Why rear it?-the Shah had promised His beautiful Nourmahal To do it because he loved her, So minaret, wall, and column, A grander than Hindoo shrine, That the pile in its finished glory The lapse of the silent Kedron, And cedars are round it there. And graved on its walls and pillars, And cut in its crystal stone, Are the words of our Prophet, sweeter Its Architect understands; He is willing that great and small Not one does the Master-Builder Why, even He takes the chippings, Oh, not to the dead-to the living- This fane to His lasting glory, This church to the Christ of God! Why labor and strive? We have promised For over the Church's portal, DIFFERENT MINDS. OME murmur when their sky is clear If one small speck of dark appear If but one streak of light, One ray of God's good mercy, gild In palaces are hearts that ask, And all good things denied, RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH. 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 afar, that by counter-positions, built up triumphal gates, whose architraves, whose archways-horizontal, 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 abysmal worlds, a mighty cry arose that systems more mysterious, that worlds more billowy, other heights and other depths, were coming-were 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 angel 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 HOUR OF DEATH. EAVES have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, And stars to set-but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh death! Day is for mortal care, Eve for glad meetings round the joyous hearth, The banquet hath its hour, Its feverish hour of mirth, and song, and wine; Youth and the opening rose May look like things too glorious for decay, And smile at thee-but thou art not of those That wait the ripened bloom to seize their prey. Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh death! We know when moons shall wane, Is it when spring's first gale E was of that stubborn crew Of arrant saints, whom all men grant And prove their doctrine orthodox SAMUEL BUTLER CREATIVE POWER HE spacious firmament on high, And spangled heavens, a shining frame, The unwearied sun, from day to day, Do s his Creator's power display, And publishes to every land The work of an Almighty hand. Soon as the evening shades prevail, The moon takes up the wondrous tale, And nightly to the listening earth Repeats the story of her birth; While all the stars that round her burn, And all the planets in their turn, Confirm the tidings as they roll, And spread the truth from pole to pole. What though, in solemn silence, all Move round the dark terrestrial ball? What though no real voice or sound Amid their radiant orbs be found? In reason's ear they all rejoice, And utter forth a glorious voice, Forever singing, as they shine, "The Hand that made us is divine!" JOSEPH ADDISON. NO SECTS IN HEAVEN. ALKING of sects till late one eve, But the aged father did not mind; Im bound for heaven; and when I'm there, I saw him again on the other side, Then down to the river a Quaker strayed; Then he buttoned his coat straight up to his chin, And his broad-brimmed hat he pulled down tight, Over his forehead so cold and white. But a strong wind carried away his hat; A moment he silently sighed over that; And then, as he gazed to the further shore, 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, Came Wesley, the pattern of godliness; And there on the river far and wide, Then, gravely walking, two saints by name "Sprinkled or plunged? may I ask you, friend, As I'm close communion,' to cross with you; Then straightway plunging with all his might, And now, when the river was rolling on, Of women there seemed an innumerable throng, And concerning the road, they could never agree, 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 or crosses or books had they; HE minister said last night, says he, If your life ain't nothin' to other folks I tell you our minister's prime, he is, Of course, there could be no mistake, And the minister he went on to say, I don't think much of a man that gives I guess that dose was bitter For a man like Jones to swaller ;. But I noticed he didn't open his mouth. No. once, after that, to holler. Hurrah! says I, for the minister Of course, I said it quietGive us some more of this open talk; It's very refreshin' diet. The minister hit 'em every time; And when he spoke of fashion, And a-comin' to church to see the styles, And a-nudgin' my wife, and, says I, "That's you,' And I guess it sot her thinkin'. Says I to myself, that sermon's pat; But man is a queer creation; And I'm much afraid that most o' the folks Now, if he had said a word about My personal mode o' sinnin', Just then the minister says, says he, Go home," says he, "and find your faults, My wife, she nudged, and Brown he winked And lots o' lookin' at our pew; Says I to myself, our minister Is gettin' a little bitter; I'll tell him when meetin's out that I That was your work; you'd naught at all to do with wind and rain, And no doubt but that you will reap rich fields of golden grain; For there's a Heart, and there's a Hand, we feel, but cannot see We've always been provided for, and we shall always be." "That's like a woman's reasoning-we must, because we must." She softly said: "I reason not, I only work and trust; The harvest may redeem the day-keep heart, whate'er betide, When one door shuts, I've always seen another open wide. There is a Heart, there is a Hand, we feel, but cannot see; We've always been provided for, and we shall always be." He kissed the calm and trustful face, gone was his restless pain. She heard him with a cheerful step go whistling down the lane. And when about her household tasks, full of a glad content, Singing, to time her busy hands, as to and fro she went "There is a Heart, there is a Hand, we feel, but cannot sees We've always been provided for, and we shall always be." Days come and go-'twas Christmas tide, and the great fire burned clear. The farmer said: "Dear wife, it's been a good and happy year; The fruit was gain, the surplus corn has bought the hay, you know." She lifted then a smiling face, and said: "I told you so! For there's a Heart, and there's a Hand, we feel, but cannot see; We've always been provided for, and we shall always be." MERCY. 'HE quality of mercy is not strained; It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, It is an attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then show likest God's WILLIAM SHakespeare. LAST HYMN. KNOW not what awaits me, Where He may lead I'll follow, My trust in Him repose, I'll sing "He knows, He knows." One step i see before me; 'Tis all i need to see; The light of heaven more brightly shines When earth's illusions flee, And sweetly through the silence comes blissful lack of wisdom, He holds me with His own right hand, And lulls my troubled soul to rest So on I go, no' knowing, I would not if I might; I'd rather walk in the dark with God I'd rather walk by faith with Him MART G. BRAINARIN A FATHER READING THE BIBLE. WAS early day, and sunlight streamed Soft through a quiet room, That hushed, but not forsaken. seemed, Still, but with nought of gloom. For there, serene in happy age, Whose hope is from above, A father communed with the page Of Heaven's recorded love. Pure fell the beam, and meekly bright, On his gray holy hair, And touched the page with tenderes light As if its shrine were there! |