Again passed by! Oh, Master, this is hard! Have I not, for my labour's sake, some claim? I, who have sung Thy praise and won regard From men for my allegiance to Thy nameAll know I love Thee, Master, wherefore then Do this despite to me in sight of men? Forgive me if I murmur! I will prove Myself more worthy. Lord, Thou dost not know me But how unwearying is the heart of love, How resolute, how faithful I will show Thee; The sixth hour is gone by-and I uncalled! My captive senses heard and saw Thee not. I am unworthy to be called, unfit For the Great Master's service. He passed by me, Called in the others, and now here I sit, My hands before me idle. Master, try me!— Cast me not off! let me Thy work essay Though I have been unfaithful through the day! The sun is setting; night is coming down, The night when no man works. Oh Lord, dear Lord, Though I am poor, can nothing call my own, Though I have sinned as none before, accord Thy mercy! By Thy mercy I will stand, Callest Thou, Lord? I thought I heard Thy voice Lifted by Thee out of this pit of woe! Speak not of payment, Lord! But let me prove MARY HOWITT. The Circles. ITHIN this horrid cirque of war What's hidden that they fight so for?" My guide made answer, "Rich increase Of virtue and use, which are by peace, And peace by war. That inner ring Are craftsmen, working many a thing: For many a use, and others, wise, Explore the grass and read the skies." "Can the stars' motions give me peace, Or the herbs' virtues mine increase? Of all this shell of use," said I, "Would that I might the kernel spy!" "Go further in," he said, "and see, Secure and fair, Society." And so within that busy round I brake, and came to calmer ground. At such excuse for such a world!" Sigh'd I; but, guided through this loud, An inner circle still I reach'd, Then he, "These voices are a charm By which," cried he, "the world defies Chaos and death, and for whose sake All else must war, and work, and wake!” COVENTRY PATMORE. Otto Steinmetz: A LEGEND OF ONE TAKEN OUT OF GOD'S HANDS. BY HOLME LEE. I. T was on Steinmetz, the mason, fell ill of a deadly sickness. She looked in his grave countenance terrified, clasped her hands in an agony of grief, and, dropping on her knees by the bed whereon the child lay, tried to pray in her soul that God would give her submission to His will; but there was a wild rending at her heartstrings as her pale lips moved in words of supplication, which was as though her own life were being torn from her with her babe's. She was a devout, simple young woman-a Saint, her neighbours called her-and this was the first threatening of great sorrow that had ever assailed her since she was born. Her parents still lived; her husband loved her, and was prosperous. She had a sweet, kind face, which won a kind look back from every other; a cheerful temper and pure heart, such as create perpetual sunshine and happiness within. |