READING THE MILESTONE.

I STOPPED to read the milestone here,
A laggard school-boy, long ago;
I came not far-my home was near-
But ah, how far I longed to go!
Behold a number and a name,

A finger, westward, cut in stone:
The vision of a city came,

Across the dust and distance shown.

Around me lay the farms asleep

In hazes of autumnal air,
And sounds that quiet loves to keep
Were heard, and heard not, every-
where.

I read the milestone, day by day:
I yearned to cross the barren bound,
To know the golden Far-away,

To walk the new Enchanted
Ground!

Below, a violet in the dew

THE GOLDEN HAND.

Lo, from the city's heat and dust
A golden hand forever thrust,
Uplifting from a spire on high
A shining finger in the sky!

I see it when the morning brings
Fresh tides of life to living things,

vague perfume;

Above, a star in quiet blue

Touched with a gracious ray the gloom.

That lifted hand ir. morning gold!

I see it when the noontide beats Pulses of fire in busy streets; The dust flies in the flaming air:

sighed,

"That I may haunt your grave with love;"

"Sing, friend, of me," the star replied,

"That I may light the dark above."

THE SIGHT OF ANGELS. THE angels come, the angels go, Through open doors of purer air;

I see it when the twilight clings To the dark earth with hovering wings:

Flashing with the last fluttering ray,
That golden hand remembers day.

The midnight comes- the holy hour:
The city like a giant flower
Sleeps full of dew: that hand, in light
Of moon and stars, how weirdly
bright!

mine

fall;

it all.

heart beat,

From grave-dust grows.