Love, home, rest, joy, were offered

As sacrifice to Fame.
They longed that in far ages
Their deeds might still be
told,

And distant times and nations
Their names in honor hold.

The Spirit of the Present. Though nursed by such old legends,

Our heroes of to-day Go cheerfully to battle As children go to play; They gaze with awe and wonder

On your great names of pride, Unconscious that their own will shine

In glory side by side!

Day dawned; and as the Spirits passed away, Methought I saw, in the dim

morning gray,

The Past's bright diadem had paled before

The starry crown the glorious Present wore.

A LITLLE LONGER.

A LITTLE longer yet- - a little longer,

Shall violets bloom for thee, and sweet birds sing;

A little longer yetlonger,

a little

The voices thou hast loved shall

charm thine ear; And thy true heart, that now beats quick to hear them, A little longer yet shall hold them dear.

A little longer yet-joy while thou mayest;

Love and rejoice! for time has

naught in store :

And soon the darkness of the grave shall bid thee Love and rejoice and feel and know no more.

A little longer still-Patience, Belovéd :

A little longer still, ere Heaven unroll

The Glory, and the Brightness, and the Wonder, Eternal, and divine, that waits thy Soul !

A little longer ere Life true, immortal,

(Not this our shadowy Life,) will be thine own;

And thou shalt stand where

winged Archangels worship, And trembling bow before the

Great White Throne.

A little longer still, and Heaven awaits thee,

And fills thy spirit with a great delight;

Then our pale joys will seem a dream forgotten,

Our Sun a darkness, and our Day a Night.

A little longer, and thy Heart, Beloved,

Shall beat forever with a Love divine;

And joy so pure, so mighty, so eternal,

No creature knows and lives, will then be thine.

A little longer yet and angel

voices

Shall ring in heavenly chant upon thine ear;

Angels and Saints await thee, and God needs thee: Belovéd, can we bid thee linger here!

GRIEF.

AN ancient enemy have I,
And either he or I must die;
For he never leaveth me,
Never gives my soul relief,
Never lets my sorrow cease,
Never gives my spirit peace,
For mine enemy is Grief!
Pale he is, and sad and stern;
And whene'er he cometh nigh,
Blue and dim the torches burn,
Pale and shrunk the roses turn;
While my heart that he has pierced
Many a time with fiery lance,
Beats and trembles at his glance:

So I read their deepest pages,
And I strove to think
Wisdom's cold, calm
tried,

in vain! words I

But he was seated by my side ;·
Learning I have won in vain;
She cannot rid me of my pain.

When at last soft sleep comes o'er me,

A cold hand is on my heart; Stern sad eyes are there before me;

Not in dreams will he depart :
And when the same dreary vision
From my weary brain has fled,
Daylight brings the living phan-
tom,

He is seated by my bed,
Bending o'er me all the while,
With his cruel, bitter smile,
Ever with me, ever nigh ;-
And either he or I must die!

Then I said, long time ago, "I will flee to other climes, I will leave mine ancient foe!" Though I wandered far and wide

Still he followed at my side.

And I fled where the blue waters Bathe the sunny isles of Greece;

Then I said, "Mine arm is strong, I will make him turn and flee"; I have struggled with him longBut that could never be !

Once I battled with him so
That I thought I laid him low;
Then in trembling joy I fled,
While again and still again
Murmuring to myself I said,
"Mine old enemy is dead!"
And I stood beneath the stars,
When a chill came on my frame,
And a fear I could not name,
And a sense of quick despair,
And, lo! mine enemy was

there!

Listen, for my soul is weary,
Weary of its endless woe;
I have called on one to aid me
Mightier even than my foe.
Strength and hope fail day by
day;

I shall cheat him of his prey;
Some day soon, I know not when,
He will stab me through and
through;

He has wounded me before,
But my heart can bear no

more;

Pray that hour may come to me,

Only then shall I be free;
Death alone has strength to take

me

Where my foe can never be ; Death, and Death alone, has power

To conquer mine old enemy!

THE TRIUMPH OF TIME.

THE tender, delicate Flowers,

I saw them fanned by a warm western wind,

Fed by soft summer showers,

Shielded by care, and yet, (0 Fate unkind!)

Fade in a few short hours.

The gentle and the gay, Rich in a glorious Future of bright deeds,

Rejoicing in the day,

Are met by Death, who sternly, sadly leads Them far away.

And Hopes, perfumed and bright,

So lately shining, wet with dew and tears,

Trembling in morning light;

I saw them change to dark and anxious fears Before the night!