JUST SIXTY-TWO.

Commissioned sweetly to unfold

Thy possible to thee.

Fear not to build thine eyrie in the heights,
Bright with celestial day;

And trust thyself unto thine inmost soul,

.

In simple faith alway.

And God will make divinely real

The highest forms of thine ideal.

ANN PRESTON.

"JUST SIXTY-TWO."

JUST sixty-two! Then trim thy light,
And get thy jewels all re-set;

'Tis past meridian, but bright,

And lacks one hour to sunset yet.

At sixty-two

Be

strong

and true;

Clear off thy rust, and shine anew.

'Tis yet high time; thy staff resume,

And fight fresh battles for the truth;
For what is age but youth's full bloom,—
A riper, more transcendant youth?
A wedge of gold

Is never old;

Streams broader grow as downward rolled.

15

16

BLESSEDNESS.

At sixty-two is life begun;

At seventy-three begin once more;
Fly swifter as you near the sun,

And brighter shine at eighty-four;
At ninety-five,

Should'st thou arrive,

Still wait on God, and work and thrive.

Keep thy locks wet with morning dew,
And freely let thy graces flow;
For life well spent is ever new,

And years anointed younger grow.
So work anew;

• Be young for aye;

From sunset breaking into day.

BLESSEDNESS.

It is not happiness I seek,
Its name I hardly dare to speak;
It is not made for man or earth,
And Heaven alone can give it birth.

BLESSEDNESS.

There is a something sweet and pure, Through life, through death it may endure; With steady foot I onward press,

And long to win that Blessedness.

It hath no shadow, this soft light,
But makes each daily duty bright;
It bids each heart-born tumult cease,
And sobers joy to quiet peace.

An all-abiding sense of Love,
In silence falling from above,
A conscience clear from willful sin,
That hath no subterfuge within;

Fixed duty claiming every power,

And human love to charm each hour,—
These, these, my soul, make Blessedness;
I ask no more, I seek no less.

And yet I know these are too much;
My very being's life they touch;
Without them all, oh, let me still
Find Blessedness in God's dear will.

17

LOUISA J. HALL.

18

THE "LITTLE WHILE."

THE "LITTLE WHILE.”

What is this he saith, "A little while?"

Он, for the peace that floweth like a river,
Making life's desert places bloom and smile!
Oh, for the faith to grasp heaven's bright "forever,"
Amid the shadows of earth's "little while!"

"A little while" for patient vigil-keeping,

To face the stern, to wrestle with the strong; "A little while" to sow the seed with weeping, Then bind the sheaves and sing the harvest song.

"A little while" to wear the robe of sadness,
To toil with weary steps through miry ways,
Then to pour forth the fragrant oil of gladness,
And clasp the girdle round the robe of praise.

"A little while" 'midst shadow and confusion,
To strive by faith love's mysteries to spell;
Then read each dark enigma's bright solution,
Then hail sight's verdict, "He doeth all things well.”

"A little while" the earthen pitcher taking

To wayside brooks, from far-off fountains fed; Then the cool lip, its thirst forever slaking, Beside the fulness of the Fountain-head.

THE PETRIFIED FERN.

"A little while" to keep the oil from failing,

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"A little while" faith's flickering lamp to trim; And then the Bridegroom's coming footsteps hailing,

To haste to meet him, with the bridal hymn.

And He, who is himself the Gift and Giver,
The future glory and the present smile,
With the bright promise of the glad "forever,"
Will light the shadows of the "little while."

J. CREWDSON.

THE PETRIFIED FERN.

In a valley, centuries ago,

Grew a little fern leaf, green and slender—
Veining delicate, and fibres tender—

Waving, when the wind crept down so low;
Rushes tall, and moss, and grass grew round it,
Playful sunbeams darted in and found it,
Drops of dew stole in, by night, and crowned it,
But no foot of man e'er trod that way;
Earth was young, and keeping holiday.

Monster fishes swam the silent main,

Stately forests waved their giant branches, Mountains hurled their snowy avalanches, Mammoth creatures stalked across the plain;