That was your work; you'd naught at all to do with wind and rain,

And no doubt but that you will reap rich fields of golden grain;

For there's a Heart, and there's a Hand, we feel, but cannot see

We've always been provided for, and we shall always be."

"That's like a woman's reasoning—we must, because we must."

She softly said: "I reason not, I only work and trust; The harvest may redeem the day-keep heart, whate'er betide,

When one door shuts, I've always seen another open wide.

There is a Heart, there is a Hand, we feel, but cannot see;

We've always been provided for, and we shall always be."

He kissed the calm and trustful face, gone was his restless pain.

She heard him with a cheerful step go whistling down the lane.

And when about her household tasks, full of a glad content,

Singing, to time her busy hands, as to and fro she went

"There is a Heart, there is a Hand, we feel, but cannot see;

We've always been provided for, and we shall always be."

Days come and go-'twas Christmas tide, and the great fire burned clear.

The farmer said: "Dear wife, it's been a good and happy year;

The fruit was gain, the surplus corn has bought the hay, you know."

She lifted then a smiling face, and said: "I told you so!

For there's a Heart, and there's a Hand, we feel, but cannot see;

We've always been provided for, and we shall always be."

MERCY.

'HE quality of mercy is not strained;

It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath: it is twice blessed; It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes : 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown; His sceptre shows the force of temporal power The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; But mercy is above this sceptred sway— It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,

It is an attribute to God himself;
And earthly power doth then show likest God's
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,
Though justice be thy plea, consider this—
That in the course of justice, none of us
Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy;
And that same prayer should teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

LAST HYMN.

KNOW not what awaits me,
God kindly veils mine eyes,
And o'er each step on my onward way
He makes new scenes arise;
And every joy he sends me comes
A sweet and glad surprise.
Where He may lead I'll follow,

My trust in Him repose,
And every hour in perfect peace

I'll sing, "He knows, He knows."

One step I see before me;

'Tis all I need to see;

The light of heaven more brightly shines When earth's illusions flee,

And sweetly through the silence comes His loving "Follow Me."

O blissful lack of wisdom,

'Tis blessed not to know;

He holds me with His own right hand,
And will not let me go,

And lulls my troubled soul to rest
In Him who loves me so.

Of the gay revellers one child alone

But oh! that patriarch's aspect shone

With something lovelier far—
A radiance all the spirit's own,

Caught not from sun or star.

Some word of life e'en then had met

His calm benignant eye :
Some ancient promise, breathing yet
Of immortality!

Some martyr's prayer, wherein the glow

Of queenchless faith survives :
While every feature said "I know
That my Redeemer lives!"

And silent stood his children by
Hushing their very breath,
Before the solemn sanctity

Of thoughts o'ersweeping death.
Silent-yet did not each young breast
With love and reverence melt?
Oh! blest be those fair girls, and blest
That home where God is felt!

FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS.
TO A FAMILY BIBLE.

HAT household thoughts around thee, as their shrine,

Cling reverently?-of anxious looks be-
guiled,

My mother's eyes, upon thy page divine,
Each day were bent-her accents gravely mild,
Breathed out thy love: whilst I, a dreamy child,
Wandered on breeze-like fancies oft away,

To some lone tuft of gleaming spring-flowers wild,
Some fresh-discovered nook for woodland play,
Some secret nest: yet would the solemn Word
At times, with kindlings of young wonder heard,
Fall on my weakened spirit, there to be
A seed not lost :-for which, in darker years,
O Book of Heaven! I pour, with grateful tears,
Heart blessings on the holy dead and thee!
FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS.

THE PHANTOM ISLES.

In the East River, above New York, there are many small islands, the freqnent resort of summer pleasure-parties. One of the dangers haunting these scenes of amusement is that high tides often cover the islands. The incidents recorded in the following lines took place under the circumstances mentioned, and the entire change in the heart and life of the bereaved father makes the simple story as instructive as it is interesting and touching.

HE Phantom Isles are fading from the sea;
The groups that thronged them leave their

sinking shores;

And shout and laugh, and jocund song and glee

Ring through the mist, to beat of punctual oars, Through the gray mist that comes up with the tide, And covers all the ocean far and wide.

Was wanting at the roll's right merry call; From boat to boat they sought him; he was gone, And fear and trembling filled the hearts of all,

For the damp mist was falling fast the while, And the sea, rising, swallowing up each isle. The trembling father guides the searching band, While every sinew, hope and fear can strain, Is stretched to bring the quivering boat to land,

And find the lost one-but is stretched in vain :
No land they find, but one sweet call they hear,
"Steer this way, father! this way, father dear!"
That voice they follow, certain they have found,
But vainly sweep the waters o'er and o'er,
The whispering waves have ceased their rippling sound:
Their silence telling they have lost their shore:
Yet still the sweet young voice cries loud and clear,
"Steer this way, father! this way, father dear!"
Onward they rush, like those who in the night
Follow the phantom flame, but never find;
Now certain that the voice has led them right,
Yet the next moment hearing it behind;
But wrapt in gurgling, smothered sounds of fear,
Steer this way, father! this way, father dear!"
The night is spent in vain-no further cry
Cheers them with hope, or wilders them with fear;
With breaking morning, as the mists sweep by,

They can see nothing but wide waters drear;
Yet ever in the childless father's ear
Rings the sad cry, "Steer this way, father dear!"
And on through life, across its changeful tide,

Where many a doubtful course before him lay,
That sweet young voice did help him to decide,
When others strove to lure his bark astray;
Calling from heaven, in accents soft and clear,
'Steer this way, father! this way, father dear!"
Until there at length-drawn upward to the land
Where is no more sorrow, no more sea:
Cheering him brightly from its crystal strand
Into the haven where his soul would be;
These the last whispers in his dying ear,
Steer this way, father! this way, father dear!"
JOHN MONSELL

Saying, "I will go with thee,

That thou be not lonely, To yon hills of mystery;

I have waited only

Until now to climb with thee
Yonder hills of mystery."

Can the bonds that make us here
Know ourselves immortal,
Drop away, the foliage sear,
At life's inner portal?
What is holiest below
Must forever live and grow.

I shall love the angels well,
After I have found them,
In the mansions where they dwell,
With the glory round them;
But at first, without surprise,
Let me look for human eyes.

Step by step our feet must go
Up the holy mountain;
Drop by drop within us flow

Life's unfailing fountain.
Angels sing with crowns that burn;
Shall we have a song to learn?

He who on our earthly path
Bids us help each other-
Who His Well-beloved hath
Made our Elder Brother-
Will but clasp the chain of love
Closer, when we meet above.

Therefore dread I not to go

O'er the silent river;

Death, thy hastening oar I know:
Bear me, thou life-giver,

Through the waters, to the shore
Where mine own have gone before.

LUCY LARCOM

HEN for me the silent oar

W

Parts the silent river,

And I stand upon the shore

Of the strange forever,

Shall I miss the loved and known?
Shall I vainly seek mine own?
Mid the crowd that come to meet
Spirits sin-forgiven-
Listening to their echoing feet

Down the streets of heaven-
Shall I know a footstep near
That I listen, wait for, here?

Then will one approach the brink,
With a hand extended '—

One whose thoughts I loved to think
Ere the veil was rended,
Saying, "Welcome! we have died,
And again are side by side."

A PRAYER.

EAD, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom,

Lead thou me on,

The night is dark, and I am far away
from
home,

Lead thou me on;
Keep thou my feet-I do not ask to see
The distant scene; one step enough for me.
I was not ever thus, nor prayed that thou
Shouldst lead me on;

I loved to choose and see my path, but now
Lead thou me on.

I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears,
Pride ruled my will; remember not past years.
So long thy power has blessed me, sure it still
Will lead me on

Step after step, feeling Thee close beside me,

Although unseen,

Through thorns, through flowers, whether the tem

pest hide Thee,

Or heavens serene,

Assured Thy faithfulness cannot betray,

Thy love decay.

I may not know; my God, no hand revealeth Thy counsels wise;

Along the path a deepening shadow stealeth, No voice replies

To all my questioning thought, the time to tell, And it is well.

Let me keep on, abiding and unfearing
Thy will always,

Through a long century's ripening fruition
Or a short day's,

Thou canst not come too soon; and I can wait
If thou come late.

S

SUSAN COOLidge.

GRANDMOTHER'S BIBLE.

O you've brought me this costly Bible, With its covers so grand and gay; You thought I must need a new one On my eighty-first birthday, you say. Yes, mine is a worn-out volume,

Grown ragged and yellow with age,
With finger-prints thick on the margin;
But there's never a missing page.

And the finger-prints call back my wee ones,
Just learning a verse to repeat;
And again, in the twilight, their faces
Look up to me eagerly sweet.

It has pencil marks pointed in silence
To words I have hid in my heart;
And the lessons so hard in the learning,

Once learned, can never depart.

There's the verse your grandfather spoke of

The very night that he died,

"When I awake with Thy likeness,

I, too, shall be satisfied."

And here, inside the old cover,

Is a date, it is faded and dim,
For I wrote it the day the good pastor

Baptized me-I've an old woman's whim

That beside the pearl-gates he is waiting,
And when by and by I shall go,
That he will lead me into that kingdom,
As then into this one below.
And under that date, little Mary,
Write another one when I die;

Then keep both Bibles and read them;

God bless you, child, why should you cry?

Your gift is a beauty, my dearie,
With its wonderful clasps of gold,
Put it carefully into that drawer;

I shall keep it till death; but the oldJust leave it close by on the table,

And then you may bring me a light, And I'll read a sweet psalm from its pages To think of, if wakeful to-night.

a

C

HATTIE A. COOLEY

ALL'S FOR THE BEST.

LL'S for the best! be sanguine and cheerfu! Troubles and sorrows are friends in disgui Nothing but folly goes faithless and fearful Courage forever is happy and wise; All's for the best-if a man could but know it, Providence wishes us all to be blest;

This is no dream of the pundit or poet,

Heaven is gracious, and all's for the best!
All's for the best! set this on your standard,
Soldier of sadness, or pilgrim of love,
Who to the shores of despair may have wandered
A wayfaring swallow, or heart-stricken dove.
All's for the best! be a man, but confiding,
Providence tenderly governs the rest.
And the frail bark of his creatures is guiding,
Wisely and warily, all's for the best!

All's for the best! then fling away terrors,
Meet all your fears and loss in the van,
And in the midst of your dangers or errors,
Trust like a child, while you strive like a man.
All's for the best! unbiassed, unbounded,

Providence reigns from the east to the west,
And by both wisdom and mercy surrounded,
Hope and be happy, for all's for the best!

Are bathed in the dews that are wept by the morn.

Beside the still waters, where pastures are green And the glad sky bends o'er them in shadow and sheen;

I think of the glooms through whose terrors I fled,
And bless the dear hand which my footsteps hath led.

Beside the still waters my cross it grows light,
That, fainting, I bore through the storms of the night,
The same, though another it seems; and I pray
No more that my burden be taken away.

Beside the still waters, ah! ripple and gleam

A thousand-fold rarer in loveliness seem,