HIS NAME SHALL BE IN THEIR FOREHEADS.

When I shall go where my Redeemer is,
In the far city on the other side,
And at the threshold of His palaces.

Shall loose my sandals, ever to abide ;
I know my Heavenly King will smiling wait
To give me welcome as I touch the gate.

Oh, joy! oh, bliss! for I shall see His face,

And wear His blessed name upon my brow! The name that stands for pardon, love, and grace, That name before which every knee shall bow. No music half so sweet can ever be

As that dear name which He shall write for me!

Crowned with this royal signet, I shall walk With lifted forehead through the eternal street; And with a holier mien, and gentler talk,

Will tell my story to the friends I meetOf how the King did stoop His name to write Upon my brow, in characters of light!

Then, till I go to meet my Father's smile,

I'll keep my forehead smooth from passion's

scars,

From angry frowns that trample and defile,

And every sin that desecrates or mars; That I may lift a face unflushed with shame, Whereon my Lord may write His holy name.

Rebecca S. Palfrey Utter.

THE KING'S DAUGHTER.

Her Father sent her in His land to dwell,
Giving to her a work that must be done ;
And, since the King loves all His people well,
Therefore, she, too, cares for them, every one.
And when she stoops to lift from want and sin,
The brighter shines her royalty therein.

She walks erect through dangers manifold,
While many sink and fail on either hand;
She dreads not Summer's heat nor Winter's cold,
For both are subject to the King's command;
She need not be afraid of anything,

Because she is the daughter of a King.

E'en when the angel comes that men call Death,
And name with terror, it appalls not her;
She turns to welcome him with quickened breath,
Thinking it is the Royal Messenger;

Her heart rejoices that her Father calls
Her back to dwell within His palace walls.

For though the land she dwells in is most fair, Set round with streams, a picture in its frame,

Yet often in her heart deep longings are

For that Imperial Palace whence she came. Not perfect quite seems any earthly thing, Because she is the daughter of a King.

Annie Douglas Robinson.

(MARIAN DOUGLAS.)

1842.

TWO PICTURES.

An old farm-house with meadows wide
And sweet with clover on each side;
A bright-eyed boy, who looks from out
The door with woodbine wreathed about,
And wishes his one thought all day :
"Oh, if I could but fly away

From this dull spot, the world to see,
How happy, happy, happy,

How happy I should be!"

Amid the city's constant din,

A man who round the world has been,
Who, mid the tumult and the throng,
Is thinking, thinking, all day long :
"Oh, could I only tread once more
The field-path to the farm-house door,
The old green meadow could I see,
How happy, happy, happy,
How happy I should be!"

benry Abbey.

1842.

THE STATUE.

In Athens, when all learning centred there,
Men reared a column of surpassing height
In honor of Minerva, wise and fair,

And on the top, that dwindled to the sight,
A statue of the goddess was to stand,
That wisdom might obtain in all the land.

And he who, with the beauty in his heart,

Seeking in faultless work immortal youth, Would mould this statue with the finest art, Making the wintry marble glow with truth, Should gain the prize. Two sculptors sought the

fame;

The prize they craved was an enduring name.

Alcamenes soon carved his little best ;

But Phidias, beneath a dazzling thought
That like a bright sun in the cloudless west
Lit up his wide, great soul, with pure love
wrought

A statue, and its face of changeless stone
With calm, far-sighted wisdom towered and shone.

Then to be judged, the labors were unveiled;
But at the marble thought, that by degrees

Of hardship Phidias cut, the people railed. "The lines are coarse; the form too large," said these;

"And he who sends this rough result of haste Sends scorn, and offers insult to our taste.”

Alcamenes' praised work was lifted high

Upon the capital where it might stand; But there it seemed too small, and 'gainst the sky Had no proportion from the uplooking land ; So it was lowered, and quickly put aside, And the scorned thought was mounted to be tried.

Surprise swept o'er the faces of the crowd,

And changed them as a sudden breeze may change

A field of fickle grass, and long and loud

Their mingled shouts to see a sight so strange. The statue stood completed in its place, Each coarse line melted to a line of grace.

So bold, great actions, that are seen too near,
Look rash and foolish to unthinking eyes;
They need the past for distance to appear

In their true grandeur. Let us yet be wise
And not too soon our neighbor's deed malign,
For what seems coarse is often good and fine.