Speak to these curious hearts of ours, And teach them to be still. God hath his mysteries of grace,— Ways that we cannot tell; He hides them deep, like the secret sleep Of him he loved so well. CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER. Milton's Prayer of Patience. I AM old and blind! Men point at me as smitten by God's frown; Yet am I not cast down. I am weak, yet strong: I murmur not that I no longer see; O merciful One! When men are farthest, then art Thou most near; When friends pass by, my weaknesses to shun, Thy chariot I hear. Thy glorious face Is leaning towards me, and its holy light On my bended knee, I recognize Thy purpose, clearly shown; I have naught to fear; This darkness is the shadow of Thy wing; Can come no evil thing. Oh, I seem to stand Trembling, where foot of mortal ne'er hath been, Visions come and go,— Shapes of resplendent beauty round me throng; It is nothing now,— When Heaven is ripening on my sightless eyes, In a purer clime, My being fills with rapture,-waves of thought Give me now my lyre! I feel the stirrings of a gift divine; ELIZABETH LLOYD HOWELL. Curfew Must not Ring To-night. ENGLAND S Sun was slowly setting o'er the hills so far away, Filling all the land with beauty at the close of one sad day; And the last rays kiss'd the forehead of a man and maiden fair, He with step so slow and weakened, she with sunny, floating hair; He with sad bowed head, and thoughtful, she with lips so cold and white, Struggling to keep back the murmur, "Curfew must not ring to-night." Sexton," Bessie's white lips faltered, pointing to the prison old, With its walls so dark and gloomy,-walls so dark, and damp, and cold,— "I've a lover in that prison, doomed this very night to die, At the ringing of the Curfew, and no earthly help is nigh. Cromwell will not come till sunset," and her face grew strangely white, As she spoke in husky whispers, "Curfew must not ring to-night." Bessie," calmly spoke the sexton-every word pierced her young heart Like a thousand gleaming arrows-like a deadly poisoned dart; Long, long years I've rung shadowed tower; the Curfew from that gloomy Every evening, just at sunset, it has told the twilight hour; I have done my duty ever, tried to do it just and right, Now I'm old, I will not miss it; girl, the Curfew rings tonight!" Wild her eyes and pale her features, stern and white her thoughtful brow, And within her heart's deep centre, Bessie made a solemn Vow; She had listened while the judges read, without a tear or sigh, "At the ringing of the Curfew-Basil Underwood must die." And her breath came fast and faster, and her eyes grew large and bright— One low murmur, scarcely spoken-" Curfew must not ring to-night!" She with light step bounded forward, sprang within the old church door, Left the old man coming slowly, paths he 'd trod so oft be fore; Not one moment paused the maiden, but with cheek and brow aglow, Staggered up the gloomy tower, where the bell swung to and fro: Then she climbed the slimy ladder, dark, without one ray of light, Upward still, her pale lips saying: "Curfew shall not ring / to-night." She has reached the topmost ladder, o'er her hangs the great dark bell, And the awful gloom beneath her, like the pathway down to hell; See, the ponderous tongue is swinging, 't is the hour of Curfew now And the sight has chilled her bosom, stopped her breath and paled her brow. Shall she let it ring? No, never! her eyes flash with sudden light, As she springs and grasps it firmly-" Curfew shall not ring to-night!" Out she swung, far out, the city seemed a tiny speck be low; There, 'twixt heaven and earth suspended, as the bell swung to and fro; And the half-deaf Saxon ringing (years he had not heard the bell,) And he thought the twilight Curfew rang young Basil's funeral knell; Still the maiden clinging firmly, cheek and brow so pale and white, Stilled her frightened heart's wild beating-" Curfew shali not ring to-night." It was o'er the bell ceased swaying, and the maiden stepped once more Firmly on the damp old ladder, where for hundred years before Human foot had not been planted; and what she this night had done, Should be told in long years after-as the rays of setting sun Light the sky with mellow beauty, aged sires with heads of white, Tell their children why the Curfew did not ring that one sad night. O'er the distant hills came Cromwell; Bessie saw him, and her brow, Lately white with sickening terror, glows with sudden beauty now; At his feet she told her story, showed her hands all bruised and torn; And her sweet young face so haggard, with a look so sad and worn, Touched his heart with sudden pity-lit his eyes with misty light; Go, your lover lives!" cried Cromwell; "Curfew shall not ring to-night." Revelry in India. ANONYMOUS. WE meet 'neath the sounding rafter, We drink to our comrades' eyes; And hurrah for the next that dies! Not here are the goblets flowing, |