So come from every region, so enter side by side

The strong and faint of spirit, the meek and men of pride : Steps of earth's great and mighty between those pillars

grey,

And prints of little feet mark the dust along the way.

And some approach the threshold whose looks are blank with fear,

And some whose temples brighten with joy in drawing

near,

As if they saw dear faces, and caught the gracious eye Of Him, the sinless Teacher, who came for us to die.

I mark the joy, the terror; yet these, within my heart Can neither make the dread nor the longing to depart; And in the sunshine, streaming on quiet wood and lea, I stand, and calmly wait till the hinges turn for me.

W. C. BRYANT.

Remember thou art Mortal.

"As for man, his days are as grass: as a flower of the field so he flourisheth. For the wind passeth over it and it is gone, and the place thereof shall know it no more."

WAS not to tell of foes subdued,

Or battle spoils to bring,

The appointed herald daily stood
Before the Grecian King.

With solemn shout and trumpet's clang,
Each morn this truth severe,—
"Remember thou art mortal," rang

In royal Philip's ear.

And why

to ripen into deed

Each high and lofty aim,

And urge him on to win the meed

The meed of deathless fame.

This record of the olden days
May useful hint supply;
But say, what herald shall upraise
For me the warning cry?

For I have deadlier foes to quell
Than bow'd 'neath Philip's spear,
And worlds, he wot not of, to win,-
Imperishably fair.

A blade of grass, a simple flower,

Cull'd from the dewy lea,

These, these shall speak, with touching power,
Of "change and death to me;"

For, if "stars teach as well as shine,"
Not less these gems of earth
In budding bloom and pale decline
May pour instruction forth.

Come, then, and ever when I stray
Breathe still the solemn cry:
"Man and his glory, what are they?—
Fragile as grass, or flow'ret gay

Which blossoms but to die!"

R. HEY.

Can these Dry Bones Live?

B

EHOLD this ruin! 'Twas a skull,
Once of ethereal spirit full:

This narrow cell was life's retreat;

This space was thought's mysterious seat.
What beauteous pictures filled this spot;
What dreams of pleasure long forgot!
Nor love, nor joy, nor hope, nor fear,
Has left one trace or record here.

Beneath this mouldering canopy
Once shone the bright and lovely eye;
But start not at the empty cell,
If on the Cross it loved to dwell.
If with no lawless fire it gleamed,
But with contrition's tear-drop beamed,
That eye shall shine, for ever bright,
When suns and stars have lost their light.

Here, in this silent cavern, hung

The ready, swift, and tuneful tongue :
If of redeeming love it spoke,
Confessing Jesus' easy yoke,-
If with persuasive mildness bold
Condemning sin, of grace it told,—
That tuneful tongue in realms above
Shall sing Messiah's reign of love.

Say, did these fingers delve the mine?
Or with its envied rubies shine?
To hew the rock, or wear the gem,

Can nothing now avail to them!
But if the page of truth they sought,
Or comfort to the mourner brought,
Those hands shall strike the lyre of praise

And high the palm of triumph raise.

Avails it whether bare or shod

These feet the path of life had trod ?
If from the bower of joy they fled
To soothe affliction's humble bed;
If, spurning all the world bestowed,
They sought the straight and narrow road;
These feet with angel wings shall vie,
And tread the mansions of the sky.

The Unknown Grabe.

"Redeeming the time."

W

HO sleeps below ?—who sleeps below?
It is a question idle all!

Ask of the breezes as they blow,

Say, do they heed or hear thy call?
They murmur in the trees around,
And mock thy voice,—an empty sound!

A hundred summer suns have showered

Their fostering warmth and radiance bright;

A hundred winter storms have lowered

With piercing floods and hues of night,

Since first the remnant of his race
Did tenant this lone dwelling-place.