Then let us wait the coming light

All bodeless phantoms scorning;
And while we're passing on the tide
Of time's fast-ebbing river,
Let's pluck the blossoms by its side,
And bless the gracious Giver-
As life is sometimes bright and fair,
And sometimes dark and lonely,
We should forget its pain and care,
And note its bright hours only.

CREEDS.

HERE is a creed whose pure and gentle teaching

THERE

Will save the heart from error and from sin,

With gentle, loving words, it striveth ever
The erring one from Vice's path to win.
Simple and plain are all its blessed lessons,
The child may learn them at its mother's side
When its first prayer in innocence ariseth
From the low couch, at quiet eventide.

We need not seek the lofty, proud cathedral,
Or storied columns of some minster old,

Where the soft light through painted windows gleaming,
Deck shrine and altar with its burnished gold.
The peasant boy mav learn it on the hill side,
Though all untaught in wealth of classic lore,

And labor's sons may con its holy lessons,
Resting from toil beside the cottage-door.

No learned divine with skillful art hath framed it,
And bound its pages in a mystic tome;

Nor is it taught alone by church and synod,

Where men for worship rear the hallowed stone. Where was it taught? What are its blessed pre cepts ?

What voice of power first gave them to the world? Were they proclaimed within the princely palace, With gorgeous rites, and triumph flags unfurled?

Long years ago, 'neath Olivet's green shadows,
Where fair Judea's plains in beauty lie,

Where Kedron's silvery brook winds through the valley,

And Sharon's palms wave 'neath a sunny sky-
A voice was heard whose kind and gentle accents
Spake of a love to man before unknown,
A love which sought the humble and the lowly,
And saved the outcast and the friendless one.

And deeds of power attested His high mission,
He spake as man had never spoke before,
And gently led the erring back to duty,

Condemned them not, but said: "Go, sin no more."
The creed He taught was, "Man is still thy brother,
Low and degraded though his lot may be;
God cares for all; if thou would'st be a Christian,
In every man a brother thou must see.

"As thou dost love thyself, so love thy neighbor,
In all his sorrows ever bear a part;
Seek not to worship God by outward homage,
But bring to Him a pure and willing heart.

Vain are thy prayers, and vain the costly offering
If thy heart's altar is profaned by sin,
If passion unsubdued, if hate or malice
Blend with thy gifts, no favor can they win."

AT

HARVEST HYMN.

T Carmel's mount the prophet laid
His offering on the altar-stone,

And fire descended from the skies,
And round the holy altar shone;
And thus, when spring went smiling past,
Our offerings on the earth were cast,
And God's own blessing has come down,
Our sacrifice of faith to crown.

No conqueror o'er fields has gone,

our

To blast with war our summer bowers,
And stain with blood of woe and guilt
The soil that giveth life to flowers;
But morning dews and evening rains
Have fallen on our beauteous plains,
And earth, through all her realms abroad,
Gives back the image of her God.

Bright with autumn's richest tints,
Each hill lifts up its head on high,
And spreads its fruits and blossoms out,
An offering meet beneath the sky;
And hill, and plain, and vale, and grove,
Join in the sacrifice of love,

And wind, and stream, and lake, and sea,
Lift high their hymns of ecstasy.

It is the festival of earth

The flame of love o'er nature burns,
And to the holy heavens goes up

Like incense from a thousand urns;
And oh let man's impassioned voice,
With nature's self, in song rejoice,
Until the blended notes of love
Ring from the temple arch above.

GEORGE D. PRENTICE.

WAITING FOR EASTER.

HARK! the clarion March wind! its wild, defiant

greeting

Rouses moor and forest, rouses hill and sea—

Stormy as the bugles that call when hosts are meeting, Rich as notes from Alp to Alp when horns make jubilee !

Down the darkening sunset a single star is shining
Lost as clouds drift landward off the ocean dim;
Dreary rise the mountains, against the gray reclining,
Wan as ghosts that silent steal where swells a funeral
hymn.

Hark! the stately chorus! away, my soul's dejection !
Songs of summer warble through the glorious strain;
Every ringing cadence is a blast of resurrection,

Bold as blown by Israfil across some burial plain!

Sturdier stand the maples as past them rolls its pœan; Thrill with joy the elm boughs, swaying light and

free;

Back to dell and garden come dreams of scents Sabean, Back to brook and river tide the splendors of the sea.

"Welcome!" sigh the leaf-buds, though chill its rough caressing;

Hid in snow the crocus lifts a heart of gold;

Mayflower and anemone know well its wrath is blessing, Flushing pink for answer sweet in woodland moss and mold.

Hark! the clarion March wind, its wild, defiant greeting Rouses moor and forest, rouses hill and sea

Stormy as the bugles that call when hosts are meeting, Rich as notes from Alp to Alp when horus make jubilee!

Wind of life, sweep onward; bring a world diviner; Laughing meadows, mountains soft in purple air, Rosier dawns and twilights, suns and moons benigner, All that heaven and earth can give to fashion April fair.

Nay, bring nobler courage; faith that never falters;
Bear our griefs with winter o'er the seas away;
So in hope and gladness, beside our hearths and altars,
We will wait the coming of the blessed Easter Day!
EDNA DEAN PROCTOR.