The smallest cloudlet wrecked in distant storms, That wanders homeless through the summer skies,

Is reckoned in His purposes, and forms

One of His argosies.

Where the perpetual mountains patient wait,
Girded with purity before His throne,
Keeping from age to age inviolate
Their everlasting crown;

Where the long-gathering waves of ocean break With ceaseless music o'er untrodden strands, From isles that day by day in silence wake, From earth's remotest lands.

The anthem of His praise shall uttered be;
All works created on His name shall call,
And laud, and bless His holy name, for He
Hath pleasure in them all.

LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT.

J. H. NEWMAN.

Lead, kindly light, amid the encircling gloom,
Lead Thou me on;

The night is dark, and I am far from home,
Lead Thou me on.

Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene; one step enough for me.

I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou
Shouldst lead me on;

I loved to choose and see my path; but now
Lead Thou me on.

I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears,
Pride ruled my will; remember not past years!

So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it stil!
Will lead me on

O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till
The night is gone,

And with the morn those angel faces smile
Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile

Meanwhile, along the narrow, rugged path
Thyself hast trod,

Lead, Savior, lead me home in childlike faith,
Home to my God,

To rest forever after earthly strife,
In the calm light of everlasting life.

THE TWO AGES.

H. S. LEIGH.

Folks were happy as days were long,
In the old Arcadian times:

When life seemed only a dance and song
In the sweetest of all sweet climes.
Our world grows bigger, and stage by stage,
As the pitiless years have rolled,
We've quite forgotten the Golden Age,
And come to the Age of Gold.

Time went by in a sheepish way
Upon Thessaly's plains of yore.
In the nineteenth century lambs at play
Mean mutton, and nothing more.
Our swains at present are far too sage

To live as one lived of old:

So they couple the crook of the Golden Age With a hook in the Age of Gold.

From Corydon's reed the mountains round
Heard news of his latest flame;

And Tityrus made the woods resound
With echoes of Daphne's name.
They kindly left us a lasting guage
Of their musical art, we're told:

GEMS OF POETRY.

And the Pandean pipe of the Golden Age
Brings mirth to the Age of Gold.

Dwellers in huts and in marble hall
From shepherdess up to queen-
Cared little for bonnets, and less for shawl,
And nothing for crinoline.

But now simplicity's not the rage,

And it's funny to think how cold
The dress they wore in the Golden Age
Would seem in the Age of Gold.

Electric telegraphs, printing, gas,
Telephones, balloons and steam,
Are little events that have come to pass
Since the days of the old regime;
And in spite of Lempriere's dazzling page,
I'd give though it might seem bold-
A hundred years of the Golden Age
For a year of the Age of Gold.

37

WEARY, LONELY, RESTLESS, HOMELESS.

FATHER RYAN.

Weary hearts! weary hearts! by cares of life oppressed,
Ye are wandering in the shadows, ye are sighing for the

rest;

There is darkness in the heavens, and the earth is bleak

below,

And the joys we taste to-day may to-morrow turn to woe. Weary hearts! God is rest.

Lonely hearts! lonely hearts! 'tis but a land of grief;
Ye are pining for repose, ye are longing for relief;

What the world hath never given, kneel and ask of God above,

And your grief shall turn to gladness if you lean upon His love.

Lonely hearts! God is love.

Restless hearts! restless hearts! ye are toiling night and day,

And the flowers of life, all withered, leave but thorns along

your way;

Ye are waiting, ye are waiting till your toilings here shall

cease,

And your ever-restless throbbing is a sad, sad prayer for

peace.

Restless hearts! God is peace.