And I, right in my latter days, Am fairly crowded out! To-day, the preacher, good old dear I al'ays liked that blessed hymn, It somehow gratifies my whim, But when that choir got up to sing, They sung the most dog-gonedest thing, Some worldly chaps was standin' near; I bid farewell to every fear, I thought I'd chase their tune along, But though my voice is good and strong, When they was high, then I was low, An' also contra' wise; And I too fast, or they too slow, An' after every verse, you know I didn't understand, an' so I pitched it pretty middlin' high, But oh, alas! I found that I Was singing there alone! They laughed a little, I am told; But I had done my best: And not a wave of trouble rolled And sister Brown-I could but look-- She never was no singin' book, MM But then she al'ays tried to do The best she could, she said; She understood the time, right through, But when she tried this mornin', oh, It kep' her head a bobbin' so, It e'en a'most came off! An' Deacon Tubbs,-he all broke down, As one might well suppose, He took one look at sister Brown, And meekly scratched his nose. He looked his hymn book through and through, And then a pensive sigh he drew, And looked completely beat. An' when they took another bout, But drawed his red bandanner out, I've been a sister, good an' true, I've done what seemed my part to do, An' prayed my duty clear; But death will stop my voice, I know, For he is on my track; And some day, I to church will go And never more come back; And when the folks get up to sing- I do not want no patent thing From "Farm Ballads." THE ENGINEER'S STORY. No, children, my trips are over, A tugging pain in my breast; That'll ring in my head forever, We were lumbering along in the twilight, Climbing the top of the grade; Till we reached the upland's crest. I held my watch to the lamplight— Of the up grade's heavy climb; Over the rails a-gleaming, The engine leaped like a demon, I was proud, you know, of my engine, My hand was firm on the throttle One instant-one, awful and only— The world flew round in my brain, And I smote my hand hard on my forehead The train I thought flying forever, With mad, irresistible roll, While the cries of the dying, the night wind Then I stood on the front of the engine,- While my eye gauged the distance, and measured My mind, thank the Lord! it was steady; I saw the bright curls of her hair, I know little more, but I heard it,― One rod! To the day of my dying I shall think the old engine reared back, And as it recoiled, with a shudder I swept my hand over the track; They found us, they said, on the gravel, We are not much given to crying We men that run on the road- For years, in the eve and the morning My hand on the lever pressed downward And her look with a fulness of heaven DEATH OF GAUDENTIS.-HARRIET ANNIE. The following inscription was found in the Catacombs by Mr. Perret, upon the tomb of the Architect of the Coliseum. "Thus thou keepest thy promises O Vespasian! the rewarding with death him, the crown of thy glory in Rome. Do rejoice, O Gaudentis! the cruel tyrant promised much, but Christ gave thee all, who prepared thee such a mansion." -Professor J. De Launay's Lectures on the Catacombs. Before Vespasian's regal throne Skilful Gaudentis stood; "Build me," the haughty monarch cried, I know thou'rt skilled in mason's work, "Over seven acres spread thy work, And by the gods of Rome, Thou shalt hereafter by my side Have thy resplendent home. A citizen of Roman rights, Silver and golden store, These shall be thine; let Christian blood But stain the marble floor." So rose the amphitheatre, Tower and arch and tier; There dawned a day when martyrs stood But strong their quenchless trust in God, Their eyes of faith, undimmed, were fixed And thousands gazed, in brutal joy, |