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Ah! richer than gold or silver,
And wealth and rank above,
Is a child's unsullied love.
Doth He repay our gifts,
Its weight from our hearts He lifts.
Bright smiles for earth's cold frowns; For moans the harp's glad music,
And for crosses golden crowns!
THE WORLD.-ELLA WHEELER Wilcox.
As you journey along by his side
If you want to tickle his pride.
Don't tell about it, pray;
And hurriedly walk away.
And the world will be your friend.
He'll cling to you close to the end.
To lighten your burden because
And he will be loud with applause.
You must laugh at his sallies of wit.
And frowns will not change him one whit.
Down paths where all mortal feet go, Why, life holds more savor to keep in his favor,
For he's an uninerciful foe.
TSAR OLEG.-J. J. KENNEALY.
Tsar Oleg was riding through holy Kieff,
With the bright, flashiny trooping spear and shield, And his loving people bent low where he passed,
As the wind sweeps over the full-ripe field. When with staff upheld in the swaying throng,
The royal soothsayer stood in the way, And he cried : “ Beware! Death shall smite thee, O King,
From the milk-white steed thou bestridest to-day!” Tsar Oleg, he pondered and mused awhile,
And anon he alit from his gallant steed: “An' if this must be, I will ride thee no more,
Go, lead him, ye grooms, to some green sunny mead.” When a herald came out of the Grecian bounds,
And for tribute refused blew a challenge of war, Tsar Oleg leaped on a berry-brown steed,
And led his hosts to the southward afar.
And made the Cæsars bow down to fate,
And he fixed his shield on the city's gate.
With hostages, plunder, and martial spoils, And he said in his heart: “We have fought, we have won,
We will rest now, in glory, from warlike toils."
That smote his ears as he rode to war,
“How twinkles, O prophet, my fateful star? “How prances the faithful and baleful steed?
Will he neigh, will he leap to the trumpet still ?” “Oh, my liege, nevermore; for these seven years' wind
Hath his bones all bleached on yon green hill.” Up rose Tsar Oleg and called for his horse,
And he followed the seer to that south sloping lea; He went, gyved and guarded, that soothsayer gray,
And yet with a steady, proud step walked he.
And the King saw the bones of his milk-white steed,
Where the tops of the deep grass rose and fell, And the silver shod hoofs and the bridle of gold,
And the golden stirrups, he knew them well; and he set his hoof on the hollow skull,
While his nobles stood round him with bated breath, And he asked, with scorning: “Thou prophet of ills,
Comes hurt from a carcass, or death from death?” And he spake to his guards: “Let the false prophet die!”
“ The fates know me royal,” he thought in his pride, When lo! from the skull sprang an adder fanged,
And stilled with its venom his heart's high tide.
FRENCH ACCOUNT OF ADAM'S FALL.
Monsieur Adam, he vake up-he sees une belle demoiselle aslip in ze garden. Voila de la chance! “ Bon jour, Madame Iv.” Madame Iv, she vake; she hole her fan before to her face. Adam put on his eyeglass to admire ze tableau, and zey make von promenade. Madame Iv, she feel hungry. She see appel on ze arbre. Serpent se prone sur l'arbre—make one walk on ze tree. “Monsieur le Serpent,” say Iv, “vill vous not have ze bonté to peek me some appel ? j'ais faim.”
“ Certainement, Madame Iv, charmes de vous voir.” · Hola, mon ami, ar-r-retez vous?” says Adam—“stop! stop! que songezvous faire ?
Was madness is zees? You must not pick ze appel !” Ze snake, he take one pinch of shnuff, he say: “Au, Monsieur Adam, do you not know how zere is nossing proheebet ze ladies? Madame Iv, permit me to offer you some of zeese fruit defenduforbidden fruit.” Iv, she make one courtesy-ze snake, he fill her parasol wiz ze appel. He says: “ Eritis sicut Deus. Monsieur Adam, he will eat ze appel, he will become like one Dieu; know ze good and ze eveel—but you, Madame Iv, cannot become more of a goddess than you are now.” An' zat feenish Madame Iv.
“NEARER TO THEE.”—I. EDGAR JONES.
“Nearer my God to Thee,” rose on the air, Each note an ecstasy, joyous and rare, Tones that were triumph peals shrined in a song, Breathing of victory gained over wrong; Out on the listening air, mocking at fear, Ringing its clarion cry, fearless and clear, Up from a soul redeemed, noble and free, “Nearer my God to Thee, nearer to Thee.” * Nearer
my God to Thee,” thrilled on the air, Each note an agony linked with a prayer, Out on a sinking ship, land out of sight, Borne by the wailing winds into the night; White-maned and angry waves howling in scorn, Wild shrieks of belpless hearts over them borne! Still rang one trusting voice high o'er the sea, “Nearer my God to Thee, nearer to Thee.” “ Nearer my God to Thee,” thrilled on the breeze, Far in a heathen land, 'neath the palm trees, Rising in soulful notes, earnest and calm, Trust and tranquillity winging the psalm ; Fierce faces round about, fever and death Mixed with the tropic flower's balm-laden breath; One lonely child of God bending the knee, Saying with uplifted face, “Nearer to Thee.” “Neater my God to Thee," echoed a street Worn by the night tread of murderer's feet, Up from a cellar, dark, noisome with slime, Out o'er a motley crowd hideous with crime; Curses and oaths obscene fouling the ear, Still rose the trustful notes, trembling but clear; Poverty, suffering, singing their plea, “Nearer my God to Thee, nearer to Thee.” “Nearer my God to Thee,” rose from a room Where a man, old and blind, sat in the gloom, While his poor hands caressed, there on the bed, One who was once his bride, silent and dead. Worn were the wrinkled hands folded in sleep, Closed were the patient eyes, slumbering deep. “Called to her home,” he said, “ waiting for me;" * Nearer my God to Thee, nearer to Thee."
"Nearer my God to Thee,” triumph or prayer,
AS JACOB SERVED FOR RACHEL.
The old, old story sweet
In melody repeat.
Beneath the Syrian sky,
The toiling years went by.
Fierce smote the sultry sun;
Till that dear wife was won!
"Be patient and be strong!”
Was ever like a song.
To hold a brave man leal;
Her own in woe and weal;
The death damp on his face,
Its own peculiar grace.
He said of that lone spot
Where the wife he loved was not;
The brightness and the zest,