lication of another one of five hundred copies. In 1872 she published
another small volume, entitled "The Little Streamlet," which contained
some poems written since the publication of the first volume. Miss
Patterson at present and for many years past has resided in Baltimore.

"JUDGE NOT!"

How, poor frail and erring mortal,
Darest thou judge thy fellow-man
And with bitter words and feelings,
All his faults and frailties scan?

Why rake out from time's dull ashes,
And before the world display
Deeds, it may be, long repented
And forgiven, ere this day?

Canst thou search his secret feelings?
Canst thou read his inmost soul?
Canst thou tell the hidden motives
Which his actions here control?

Is he erring? seek in kindness,
Then, to win him back to peace;
Is he weak? oh try to strengthen;
Sad? then bid his sorrows cease!

Lay thou not a heavier burden
By an unkind look or word,
On a heart which may by anguish
To its inmost depths be stirred.

O! forbear thy hasty judging!
Should thy righteous God demand
Half the justice which thy brother
Is receiving from thy hand,

What, oh what would be thy portion,
Though more righteous thou than he,
Would not the glad gates of mercy
Soon their portals close on thee?

THE WISH.

I do not wish thee worldly wealth--
For it may flee away;
I do not wish thee beauty's charms--
For they will soon decay.

I do not wish for thee the joys
Which from earth's pleasures spring;
These give at best a fleeting bliss,
And leave a lasting sting.

I do not wish thee mortal fame--
This, like a meteor bright,
Gleams but a moment on the sky,
And leaves behind no light.

I wish for thee that richer wealth,
No earthly mines reveal,
"Which moth and rust cannot corrupt,
And thief can never steal."

I wish for thee the sweeter joys,
Which from religion flow;
These have the power to soothe and bless,
In hours of deepest woe.

I wish for thee the honor pure,
Descending from on high;
To lift thy soul away from earth,
And raise it to the sky.

I wish that peace through all thy life,
May on each step attend;
May rapture crown its closing hour,
And perfect bliss its end.

THE CHRISTIAN'S ANCHOR.

How oft when youthful skies are clear,
And joy's sweet breezes round us play,
We dream that as through life we steer,
The morrow shall be like to-day.

We paint each scene with rainbow hues,
And gail