William Goldsmith Brown.

1812.

A HUNDRED YEARS TO COME.

Oh, where will be the birds that sing,
A hundred years to come?

The flowers that now in beauty spring,
A hundred years to come?

The rosy lip, the lofty brow,

The heart that beats so gayly now,
Oh, where will be love's beaming eye,
Joy's pleasant smile, and sorrow's sigh,
A hundred years to come?

Who 'll press for gold this crowded street, A 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 its brow of truth;
The rich and poor, on land and 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 lands shall till,

And others then our streets will fill,
While other birds will sing as gay,
As bright the sunshine as to-day
A hundred years to come.

Jones Very.

1813-1880.

NATURE.

The bubbling brook doth leap when I come by, Because my feet find measure with its call,

The birds know when the friend they love is nigh,

For I am known to them both great and

small;

The flowers that on the lonely hillside grow

Expect me there when Spring their bloom has

given;

And many a tree and bush my wanderings know,

And e'en the clouds and silent stars of heaven; For he who with his Maker walks aright,

Shall be their lord, as Adam was before;

His ear shall catch each sound with new delight, Each object wear the dress that then it wore; And he, as when erect in soul he stood,

Hear from his Father's lips that all is good.

Elizabeth H. Whittier.
1815-1864.

CHARITY.

The pilgrim and stranger, who, through the day, Holds over the desert his trackless way,

Where the terrible sands no shade have known,
No sound of life save his camel's moan,

Hears, at last, through the mercy of Allah to all,
From his tent-door, at evening, the Bedouin's call:
"Whoever thou art, whose need is great,
In the name of God, the Compassionate
And Merciful One, for thee I wait!”

For gifts, in His name, of food and rest,
The tents of Islam of God are blest.
Thou, who hast faith in the Christ above,
Shall the Koran teach thee the Law of Love?
O Christian !-open thy heart and door,-
Cry, east and west, to the wandering poor,-
"Whoever thou art, whose need is great,
In the name of Christ, the Compassionate
And Merciful One, for thee I wait!"

THE MEETING WATEPS.

Close beside the meeting waters,
Long I stood as in a dream,
Watching how the little river
Fell into the broader stream.

Calm and still the mingled current
Glided to the waiting sea;
On its breast serenely pictured
Floating cloud and skirting tree.

And I thought: "O human spirit !
Strong and deep and pure and blest,
Let the stream of
my existence
Blend with thine, and find its rest !”

I could die as dies the river,
In that current deep and wide;
I would live as lives its waters,
Flashing from a stronger tide!

Unknown.

HEARTS THAT HUNGER.

Some hearts go hungering through the world,
And never find the love they seek ;
Some lips with pride or scorn are curled,
To hide the pain they may not speak;
The eye may flash, the mouth may smile,
The voice in gladdest music thrill,
And yet beneath them all the while,
The hungry heart be pining still.

O eager eyes which gaze afar!

O arms which clasp the empty air,

Not all unmarked your sorrows are,
Not all unpitied your despair.
Smile, patient lips, so proudly dumb;
When life's frail tent at last is furled,
Your glorious recompense shall come,
O hearts that hunger through the world.

John G. Sare.

1816-1887.

THE TWO ANGELS.

AN ALLEGORY.

Two wandering angels, Sleep and Death.
Once met in sunny weather;

And while the twain were taking breath,
They held discourse together.

Quoth Sleep (whose face, though twice as fair, Was strangely like the other's,

So like, in sooth, that anywhere

66

They might have passed for brothers) :

A busy life is mine, I trow; Would I were omnipresent! So fast and far have I to go; And yet my work is pleasant.

"I cast my potent poppies forth,

And lo,-the cares that cumber