All come to attend her. Like a queen enthroned

She sits and rules the realms she long has owned,

And sways the willing sense, the aspiring soul, Where thousands bow before her sweet con

trol.

Ah, greater than all words of mine can say, The heights, the depths, the glories, of that sway.

No mortal tongue can bring authentic speech
Of that enchanted world beyond its reach;
No tongue but hers, when, lifted on the waves
Of Tone and Harmony, beyond the graves
Of all we lose, we drift entranced away
Out of the discords of the common day;
And she, the immortal goddess, on her breast
Lulls us to visions of a sweet unrest,
Smiles at the tyrannies of time and space,
And folds us in a mother's fond embrace,
Till, sailing on upon that mystic sea,
We feel that Life is Immortality.

Christopher P. Cranch.

MUSIC

Take of the maiden's, of the mother's sigh, Of childhood's dream, the hope and peace that

bless

Old age; take of the lover's kiss, caress,
Of light it kindles in the loved one's eye;
Of June's long shadows, Autumn's evening
sky,

Of roses, of the south wind's tenderness,
Of stars that burn through pine-tops, sprays

that tress

The willow-banks where brooks run stillest

by;

Take of the blissful lisping of young Spring, Take of the last faint, pleading grief of Fall, Of joy and woe that sleep and waking bring,

The costliest offerings of the great, the small: Now, pour into the empty soul each thing, And let the Finger touch that moveth all. John Vance Cheney.

SISTERS OF MUSIC

"Who sings?" said the Spirit of Music, And smiled on her peers:

"Sweet Sorrow, sing Thou!" Sorrow an

"Bright Hope, give a tongue to the poems I read in thine eyes."

Hope answered, "My thoughts are all clouded, And lost in the skies."

"Then Joy, put thy mouth to the bugle!
A note, for my sake."

Calm creature, she sleeps in the sunshine,
And will not awake.

But hush! a soft sound stealeth onwards,
Like the flight of a dove;

Ah, I find that the Song that is sweetest
Comes ever from Love.

Bryan W. Procter ("Barry Cornwall").

MUSICA TRIONFANTE

In the storm, in the smoke, in the fight, I come To bring thee strength with my bugle and

drum.

My name is Music, and when the bell

Rings for the dead man, I rule the knell;

Sacred Music

From painting by G. Dubufe