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O, never despair! for our hopes, oftentime, Spring swiftly, as flowers in some tropical clime, Where the spot that was barren and scentless at night

Is blooming and fragrant at morning's first light! The mariner marks, when the tempest rings loud, That the rainbow is brighter, the darker the cloud; Then, up! up!-never despair!

The leaves which the sibyl presented of old, Though lessened in number, were not worth less gold;

And though Fate steal our joys, do not think they're the best,

The few she has spared may be worth all the rest. Good fortune oft comes in adversity's form, And the rainbow is brightest when darkest the storm;

Then, up! up!—never despair!

And when all creation was sunk in the flood, Sublime o'er the deluge the patriarch stood! Though destruction around him in thunder was hurled,

Undaunted he looked on the wreck of the world! For, high o'er the ruin, hung Hope's blessed


The rainbow beamed bright through the gloom of

the storm

Then, up! up!—never despair!



Emir Hassan, of the prophet's race,
Asked, with folded hands, the Almighty's grace;
Then within the banquet-hall he sat,
At his meal, upon the embroidered mat.

There a slave before him placed the food,
Spilling from the charger, as he stood,
Awkwardly upon the Emir's breast,
Drops that foully stained the silken vest.

To the floor, in great remorse and dread,
Fell the slave, and thus, beseeching, said:
"Master, they who hasten to restrain
Rising wrath, in paradise shall reign.”

Gentle was the answer Hassan gave: "I'm not angry."-"Yet," pursued the slave, "Yet doth higher recompense belong To the injured who forgives a wrong."

"I forgive," said Hassan. "Yet we read,"So the prostrate slave went on to plead,"That a higher seat in glory still

Waits the man who renders good for ill."—

"Slave, receive thy freedom, and behold
In thy hand I lay a purse of gold,

Let me never fail to heed, in aught,
What the prophet of our God hath taught."


I find it in the garden path,
Its little crown half full
Of white flowers; where's the rogue
Who dared my roses pull?

I find it on the roadside there,
The flowers tossed away,

And in the crown, packed carefully,
A load of stones and clay.

I find it in the daisied field,
Or hidden in the clover,
Inspected by the wandering bees,
And crawled by insects over.
I find it on the old barn floor,
Or in the manger resting,
Or swinging from the beams above,
Where cooing doves are nesting.

I find it 'neath my busy feet
Upon the kitchen floor,
Or lying midway up the stairs,
Or by my chamber door.

I find it in, I find it out,

'Neath table, lounge, or chair, The little shabby brimless thing, I find it everywhere

But on the curly, golden pate
For which alone 'twas meant,
That little restless, sunny head,
On mischief always bent.
Oh! baby boy, this problem solve,

And tell me, darling, whether Your roguish pate and this old hat Were ever seen together?




(In The Chicago Post.)

you are mine, and I am thine,

As says the godlike elf,

Then all that's thine, of course, is mine, And so I get myself.

And all that's mine is thine as well,
So, as you've said you're mine,
Why, any one can straightway tell
That both of us are thine.

Thus you have two and I have two,
(Each two, please note, the same.)
So, tell me, what did Cupid do
When he at us took aim?

You get yourself, of course, with me;
Then all you get restore;

But still you've two, so we must be
No less, combined, than four.

Thus we are four, but will be one,
And were before but two!
Positions I'd exchange with none-
But what did Cupid do?

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