Poetry

What saith llic Pas', lo thee ? Weep ! Truth is dcparled ; B-'autyhath died like ihc drcam ofa sleep, Loveis laint hearted i Tri(lo8ofsense, ihe piufoundly unrea', Sjare from our spirits God'a holy ideal - So, as a funeral bell, slowly ond deep, So tolls the Fasl to thee ! Wccp. How speaksthe Present hour t Act ! Wnlkj upword glanctng ; So sliall thy footstcps.in latí betracked, Slow. Ijut advancing ï Scorn not tho smallnessofdnily endeavor; Ijet tlie grentmeaning eníiohle it ever ; Droop not o'er eiluris expended in vain ; Work, as uelieving that labor a gain. I What doth the future siy ? IIopc ! Turn thy fnce sunwnnl ! Look where the light Íringo3 ihe far rising stope - Doy comeih (inward. Walch ! Thougli so long be twilight delayine, Let the first siin beain alise on tliee praymg, Fear not, for greater is God by ihy sido, Than armies of Salan against thee allied.