"Some pray for wealth, and seem to pray aright;

They heap until themselves are out of sight;

Yet stand, in charities, not over shoes,
And ask of their old age

As an old ledger page,

What is the use?....

"The strife for fame and the high praise of power,

Is as a man, who, panting up a tower, Bears a great stone, then, straining all his thews,

Heaves it, and sees it make
A splashing in a lake.

What is the use? .

"Should some new star, in the fair evening sky,

Kindle a blaze, startling so keen an eye
Of flamings eminent, athwart the dews,
Our thoughts would say, No doubt
That star will soon burn out.
What is the use?

"Who'll care for me, when I am dead and gone?

Not many now, and surely, soon, not one;
And should I sing like an immortal Muse,
Men, if they read the line,
Read for their good, not mine;
What is the use?

"Spirit of Beauty! Breath of golden lyres !

Perpetual tremble of immortal wires!
Divinely torturing rapture of the Muse!
Conspicuous wretchedness!
Thou starry, sole success!-
What is the use?

"Doth not all struggle tell, upon its brow,

tinction, fame,

Quicken the blood and spirit on the game. Some try them all, and all alike accuse: 'I have been all,' said one, 'And find that all is none." What is the use?

"In woman's love we sweetly are undone, Willing to attract, but harder to be won, Harder to keep is she whose love we choose.

Loves are like flowers that grow
In soils on fire below.

What is the use?

But hopes to be? Vain hope that dost

abuse!

Coquetting with thine eyes, And fooling him who sighs. What is the use?

"Go pry the lintels of the pyramids; Lift the old kings' mysterious coffin-lidsThis dust was theirs whose names these stones confuse,

These mighty monuments
Of mighty discontents.
What is the use?

323

Seeing this man so heathenly inclined, —
So wilted in the mood of a good mind,
I felt a kind of heat of earnest thought;
And studying in reply,
Answered him, eye to eye:

Thou dost amaze me that thou dost mistake

away,

A multitudinous world, where Heaven and Hell,

Strangely in battle met,
Their gonfalons have set.

Yea, all that we can wield is worth the end, If sought as God's and man's most loyal friend.

Naked we come into the world, and take Weapons of various skill,

Let us not use them ill.

As for the creeds, Nature is dark at best;

And darker still is the deep human breast. Therefore consider well of creeds and books,

Lest thou mayst somewhat fail
Of things beyond the vail.

Nature was dark to the dim starry age
Of wistful Job: and that Athenian sage,
Pensive in piteous thought of Faith's
distress;

For still she cried, with tears:
"More light, ye crystal spheres!"

An end that none attain,

Argues a purpose vain.

Plainly, this world is not a scope for bliss,
But duty. Yet we see not all that is,
Or may be, some day, if we love the
light.

What man is, in desires,
Whispers where man aspires.

Be man!

hideous death!

Stand up! Draw in a mighty breath!

This world has quite enough emasculate hands,

Dallying with doubt and sin.
Come here is work-begin!

Come, here is work and a rank fieldbegin.

life

F. M. FINCH.

[U. s. A.]

THE BLUE AND THE GRAY.

By the flow of the inland river,
Whence the fleets of iron have fled,
Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver,
Asleep are the ranks of the dead;-
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day;-
Under the one, the Blue;
Under the other, the Gray.

From the silence of sorrowful hours
The desolate mourners go,
Lovingly laden with flowers
Alike for the friend and the foe;-
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day;-
Under the roses, the Blue;
Under the lilies, the Gray.

So with an equal splendor
The morning sun-rays fall,
With a touch, impartially tender,
On the blossoms blooming for all ;-
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day;-
'Broidered with gold, the Blue;
Mellowed with gold, the Gray.

So, when the summer calleth, On forest and field of grain With an equal murmur falleth The cooling drip of the rain; Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day; Wet with the rain, the Blue; Wet with the rain, the Gray.

Sadly, but not with upbraiding,
The generous deed was done;

In the storm of the years that are fading,
No braver battle was won;-
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day;-
Under the blossoms, the Blue;
Under the garlands, the Gray.

No more shall the war-cry sever, Or the winding rivers be red; They banish our anger forever

haste