And though hidden deep in the ocean's breast, It never, no never'll be quite at rest, And the shore is sad, of its smile bereft. And echoing still, that moan of pain Is ever heard by the patient shore, That surf-beaten, storm-lashed, or still and lone Listens for one low murmuring tone, And waits the return of the wave evermore. TO-DAY. Now is the fullness of the perfect season! The ache of hearts to-day is spent in healing; The life which wraps the earth, a crimson ocean, Each noble deed to-day bears on its bosom Of good with good, throughout all life possessed. To-day has clouds, but who would miss the wonder? The sunshine colors them with rosy light. To-day has storms; the snow-flake, or the thunder, Awakens us to visions of God's might. That hearts have ached, must ache, e'er reason teaches Its lessons of the best, the highest skill To-day, to-day a gladdening earth rejoices And Life drinks deeper of the crimson flood; While what seemed ill in yesterday, all voices Within its soul to-day declare was good. The glorious Past sends all its beams to brighten The radiant splendor of this peerless shine; And the fair Sun of Righteousness shall lighten The East and West with Reason's rays divine. A ESTHER T. HOUSH. mong the many women-workers for temperance and humanity there is none more devoted or earnest in the strife than Mrs. Housh. Although she has written for many years, yet it was about 1877, the date of her connection with "Woman at Work," published in Louisville, Ky., that Mrs. Housh first became known to the public at large. Five years later the publication was removed to Brattleboro, Vt., and re-christened "The Woman's Magazine," and in 1891 was suspended, Mrs. Housh taking an editorial position on the "Household" of Boston. While in Brattleboro, editing "The Woman's Magazine," she was called to the superintendency of the National Press Work for the Woman's Christian Temperance Union, a position she filled most acceptably for five years. For several years she was president of the Vermont Woman's Christian Temperance Union, having previously served as recording secretary for the same organization. Mrs. Housh's writings are acceptable to both old and young readers, but it is said of her that she loves most to please the children. She is a native of Ross county, Ohio, and was married to Mr. Housh at her grandfather's home, near Champaign, Ill., more than thirty years ago. Her son, Frank, has been associated with her in her work, having been the publisher of "Woman at Work." H. M. Higher than Alpine crags the echoes of that song Ah, who may know? but answering shouts rolled down and down, Until the hymn, so like a wailing prayer begun, How cruel seemed thy fate, O flower of Alpine vale, To find a barren rock whereon to rest! And yet thy blue-fringed petals wept glad tears of joy When, folded to a loving mother's breast, The mission of thy life was told, that saved her boy. BUILDING THE YEARS. IN the solemn hush of the midnight hour, Then I heard a rustle and a whir of wings, "We're building the years: each one as they go, But the rose-light told of their trailing through, For a sound of looms and weavers was heard, And up in the trees was a rush of knitting; Then they lulled the hours as they dreamed along Of the peaches that hung on the topmost bough And a mosaic cover of gold was spread Then the jewelers came with their art, the last, So build they the years! Are they wiser than we, And the earth forgets the throe of its pain, No day is so dull but there's something of beauty; BABYHOOD. Deep mystery of human life, that holds Within the tiny form the hopes of heaven, The love and joy of earth! -The Angel Whisper. |