"HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED, SLEEP."

F all the thoughts of God that are

OF

Borne inward unto souls afar,
Along the Psalmist's music deep,
Now tell me if that any is,

For gift or grace, surpassing this"He giveth His beloved, sleep!"

What would we give to our beloved?
The hero's heart, to be unmoved,
The poet's star-tuned harp, to sweep,
The patriot's voice, to teach and rouse,
The monarch's crown, to light the brows?
He giveth His beloved, sleep.

What do we give to our beloved?

A little faith all undisproved,

A little dust to overweep,

And bitter memories to make

The whole earth blasted for our sake.
He giveth His beloved, sleep.

"Sleep soft, beloved!" we sometimes say,

But have no tune to charm away

Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep.

But never doleful dream again

Shall break the happy slumber when

He giveth His beloved, sleep.

O earth, so full of dreary noises!
O men, with wailing in your voices!
O delved gold, the wailer's heap!
O strife, O curse, that o'er it fall!
God strikes a silence through you all,
And giveth His beloved, sleep.

His dews drop mutely on the hill;
His cloud above it saileth still,

Though on its slope men sow and reap.
More softly than the dew is shed,
Or cloud is floated overhead,
He giveth His beloved, sleep.

Ay, men may wonder while they scan
A living, thinking, feeling man
Confirmed in such a rest to keep;
But angels say, and through the word
I think their happy smile is heard—
"He giveth His beloved, sleep."

For me, my heart that erst did go
Most like a tired child at a show,

That sees through tears the mummers leap,
Would now its wearied vision close,

Would childlike on His love repose,
Who giveth His beloved, sleep.

And, friends, dear friends, when it shall be

That this low breath is gone from me,
And round my bier ye come to weep,
Let One, most loving of you all,
Say, "Not a tear must o'er her fall;
He giveth His beloved, sleep."

MRS. BROWNING.

DEDICATION OF GETTYSBURG CEMETERY.

Rarely has an occasion of such vast moment been celebrated in so few words, or in language at the same time so forcible and so simple. The speech should be read with great dignity, but without declamatory effect.

FOUR

OURSCORE and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth upon this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all man

are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation-or any nation so conceived and so dedicated-can long endure.

We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We are met to dedicate a portion of it as the final restingplace of those who have given their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow, this ground. The brave nien, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our power to add or to detract. The world will very little note nor long remember what we say here; but it can never forget what they did here.

It is for us, the living, rather, to be dedicated, here, to the unfinished work that they have thus far so nobly carried on. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us; that from these honored Idead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they here gave the last full measure of devotion; that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain; that the nation shall, under God, have a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth. ABRAHAM Lincoln.

ARCHIE DEAN.

This should be read in a light and airy style, with a real girlish earnestness and simplicity.

I.

WOULD you laugh, or would you cry?

Would you break

your heart and die,

If you had a dashing lover

Like my handsome Archie Dean,

And he should forget his wooing
By the moon, the stars, the sun,
To love me evermore,

And should go to Kittie Carrol,
Who has money, so they say—
And with eyes love-filled as ever,
Win her heart, that's like a feather,
Vowing all he had before?

Prithee, tell me, would you cry,
And grow very sad and die?

II.

Alway, in the old romances
That dear Archie read to me,
Those that pleased my girlish fancy,
There was always sure to be

One sweet maiden with a lover
Who was never, never true;

And when they were widely parted,
Then she died, poor broken-hearted,
And did break with grief at last,
Like a lily in the blast-
Say, would you, if you were me?

III.

True, I do love Archie Dean,

Love him, love him, oh! how true;

But see, my eyes are bright,

And my lips and cheeks are red,

(Archie Dean put that in my head)

And I don't know what to do,
Whether to lie down and weep
Till the red is faded out,
And my eyes are dull and dim,
Maybe blind, and all for him;

2

(I could do it, I've no doubt).

Or loop up my pretty hair

With the brightest knots of ribbon,
And the very sweetest roses,
And go to the village fair,
Where he'll be with Kittie Carrol,
And will see me dance the wildest
With some bonny lad that's there,
Just to show how much I care.

IV.

Archie Dean! Archie Dean!

'Tis the sweetest name I know,

It is writ on my heart, but o'er it now
Is drifting the cold snow.

Archie Dean! Archie Dean!

There's a pain in my heart while I speak;

I wonder if always the thought of your name
Will make me so saddened and weak.

Archie Dean! Archie Dean!

I remember that you said

Your name should be mine and I should be
The happiest bride e'er wed.

I little thought of a day like this
When I could wish I were dead.

But there goes the clock, the hour is near
When I must be off to the fair;

I'll go and dance and dance and dance
With the bonny lads who are there,
In my dress of blue with crimson sash
Which he always liked to see.

I'll whirl before him as fast as I can,

I'll laugh and chatter, yes, that is my plan,

And I know that before the morn

He'll wish that Kittie Carrol had never been born,