been defeated in some purpose.

A GREAT SOUL

And so they sit in spiritual darkness and curse life and doubt God. But
here is a great soul who has found his divine self in the darkness and
who sends out this wonderful song of joy and gratitude.

Read it, oh, ye weak repiners, and read it again and again. It is
beautiful in thought, perfect in expression and glorious with truth.

CHIME, DARK BELL

My life is in deep darkness; still, I cry,
With joy to my Creator, "It is well!"
Were worlds my words, what firmaments would tell
My transport at the consciousness that I
Who was not, Am! To be--oh, that is why
The awful convex dark in which I dwell
Is tongued with joy, and chimes a temple bell.
Antiphonally to the choirs on high!
Chime cheerily, dark bell! for were no more
Than consciousness my gift, this were to know
The Giver Good--which sums up all the lore
Eternity can possibly bestow.
Chime! for thy metal is the molten ore
Of the great stars, and marks no wreck below.

I know a gifted and brilliant man in New York who is full of charm and
wit in conversation, but the moment he touches a pen he becomes, as a
rule, a melancholy pessimist, crying out at the injustice of the world
and the uselessness of high endeavor in the field of art.

When urged to take a different mental attitude for the sake of the
reading world, which needs strong tonics of hope and courage, rather
than the slow poison of pessimism, however subtly sweet the brew, my
friend responds that "The song and dance of literature is not my special
gift." And he is obliged to "speak of the world as I find it."

He is an able-bodied man, in the prime of life, with splendid years
waiting on his threshold to lead him to any height he may wish to climb.
But to his mental vision, nothing is really "worth while."

What a rebuke this wonderful poem of Edward Doyle's should be to all
such men and women. What an inspiration it should be to every mortal who
reads it, to look within, and find the =Kingdom of God= as this blind
poet has found it.

Mr. Doyle was in St. Francis Xavier's College when his great affliction
fell upon him. He started a local paper, The Advocate, in Harlem
twenty-three years ago and has in the darkness of his physical vision
developed his poetical talent and given the world some great lines.

AN INSPIRATION

Here is a poem which throbs with the keen anguish which must have been