideous embrace!" Then a somber silence shut me in a solemn, shrouded sleep, And I slumbered, like an infant in the "Cradle of the Deep," Till the belfry in the forest quivered with the matin stroke, And the martins, from the edges of its lichen-lidded ledges, Shimmered through the russet arches where the light in torn files marches, Like a routed army struggling through the serried ranks of oak. Through my ivy casement filtered in a tremulous note From the tall and stately linden where a robin swelled his throat: Querulous, quaker-crested robin, calling quaintly for his mate! Then I started up, unbidden, from my slumber night mare ridden, With the memory of that dire demon in my central fire, On my eye's interior mirror like the shadow of a fate! As the last long lingering echo of the midnight's mys tic chime Lifting through the sable billows to the thither shore of time Leaving on the starless silence not a token nor a trace, In a quivering sigh departed; from my couch in fear I started: Started to my feet in terror, for my dreams phantasmal error Painted in the fitful fire, a frightful, fiendish, flaming face! On the red hearth's reddest center, from a blazing knot of oak, 27 Seemed to gibe and grin this phantom when in terror I awoke, And my slumberous eyelids straining, as I staggered to the floor, Still in that dread vision seeming, turned my gaze toward the gleaming Hearth, and-there!-oh, God! I saw it! and from out its flaming jaw it Spat a ceaseless, seething, hissing, bubbling, gurgling stream of gore! Speechless, struck with stony silence, frozen to the floor I stood, Till methought the brain was hissing with that hissing, bubbling blood: Till I felt my life-stream oozing, oozing from those lambent lips: Till the demon seemed to name me: then a wondrous calm o'ercame me, And my brow grew cold and dewy, with a death damp stiff and gluey, And I fell back on my pillow in apparent soul eclipse! Then, as in death's seeming shadow, in the icy pall of fear I lay stricken, came a hoarse and hideous murmur to my ear! Came a murmur like the murmur of assassins in their sleep: Muttering, "Higher! higher! higher! I am demon of the fire! I am arch-fiend of the fire! and each blazing roof's my pyre. And my sweetest incense is the blood and tears my victims weep! Ah! the fiendish fire had smoldered to a white and formless heap And no knot of oak was flaming as it flamed upon my sleep; [shone, But around its very center where the demon's face had Forked shadows seemed to linger, pointing as with a spectral finger To a Bible, massive golden, on a table carved and olden And I bowed and said, "All power is of God, of God alone." -C. D Gardette. |