THE REQUITAL.

OUD roared the Tempest,
Fast fell the sleet;
A little Child Angel

Passed down the street,

With trailing pinions,

And weary feet.

The moon was hidden
No stars were bright;
So she could not shelter
In heaven that night,
For the Angels' ladders
Are rays of light.

She beat her wings

At each window-pane, And pleaded for shelter, But all in vain : Listen," they said,

"To the pelting rain!"

She sobbed, as the laughter

And mirth grew higher, "Give me rest and shelter

Beside your fire,

And I will give you

Your heart's desire."

The dreamer sat watching

His embers gleam,

While his heart was floating Down hope's bright stream; So he wove her wailing Into his dream.

The worker toiled on,

For his time was brief;

The mourner was nursing
Her own pale grief:
They heard not the promise
That brought relief.

But fiercer the Tempest
Rose than before,
When the Angel paused

At a humble door,
And asked for shelter
And help once more.

A weary woman,

Pale, worn, and thin, With the brand upon her

Of want and sin,
Heard the Child Angel
And took her in.

Took her in gently,
And did her best
To dry her pinions ;
And made her rest

With tender pity

Upon her breast.

When the eastern morning

Grew bright and red,

ES, I was sad and anxious,
But now, dear, I am gay;
I know that it is wisest

To put all hope away :— Thank God that I have done so, And can be calm to-day!

For hope deferred - you know it

Once made my heart so sick :

Now, I expect no longer;

It is but the old trick

Of hope, that makes me tremble,
And makes my heart beat quick.

All day I sit here calmly ;

Not as I did before,

Watching for one whose footstep

Comes never, never more. . . .
Hush! was that some one passing,
Who paused beside the door?

For years I hung on chances,
Longing for just one word;

At last I feel it :-- - silence

Will never more be stirred. Tell me once more that rumor You fancied you had heard.

Life has more things to dwell on
Than just one useless pain,
Useless and past forever;
But noble things remain,

And wait us all : . . . you too, dear,
Do you think hope quite vain ?

All others have forgotten,

'T is right I should forget, Nor live on a keen longing Which shadows forth regret: Are not the letters coming? The sun is almost set.

Now that my restless legion
Of hopes and fears is fled,
Reading is joy and comfort

This very day I read,

O, such a strange returning
Of one whom all thought dead !

Not that I dream or fancy,

You know all that is past;

Earth has no hope to give me,

And yet

Time flies so fast

That all but the impossible

Might be brought back at last.

IN THE WOOD.

N the wood where shadows are deepest
From the branches overhead,

Where the wild wood-strawberries cluster,
And the softest moss is spread,

I met to-day with a fairy,

And I followed her where she led.

Some magical words she uttered,
I alone could understand,

For the sky grew bluer and brighter;
While there rose on either hand
The cloudy walls of a palace,

That was built in Fairy-land.

And I stood in a strange enchantment;
I had known it all before:

In my heart of hearts was the magic
Of days that will come no more,

The magic of joy departed,

That Time can never restore.

That never, ah, never, never,
Never again can be:

Shall I tell you what powerful fairy
Built up this palace for me?
It was only a little white Violet
I found at the root of a tree.

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