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.

TWO WORLDS.

OD'S world is bathed in beauty,
God's world is steeped in light;
It is the self-same glory
That makes the day so bright,

Which thrills the earth with music,
Or hangs the stars in night.

Hid in earth's mines of silver,
Floating on clouds above,-
Ringing in Autumn's tempest,
Murmured by every dove;

One thought fills God's creation-
His own great name of Love!

In God's world Strength is lovely,
And so is Beauty strong,

And Light-God's glorious shadow

To both great gifts belong;

And they all melt into sweetness,
And fill the earth with Song.

Above God's world bends Heaven,
With day's kiss pure and bright,
Or folds her still more fondly

In the tender shade of night;

And she casts back Heaven's sweetness,
In fragrant love and light.

God's world has one great echo;

Whether calm blue mists are curled,

Or lingering dew-drops quiver,

Or red storms are unfurled;

The same deep love is throbbing

Through the great heart of God's world.

Man's world is black and blighted,

Steeped through with self and sin;

And should his feeble purpose
Some feeble good begin,

The work is marred and tainted

By Leprosy within.

Man's world is bleak and bitter;
Wherever he has trod

He spoils the tender beauty
That blossoms on the sod,

And blasts the loving Heaven
Of the great, good world of God.

There Strength on coward weakness
In cruel might will roll;
Beauty and Joy are cankers
That eat away the soul;

And Love-Oh God, avenge it-
The plague-spot of the whole.

Man's world is Pain and Terror;
He found it pure and fair,

And wove in nets of sorrow
The golden summer air.

Black, hideous, cold, and dreary,
Man's curse, not God's, is there.

And yet God's world is speaking: Man will not hear it call;

E