Hath shuddered; yet the stroke that laid thee low Shall wring men's hearts with envy, and new eyes, Age after age, shall kindle in the glow

Of thy great life and life's self-sacrifice.

We cannot dream the days of glory passed,
That England bears no heroes in her age;
Strong honour lives, and breathed in thee, the last
And greatest hero on her history's page.

Saint! hero! through the clouds of doubt that loom O'er darkling skies, thy life hath power to bless ; We thank thee thou hast shown us in the gloom Once more Christ's power and childlike manliness.

IN MEMORIAM.

A. H. MACKONOCHIE.

Two watchers sit beside the dead;
From hour to hour no prayer is said,
For they are dumb and he is dead;
And snows are curling round his head,
While God's white wings are overspread.

None heard the sad heart's stifled cry -
None, save the two dogs sitting by,
And Him that watcheth in the sky.

It passed, that agonizing cry,

In gloom as deep as Calvary !

None saw the last look on that face

Where men once read such love and grace;

No hand was nigh to smooth the trace

Of anguish on that pallid face.

The patient hero wins the race

Alone in God's great dwelling-place.

Earth folded him with gentle hands
In Nature's whitest swathing-bands;

A snow-veil on his face and hands,
And silence on those northern lands.
Thro' cloud-rift in the west expands

A light from where God's temple stands.

The new-born soul in Paradise
Forgets the snow and wintry skies-
Forgets, in sunny Paradise,

The dying body's agonies.

Lord, keep him till that form shall rise To meet Thee coming in the skies!

IN MEMORIAM.

THOSE KILLED IN THE CANADIAN NORTH-WEST, 1885.

GROWING to full manhood now,

With the care-lines on our brow,
We, the youngest of the nations,
With no childish lamentations,
Weep, as only strong men weep,
For the noble hearts that sleep,
Pillowed where they fought and bled,
The loved and lost, our glorious dead!

Toil and sorrow come with age,
Manhood's rightful heritage;

Toil our arms more strong shall render,
Sorrow make our hearts more tender,
In the heartlessness of time ;

Honour lays a wreath sublime—
Deathless glory-where they bled,

Our loved and lost, our glorious dead!

Wild the prairie grasses wave

O'er each hero's new-made grave;

Time shall write such wrinkles o'er us,
But the future spreads before us
Glorious in that sunset land-

Nerving every heart and hand,
Comes a brightness none can shed,
But the dead, the glorious dead!

Lay them where they fought and fell;
Every heart shall ring their knell,
For the lessons they have taught us,
For the glory they have brought us.
Tho' our hearts are sad and bowed,
Nobleness still makes us proud—
Proud of light their names shall shed
In the roll-call of our dead!

Growing to full manhood now,
With the care-lines on our brow,
We, the youngest of the nations,
With no childish lamentations,
Weep, as only strong men weep,
For the noble hearts that sleep