Voice sad and sweet as a Magdalen's prayer To a pardoning Christ when He set her free. Thy genius, purpose and mission grand Teaches men to feel and their souls expand, That mercy may blend with her loving eyes, The joys of earth with the dreams of the

skies.

And in angelic livery stand,
Like sunlit isles in summer land.
Thou standest proudly and alone

In art, expression, form and grace,

And changing beauties of thy face, And sweetness of thy voice and tone, Like sceptred genius on a throne. Then fair as love and sweet as bliss, Press on and win the world's applause, Nor in thy charming splendor pause Till deathless fame thy brow shall kiss, And heaven shall bring eternal bliss.

THY FACE IS FAIR AND LOVELY.
Thy face is fair and lovely,

Thine eyes are softly blue,
And who could help but love thee,

Who knows thy heart so true.
Who knows the wealth and depth of love

That in thy bosom glows, The purity like heaven above,

That from thy spirit flows. Thy soul looks through the doors of sight,

And beams from out thine eye
With golden light, both pure and bright,

As angels passing by.
And once I gazed into those eyes

That beam with heavenly thought,
And felt the ties of love I prize,

Still nearer to me brought. That hour I never shall forget,

But memory will retain it,
And time will only deeper set

That diamond gem within it.
Then fleeting time did plume her wing,

And dip her feet in pleasure,
And from the streams of bliss did bring

Us gladness without measure.
The zephyrs sang unto the sea,

The golden stars were beaming, While hope, like bird on pinions free,

Her sweetest dream was dreaming. Endymion on the moonlit hills

Ne'er bathed in Cynthia's smiling, And felt the sweet en rapturing thrills,

As in that hour's beguiling.

SADDEST THOUGHTS MAKE SWEETEST

SONG.
When the twilight shades are falling

And the even-tide is near,
Comes the voice of memory calling,

Soft as falling of a tear;
And from shadows dim and fleeting

Come the saddest songs and greeting:
Yet the sweetest that I hear.
And I dream the olden dreaming

In the gloaming by the way,
And life's rosy-tinted gleaming

Seems to crown the closing day; And my heart and brain and being Wrapt in visions I am seeing,

Sad, yet brightest that I may! 0! our saddest thoughts are sweetest!

For they span a broader sea, Soaring eagle-winged and fleetest

O'er the world of memory.
Hope crowned, heavenward and untiring,
To the good and loved aspiring,

They are calling unto thee.
Like the murmur of bright rivers

In the Islands of the Blest,
Where the solemn music quivers

Like a birdling in its nest,
Come the smiles of those who love us
From the far-off beavens above us,
And our saddest songs are best.

MARY ANDERSON.
Interpreter of truth and art,
With regal form and queenly grace?

A matchless poem is thy face,
Where glowing thoughts of beauty start
Like heart that speaketh unto heart.
What majesty of gentle truth

Is thy sweet charm of womanhood;
So winning, fair, and nobly good,
Like genius in its mystic youth,
A peerless thing of joy and truth.
Bright empress of a fairer land

Than czar, or king, or magnates rule,
Where beauty, heart and truth's at school,

KISS OUR DARLING AND COME AWAY.

EXTRACT. Dead! Our darling is dead, dear wife, His angel spirit has heavenward fled; His little feet will no longer tread The rugged paths of this sorrowing life. Kiss his forehead of marble clay, Kiss our darling and come away. Fair was his lovely form, dear wife, Bright and sunny his cherub face; See what a dimple the angels did trace, When they kissed him first on the shores of

life. Kiss him again, for only to-day Can you kiss our darling, and come away.

As I from home an exile,
Have swept this twilight hour.

REV. JEREMIAH E. RANKIN.

BORN: THORNTON, N. H. GRADCATING at Andover theological seminary in 1854, Mr. Rankin has since preached in Potsdam, N.Y., St. Albans, Vt., Lowell and Charleston, Mass., and for thirteen years has been pastor of the First Congregational

ABOON THE STARS. Osnawie feet, sae veined wi' blue,

O ankles limp an' roun', Wi greetin'een, I've sought for you,

All up the warl an' doun.
Aboon the stars? I ken, I ken,

What service do they there?
Does Heav'n itsel' need little men,

To make its mansions fair?
Do little feet rin in an' oot?

Is bairnheid laughter heard?
Ah! that's the Heav'n me to suit,

I catch the sweet, sweet word.
An' sal I meet my bairn aboon?

My bonnie, wee, wee bairn?
Hoo aft, at night, I sit an' croon,

Sae piercin' is the airn!
An' mithers may be mithers there,

An' bairns still bairns may be,
Wi' glowin' cheek, an' flowin' hair,

An' childhood ecstasy?
At least, until I better ken,

I'll dream the pleasant thought; Nor think our bairns grow up to men,

An' sae, alas, are not!

BROKEN CADENCES.

EXTRACT. My childhood sense and vision Of things elysian,

How can I ever lose? For all things that I see Are more to me,

I! wet with life's fresh morning dews: The light they keep, in which at first They on my being burst.

For, not a paltry thing of years,
Whose sense grows dim and vision blears.
Can childhood be,
A transient ecstasy;

It is God's kingdom, where
He keeps all things unfolding fair;
Where every sight
Perennial yields a fresh delight;

The colors cannot fade

His hand upon them laid,
Have we the sense divine,
To know his touch and sign.
The childhood spirit still shall find
The childhood mind.
If but life's burdens we unbind,
Ourselves escape from brooding cares,

If we but offer childhood's prayers,
The old time sights and sounds
Will burst their upland bounds,
And flood our being unawares:

I should forget, just as I do to-day,
And walk along the same old stumbling way,

If I could know.

JULIA HARRIS MAY.

Born: STRONG, ME. AFTER graduating at Mt. Holyoke seminary, Miss Julia H. May then spent several years teaching in the south. Since 1868 Miss May

I would not know Which of us, darling, will be first to go. I only wish the space may not be long Between the parting and the greeting song, But when, or where, or how we're called to go,

I would not know.

ARE THEY GLAD? If she were here To take my hand, and ask, “What is it dear?" She would not see the furrows on my face, Nor note the silver where the gold had place; Upon my faded lip she'd leave a kiss, And whisper: Darling," and she would not

miss The vanished rose; or, if she did, would say, .. How you have ripened since I went away!" The blemishes that others might despise Would still be beautiful in mother's eyes.

If she were here
She would not mind the changes; if a tear
Should fill my eye I know that she would see,
And give sweet consolation unto me;
Yet, in her heart, some things would little

heed,
Knowing how much their discipline I need.
And so, I think, though Heaven be not far,
And friends can see us as we are,
They may be glad, like loving motherhood,
Because they know all things work for good.

JULIA HARRIS MAY. has been at the head of a private school in Strong. The poems of this lady have appeared extensively in the leading religious and literary journals.

IF WE COULD KNOW! If we could know Which of us, darling, would be first to go, Which would be first to breast the swelling

tide, And step aline upon the other side,

If we could know! If it were you, Should I walk softly, keeping death in view? Should I my love to you inost oft express? Or, should I grieve you, darling, any less

If it were you?
• If it were 1,
Should I improve the moments flitting by,
Should I more closely follow God's great plan,
Be filled with sweeter charity to man,

If it were I?
If we could know!
We cannot, darling; and 'tis better so.

THE AWAKING. As a sweet baby, from his morning dream Awakes, sometimes, and lies without a

sound, And all his rose-bud fingers twirl around, The while his violet-eyes, half open, seem Their petals to unfold, and pink cheeks beam As if glad thoughts the little brain had

found; But, when the mother's step upon the

ground He hears, bis red lips speak the word supreme In mother's hearts, -agoo,"

So, we shall rise Perchance, when we awake from life's brier

sleep, Not all at once, but lie in rapt surprise, And eye and lip all motionless shall keep Until we speak, as new-born powers expand, Some glad strange word, that God shall un

derstand.