She told him all the rocks by name,
The winds and whence they blew;
She told him how the seas were formed,
And how the mountains grew.
She numbered all the stars for him;
And all the rounded skies
Were mapped and charted for the gaze
Of his devouring eyes.
Thus, taught by her, he taught the crowd;
They praised--and he was very proud.

II.

The Man who Loved the Soul of Things
Went forth serene and glad,
And mused upon the mighty world,
And people called him mad.
An unseen presence walked with him
Forever by his side,
The wedded mistress of his soul--
For Wisdom was his bride.
She showed him all this mighty frame,
And bade him feel--but named no name.

She stood with him upon the hills
Ringed by the azure sky,
And shamed his lowly thought with stars
And bade it climb as high.
And all the birds he could not name,
The nameless stars that roll,
The unnamed blossoms at his feet
Talked with him soul to soul;
He heard the Nameless Glory speak
In silence--and was very meek.

--Sam Walter Foss.

THE INQUIRY

I wonder if ever a song was sung but the singer's heart sang sweeter!
I wonder if ever a rhyme was rung but the thought surpassed the meter!
I wonder if ever a sculptor wrought till the cold stone echoed his
ardent thought!
Or if ever the painter with light and shade the dream of his inmost
heart portrayed!

I wonder if ever a rose was found and there might not be a fairer!
Or if ever a glittering gem was ground and we dreamed not of a rarer!
Ah! never on earth do we find the best; but it waits for us in the land
of rest,
And a perfect thing we shall never behold till we pass the portals of
shining gold.

A SONG OF LOW DEGREE

He that is down need fear no fall;
He that is low, no pride;
He that is humble ever shall
Have God to be his guide.

I am content with what I have,
Little be it, or much;
And, Lord, contentment still I crave,
Because thou savest such.

Fullness to such a burden is
That go on pilgrimage;
Here little, and hereafter bliss,
Is best from age to age.

--John Bunyan.

NOT YET PREPARED

O thou unpolished shaft, why leave the quiver?
O thou blunt axe, what forests canst thou hew?
Untemper