f I should die to-night,
Even hearts estranged would turn once more to me,
Recalling other days remorsefully.
The eyes that chill me with averted glance
Would look upon me as of yore, perchance,
And soften in the old familiar way;
For who would war with dumb, unconscious clay?
So I might rest, forgiven of all to-night.

O friends, I pray to-night,
Keep not your kisses for my dead cold brow.
The way is lonely; let me feel them now.
Think gently of me; I am travel-worn,
My faltering feet are pierced with many a thorn.
Forgive! O hearts estranged, forgive, I plead!
When ceaseless bliss is mine I shall not need
The tenderness for which I long to-night.

--Belle Eugenia Smith.

FRUITION

We scatter seeds with careless hand
And dream we ne'er shall see them more,
But for a thousand years
Their fruit appears
In weeds that mar the land
Or helpful store.

The deeds we do, the words we say--
Into still air they seem to fleet;
We count them ever past;
But they shall last--
In the dread judgment they
And we shall meet.

I charge thee by the years gone by,
For the love's sake of brethren dear,
Keep thou the one true way,
In work and play,
Lest in that world their cry
Of woe thou hear.

--John Keble.

Still shines the light of holy lives
Like star beams over doubt;
Each sainted memory, Christlike, drives
Some dark possession out.

--John Greenleaf Whittier.

HAVE CHARITY

Then gently scan your brother man,
Still gentler sister woman;
Though they may gang a kennin' wrang
To step aside is human:
One point must still be greatly dark,
The moving _why_ they do it:
And just as lamely can ye mark
How far, perhaps, they rue it.

Who made the heart, 'tis He alone
Decidedly can try us;
He knows each chord--its various tone,
Each spring--its various bias;
Then at the balance let's be mute,
We never can adjust it;
What's done we partly may compute,
But know not what's resisted.

--Robert Burns.

THE VOICE OF PITY

Couldst thou boast, O child of weakness,
O'er the sons of wrong and strife,
Were their strong temptations planted
In thy path of life?

He alone whose hand is bounding