Gems In Verse

" 'Love tliy neighbor as thyself.' Wheu at dawn Í meet lier. As by tbe garden wall she Btaoda, And tfives me (Jowers across the wall, My heart gose out tí) kiss lier handB- Are hands or tlowers tho sweeter? - I'm ready at her feet to fall, Or Mke a clown to labor- Better than I love myself Do I love my neishbor." "'Lovo thy oelghboT as thyself.' Vhcn at dawn I meet hirn, As by the garden wall he stauds. And takes my Bowen across the wall, My souTs already in his hands - H flew so fast to greet hlml And oh, I grow soproud and tall, And my heart beats like a taborl Better than I love myself Do I love my nei(hbor." - Richard Henry Stoddard. Bomot me. Sometimc, when all lifo's lessous have been iearned, And suri and stars forevermore have set, The tilines whieh our weak judginents hero havu spurued, The thiugs o'er which we grieved with lashes wet, Will flash before us, out of life's dark night. As stars shine most in deeper tinls of blue; And wo shall see huw all (Jod's plana are right; And how what seemed reproof was love most true. And we shall see how, whilo we frown and sigh, God's plans go on as best for you and mo; How, when wc callcd, he heeded ïiot our cry, Because his wisdom to the end could see. And even as irise párenla disallow Too much of sweet to era ving babyhood, Bo God, perhaps, is keepiuii from us now Lifu's sweutust thiugs, heoause it seemeth good. And if, sometimes, commingled with life's wine, We flnd the wormwood, and repel and slirink, Bo sure a wiser hand than yours or mine Pours out this iortion for our lips to drink. And if some friend we love is lying low, Where human kisses cannot reach his face, Oh, do not hlame the loving Father so. But wear your sorrow with obedient gracel And you shall shortly know that lengthened breath Is not the sweetest gift God sends his friend. And that, sometimes, the sable pall of death Conceals the f airest boon his love can send. If we could push ajar the gal.es of lie, And stand within and all God'a workings see. We could interpret all this doubt and strife. And for each mystery could íiud a keyl But not today. Then be content, poor heart! God 's plans like lilies pure and white unfold. We must not tear the close-shut leaves apart, Time will reveal the calyxes of gold. And if, throufih patiënt toil, we reach the land Where tired feet, with sandals loosed, may rest, When we shall clearly see and understand, I thiuk that we will say, "God knew tho bestl" -May Riley Smith. Resigmition. There is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant cbairl The air is full of farewells to the dying. And mournings for the dead; The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, Will not bo comfortedl Let us be patiënt. These severe afflictlons Not froin the ground arise, But oftentimes celestial benedictioas Assume this dark disguise. We see but dimly through the mists and vapors; Amid these earthly damps What seem to be but sad, funeroal tapera May be heaven's distant lamps. There is no death! What seems so is transltion. This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, Whose portals we cali death. - Longfellow. On Memory'8 Wall, Of all the beautiful pictures That hang on Mcmory's wall Is one of a dim old forest That seemeth best of all; Not for its gnarled oaks olden, Dark with the mistletoe; Not for the violets golden That sprinklo the vale below; Not for the milk white lilies That lean f rom the fragrant hedge, Coquetting all day with the sunbeams And stealing their golden edge; Not for the vines on the upland, Whero the bright red berries rest; Nor the pinks, nor thepale, sweet cowslip, It seemeth to me the best. I once had a littlo brother, With eves that were dark and deep- In the lap of that olden forest He lieth in peace asleep; Light as the down of the thistle, Free as the winds that blow. We roved there the beautiful sumniers, The summers of long ago; But bis foet on the hills grew weary. And ono of the autumn eves I made for my little brother A bed of the yellow leaves. Sweetly his pale arms folded My neck in a sweet embrace As the li. ht of immortal beauty Silently covered his face; And when the arrows of sunset Lodged in the treetops bright He feil, in hia saintlike beauty, Asleep by the gates of light. Therefore, of all the pictures That hang on Meinory's wall, The one of the dim old forest Seemeth best of all. ■ - Alice Cary. The End. The play is done - the curtain falls - Hero and villain trade their parts; The rich scènes change to smoky walls; The lovers e'en forget their hearts. And so it is with life - a play Made Tragedy or Farce at will; Who knows but as the mourners pray The dead linda changes greater still? -Winthrop Church. He Km w Her. A Boston malden died one day And mounted up on high; She knocked upon the pearly gatea And murinured, "It is I. Ive just got ín from Boston town." St. Peter cried in glee: "I know you have, or else you'd stand And hallo, 'It is me.1 n -New York Truth. Coutentment. The world goes up and the world goes down And the sunshine follows the rain; And yesterduy's sneer and yesterday's frown Can never come over again, Sweet wife, No, never come over again. -Charles Kingsley, Soiue Secret. I will not reason why I love, Or what I love in thee; There breathes some secret from above In every flower we see. Suddenly as we pass we own Some glimpse or scent divine; Such secret to none others kaown, My heart has found in thiüe. -F. W. Bourdillon. m A legal questicm- "Who's your lawycr ?"