Joy for one-if for the other pain;
Loss for one-if for the other gain:
One must lose, and one possess the whole.

"And so this-this-what they cared for-came
And belonged to Margaret: was her own.
But she laid the gift aside, to take
Pain and sorrow for your mother's sake,
And none knew it but herself alone.

"Then she travelled far away, and none
The strange mystery of her absence knew.
Margaret's secret thought was never told:
Even your mother thought her changed and cold,
And for many years I thought so too.

"She was gone; and then your mother took
That poor gift which Margaret laid aside :
Flower, or toy, or trinket, matters not:
What it was had better be forgot. . .
It was just then she became my bride.

"Now, I think May knows the hope I have. Arthur, darling, can you guess the rest? Even my little Olga understands

Great gifts can be given by little hands, Since of all gifts Love is still the best.

Margaret is my dear and honoured wife, And I hold her so. But she can claim

From your hearts, dear ones, a loving debt I can neither pay, nor yet forget: You can give it in your mother's name.

"Earth spoils even Love, and here a shade On the purest, noblest heart may fall:

Now your mother dwells in perfect light, She will bless us, I believe, to-night,-She is happy now, and she knows all."

Next day was farewell—a day of tears;
Yet Sir Arthur, as he rode away,

And turned back to see his lady stand
With the children clinging to her hand,
Looked as if it were a happy day.

Ah, they loved her soon! The little one
Crept into her arms as to a nest;

Arthur always with her now; and May
Growing nearer to her every day :-
-Well, I loved my own dear lady best.

GIVE PLACE.

TARRY Crowns of Heaven

Set in azure night!

Linger yet a little

Ere you hide your light :

-Nay; let Starlight fade away

Heralding the day!

Snowflakes pure and spotless,
Still, oh, still remain,
Binding dreary winter,

In your silver chain :

-Nay; but melt at once and bring
Radiant sunny Spring!

Blossoms, gentle blossoms,
Do not wither yet;
Still for you the sun shines,
Still the dews are wet :-

-Nay; but fade and wither fast,
Fruit must come at last!

Joy, so true and tender,

Dare you not abide?

Will you spread your pinions,

Must you leave our side?

-Nay; an Angel's shining grace

Waits to fill your place!

MY WILL.

INCE I have no lands or houses,

And no hoarded golden store,

What can I leave those who love me

When they see my face no more?

Do not smile; I am not jesting,

Though my words sound gay and light, Listen to me, dearest Alice,

I will make my Will to-night.

First for Mabel,—who will never
Let the dust of future years
Dim the thought of me, but keep it

Brighter still perhaps with tears.
In whose eyes, whate'er I glance at,

Touch, or praise, will always shine,
Through a strange and sacred radiance,
By Love's Charter, wholly mine;
She will never lend to others

Slenderest link of thought I claim,
I will, therefore, to her keeping
Leave my memory and my name.

Bertha will do truer service

To her kind than I have done,
So I leave to her young spirit

The long Work I have begun.
Well! the threads are tangled, broken,
And the colours do not blend,
She will bend her earnest striving
Both to finish and amend :
And, when it is all completed,

Strong with care and rich with skill.

Just because my hands began it,

She will love it better still.

Ruth shall have my dearest token,
The one link I dread to break,
The one duty that I live for,

She, when I am gone, will take.
Sacred is the trust I leave her,

Needing patience, prayer, and tears;
I have striven to fulfil it,

As she knows-these many years.
Sometimes hopeless, faint, and weary,
Yet a blessing shall remain
With the task, and Ruth will prize it
For my many hours of pain.

What must I leave you, my Alice?
Nothing, Love, to do or bear,
Nothing that can dim your blue eyes
With the slightest cloud of care.
I will leave my heart to love you,
With the tender faith of old;
Still to comfort, warm, and light you,

Should your life grow dark or cold.
No one else, my child, can claim it;
Though you find old scars of pain,
They were only wounds, my darling,
There is not, I trust, one stain.

Are my gifts indeed so worthless
Now the slender sum is told?
Well, I know not: years may bless them
With a nobler price than gold.