POETRY-At Eventide there shall be Light, 2. Choir Singing, 2. The Three Gifts, 2.
Life Sculpture, 2. Only One Life, 2. Cousin Robert, 48. Bonnets, 48. Enigma, 76.
Poetry and Philosophy, 80. The Burial at Sea, 80.
SHORT ARTICLES.-Water at Jerusalem, 15. Electric Telegraph in 1787, 15. The Post-
Office in England, 19. Railway to Rome, 19. Bridge over the Rhine, 19. Topsfield, 19.
The word Donny, 23. Stone, the Mathematician, 25. Common objects of the Country, 25.
A Male Nun, 29. Elastic Coating, 29. Do it in a Hurry, 36. Australian Forests, 41. Ar-
senic in Pipes, 41. Croker's Collection of Autographs, 41. Hardness of Character, 41.
Perfumes, 41. London Water, 47. Sudden Thought, 69. Stains from Books, 69. The
Water Cure, 69. The Telegraph in War, 79, Gutta Percha, 79. Disinterested Kindness,
79. Presto Amoroso, 79.
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CHOIR SINGING.
SINGERS in a choir should be
Lovers of true harmony;
Not the harmony alone
Of the voice, and lip, and tone,
But the harmony of soul,
Each uniting with the other,
As a sister or a brother;
Sanctifying every part
With pure" melody of heart,"
Singing true, with joy and love,
As the angels sing above.
Singers in a choir should be
Full of gentlest charity;
Holy love within the breast
Will make every voice the best;
Guarding well the spirit harp.
From the undue flat or sharp;
Keeping all its strings in tune,
That would else be broken soon.
Pride might bid them sing to please
Those who criticize at ease;
Love would bid them ever sing
To the praise of God their King-
Whose attentive, list'ning ear
Bends from his high throne to hear;
Who can track thought's giddy mazes,
Who inhabiteth the praises
Of eternity! O Lord,
Do thou tighten each lax cord;
Tune each voice to sweetest key,
That thy songs and psalms may be
Sung in heaven-born harmony.
"AT EVENTIDE THERE SHALL BE
LIGHT."
Most lives have shadows never understood,
Dark corners where no friendly gleam can come,
Dim secrets of a once bright youth, long past;
Oh! courage, sinking heart, remember yet
at eventide there shall be light!'
Light to the captive in the darkest cell,
Where weary years have lagged unnoticed by,
Unmarked by sunshine's ray, or lightning's
flash,
Shrouded forever in one twilight grey
For him "at eventide there shall be light!"
Light.to the blinded wanderer-led astray
O'er desert moor, by the delusive gleam
He dreams must be the cheerful light of home,
And wakes to find a lantern of the waste.
For him "at eventide there shall be light!"
Light to the shipwrecked on the shores of life,
Who see their barks go down in sight of land,
Lured by false meteors onward to their doom
Where the black rocks lie buried in the foam.
For them at eventide there shall be light!"
Light to the patient eyes that cannot see
Earth's glorious beauty and her bloomy hues,
Nor the dear form and lineaments of love;
A tenderer dawn shall greet those unsealed eyes,
When at the "eventide there shall be light!"
To all who pine in darkness and in gloom
Of heart or soul, that ray shall come at last;
To some, a star to lead the pilgrim home;
To some, the lurid glow of endless flame;
To all, "at eventide there shall be light!
-Church Porch.
BY W. H. DAVENPORT ADAMS.
I GAVE my love a burning gem,
All touch'd with ruddy fire;
Might grace an antique diadem,
And light a king's desire.
She said: "Such gifts shall ne'er be mine,
These gems I will not wear;
For no love-thoughts do they enshrine,
No gentle fancies bear."
I gave my love a violet,
Mid fondling mosses bred,
With twilight's dewy kisses wet
It bow'd its graceful head.
She sigh'd: "Alas! the flow'r will fade,
Too soon its beauty pale!
In sooth, I were a silly maid
To take a boon so frail."
I gave my love a simple song,
Essay'd by poet-pen;
Which sought, and found, its friends among
All carnest-hearted men.
She said: "True, song can never die !
Let thy love like it be,
And on my heart the gift shall lie
To bid me think of thee!"
LIFE SCULPTURE. CHISEL in hand stood a sculptor-boy. With his marble block before him:
And his face lit up with a smile of joy,
As an angel-dream passed o'er him:
He carved the dream on that shapeless stone,
With many a sharp incision;
With heaven's own light the sculpture shone,
He had caught that angel-vision.
Sculptors of life are we, as we stand,
With our souls, uncarved before us, Waiting the hour, when at God's command, Our life-dream shall pass o'er us.
If we carve it then, on the yielding stone,
With many a sharp incision,
Its heavenly beauty shall be our own,
Our lives, that angel-vision.
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