The wish, that of the living whole
No life may fail beyond the grave,
Derives it not from what we have
The likest God within the soul?

Are God and Nature then at strife,
That Nature lends such evil dreams?
So careful of the type she seems,
So careless of the single life;

That I, considering everywhere
Her secret meaning in her deeds,
And finding that of fifty seeds
She often brings but one to bear,

I falter where I firmly trod,

And falling with my weight of cares Upon the great world's altar stairs That slope thro' darkness up to God,

I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope, And gather dust and chaff, and call

To what I feel is Lord of all,

And faintly trust the larger hope.

"So careful of the type?" but no.

From scarped cliff and quarried stone She cries, "A thousand types are gone: I care for nothing, all shall go.

"Thou makest thine appeal to me:
I bring to life, I bring to death:
The spirit does but mean the breath:
I know no more." And he, shall he,

Man, her last work, who seemed so fair,
Such splendid purpose in his eyes,
Who rolled the psalm to wintry skies,
Who built him fanes of fruitless prayer,

Who trusted God was love indeed

And love Creation's final law

Tho' Nature, red in tooth and claw With ravin, shrieked against his creed

Who loved, who suffered countless ills,
Who battled for the True, the Just,
Be blown about the desert dust,
Or sealed within the iron hills?

No more? A monster then, a dream,
A discord. Dragons of the prime,
That tare each other in their slime,
Were mellow music matched with him.

O life as futile, then, as frail!

O for thy voice to soothe and bless!
What hope of answer, or redress?
Behind the veil, behind the veil.

THE PIOUS EDITOR'S CREED.

BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

(From the "Biglow Papers.")

[JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL: An American poet, critic, and scholar; born in Cambridge, Mass., February 22, 1819; died there August 12, 1891. He graduated at Harvard (1838), and was admitted to the bar (1841), but soon abandoned the legal profession for literature. In 1855 he succeeded Longfellow as professor of modern languages at Harvard; was editor of the Atlantic Monthly (1857–1862), and of the North American Review (1863-1872) with C. E. Norton; United States minister to Spain (1877-1880), and to Great Britain (1880-1885). His chief poetical works are: "A Year's Life" (1841), "The Vision of Sir Launfal,” “The Biglow Papers," "Commemoration Ode," "Under the Willows," The Cathedral," "Heartsease and Rue." In prose he published: "Conversations on Some of the Old Poets," "Fireside Travels," "Among my Books," "My Study Windows," "Democracy," and "Political Essays."]

I Du believe in Freedom's cause,

Ez fur away ez Payris is;

I love to see her stick her claws
In them infarnal Phayrisees;
It's wal enough agin a king

To dror resolves an triggers,—
But libbaty's a kind o' thing

Thet don't agree with niggers.

I du believe the people want
A tax on teas an' coffees,
Thet nothin' ain't extravygunt,-
Purvidin' I'm in office;

Fer I hev loved my country sence

My eyeteeth filled their sockets,
An' Uncle Sam I reverence,

Partic❜larly his pockets.

I du believe in any plan

O' levyin' the taxes,

Ez long ez, like a lumberman,

I git jest wut I axes:

I go free trade thru thick an' thin,
Because it kind o' rouses

The folks to vote, -an' keeps us in
Our quiet custom houses.

I du believe it's wise an' good
To sen' out furrin missions,
Thet is, on sartin understood
An' orthydox conditions; -
I mean nine thousan' dolls. per ann.,
Nine thousan' more fer outfit,
An' me to recommend a man
The place 'ould jest about fit.

I du believe in special ways
O' prayin' an' convartin';

The bread comes back in many days
An' buttered, tu, fer sartin;
I mean in prayin' till one busts
On wut the party chooses,
An' in convartin' public trusts
To very privit uses.

I du believe hard coin the stuff
Fer 'lectioneers to spout on;
The people's ollers soft enough

To make hard money out on;
Dear Uncle Sam pervides fer his,

An' gives a good-sized junk to all,

I don't care how hard money is,
Ez long ez mine's paid punctooal.

I du believe with all my soul
In the gret Press's freedom,
To pint the people to the goal

An' in the traces lead 'em;
Palsied the arm thet forges yokes
At my fat contracts squintin',
An' withered be the nose thet pokes
Inter the gov'ment printin'!

In short, I firmly du believe

In Humbug generally,

Fer it's a thing that I perceive
To hev a solid vally;

This heth my faithful shepherd ben,
In pasturs sweet heth led me,
An' this'll keep the people green

To feed ez they hev fed me.

WHAT MR. ROBINSON THINKS.

BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

(From "Biglow Papers.")

GUVENER B. [Briggs] is a sensible man:

He stays to his home and looks arter his folks; He draws his furrer ez straight ez he can,

An' into nobody's tater-patch pokes;

But John P.

Robinson he

Sez he wunt vote for Guvener B.

My! aint it terrible? Wut shall we du?

We can't never choose him, o' course, thet's flat; Guess we shall hev to come round (don't you?) An' go in fer thunder an' guns, an' all that; Fer John P. Robinson he

Sez he wunt vote fer Guvener B.

Gineral C. [Caleb Cushing] is a dreffle smart man:
He's ben on all sides that gives places or pelf;
But consistency still was a part of his plan, -
He's ben true to one party,-an' thet is himself; -
So John P.
Robinson he

Sez he shall vote fer Gineral C.

Gineral C. he goes in fer the war;

He don't vally principle more'n an old cud—