"Ye go

to bear the saving word

To tribes unnamed and shores untrod: Heed well the lessons ye have heard

From those old teachers taught of God.

"Yet think not unto them was lent
All light for all the coming days,
And Heaven's eternal wisdom spent
In making straight the ancient ways:

"The living fountain overflows

For every flock, for every lamb, Nor heeds, though angry creeds oppose With Luther's dike or Calvin's dam."

He spake with lingering, long embrace, With tears of love and partings fond, They floated down the creeping Maas, Along the isle of Ysselmond.

They passed the frowning towers of Briel, The "Hook of Holland's" shelf of sand,

And grated soon with lifting keel

The sullen shores of Fatherland.

No home for these!

- too well they knew

The mitred king behind the throne;

The sails were set, the pennons flew,

And westward ho! for worlds unknown.

And these were they who gave us birth,

The Pilgrims of the sunset wave,

Who won for us this virgin earth,

And freedom with the soil they gave.

The pastor slumbers by the Rhine,
In alien earth the exiles lie,

Their nameless graves our holiest shrine,
His words our noblest battle-cry!

Still cry them, and the world shall hear,
Ye dwellers by the storm-swept sea!

Ye have not built by Haerlem Meer,

Nor on the land-locked Zuyder-Zee!

SAINT ANTHONY THE REFORMER.

HIS TEMPTATION.

No fear lest praise should make us proud!
We know how cheaply that is won;

The idle homage of the crowd

Is proof of tasks as idly done.

A surface-smile may pay the toil

That follows still the conquering Right,

With soft, white hands to dress the spoil
That sun-browned valor clutched in fight.

Sing the sweet song of other days,
Serenely placid, safely true,

And o'er the present's parching ways

Thy verse distils like evening dew.

But speak in words of living power,

They fall like drops of scalding rain That plashed before the burning shower Swept o'er the cities of the plain!

Then scowling Hate turns deadly pale,Then Passion's half-coiled adders spring, And, smitten through their leprous mail, Strike right and left in hope to sting.

If thou, unmoved by poisoning wrath,
Thy feet on earth, thy heart above,
Canst walk in peace thy kingly path,
Unchanged in trust, unchilled in love,-

Too kind for bitter words to grieve,
Too firm for clamor to dismay,
When Faith forbids thee to believe,
And Meekness calls to disobey,—

Ah, then beware of mortal pride!

The smiling pride that calmly scorns Those foolish fingers, crimson dyed

In laboring on thy crown of thorns!

AVIS.

I MAY not rightly call thy name,

Alas! thy forehead never knew The kiss that happier children claim, Nor glistened with baptismal dew.

Daughter of want and wrong and woe,
I saw thee with thy sister-band,

Snatched from the whirlpool's narrowing flow
By Mercy's strong yet trembling hand.

"Avis!”.

With Saxon eye and cheek,

At once a woman and a child,

The saint uncrowned I came to seek

Drew near to greet us, spoke, and smiled.