ng to purify his blood,--that poor man has
lived his sinful life in vain!

Good-bye to the shadows!
Good-bye to the night!
We'll walk in the sunshine
And laugh in the light;
And the roses and lilies of God's holy love
With their garlands shall crown us for mansions above!

The hewers of wood and the drawers of water do but little of the real
work of the world. The horse, the ox, the insensate thing of steam and
steel, does quite as much and more. But the men who dream,--who put
something of brain and heart and soul into the clods and fashion them
into things of beauty for mankind,--these lift the burdens off the
shoulders of the race and plant a song upon the lips of toil!

"Say Good-bye to Sorrow."

Say good-bye to Sorrow,
And her ways of night;
Song for you will borrow
Every sweet delight.

Say good-bye to Sorrow,--
Put the rogue to flight;
Pleasures come tomorrow
With the blossoms bright.

Say good-bye to Sorrow!
When she pounds your door,
Tell her there's the highway
And to call no more!

Caught on the Fly.

The hired hand who needs no boss to keep him busy earns double wages.

Money may buy bread and clothes, but every thing except happiness can be
purchased on credit.

The monument and the mausoleum both perish from the world; but the
dreamer who created them lives forever in the hearts of his fellow-men,
and fashions daily something of their lives.

The Call of the Master.

I.

This the call of the Master, and this is the great Command:
"Forward, march, to the shadows!
Fare forth to the Slumber Land!
There's the crown and the purple!
And there is the smile and song,
Past the ways of the weary, and over the hills of wrong!"

II.

Forth at call of the Master! Still forth for his perfect grace!
Sweet the vision of valor, and fair is the loving face!
Swift the cradle forgetting, and far from the sob between,
March to reign of the rain-bow, and dreams of the years unseen!

III.

Rolls the sword in a circle! The whirl and the flash of fire,
Burn the years like a cinder and claim for their monstrous hire!
Croon of cradle, be silent! And down, thou curtain of doom!
Weird as sobs of the midnight the dirge of the wailing tomb!

IV.

Brothers, step to the music! Still on with a shout and song!
Flags above for the triump