I know not what e'en heaven can give
To blessed souls who gain it;
I know God's goodness it must show,
For earth cannot contain it.
And if eternity but rings.

With love, the same sweet story That earth is telling every day"Thine, Lord, shall be the glory."

Dr. T. L. Eliot

Of Doctor Eliot, Hines's "History of Oregon' says: "Mr. Eliot has the distinction of having held the longest pastorate in the City of Portland or in the State of Oregon. He was called from the City of St. Louis in 1867, while yet a young man, to the pastorate of the First Unitarian Church of Portland, worshiping in a very unpretentious chapel, situated on the site of the present large and beautiful edifice. From 1867 to 1893 Mr. Eliot continued as its pastor, when he voluntarily resigned his charge on account of impaired health, thus giving a full quarter of a century of extraordinarily useful service to his church and the state of which he has been so eminent a citizen." Doctor Eliot has visited the Holy Land and published his observations and impressions of that region in two very attractive volumes.

TEMPERANCE.

(From a sermon on Temperance delivered at Portland, Oregon, by Rev. T. L. Eliot, September 16, 1862.)

See how clear and high, how deep and broad, the principle which can be laid down-how it covers all cases, without regard to individual differences of conscience or taste. See how this statement of the case proves that after all it is Christianity that must conquer the evil of intemperance. Must we wait until everybody has it proved to him individually, personally, that it is a sin for him to touch liquor? My friends, the cause would die by inches under such a process. In spite of all that zealous temperance reformers say, it is an open question, as to whether abstractly considered, there may not be a right use and individual good coming from the stimulative action of proper doses of alcohol. I say it is an open question, by no means proved; and if it were so, there would remain the fact that thousands upon

class

thousands of individual consciences, looking upon it as a mere personal matter, are at liberty. But this principle of Paul's, this principle of Christ's comes in to every such case; it is an appeal to high and low, to every and condition-shall your liberty be a stumbling-block? Does your abstract right, become by the condition of society, a concrete wrong? Has your example any weight? Have you any duty toward society standing just as it does and as you do? Now there are hundreds of thousands who in this principle, if it could reach, and be clearly before them today, would see a Christian law where they saw no conscience law. They would see that in the sight of God and Christ they were called on to use their liberty as a ladder and not as a stumbling-block. There are men who will say "I can drink-I can afford it, I can be moderate, it does me good, more or less, I can step up to a bar, and not feel injured.' But look you! the community is tainted, nine tenths of the liquor is poisoned and drugged, every other man has the plague spot of an inherited thirst for liquor, ninety-five retail saloons-nearly, all-are plying nefarious arts, ringing in their victims. It is notorious that they live upon the infirm and weak of purpose-the hard-drinking, and those running down hill-these air holes to the pit, are dragging in young men, corrupting boys, sending out their fumes into the very home and sanctuary. Physical and moral idiots stalk the streets, the asylum and the jail rise up as witnesses against us-drink if you can, in the face of this! Why, my brother, it seems to me that I would as soon throw pitch upon a house on fire, or eat with the knife that had cut another man's throat! Once realize the nature and extent of this evil in your midst, the heart-ache, the bitter, burning woe, the degradation that lie at the door of this awful drinking habit, and you must pause! You must see, that liberty, or no liberty, there is but one thing to do—that you must cast your influence high, clear, positive, or woe be unto you in that great day when Christ shall judge between you and your fellow man.

Anonymous

REMEMBERED BY WHAT SHE HAS DONE.

Lines read at the forty-fifth anniversary of an Oregon Church, in which the music was regularly furnished by a choir consisting of the family of a lady who during half her lifetime had been their organist and leader.

The spirit has flown; and the song unsung
Has tuned the harp long left unstrung;

And the heart beats the notes of the love aglow
With the echoing tones of the long ago.

We heard her sing, for loved ones,

To the swelling notes of the old organ tones,
Till the zephyrs that lingered in the church old and gray
Transported fond memories from the far away.

We heard her sing in the Sunday School
Where the little ones learned the Golden Rule,

From the books that are now both tattered and torn.
But precious to us for the tidings they have borne.

We heard her sing at the graveyard lonely and cold
Where friends had been laid midst sorrows untold,
Where the mourners met round the lonely bier
To offer a tribute and a farewell tear.

We went to her grave when her voice was stilled,
And our saddened hearts with memories thrilled;
And we listened, but her song was no more,
For the singer was standing on another shore.

She had crossed to the land, in which we are told,
There are cities and harps and crowns of gold,
To mingle for aye with the joyous throng
That ever will ever sing a rapturous song.

And she's singing tonight in the invisible choir
With voices attuned to the heavenly lyre;

And the song that she chants is the sweetest by far,
For she's singing the song of Bethlehem's star.

We returned to church again and again
To hear the same sweet gentle strain
Which was sung by lips attuned anew
By her who had bidden the earth adieu.

Oft and again throughout the days

Our hearts were uplifted in joyous praise

By the spirit of song which, like an angel's breath, Whispers gently though the singer is silent in death.

ANGELS ARE WAITING FOR ME.

A saint whose wearied body rests in the silent city crowning a little Oregon hill, and whose sacred memory is a precious legacy to those who survive her, and whose example, like an angel's touch, gently impels upward, caught a few glimpses of the higher heaven from the heaven she lived in here below; and before the final hour came, gave expression in poetic, psalm-like language to her rapture upon the visions she beheld. These utterances were entrusted to a youth who wove them into

verse.

After the poem descants briefly upon her departure from the home of her birth to a far-distant land to share with the loved ones of earth in bearing the burdens and toil for Him who bled for our wrong, in the full consciousness of a glorious victory, she says: "His peace as a river now flows through soul and body so free that glory abounds in my heart while angels are waiting for She continues:

me.

"The Bible is plain to me now;

For Jesus explains as I read,
And lines for me verses ne'er sung-
With manna my spirit they feed!