That was your work; you'd naught at all to do with wind and rain, And no doubt but that you will reap rich fields of golden grain; For there's a Heart, and there's a Hand, we feel, but cannot see We've always been provided for, and we shall always be." "That's like a woman's reasoning—we must, because we must." She softly said: "I reason not, I only work and trust; The harvest may redeem the day-keep heart, whate'er betide, When one door shuts, I've always seen another open wide. There is a Heart, there is a Hand, we feel, but cannot see; We've always been provided for, and we shall always be." He kissed the calm and trustful face, gone was his restless pain. She heard him with a cheerful step go whistling down the lane. And when about her household tasks, full of a glad content, Singing, to time her busy hands, as to and fro she went "There is a Heart, there is a Hand, we feel, but cannot see; We've always been provided for, and we shall always be." Days come and go-'twas Christmas tide, and the great fire burned clear. The farmer said: "Dear wife, it's been a good and happy year; The fruit was gain, the surplus corn has bought the hay, you know." She lifted then a smiling face, and said: "I told you so! For there's a Heart, and there's a Hand, we feel, but cannot see; We've always been provided for, and we shall always be." MERCY. 'HE quality of mercy is not strained; It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath: it is twice blessed; It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes : 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown; His sceptre shows the force of temporal power The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; But mercy is above this sceptred sway— It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, It is an attribute to God himself; WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. LAST HYMN. KNOW not what awaits me, My trust in Him repose, I'll sing, "He knows, He knows." One step I see before me; 'Tis all I need to see; The light of heaven more brightly shines When earth's illusions flee, And sweetly through the silence comes His loving "Follow Me." O blissful lack of wisdom, 'Tis blessed not to know; He holds me with His own right hand, And lulls my troubled soul to rest Of the gay revellers one child alone But oh! that patriarch's aspect shone With something lovelier far— Caught not from sun or star. Some word of life e'en then had met His calm benignant eye : Some martyr's prayer, wherein the glow Of queenchless faith survives : And silent stood his children by Of thoughts o'ersweeping death. FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS. HAT household thoughts around thee, as their shrine, Cling reverently?-of anxious looks be- My mother's eyes, upon thy page divine, To some lone tuft of gleaming spring-flowers wild, THE PHANTOM ISLES. In the East River, above New York, there are many small islands, the freqnent resort of summer pleasure-parties. One of the dangers haunting these scenes of amusement is that high tides often cover the islands. The incidents recorded in the following lines took place under the circumstances mentioned, and the entire change in the heart and life of the bereaved father makes the simple story as instructive as it is interesting and touching. HE Phantom Isles are fading from the sea; sinking shores; And shout and laugh, and jocund song and glee Ring through the mist, to beat of punctual oars, Through the gray mist that comes up with the tide, And covers all the ocean far and wide. Was wanting at the roll's right merry call; From boat to boat they sought him; he was gone, And fear and trembling filled the hearts of all, For the damp mist was falling fast the while, And the sea, rising, swallowing up each isle. The trembling father guides the searching band, While every sinew, hope and fear can strain, Is stretched to bring the quivering boat to land, And find the lost one-but is stretched in vain : They can see nothing but wide waters drear; Where many a doubtful course before him lay, Saying, "I will go with thee, That thou be not lonely, To yon hills of mystery; I have waited only Until now to climb with thee Can the bonds that make us here I shall love the angels well, Step by step our feet must go Life's unfailing fountain. He who on our earthly path Therefore dread I not to go O'er the silent river; Death, thy hastening oar I know: Through the waters, to the shore LUCY LARCOM HEN for me the silent oar W Parts the silent river, And I stand upon the shore Of the strange forever, Shall I miss the loved and known? Down the streets of heaven- Then will one approach the brink, One whose thoughts I loved to think A PRAYER. EAD, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom, Lead thou me on, The night is dark, and I am far away Lead thou me on; I loved to choose and see my path, but now I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears, 'OW fine has the day been, how bright was the sun, The while my pulses faintly beat, I feel grow firm beneath my feet The palace walls I almost see, WHEN. 383 ALICE CARY. FI were told that I must die to-morrow, Which sinks should bear me past all fear and sorrow How lovely and joyful the course that he run, begun, And there followed some droppings of rain! Just such is the Christian; his course he begins, But when he comes nearer to finish his race, A DYING HYMN. ISAAC WATTS. The last stanza composed by Alice Cary, was written on her death-bed, with trembling hand, the pen falling from her fingers as the chill of death was stealing over her. The stanza was this: "As the poor panting hart to the water-brook runs- So earth's fainting daughters and famishing sons, Oh, fountain of love, run to Thee." What should I do? I do not think that I should shrink or falter, Doing my work, nor change nor seek to alter But rise and move and love and smile and pray And, lying down at night for a last sleeping, Which hearkens ever: "Lord, within thy keeping And when to-morrow brings Thee nearer still I might not sleep for awe; but peaceful, tender, All the night long; and when the morning splendor I think that I could smile-could calmly say, But if a wondrous hand from the blue yonder Then, with her last breath, she repeated the following, written On which my life was writ, and I with wonder some years before, as if prophetic of her last hour: & ARTH with its dark and dreadfui ills Lift up your heads, ye heavenly hills i My soul is full of whispered song ; Step after step, feeling Thee close beside me, Although unseen, Through thorns, through flowers, whether the tem pest hide Thee, Or heavens serene, Assured Thy faithfulness cannot betray, Thy love decay. I may not know; my God, no hand revealeth Thy counsels wise; Along the path a deepening shadow stealeth, No voice replies To all my questioning thought, the time to tell, And it is well. Let me keep on, abiding and unfearing Through a long century's ripening fruition Thou canst not come too soon; and I can wait S SUSAN COOLidge. GRANDMOTHER'S BIBLE. O you've brought me this costly Bible, With its covers so grand and gay; You thought I must need a new one On my eighty-first birthday, you say. Yes, mine is a worn-out volume, Grown ragged and yellow with age, And the finger-prints call back my wee ones, It has pencil marks pointed in silence Once learned, can never depart. There's the verse your grandfather spoke of The very night that he died, "When I awake with Thy likeness, I, too, shall be satisfied." And here, inside the old cover, Is a date, it is faded and dim, Baptized me-I've an old woman's whim That beside the pearl-gates he is waiting, Then keep both Bibles and read them; God bless you, child, why should you cry? Your gift is a beauty, my dearie, I shall keep it till death; but the oldJust leave it close by on the table, And then you may bring me a light, And I'll read a sweet psalm from its pages To think of, if wakeful to-night. a C HATTIE A. COOLEY ALL'S FOR THE BEST. LL'S for the best! be sanguine and cheerfu! Troubles and sorrows are friends in disgui Nothing but folly goes faithless and fearful Courage forever is happy and wise; All's for the best-if a man could but know it, Providence wishes us all to be blest; This is no dream of the pundit or poet, Heaven is gracious, and all's for the best! All's for the best! then fling away terrors, Providence reigns from the east to the west, Are bathed in the dews that are wept by the morn. Beside the still waters, where pastures are green And the glad sky bends o'er them in shadow and sheen; I think of the glooms through whose terrors I fled, Beside the still waters my cross it grows light, Beside the still waters, ah! ripple and gleam A thousand-fold rarer in loveliness seem, |