barriett Mulford Lotbrop.

(MARGARET SIDNEY.)

1844.

THE LITTLE BROWN SEED.

"I'm of no use," said a little brown seed;
Where shall I go and hide?

I'm little and brown, with nobody's love,
And ugly beside."

So she rolled, and she rolled very quickly away,
And tumbled on the ground;

The rain came in torrents, and fell upon her
And all things around.

And she felt herself sinking in darkness beneath,
Poor little faithless seed!

Where never an eye could see her sad fate,
Oh, she was hidden indeed!

The little brown seed lay still in the earth,
To herself still sighing,

Till at last with an effort she roused up, and cried, "I'll begin by trying.

"I'll try and stop fretting, for 't is of no use, And if I've nobody's love,

I'll look up in hope, for there is One who will see,

The dear God above.”

Oh, would you believe it! straightway the dark ground

Began to tremble and shake,

And make way for the little seed, hopeful now, Her upward way to take !

Up, up she went, till at last she saw
The lovely, bright blue sky;

Oh, the beautiful spirit had found release,
And the summer time was nigh!

The brightness and beauty that grew upon her, I cannot begin to speak;

Crowned with flowers she stood, beloved by all, So lovely, yet so meek.

Sarah Chauncey Woolsey.

(SUSAN COOLIDGE.)

ABOUT 1845.

WHEN.

If I were told that I must die to-morrow,

That the next sun

Which sinks would bear me past all fear and

sorrow

For any one,

All the fight fought, all the short journey through, What should I do?

I do not think that I should shrink or falter,
But just go on,

Doing my work, nor change nor seek to alter
Aught that is gone;

But rise and move and love and smile and pray
For one more day.

And, lying down at night for a last sleeping,
Say in that ear

Which harkens ever: "Lord, within Thy keeping

How should I fear?

And when to-morrow brings Thee nearer still,
Do Thou Thy will."

I might not sleep for awe; but peaceful, tender, My soul would lie

All the night long; and when the morning splendor

Flushed o'er the sky,

I think that I could smile-could calmly say, "It is His day."

But if a wondrous hand from the blue yonder
Held out a scroll

On which my life was writ, and I with wonder
Beheld unroll

To a long century's end its mystic clew,
What should I do?

What could I do, O blessed Guide and Master,
Other than this:

Still to go on as now, not slower, faster,
Nor fear to miss

The road, although so very long it be,
While led by Thee?

Step after step, feeling Thee close beside me,
Although unseen,

Thro' thorns, thro' flowers, whether the tempest 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
Thy will always,

Through a long century's ripening fruition
Or a short day's;

Thou canst not come too soon; and I can wait
If Thou come late.

Unknown.

CHRIST WILL GATHER HIS OWN.

Christ will gather His own

To the place where He is gone,
Where their heart and treasure lie,
Where our life is hid on high.

Day by day the voice saith "Come,
Enter this eternal home."
Asking not if we can spare

This dear soul its summons there.

Had He ask'd us, well we know
We should cry, "Oh, spare this blow!"
Yes, with streaming tears should pray,
"Lord, we love him; let him stay."

But the Lord doth naught amiss,
And, since He hath ordered this,
We have naught to do but still
Rest in silence on His will.

Many a heart no longer here,
Ah! was all too inly dear;
Yet, O Love, 't is Thou dost call,

Thou will be our All in All.