ONLY

ONLY.

NLY a word for the Master,
Lovingly, quietly said.
Only a word,

Yet the Master heard,

And some fainting hearts were fed.

Only a look of remonstrance,
Sorrowful, gentle, and deep.
Only a look!

Yet the strong man shook,
And he went alone to weep.

Only some act of devotion,
Willingly, joyfully done.

"Surely 'twas naught!"

So the proud world thought,

But yet souls for Christ were won.

Only an hour with the children,
Pleasantly, cheerfully given.

Yet seed was sown

In that hour alone

Which would bring forth fruit for heaven!

"Only "--but Jesus is looking,

Constantly, tenderly down

To earth, and sees

Those who strive to please;

And their love He loves to crown.

CHARLOTTE MURRAY.

THE ANGEL OF PATIENCE.

DE the toilsome way,

BESIDE

Lonely and dark, by fruits and
flowers unblest,

Which my worn feet tread sadly, day by day
Longing in vain for rest,

An angel softly walks,

With pale, sweet face, and eyes cast meekly down, The while from withered leaves and flowerless stalks She weaves my fitting crown.

A sweet and patient grace,

A look of firm endurance, true and tried,
Of suffering meekly borne, rests on her face,
So pure-so glorified.

And when my fainting heart

Desponds and murmurs at its adverse fate,
Then quietly the angel's bright lips part,
Murmuring softly "Wait!"

"Patience!" she sweetly saith

Thy father's mercies never come too late,

Gird thee with patience, strength, and trusting faith And firm endurance-wait!"

Angel! behold, I wait,

Wearing the thorny crown through all life's hours,— Wait till thy hand shall ope the eternal gate,

And change the thorns to flowers!

TWENTY-ONE.

G

ROWN to man's stature! O my little child! My bird that sought the skies so long ago! My fair, sweet blossom, pure and undefiled, How have the years flown since we laid thee low!

What have they been to thee? If thou were here
Standing beside thy brothers, tall and fair,
With bearded lip and dark eyes shining clear,
And glints of summer sunshine in thy hair,

I should look up into thy face and say,

Wavering, perhaps, between a tear and smile, "O my sweet son, thou art a man to-day;"

16

And thou would stoop to kiss my lips the while.

But-up in Heaven-how is it with thee, dear?

Art thou a man-to man's full stature grown? Dost thou count time as we do, year by year

?

And what of all earth's changes hast thou known?

Thou hast not learned to love me. Didst thou take Any small germ of love to Heaven with thee That thou hast watched and nurtured for my sake, Waiting till I its perfect flower may see?

What is it to have lived in Heaven always?
To have no memory of pain or sin?

Ne'er to have known in all the calm, bright days,
The jar and fret of earth's discordant din?

Thy brothers-they are mortal-they must tread Ofttimes in rough, hard ways, with bleeding feet; Must fight with dragons, must bewail their dead, And fierce Apollyon face to face must meet.

I, who would give my very life for theirs,

I cannot save them from earth's pain or loss; I cannot shield them from its griefs or cares; Each human heart must bear alone its cross!

Was God, then, kinder unto thee than them,
O thou whose little life was but a span?
Ah, think it not! In all His diadem

No star shines brighter than the kingly man.

Who nobly earns whatever crown he wears,

Who grandly conquers or as grandly dies
And the white banner of his manhood bears,
Through all the years uplifted to the skies!

What lofty peans shall the victor greet!
What crown resplendent for his brow be fit!
O child, if earthly life be bitter sweet,

Hast thou not something missed in missing it?
JULIA C. R. DORR

DEATH AND LIFE.

HE brown leaves rustle under our tread;

THE

The Aster of latest bloom lies dead;

While the Golden-rod, with feathery spray,
Teaches that autumn has passed away;

That winter sits throned in royal mien,
Ruling dun meadows that late were green.

One by one to the grave are borne-
The youthful and gay, the aged and worn.

Day by day the grain and the leaves
Are gathered into the heavenly sheaves.

Silent and cold sink the shadows gray,
Over brain and heart as they pass away.

The rivers shall break their icy chain,
The meadows rejoice in greenness again;

And the waxing year in its course will bring,
Blossom and leaf, to mark the spring;

While the wood robin's song through the leafy maze,
Sounds liquid and clear, a carol of praise.

He, at whose bidding the seasons bloom,
Will break the seal He has set to the tomb;

The winter of death will give place to life's spring, When the ransomed ones enter the courts of their king,

And walk by the river, that flows where the light is dimmed by no winter; where death cannot blight.