And these keen stars, the bridal gems of night,
Are purer, lovelier than they seem;

Filled from the inner fountain of deep light,
They pour down heaven's own beam;

Clear speaking from their throne of glorious blue,
In accents ever ancient, ever new,

Of the glad home above, beyond our view,-
The land of which I dream.

This life of ours, these lingering years of earth,
Are briefer, swifter than they seem;

A little while, and the great second birth

Of time shall come,-the prophet's ancient theme.
Then He, the King, the Judge, at length shall come,
And for this desert, where we sadly roam,

Shall give the kingdom for our endless home,-
The land of which I dream.

GRIPER GREG.

Griper Greg, of the village of Willoughby Waterless,
A miserly hunks who was sonless and daughterless,
Nieceless and nephewless, why did he haste to lay
Gold in queer corners, for strangers to waste away?

Were there no claimants upon his cold charity-
Poor fellow-creatures heart-void of hilarity-
Fatherless, motherless,
Sisterless, brotherless,
Husbandless, wifeless,

Forkless and knifeless,

Dinnerless, supperless wretches to pray or beg→
None in his neighborhood, loudly to say to Greg:
"Stone-hearted miser, behold you, we perish!
Give us some victuals our faint frames to cherish?”

Yes, there were orphans, Tom, Jack, Dick, and Ned,
Lean, tiny creatures, ill clothed and worse fed;
Widows there were, Dinah, Ruth, Prue, and Kate,
Bearers alike of the hard blows of Fate;
Old pauper Will, too, who traveled on crutches,
With mouth pulled aside by neuralgical clutches,
And limbs drawn awry by rheumatical twitches,
Bewrapped in old blankets, without coat or breeches-

No sister, no daughter, no wife, to take care of him;
The very dogs barked "Bow-wow! Beggar! beware of him!"

And many more hunger-bit, tatter-clad sorrowers
Fain would have been relieved, beggars or borrowers
At Griper Greg's door, where they often cried piteously;
But Greg-he grinned fiercely, and frowned on them viciously.

One day the snow fell thick and fast,
One drear mid-winter's day;
And Greg was out upon the waste
That round his cottage lay.

No sight was there, except the snow,
Upon the wild, wide moor;
And in Greg's heart began to grow
Stern, deadly self-accusings, how
He'd used the houseless poor.
"If I die here," Greg wildly cried,
"My soul's forever lost!
Had I my gold here by my side,
It would not pay the cost
To ransom me from endless pain!
Oh! could I reach my home again,
I'd give to every suffering fellow
Whiskey enough to make him mellow."

"They are good words ye'v said!" cried beggar-man Pat, Who wandered, all weathers, without coat or hat,

Upon the wide waste, and now chanced to be near

Enough to the miser his heart-grief to hear:

"They are good words ye'v said; and no better by preacher

Were ever delivered about the dear crayture;

Make me mellow with him, and no ill shall betide ye,

For to Willoughby Waterless safely I'll guide ye!"

"Oh, joy!” shouted Greg, “guide me home from the waste, And the sweetest of mutton this night ye shall taste!" "Bad luck to your mutton! be't sweeter than candy, 'Tis wormwood compared with strong whiskey or brandy!" "Then I'll fill ye with brandy," cried Greg, in grim fear That if he refused he would perish, left here.

So home sped the miser, by beggar Pat guided,

And home safely reached-but there, ill Greg betided.

Griper Greg, all a-cold, shared the brandy with Pat,
Till discretion and safety he wholly forgat;
And joked of his gold huddled up in sly corners,
To hide it from burglars, by night, and day-sorners.

Sleep seized him so nimbly, he stopped in his story, And Pat-wide awake then-was quite in his glory, And soon picked the locks and was off with the plunder! Greg waked the next morning with sore grief and wonder To find the noon passed while he had been sleeping; Then looked for his gold, and forthwith fell to weeping. "Oh, it's gone-it's all gone! and the curses it's brought me Might all have been saved if I'd only bethought me Of sweet love and kindness, and had friends about For then on the heath they would surely have sought me! But to scrape and to save has been always my plan, And so nobody loves me a wretched old man!"

me,

Meanwhile the thief-beggar-man far off was drinking
With horrid companions, and, cunningly winking,
Said, “Look nere, my boys! when you handle yer tools,
Always try 'em on misers, for misers are fools!""

'BIAH CATHCART'S PROPOSAL.-H. W. BEECHER.

They were walking silently and gravely home one Sunday afternoon, under the tall elms that lined the street for half a mile. Neither had spoken. There had been some little parish quarrel, and, on that afternoon the text was, “A new commandment I write unto you, that ye love one another." But after the sermon was done the text was the best part of it. Some one said that Parson Marsh's sermons were like the meeting-house,-the steeple was the only thing that folks could see after they got home.

Once or twice 'Biah

They walked slowly, without a word. essayed to speak, but was still silent. from between the pickets of the fence, and unconsciously He plucked a flower pulled it to pieces, as, with a troubled face, he glanced at Rachel, and then, as fearing she would catch his eye, he looked at the trees, at the clouds, at the grass, at everything, and saw nothing,-nothing but Rachel. hour of human experience is not that of Death, but of Life, The most solemn -when the heart is born again, and from a natural heart becomes a heart of Love! What wonder that it is a silent

hour and perplexed?

Is the soul confused? Why not, when the divine Spirit, rolling clear across the aerial ocean, breaks upon the heart's shore with all the mystery of heaven? Is it strange that uncertain lights dim the eye, if above the head of him that truly loves hover clouds of saintly spirits? Why should not the tongue stammer and refuse its accustomed offices, when all the world-skies, trees, plains, hills, atmosphere, and the solid earth-springs forth in new colors, with strange meanings, and seems to chant for the soul the glory of that mystic Law with which God has bound to himself his infinite realm, -the law of Love? Then, for the first time, when one so loves that love is sacrifice, death to self, resurrection, and glory, is man brought into harmony with the whole universe; and, like him who beheld the seventh heaven, hears things unlawful to be uttered.

The great elm-trees sighed as the fitful breeze swept their tops. The soft shadows flitted back and forth beneath the walker's feet, fell upon them in light and dark, ran over the ground, quivered and shook, until sober Catheart thought that his heart was throwing its shifting network of hope and fear along the ground before him.

How strangely his voice sounded to him, as, at length, all his emotions could only say, "Rachel,—how did you like the

sermon?"

Quietly she answered,—

"I liked the text."

"A new commandment I write unto you, that ye love one another.' Rachel, will you help me keep it?"

At first she looked down and lost a little color; then, raising her face, she turned upon him her large eyes, with a look both clear and tender. It was as if some painful restraint had given way, and her eyes blossomed into full beauty. Not another word was spoken. They walked home hand in hand. He neither smiled nor exulted. He saw neither the trees, nor the long level rays of sunlight that were slanting across the fields. His soul was overshadowed with a cloud as if God were drawing near. He had never felt so solemn, This woman's life had been intrusted to him!

Long years, the whole length of life, the eternal years beyond, seemed in an indistinct way to rise up in his imagi

nation. All that he could say, as he left her at the door,

She again said nothing, but turned to him with a clear and open face, in which joy and trust wrought beauty. It seemed to him as if a light fell upon him from her eyes. There was a look that descended and covered him as with in atmosphere; and all the way home he was as one walking in a luminous cloud. He had never felt such personal dignity as now. He that wins such love is crowned, and may call himself king. He did not feel the earth under his feet. As he drew near his lodgings, the sun went down. The children began to pour forth, no longer restrained. Abiah turned to his evening chores. No animal that night

The children found him unuAnd Aunt Keziah said to her sis

but had reason to bless him. sually good and tender.

ter,

"Abiah's been goin' to meetin' very regular for some weeks, and I shouldn't wonder, by the way he looks, if he had got a hope. I trust he ain't deceivin' himself."

He had a hope, and he was not deceived; for in a few months, at the close of the service one Sunday morning, the minister read from the pulpit: "Marriage is intended between Abiah Cathcart and Rachel Liscomb, both of this town, and this is the first publishing of the banns."

LOST MR. BLAKE.-W. S. GILBERT.

Mr. Blake was a regular out-and-out hardened sinner,
Who was quite out of the pale of Christianity, so to speak,
He was in the habit of smoking a long pipe and drinking a
glass of grog on Sunday after dinner,

And seldom thought of going to church more than twice or-if Good Friday or Christmas Day happened to come in it-three times a week.

He was quite indifferent as to the special kinds of dresses That the clergyman wore at the church where he used to go to pray,