&

THE MASTER'S TOUCH.

H. BONAR.

N the still air the music lies unheard;
In the rough marble beauty hides unseen:
To make the music and the beauty, needs
The master's touch, the sculptor's chisel keen.

Great Master, touch us with thy skillful hand;
Let not the music that is in us die!
Great Sculptor, hew and polish us; nor let,

Hidden and lost, thy form within us lie!

Spare not the stroke! do with us as thou wilt!
Let there be naught unfinished, broken, marred;
Complete thy purpose, that we may become

Thy perfect image, thou our God and Lord!

TWO VIEWS OF LIVING.

My life is in the sere and yellow leaf,
The flowers and fruits of love are gone;
The worm, the canker, and the grief
Are mine alone.

The fire that on my bosom preys
Is lone as some volcanic isle;
No torch is lighted at its blaze--
A funeral pile.

-Lord Byron.

Life! I know not what thou art,

But know that thou and I must part;
And when, or how, or where we met,

I own to me's a secret yet.

Life! we've been long together

Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; 'Tis hard to part when friends are dear,— Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear;

Then steal away, give little warning,

Choose thine own time;

Say not Good Night, but in some brighter clime

Bid me Good Morning.

-Mrs. Barbauld.

BEAUTIFUL THINGS.

ELLEN P. ALLERTON.

EAUTIFUL faces are those that wear,
It matters little if dark or fair-
Wholesouled honesty printed there.

Beautiful eyes are those that show,

Like crystal panes where hearthfires glow,
Beautiful thoughts that burn below.

Beautiful lips are those whose words
Leap from the heart like songs of birds,
Yet whose utterance prudence girds.

Beautiful hands are those that do

Work that is earnest and brave and true,
Moment by moment the long day through.

Beautiful feet are those that go

On kindly ministries to and fro,

Down lowliest ways if God wills it so.

Beautiful shoulders are those that bear
Ceaseless burdens of homely care,
With patient grace and daily prayer.

Beautiful lives are those that bless,
Silent rivers of happiness,

Whose hidden fountains but few can guess.

BEAUTIFUL THINGS.

Beautiful twilight, at set of sun;
Beautiful goal, with race well run;
Beautiful rest, with work well done.

Beautiful graves, where grasses creep,

Where brown leaves fall, where drifts lie deep
Over worn-out hands; oh, beautiful sleep!

27

AN ANGEL IN THE HOUSE.

H

L. HUNT.

OW sweet it were, if without feeble fright,
Or dying of the dreadful beauteous sight,
An angel came to us, and we could bear
To see him issue from the silent air

At evening in our room, and bend on ours

His divine eyes, and bring us from his bowers
News of dear friends, and children who have

never

Been dead indeed, -as we shall know forever.
Alas! we think not what we daily see
About our hearths, angels, that are to be,
Or may be if they will, and we prepare
Their souls and ours to meet in happy air,--
A child, a friend, a wife whose soft heart sings
In unison with ours, breeding its future wings.