God of Ages.

GOD of Ages, by whose might,
Worlds are made to shade and light,
To Thy royal golden Keep,

Guide me safely o'er the deep.

Law of Ages, in whose hand,

Stars are made and worlds are planned,
To Thy spacious flowery Keep,
Bring me safely o'er the deep.

Life of Ages, breadth of time,
Worlds Thy empire, Light divine,
To Thy central holy Keep,

Lead me safely o'er the deep.

Rule of Ages, at whose call,
Endless worlds around Thee roll,

To that far-off stellar Keep

Bear me safely o'er the deep.

Home.

THERE'S a Home in the Dome of the Skies,
Its Temple the light of the stars;
'Tis a bourne where a life never dies,
And a glory that time never mars.

And we see through a vista of Worlds,
That roll on around the great Dome;
The fountains, the flowers and the pearls,
Which environ that beautiful Home.

Its verdure and breezes are sweet

As petals, when flowers unfold;

And its mountains with gems at their

feet,

Are brilliant in purple and gold.

Ringing there are the chimes of the

spheres,

In concert with millions of tongues; And there is the Christ, and the seers, And martyrs, in dazzling crowns.

And there are the Heroes of peace;
Of mercy, of justice and truth;
There too are the children of grace,
In concord with love-lighted youth.

Creative Forces.

As the united poles of the electromagnet evolve illuminated energy, so does the union of the poetic with reasoning forces evolve creative energy in the human brain. And this creative principle or attribute is the feature in which man most resembles his Creator, as seen in such characters as those of Tycho Brahe, Kepler, Copernicus, Columbus, Gutenburg, Shakespeare, Howard, Stephenson, Leverrier, Fulton, Morse, Livingston, Clark, Edison, Stowe, and

Stanley, whose lives have been devoted to the arts and truths of civilization.

In contrast with these, we find the keen, calculating Shylock, or money changer, down in his bags; the sagacious savage lodged in his tepee, and the cowardly wolf in his lair, to-day, as a thousand years ago; and they are to-day, as then, ambushed for another's blood, neither having sensed a grace or generous impulse, nor felt the sacred glow of creative power, at whose magic touch the shapeless rock takes classic form in lofty arch and stately hall.

The mountains charmed, bring forth their gems and hidden gold; the desert dons the gala dress of garden, lawns, and fields of golden grain. The valley holds the home of letters, arts, and floral culture; the forests bow and disappear.

The waves recede and cities usurp the domain of both desert and sea. The seething train springs from rocky depths, leaps the flood and dashes away from the winds; and great palaces, like constellations, course the foaming crests of every

ocean wave.

And we see the creative man bridging and mapping the skies from the domes of gilded temples. We see him surveying the universe from the dizzy crest of the highest star, and scanning the home of the Most High, as if aspiring to the grandeur of the Deity. And we see him, as we seem to see the angels, in love's bright sunlight, and in deeds of unselfish charity.