He takes her cold resistless hand :

"Damsel, I say to thee, arise."

Lo, life returns, with mantling flow,
To cheek, and brow, and kindling eyes.

She riseth up, she walketh forth,

Her lip is red, her heart is warm; He gives her to her mother's kiss,

He gives her to her father's arm.

Surely, we too have hope in sorrow, Who for our Christian brethren weep; Christ is our Life and Resurrection;

They are not dead, they do but sleep.

66 THEY WERE FILLED WITH THE HOLY GHOST."

THERE was a little lowly upper room

Within the walls of proud Jerusalem,

Where met a few poor men in grief and gloom, Talking of Him who once had walked with them.

There came a sound as of a rushing wind,

And filled up all the place where they were met, And flaming figures of unwonted kind,

Like tongues of fire, upon each brow were set.

That was the promise of the Father, come

To those who waited, mourning for their Lord; And the closed lips, that were so dead and dumb, Are loosed at once to speak His precious Word.

Then all the strangers from afar, who came

From Asian shores, from Europe's fairer strands, From Afric's deserts, wondering heard His name In the dear language of their native lands.

Not now in form distinct of flaming light

Comes that great Spirit on our earth to dwell; But, like the strong wind whispering at night, Its mighty impulse is invisible.

Yet, to the lowly and obedient heart,

In gentleness and might its breath shall come, Bidding the Christian choose the better part, Stirring with thought of his eternal home.

O Lord, ascended from Thy glory's throne,
On Thy baptized children kneeling lowly,
Look down in mercy! we were made Thine own;

Give our poor hearts Thy Spirit strong and holy.

THE DISCIPLE WHOM JESUS LOVED."

THERE lies a little lonely isle

Where dark the salt waves run,

And Grecian fishers dry their nets
Against the eastern sun;

And, many a hundred years ago,
Within that island fair

There dwelt an exiled Jewish man,

A man of reverend air;

His eye was bright as setting suns,
His aged form unbent;

The little children following,
He blest them as he went.

That head beloved, at supper-time
Had leant on Jesus' breast;
That honored hand had taken home

His mother for a guest.

That eye had seen in glorious trance Mysterious things to be,

Wild visions of impending doom

On heaven, and earth, and sea.

His pen had writ of times to come,
Of dearer times by-gone;

He was the fisher's chosen son,

The Lord's beloved St. John.

And he had drank his Master's cup So long, so patiently,

And now he lingered there, the last, Till Christ should set him free.

I wish I'd lived in those old times,
And been a Grecian child,

To hear that old man's blessing kind,
To meet him when he smiled.

To hear the words of holy love
That ever from his lips
Fell gentle, as the evening dew
The thirsty blossom sips.

But love endureth through all age; Nor time, nor distance drear, Divide the living and the dead

Of Christ's communion dear.