earth, the terse mandate of God falls loud and clear upon the race, "THOU SHALT NOT." And who can depict the terrors that gather about and haunt the guilty wretch who violates the prohibition goad and haunt him to his dying hour, even if swift destruction does not overtake him at the hands of the law. A fugitive and a vagabond, pursued through the earth by the sleepless and relentless Nemesis of vengeance, scourged by the scorpion lash of conscience, pale and wasted and haggard, he drags himself onward to a premature grave, or invokes the suicide's doom. Thus does the everlasting MUST confront the transgressor at every turn. And as it is with individuals, so it is with nations. The track of centuries is strewn with the memorials of Jehovah's tremendous judgments upon States and Empires that would not obey his law "The wicked shall be turned into hell, and all the NATIONS that forget God," is the record which six thousand years have confirmed. "The mills of the gods. grind slowly," but sooner or later retribution, resistless and appalling, closes the career of national injustice and wrong. So it has been in the past, so it is now, and so it will ever be. Mercy, forbearance, entreaty, persuasion, are tried firstthe light of reason, the warnings of experience, the monitions of Providence are given to avert the impending blow. Truth and virtue, justice and freedom, are inscribed upon the banners beneath which the God of History would lead the nations to the millennial day. My Mother's a beautiful spirit, and her home is the Holy Evangel's; weary. Years ago, in the bud of my being, I knew her a radiant mortal, But the house of her soul decayed, and she fled from the crumbling mansion, And over the sea of eternity, bridged by the hands of angels, Uniting the links of belief with the golden chain of repentance, She passed, with the torch of prayer, to the opposite shore in safety, Where, tasting its Lethean waters, all the joys of the world were forgotten, While the zephyrs of Paradise played and toyed with the delicate branches, Of the flowers she had left in the desert, -her weary and sorrowing children. in their half-open leaflets she reads the pledge of her glorious mission, And rejoiced that her love should gather those earthly buds to her bosom. the angels beheld her in gladness rise up on those radiant pinions Which float on the air like a sunbeam, and rival the dove in their fleetness. , my mother's a beautiful spirit, and her home is the holy Evangel's; but she comes on her soft-floating pinions to look for her earth-bound children. Si comes, and the hearts that were weary no longer remember their sorrow In their joy that the lost is returned, our beloved and radiant mother! And twined o'er her radient brow are the amaranth-blossoms of heaven. She smiles, and the light of her smiles bringeth joy in our seasons of darkness; She whispers, and soft are the zephyrs that echo her musical numbers, Till pleasant to us is the path leading down to the rushing river ; spirits, And, waiting beside the still waters, our mother will be there to greet us; Oh, my mother's a beautiful spirit, and her home is the holy Evangel's ; XCI. WAITING BY THE GATE. WILLIAM C. BRYANT. Beside a massive gateway built up in years gone by, The tree-tops faintly rustle beneath the breeze's flight A soft and soothing sound, yet it whispers of the night, Behold the portals open, and o'er the threshold now, In sadness then I ponder how quickly fleets the hour Again the hinges turn, and a youth, departing, throws Oh glory of our race that so suddenly decays! Oh crimson flush of morning that darkens as we gaze! I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown and then withdrawn; Once more the gates are opened; an infant group goes out, So came from every region, so enter, side by side, And some approach the threshold whose looks are blank with fear, I mark the joy, the terror; yet these, within my heart, The flesh may fail, the heart may faint, We take with solemn thankfulness Though dim as yet in tint and line, And if, in our unworthiness, If from Thy ordeal's heated bars Our feet are seamed with crimson scars, Thy will be done! If, for the age to come, this hour Of trial hath vicarious power, And, blest by Thee, our present pain Be Liberty's eternal gain, Thy will be done! Strike, Thou, the Master, we Thy keys, The anthem of the destinies : The minor of Thy loftier strain,. Our hearts shall breathe the old refrain, Thy will be done! XCIII. To-DAY AND TO-MORROW. GERALD MASSEY. High hopes that burned like stars sublime, Go down the heavens of Freedom; |