Streamed from the Cross its earliest

chords;

ray;

be life,

Seize what the sense can give; it is thine own

words

Or music's soul could say.

strife; Knowledge, thy torch let fall!

same,

Familiar set, familiar rise;

But what art thou, wild lovely flame, Across the startled skies?

Mysterious yet as when it burst, Through the vast void of nature hurled,

And shook their shrinking hearts at first,

The fathers of the world!

No curious sage the scroll unseals, Vain quest for baffled science given!

Its orbit ages, while it wheels,
The miracle of heaven!

In nature's plan thy sphere unknown,
Save that no sphere this order mars,
Whose law could guide thy path alone
In realms beyond the stars.

God's minister! we know no more
Of thee, thy frame, thy mission
still,
Than he who watched thy flight of

yore
On the Chaldean hill.

Love, no more!

As in those old still nights of yoreEre we were grown so sadly wiseCan you and I shut out the skies, Shut out the world and wintry weather,

And eyes exchanging warmth with eyes,

Play chess as then we played together!

CHANGES.

LORD LYTTON

[EDWARD ROBERT BULWER]

(OWEN MEREDITH).

THE CHESS-BOARD.

My little love, do you remember,

Ere we were grown so sadly wise, Those evenings in the bleak December,

Curtained warm from the snowy weather,

When you and I played chess to

gether,

Checkmated by each other's eyes? Ah! still I see your soft white hand Hovering warm o'er queen and knight;

Brave pawns in valiant battle stand; The double castles guard the wings; The bishop, bent on distant things,

Moves sidling through the fight. Our fingers touch, our glances meet,

And falter, falls your golden hair Against my cheek: your bosom sweet Is heaving; down the field, your queen

Rides slow her soldiery all between,
And checks me unaware.
Ah me! the little battle's done,
Dispersed is all its chivalry;

Who might have been-ah, what I dare not think?

We all are changed. God judges for us best.

God help us do our duty, and not shrink, And trust in Heaven humbly for the rest.

But blame us women not, if some appear

Too cold at times; and some too gay and light.

Some griefs gnaw deep. Some woes are hard to bear; Who knows the past? and who can judge us right ?

Ah, were we judged by what we might have been,

And not by what we are, too apt to fall!

My little child - he sleeps and smiles between

These thoughts and me. In heaven we shall know all!

[From Lucile.]

LIFE A VICTORY.

A POWER hid in pathos; a fire veiled in cloud:

Yet still burning outward: a branch which, though bowed

But

what some land is gladdened. No star ever rose And set, without influence somewhere. Who knows

What earth needs from earth's lowest creature? No life Can be pure in its purpose and strong in its strife And all life not be purer and stronger thereby.

The spirits of just men made perfect on high,

The army of martyrs who stand by the throne

And gaze into the face that makes glorious their own,

Know this, surely, at last. Honest love, honest sorrow,

Honest work for the day, honest hope for the morrow,

Are these worth nothing more than the hand they make weary, heart they have sadden'd, the life they leave dreary?

The

Hush!

By the bird in its passage, springs upward again:

Echo:

Through all symbols I search for her

sweetness · in vain!

the sevenfold heavens to the voice of the Spirit

He that o'ercometh shall all things inherit.

A SUMMER MORNING.
Он, the earth and the air!
Honeysuckle and rose;
Fir-trees tapering high
Into the deep repose
Of the fleckless sky:
Hills that climb and are strong;
Basking, contented plain;
Sunlight poured out along
The sea of the grass like rain;
Spice-burdened winds that rise,
Whisper, wander and hush;
And the carolling harmonies
Of robin and quail and thrush!
O God, Thy world is fair!

And this but the place of His feet!
I had cried, "Let me see! let me

hear!

Show me the ways of Thy hand!" For it all was a riddle drear That I fainted to understand. Canopy, close-drawn round, Part not, nor lift from the ground: Move not your finger-tips, Firs, from the heavens' lips. When this is the place of His feet, How should I fear to raise My blasted vision to meet The inconceivable blaze Of His majesty complete ?

The man for whom I wait; All things pall on me; in my heart grows fear

Lest I may miss my fate.

I weary of the heavy wealth and ease
Which all my isle enfold,
The fountain's sleepy plash, the
changeless breeze,

That bears nor heat nor cold, With dull unvaried mien, my maids and I

Glide through our household tasks; Gather strange herbs, weave purple tapestry,

Distil, in magic flasks.

Most weary am I of these men who yield

So swiftly to my spell, — The beastly rout now wandering afield With grunt and snarl and yell.

Ah! when in place of tigers and of swine,

Shall he confront me, whom My song cannot enslave, nor that bright wine

Where rank enchantments fume?