THE DEAD MAN OF BETHANY.

"Where wert thou, brother, those four days?" There lives no record of reply,

Which telling what it is to die, Had surely added praise to praise.

From every house the neighbours met,
The streets were fill'd with joyful sound,

A solemn gladness even crown'd

The purple brows of Olivet.

Behold a man raised up by Christ!
The rest remaineth unreveal'd;

He told it not; or something seal'd
The lips of that Evangelist.

Alfred Tennyson.

MARY AT THE TABLE.

HER eyes are homes of silent prayer,
No other thought her mind admits
But, he was dead, and there he sits,
And He that brought him back is there.

Then one deep love doth supersede

All other, when her ardent gaze

Roves from the living brother's face,

And rests upon the Life indeed.

All subtle thought, all curious fears,

Borne down by gladness so complete,
She bows, she bathes the Saviour's feet

With costly spikenard and with tears.

Thrice blest whose lives are faithful prayers,
Whose loves in higher love endure;
Whose souls possess themselves so pure,

Oh, is there blessedness like theirs?

Tennyson.

THE HEART'S WITNESS TO GOD.

THAT which we dare invoke to bless;

Our dearest faith; our ghastliest doubt; He, They, One, All; within, without; The Power in darkness whom we guess;

I found Him not in world or sun,

Or eagle's wing, or insect's eye;
Nor thro' the questions men may try,

The petty cobwebs we have spun:

If e'er when faith had fall'n asleep,
I heard a voice believe no more,'
And heard an ever-breaking shore
That tumbled in the Godless deep;

A warmth within the breast would melt
The freezing reason's colder part,
And like a man in wrath the heart
Stood up and answer'd 'I have felt.'

No, like a child in doubt and fear:

But that blind clamour made me wise;

Then was I as a child that cries,

But, crying, knows his father near;

And what I seem beheld again

What is, and no man understands; And out of darkness came the hands That reach thro' nature, moulding men.

Tennyson.

ONE BY ONE.

ONE by one the sands are flowing,
One by one the moments fall;
Some are coming, some are going;
Do not strive to grasp them all.

One by one thy duties wait thee,

Let thy whole strength go to each,

Let no future dreams elate thee,

Learn thou first what these can teach.

One by one (bright gifts from Heaven)
Joys are sent thee here below;
Take them readily when given,
Ready be to let them go.

One by one thy griefs shall meet thee,
Do not fear an armed band;
One will fade as others greet thee,
Shadows passing through the land,

Do not look at life's long sorrow;

See how small each moment's pain; God will help thee for to-morrow, So each day begin again.

ONE BY ONE.

Every hour that fleets so slowly,
Has its task to do or bear;
Luminous the crown, and holy,
When each gem is set with care.

Do not linger with regretting,
Or for passing hours despond ;
Nor, the daily toil forgetting,
Look too eagerly beyond.

Hours are golden links, God's token,
Reaching Heaven; but one by one.
Take them, lest the chain be broken
Ere the pilgrimage be done.

Adelaide Procter.

NOW.

Rise! for the day is passing,
And you lie dreaming on;

The others have buckled their armour,
And forth to the fight are gone :
A place in the ranks awaits you,

Each man has some part to play;
The Past and the Future are nothing,
In the face of the stern To-day.

Rise! if the Past detains you,

Her sunshine and storms forget;
No chains so unworthy to hold you
As those of a vain regret;
Sad or bright, she is lifeless ever,

Cast her phantom arms away,

Nor look back, save to learn the lesson
Of a nobler strife To-day.

Same.