Her pleasures," thought I; "O, it is so good
That she can rest a while. I wish she could
Stay till the autumn leaves are turning red."
"Stay longer, sister," all my letters said.
"If you are growing stronger every day,
I am so very glad to have you stay."

My darling went
To heaven long ago. Am I content
To stay at home? Why can I not be glad
Of all the glories that she there has had?
She needed change. Why am I loath to stay
And do her work and let her go away?
The land is lovely where her feet have been;
Why do I not rejoice that she has seen
Its beauties first? That she will show to me
The City Beautiful? Is it so hard to be
Happy that she is happy? Hard to know
She learns so much each day that helps her so?
Why can I not each night and morning say,
"I am so glad that she is glad to-day?"

"OUT OF REACH"

You think them "out of reach," your dead?
Nay, by my own dead, I deny
Your "out of reach."--Be comforted;
'Tis not so far to die.

O by their dear remembered smiles,
And outheld hands and welcoming speech,
They wait for us, thousands of miles
This side of "out of reach."

--James Whitcomb Riley.

SORROWFUL, YET REJOICING

I lift my head and walk my ways
Before the world without a tear,
And bravely unto those I meet
I smile a message of good cheer;
I give my lips to laugh and song,
And somehow get me through each day;
But, oh, the tremble in my heart
Since she has gone away!

Her feet had known the stinging thorns,
Her eyes the blistering tears;
Bent were her shoulders with the weight
And sorrow of the years;
The lines were deep upon her brow,
Her hair was thin and gray;
And, oh, the tremble in my heart
Since she has gone away!

I am not sorry; I am glad;
I would not have her here again;
God gave her strength life's bitter cup
Unto the bitterest dreg to drain;
I will not have less strength than she,
I proudly tread my stony way;
But, oh, the tremble in my heart
Since she has gone away!

IN THE HOSPITAL

I lay me down to sleep
With little thought or care
Whether my waking find
Me here or there.

A bowing, burdened head,
That only asks to rest,
Unquestioning, upon
A loving breast.

My good ri