e
Left on another,--yet, untouched alone,--
THE CROSS STILL STANDS!

His shrines o'erthrown, His altars desecrate,
His priests the victims of a pagan hate,--
THE CROSS STILL STANDS!

'Mid all the horrors of the reddened ways,
The thund'rous nights, the dark and dreadful days,--
THE CROSS STILL STANDS!

* * * * *

And, 'mid the chaos of the Deadlier Strife,--
A Church at odds with its own self and life,--
HIS CROSS STILL STANDS!

Faith folds her wings, and Hope at times grows dim;
The world goes wandering away from Him;--
HIS CROSS STILL STANDS!

Love, with the lifted hands and thorn-crowned head,
Still conquers Death, though life itself be fled;--
HIS CROSS STILL STANDS!

Yes,--Love triumphant stands, and stands for more,
In our great need, than e'er it stood before!
HIS CROSS STILL STANDS!

WHERE ARE YOU SLEEPING TO-NIGHT, MY LAD?

Where are you sleeping to-night, My Lad,
Above-ground--or below?
The last we heard you were up at the front,
Holding a trench and bearing the brunt;--
But--that was a week ago.

Ay!--that was a week ago, Dear Lad,
And a week is a long, long time,
When a second's enough, in the thick of the strife,
To sever the thread of the bravest life,
And end it in its prime.

Oh, a week is long when so little's enough
To send a man below.
It may be that while we named your name
The bullet sped and the quick end came,--
And the rest we shall never know.

But this we know, Dear Lad,--all's well
With the man who has done his best.
And whether he live, or whether he die,
He is sacred high in our memory;--
And to God we can leave the rest.

So--wherever you're sleeping to-night, Dear Lad,
This one thing we do know,--
When "Last Post" sounds, and He makes His rounds,
Not one of you all will be out of bounds,
Above ground or below.

BE QUIET!

Soul, dost thou fear
For to-day or to-morrow?
'Tis the part of a fool
To go seeking sorrow.
Of thine own doing
Thou canst not contrive them.
'Tis He that shall give them;
Thou may'st not outlive them.
So why cloud to-day
With fear of the sorrow,
That may or may not
Come to-morrow?

TO YOU WHO HAVE LOST

I know! I know!--
The ceaseless ache, the emptiness, the woe,--
The