186 A MARTYR CONVERT. The last are first, the first are last, As angel-eyes behold; These from the sheep-cote sternly cast, No Christian home, no pastor's eye, Forth from the heathen ranks she stept, Of Christian souls who had not kept Grace formed her out of sinful dust; She rose in all the faith and trust, And sweetness of a child. And in the freshness of that love She preach'd, by word and deed, Her new-found glorious creed. A MARTYR CONVERT. 187 And running in a little hour Of life the course complete, She reached the throne of endless power, And sits at Jesu's feet. Her spirit there, her body here, We use her name, we touch her bier, Praise to the Father, as is meet, Praise to the Holy Paraclete While endless ages run. DR. NEWMAN. CHRISTIAN CALMNESS DISTURBED. E walked by the side of the tranquil stream, W beam; The water was still, and so crystal clear And every reed that o'er it bowed, And the crimson streak, and the silvery cloud, And they said it was like to the chasten'd breast, When sorrow has tamed the impassioned eye, CHRISTIAN CALMNESS DISTURBED. 189 But I took a stone that lay beside, And I cast it far on the glassy tide; And gone was the charm of the pictured scene, And I bade them mark, how an idle word, Though sweet be the peace, and holy the calm, As the wave that reflects the crimson streak. You cannot impede the celestial ray That lights the dawn of eternal day; But so may you trouble the bosom it cheers,--'Twill cease to be true to the image it bears. CAROLINE FRY. B BETTER THINGS. ETTER to smell a violet, Than sip the careless wine; Better to list one music tone, Than watch the jewels' shine. Better to have the love of one, Better to have a living seed Than flowers of every hue. Better to feel a love within, Than beauty's wild delight. |