"Drink but this cup," said the Padre, straight,

"And thou shalt know whose mercy bore

These aching limbs to your heathen door,

And purged my soul of its gross estate.

Drink in His name, and thou shalt see

The hidden depths of this mystery.

Drink!" and he held the cup. One blow

From the heathen dashed to the ground below

The sacred cup that the Padre bore;

And the thirsty soil drank the precious store

Of sacramental and holy wine,

That emblem and consecrated sign

And blessed symbol of blood divine.

Then, says the legend, (and they who doubt

The same as heretics be accurst,)

From the dry and feverish soil leaped out

A living fountain; a well-spring burst

Over the dusty and broad champaign,

Over the sandy and sterile plain,

Till the granite ribs and the milk-white stones

That lay in the valley — the scattered bones —

Moved in the river and lived again!

Such was the wonderful miracle

Wrought by the cup of wine that fell

From the hands of the pious Padre Serro,

The very reverend Junipero.

Warms on St. Elias' cone;

Polar dock, where Nature slips
From the ways her icy ships;

Land of fox and deer and sable,

Trip it, all ye merry dancers,

In the airiest of lancers;

Slide, ye solemn glaciers, slide,

One inch farther to the tide,

Nor in rash precipitation

Upset Tyndall's calculation.

Know you not what fate awaits you,

Or to whom the future mates you?

All ye icebergs make salaam,

You belong to Uncle Sam !

On the spot where Eugene Sue

Led his wretched Wandering Jew,

Stands a form whose features strike

Russ and Esquimaux alike.

He it is whom Skalds of old

In their Runic rhymes foretold;

H