oul was communing
In triumph with Him;--

With the Ancient of Days,
Who from mercy-seat high
Beheld the pale pleader
With vigilant eye;
And Peace with white pinion
Came down from His throne,
And the gleam of her wing
On that fair forehead shone.

O Thou that upholdest
The feeble and frail,
And leadest the pilgrim
Through Life's narrow vale!
When the days that are measured
My spirit below
Shall have ceased to the past
From the future to flow,--

May the Summoner find me
As placid and strong,
As meet for endurance
Of agony long,
With a faith as divine
And vision as clear,
As the watchers who wept
On the hills of Judaea!

MONA LISA.

Leonardo da Vinci is said to have been four years employed upon the
portrait of Mona Lisa, a fair Florentine, without being able to
come up to the idea of her beauty.

Artist! lay the brush aside;
Twilight gathers chill and gray;
Turn the picture to the wall,--
Thou hast wrought in vain to-day.

Thrice twelve months have hastened by
Since thy canvas first grew bright
With that brow's bewitching beauty,
And that dark eye's melting light.

But the early morning shineth
On thy tireless labors yet,
And the portrait stands before thee
Till the evening sun has set.

Faultless is the robe that falleth
Round that form of matchless grace;
Faultless is the softened outline
Of the fair and oval face.

Thou hast caught the wondrous beauty
Of the round cheek's roseate hue,
And the full, red lips are smiling
As this morn they smiled on you.

To that Lady thou hast given
Immortality below;
Wherefore then, with moody glances,
Dost thou from thy labor go?

From the living face of beauty
Beams the soul's expressive ray,
And with all thy god-like genius
This thou never canst portray.

Of the countless throng around me
Each hath labors like to thine,
Each, methinks, some Mona Lisa
In his spirit's inmost shrine.

Visions haunt us from our childhood
Of a love so pure, so true,
Time and tears, and care and anguish,
Leave it steadfast, fair and new;--

Visions that elude for ever,