But a strong wind carried away his hat; As he entered heaven his suit of gray Next came Dr. Watts, with a bundle of psalms And hymns as many, a very wise thing; But I thought that he heaved an anxious sigh, And after him, with his MSS., And there on the river far and wide, And the saint, astonished, passed through alone, Then, gravely walking, two saints by name "And I really think it will hardly do, As I'm 'close communion,' to cross with you, Then straightway plunging with all his might, Apart they went from this world of sin, A Presbyterian Church went down; And concerning the road they could never agree Nor ever a moment paused to think And a sound of murmuring, long and loud, But the brethren only seemed to speak : I watched them long in my curious dream, No forms of crosses or books had they; WE E live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths; We could count time by heart-throbs. He most lives Lives in one hour more than in years do some Ο VER the river they beckon to me, Over The River. Loved ones who crossed to the other side; The gleam of their snowy robes I see, But their voices are drowned by the rushing tide. There's one with ringlets of sunny gold, And eyes the reflection of heaven's own blue; And the pale mist hid him from mortal view. My brother stands, waiting to welcome me. Over the river the boatman pale Carried another, the household pet; Her brown curls waved in the gentle galeDarling Minnie! I see her yet! She closed on her bosom her dimpled hands, And fearlessly entered the phantom bark; We watched it glide from the silver sands, And all our sunshine grew strangely dark; We know she is safe on the further side, Where all the ransomed and angels beOver the river, the mystic river, My childhood's idol is waiting for me. For none return from those quiet shores, And catch a gleam of the snowy sail; That hides from our vision the gates of day; I shall one day stand by the water cold I shall pass from sight with the boatman pale, I shall know the loved who have gone before, -Nancy Priest Wakefield. O Only Waiting. [A very old man in an alms-house was asked what he was doing now. He replied, "Only Waiting."] NLY waiting till the shadows Are a little longer grown; Only waiting till the glimmer Of the day's last beam is flown; Till the night of earth is faded From the heart once full of day; Till the dawn of heaven is breaking Through the twilight, soft and gray. Only waiting till the reapers Have the last sheaf gathered home; For the summer-time is faded, And the autumn winds have come, Quickly, reapers, gather quickly The last ripe hours of my heart, For the bloom of life is withered, And I hasten to depart. Only waiting till the angels Open wide the mystic gate, And their voices far away; Are a little longer grown; Of the day's last beam is flown; Then from out the gathered darkness, Holy deathless stars shall rise, By whose light my soul shall gladly Tread its pathway to the skies. -Francis Leighton Mace. I I Would Not Live Akway. WOULD not live alway: I ask not to stay I would not live alway, thus fettered by sin, I would not live alway, no, welcome the tomb; When the sunrise of glory shall burst on my sight, Who, who would live alway, away from his God, And the noontide of glory eternally reigns; That heavenly music! what is it I hear? INT A Dream of the Universe. NTO the great vestibule of heaven, God called up a man from dreams, saying, "Come thou hither, and see the glory of my house." And, to the servants who stood around His throne He said, "Take him, and undress him from his robes of flesh; cleanse his vision, and put a new breath into his nostrils; only touch not with any change his human heart-the heart that weeps and trembles." It was done; and, with a mighty angel for his guide, the man stood ready for his infinite voyage; and from the terraces of heaven, without sound or farewell, at once they wheeled away into endless space. Sometimes, with solemn flight of angel wings, they fled through Saharas of darkness-through wildernesses of death, that divided the world of life; sometimes they swept over frontiers that were quickening under the prophetic motions from God. Then, from a distance that is counted only in heaven, light dawned for a time through a sleepy film; by unutterable pace the light swept to them; they by unutterable pace to the light. In a moment, the rushing of planets was upon them; in a moment, the blazing of suns was around them. Then came eternities of twilight, that revealed, but were not revealed. On the right hand and on the left towered mighty constellations, that by self-repetition and answers from afarthat by counter-positions, built up triumphal gates, whose architraves, whose archways-hori zontal, upright-rested, rose-at altitudes by spans that seemed ghostly from infinitude. Without measure were the architraves, past number were the archways, beyond memory the gates. Within were stairs that scaled the eternities below; above was below-below was above, to the man stripped of gravitating body; depth was swallowed up in height insurmountable; height was swallowed up in depth unfathomable. Suddenly, as thus they rode from infinite to infinite; suddenly, as thus they tilted over abyssmal worlds, a mighty cry arose that systems more mysterious, that worlds more billowy, other heights and other depths were comingwere nearing-were at hand. Then the man sighed, and stopped, and shuddered, and wept. His overladen heart uttered itself in tears; and he said, "Angel, I will go no farther; for the spirit of man acheth with this infinity. Insufferable is the glory of God. Let me lie down in the grave, and hide me from the persecutions of the Infinite; for end, I see, there is none." And from all the listening stars that shone around, issued a choral cry, "The man speaks truly; end there is none that ever yet we heard of." "End is there none?" the angel solemnly demanded: "Is there indeed no end, and is this the sorrow that kills you?" But no voice answered that he might answer himself. Then the angei threw up his glorious hands toward the heaven of heavens, saying, "End is there none to the universe of God! Lo, also there is no beginning!" -Jean Paul Richter. The Problem. Not from a vain or shallow thought Know'st thou what wove yon woodbird's nest, Or how the fish outbuild her shell, These temples grew as grows the grass; To the vast Soul that o'er him planned; |