Spurned by the young, but hugged by the old,
To the very verge of the churchyard mould;
Price of many a crime untold:
Gold! gold! gold! gold!

Good or bad a thousand-fold!
How widely its agencies vary,-

To save, to ruin, to curse,

As even its minted coins express,

to bless,

Now stamped with the image of good Queen Bess, And now of a Bloody Mary.

Ex. 110. · A HUNDRED YEARS TO COME.

HO 'll press for gold this crowded street,

WH

WA hundred years to come?

Who'll tread yon church with willing feet,
A hundred years to come?

Pale, trembling age and fiery youth,

And childhood with his brow of truth,

The rich and poor, on land, on sea,

Where will the mighty millions be,
A hundred years to come?

We all within our graves shall sleep.
A hundred years to come;
No living soul for us will weep,

A hundred years to come.
But other men our land will till,
And others then our streets will fill,
And other words will sing as gay,
And bright the sunshine as to-day,

A hundred years to come.

O the flutter of the fuss! To begin with Cain and Abel, And to finish up with us.

Think of all the men and wom Who are now and who have Every nation since creation. That this world of ours has And of all of them, not any But was once a baby small; While of children, O, how man Never have grown up at all!

Some have never laughed or sp Never used their rosy feet; Some have even flown to heave Ere they knew that earth wa And indeed I wonder whether, If we reckon every birth, And bring such a flock together There is room for them on ea

Who will wash their smiling fa Who their saucy ears will bo Who will dress them and caress Who will darn their little so Where are arms enough to hold Hands to pat each shining he

Who will praise them? who will scold them? Who will pack them off to bed?

Little happy Christian children,
Little savage children too,
In all stages of all ages

That our planet ever knew!
Little princes and princesses,
Little beggars wan and faint;
Some in very handsome dresses,
Naked some, bedaubed with paint.

Only think of the confusion.

Such a motley crowd would make! And the clatter of their chatter,

And the things that they would break!

O the babble of the Babel!

O the flutter of the fuss! To begin with Cain and Abel, And to finish up with us!

Ex. 112. - THE HARDEST TIME OF ALL.

HERE are days of deepest sorrow
In the season of our life;

There are wild despairing moments;
There are hours of mental strife.
There are hours of stony anguish,
When the tears refuse to fall;
But the waiting time, my brothers,
Is the hardest time of all.

Youth and love are oft impatient,

Seeking things beyond their reach;

SELECTIONS IN POETRY.

And the heart grows sick with hoping,
Ere it learns what life can teach.
For before the fruit be gathered,
We must see the blossoms fall;
And the waiting time, my brothers,
Is the hardest time, of all.

We can bear the heat of conflict,
Though the sudden crushing blow,
Beating back our gathered forces,
For a moment lay us low.
We may rise again beneath it,
None the weaker for our fall;
But the waiting time, my brothers,
Is the hardest time of all.

Yet at last we learn the lesson
That God knoweth what is best,

And a silent resignation

Makes the spirit calm and blest ;
For, perchance, a day is coming

For the changes of our fate,

When our hearts will thank him meekly
That he taught us how to wait.

109

Ex. 113. — THREE WORDS OF STRENGTH. Schiller.

HERE are three lessons I would write, -
Three words, as with a burning pen,

In tracings of eternal light,

Upon the hearts of men.

Have Hope. Though clouds environ round,
And gladness hides her face in scorn,

è calm's disport, the tempest's mirth, this: God rules the hosts of heaven, è inhabitants of earth.

Love. Not love alone for one, t man, as man, thy brother call; scatter, like the circling sun, y charities on all.

grave these lessons on thy soul,

pe, Faith, and Love, and thou shalt find gth when life's surges rudest roll,

ht when thou else wert blind.

114. HODGE AND THE PRIEST.

ODGE, a poor honest country lout,
Not overstocked with learning,
ced on a summer's eve to meet
e vicar, home returning.

Master Hodge!" the vicar said,
What, still as wise as ever?
eople in the village say

at you are wondrous clever."

y, measter parson, as to that eg you 'll right conceive me; na brag, but yet I know