Long ago was I weary of places

Where I met but the human- and sin.

I walked in the world with the worldly;
I craved what the world never gave;
And I said: "In the world each Ideal,

That shines like a star on life's wave,
Is wrecked on the shores of the Real,
And sleeps like a dream in a grave.

And still did I pine for the Perfect,

And still found the False with the True; I sought 'mid the Human for Heaven,

But caught a mere glimpse of its Blue; And I wept when the clouds of the Mortal Veiled even that glimpse from my view. And I toiled on, heart-tired of the Human; And I moaned 'mid the mazes of men ; Till I knelt, long ago, at an altar

And I heard a voice call me since then I walk down the Valley of Silence That lies far beyond mortal ken.

Do you ask what I found in the Valley? 'Tis my Trysting Place with the Divine And I fell at the feet of the Holy,

"Be mine. "

And above me a voice said:
And there arose from the depths of my spirit
An echo-" My heart shall be thine. "

Do you ask how I live in the Valley?
I weep-and I dream-and I pray.
But my tears are as sweet as the dewdrops
That fall on the roses in May;

And my prayer like a perfume from Censers,
Ascendeth to God night and day.

In the hush of the Valley of Silence
I dream all the songs that I sing;
And the music floats down the dim Valley,
Till each finds a word for a wing,

That to hearts, like the Dove of the Deluge,
A message of Peace they may bring.

But far on the deep there are billows
That never shall break on the beach;
And I have heard songs in the Silence,
That never shall float into speech;
And I have had dreams in the Valley,
Too lofty for language to reach.

And I have seen thoughts in the Valley—
Ah! me, how my spirit was stirred !
And they wear holy veils on their faces,
Their footsteps can scarcely be heard,
They pass through the Valley like Virgins,
Too pure for the touch of a word!

Do you ask me the place of the Valley,
Ye hearts that are harrowed by Care?
It lieth afar between mountains,

And God and His angels are there;
And one is the dark mount of Sorrow,
And one the bright mountain of Prayer!

O may I join the Choir Invisible

FATHER RYAN.

Of those immortal dead who live again

In minds made better by their presence.

Feed pure love, beget the smiles that have no cruelty, Be the sweet presence of a good diffused.

So shall I join the Choir Invisible

Whose music is the gladness of the world. Eliot.

THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS.

This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign,
Sails the unshadowed main,-

The venturous bark that flings

On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings
In gulfs enchanted, where the siren sings,
And coral reefs lie bare,

Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.

Tts web of living gauze no more unfurl:
Wrecked is the ship of pearl!

And every chambered cell,

Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell,
As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell,
Before thee lies revealed-

Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed!

He left the past year's dwelling for the new,
Stole with soft step its shining archway through,
Built up its idle door,

Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old

no more.

Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea,

Cast from her lap, forlorn!

From thy dead lips a clearer note is born
Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn!

While on mine ear it rings,

Through the deep cayes of thought I hear a voice that sings:

Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,

As the swift seasons roll!

Leave thy low-vaulted past!

Let each new temple, nobler than the last,
Shut thee from heaven, with a dome more vast,
Till thou at length art free,

Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting

A CRY FROM THE WILDERNESS.

O God, thou art my God; early will I seek thee: my soul thirsteth for thee, my flesh longeth for thee in a dry and thirsty land, where no water is; to see thy power and thy glory, so as I have seen thee in the sanctuary. Because thy lovingkindness is better than life, my lips shall praise thee. Thus will I bless thee while I live: I will lift up my hands in thy name. My soul shall be satisfied as with marrow and fatness; and my mouth shall praise thee with joyful lips: when I remember thee upon my bed, and meditate on thee in the night watches. Because thou hast been my help, therefore in the shadow of thy wings will I rejoice. My soul followeth hard after thee: thy right hand upholdeth me. But those that seek my soul, to destroy it, shall go into the lower parts of the earth. They shall fall by the sword: they shall be a portion for foxes. But the king shall rejoice in God; every one that sweareth by him shall glory: but the mouth of them that speak lies shall be stopped.

PSALMS LXIII.

THE LOST CHORD.

Seated one day at the

organ,

I was weary and ill at ease,
And my fingers wandered idly
Over the noisy keys.

I know not what I was playing,
Or what I was dreaming then ;
But, I struck one chord of music,
Like the sound of a great Amen.

It flooded the crimson twilight,
Like the close of an Angel's Psalm,
And it lay on my fevered spirit
With a touch of infinite calm.

It quieted pain and sorrow,

Like love overcoming strife;
It seemed the harmonious echo
From our discordant life.

It linked all perplexed meanings
Into one of perfect peace,
And trembled away into silence

As though it were loath to cease.

I have sought, but I seek it vainly
That one lost chord divine

That came from the soul of the organ
And entered into mine.

It may be that Death's bright angel
Will speak in that chord again :

It may be that only in Heaven
I shall hear that grand Amen.

ADELAIDE A. PROCTER,