EDWIN ARNOLD.

"HE AND SHE."

"SHE is dead!" they said to him. "Come away;

Kiss her and leave her, thy love is clay!"

They smoothed her tresses of dark brown hair;

On her forehead of stone they laid it fair;

Over her eyes that gazed too much
They drew the lids with a gentle touch;

With a tender touch they closed up well The sweet thin lips that had secrets to tell;

About her brows and beautiful face They tied her veil and her marriage lace,

And drew on her white feet her white silk shoes

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He and she; still she did not move To any one passionate whisper of love.

Then he said: "Cold lips and breasts without breath,

Is there no voice, no language of death?

"Dumb to the ear and still to the sense, But to heart and to soul distinct, intense? "See

What was the secret of dying, dear? now; I will listen with soul, not ear;

"Was it the infinite wonder of all That you ever could let life's flower fall?

"Or was it a greater marvel to feel The perfect calm o'er the agony steal?

"Was the miracle greater to find how deep Beyond all dreams sank downward that sleep?

choose

And over her bosom they crossed her

hands.

things clear?

"And was it the innermost heart of the bliss

stands."

But he who loved her too well to dread

"O perfect dead! O dead most dear, I hold the breath of my soul to hear!

"I listen as deep as to horrible hell, As high as to heaven, and you do not tell.

"There must be pleasure in dying, sweet, To make you so placid from head to feet!

"I would tell you, darling, if I were dead, And 't were your hot tears upon my brow shed;

dead,

He lit his lamp and took the key
And turned it, -alone again-he and she.

He and she; but she would not speak, Though he kissed, in the old place, the quiet cheek.

He and she; yet she would not smile, Though he called her the name she loved erewhile.

had laid

His sword on my lips to keep it unsaid.

"You should not ask vainly, with streaming eyes, Which of all deaths was the chiefest surprise,

"The very strangest and suddenest thing Of all the surprises that dying must bring.'

"The utmost wonder is this, - I hear

That treasure of his treasury,
A mind that loved him; let it lie!
Let the shard be earth's once more,
Since the gold shines in his store!

Allah glorious! Allah good!
Now thy world is understood;
Now the long, long wonder ends;
Yet ye weep, my erring friends,

In unspoken bliss, instead,

Lives and loves you; lost, 't is true,

you, dear;

But in the light ye cannot see By such light as shines for you;

have

Of unfulfilled felicity,

never died."

In enlarging paradise,

Lives a life that never dies.

Farewell, friends! Yet not farewell;
Where I am, ye, too, shall dwell.

I am gone before your face,
A moment's time, a little space.
When ye come where I have stepped,
Ye will wonder why ye wept;
Ye will know, by wise love taught,
That here is all, and there is naught.
Weep awhile, if ye are fain,
Sunshine still must follow rain;
Only not at death, for death,
Now I know, is that first breath
Which our souls draw when we enter
Life, which is of all life centre.

Be ye certain all seems love,
Viewed from Allah's throne above;
Be ye stout of heart, and come
Bravely onward to your home!
La Allah illa Allah! yea!

Thou love divine! Thou love alway!

the face

Of his youth's lost love, of his promised bride,

And when he had added the last sad grace

To the features, he dropped his chisel and died.

And the worshippers throng to the shrine below,

And the sight-seers come with their curious eyes,

But deep in the shadow, where none may know

Its beauty, the gem of his carving lies.

Yet at early morn on a midsummer's day,

When the sun is far to the north, for the space

Of a few short minutes, there falls a ray Through an amber pane on the angel's face.

That in the spirit fluttered,

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Our footsteps sought the humble house Unmarked by cross or towering steeple, Where for their First-day gathering came God's plain and simple people?

The air was soft, the sky was large,

The grass as gay with golden flowers
As if the last night's sky had fallen
On earth in starry showers.

And, as we walked, the apple-trees
Shed their late bloom for every comer;
Our souls drank deep of joy and peace,
For it was youth and summer.

Yet through the doorway, rude and low,

The plain-robed folk we followed after, Our steps, like theirs, demure and slow, Our lips as free from laughter.

We sat apart, but still were near
As souls may draw unto each other

it seems

That he blesses the work of the dead

man's hand

With a ray of the golden light that

streams

On the lost that are found in the deathless land.

HARRIET O. NELSON.

[U. s. A.]

THE QUIET MEETING.

DEAR friend of old, whom memory links With sunny hour and summer weather, Do you with me remember yet

That Sabbath morn together,

When straying from our wonted ways, From prayer and song and priestly teacher,

Those kind, sweet helps by which the Lord

Stoops to his yearning creature,

And led by some faint sense of need Which each in each perceived unuttered,

A nobler love to brother.

How deep the common silence was;

How pure and sweet those woman faces, Which patience, gentleness, and peace

Had stamped with heavenly graces.

Nonoise of prayer came through the hush, No praise sang through the portals lowly,

Save merry bird-songs from without,
And even those seemed holy.

Then daily toil was glorified,

And love was something rarer, finer; The whole earth, sanctified through Christ,

And human life, diviner.

And when at length, by lips of age,
The silent hour was fitly broken,
Our hearts found echo in the words
From wise experience spoken.

Then at the elder's clasp of hand

We rose and met beneath the portal; Some earthly dust our lives had lost, And something gained immortal.

Since then, when sermon, psalm, and rite, And solemn organ's tuneful pealing,