Quoth the Abbot smiling-"Say,
Have not we too homes of clay,
Quite as fragile, not more fair?
Brothers, and shall we resolve
Their tabernacles to dissolve,

Asking God our own to spare?",

Not another word of blame,
But they turned away in shame.
So the little birds had peace,

And the parapets among

Built and laid, and hatched their young,
Making wonderful increase.

When declined the evening sun,
When the yellow harvest done,
Sat the swallows in a row

On the ridging of the roof,
Patiently, as in behoof

Of a license e'er they'd go.

Forth from out the western door
Came the Abbot; him before

Went a brother with his crook,

And a boy a bell who rung,
And a silver censer swung,

Whilst another bore the book.

Then the Abbot raised his hand,
Looking to the swallow band,
Saying, "Ite missa est!
Christian birds, depart in peace,
As your cares of summer cease,

Swallows, enter on your rest. "Now the winter snow must fall, Wrapping earth as with a pall,

And the stormy winds arise.

Go to distant lands where glow
Deathless suns, where falls not snow
From the ever azure skies.

'Go! dear heralds of the road,
To the sweet unknown abode

In the verdant Blessed Isles, Whither we shall speed some day, Leaving crumbling homes of clay

For the land where summer smiles.

"Go in peace! your hours have run; Go, the day of work is done;

Go in peace, my sons!" he said.
Then the swallows spread the wing,
Making all the welkin ring

With their cry, and southward sped.
S. BARING GOULD.

Dctober 1.

ONE BY ONE.

ONE by one the sands are flowing,
One by one the moments fall;
Some are coming, some are going-
Do not strive to grasp them all.

One by one thy duties wait thee,
Let thy whole strength go to each;
Let no future dreams elate thee,

Learn thou first what these can teach.

One by one bright gifts from Heaven,
Joys are sent thee here below;
Take them readily when given,
Ready too, to let them go.

One by one thy griefs shall meet thee,
Do not fear an armed band;
One will fade as others reach thee,
Shadows passing thro' the land.

Do not look at life's long sorrow,
See how small each moment's pain;
God will help thee for to-morrow,
Every day begin again.

Every hour that fleets so slowly
Has its task to do or bear;
Luminous the crown and holy,

If thou set each gem with care.

Do not linger with regretting,
Or for passing hours despond;
Nor, the daily toil forgetting,
Look too eagerly beyond.

Hours are golden links, God's token
Reaching Heaven; but one by one
Take them, lest the chain be broken
Ere the pilgrimage be done.

ADELAIDE PROCTOR.

Dctober 2.

A ROUNDELAY.

O SORROW!

Why dost borrow

The natural hue of health, from vermeil lips?
To give maiden blushes

To the white rose bushes?
Or is it thy dewy hand the daisy tips?

O Sorrow!

Why dost borrow

The lustrous passion from a falcon-eye?
To give the glow-worm light?

Or, on a moonless night,

To tinge, on Syren shores, the salt sea spray?

O Sorrow!

Why dost borrow

The mellow ditties from a mourning tongue?
To give at evening pale
Unto the nightingale,

That thou mayst listen the cold dews among?

O Sorrow!

Why dost borrow

Heart's lightness from the merriment of May? A lover would not tread

A cowslip on the head,

Tho' he should dance from eve till peep of day— Nor any drooping flower

Held sacred for thy bower, Wherever he may sport himself and play.

To Sorrow

I bade good morrow,

And thought to leave her far away behind;
But cheerily, cheerily,

She loves me dearly;

She is so constant to me, and so kind;
I would deceive her,

And so leave her,

But ah! she is so constant and so kind.

Beneath my palm trees, by the river side,
I sat aweeping in the whole world wide
There was no one to ask me why I wept-
And so I kept

Brimming the water-lily cups with tears
Cold as my fears.

Come then, Sorrow,

Sweetest Sorrow!

Like an own babe I nurse thee on my breast:
I thought to leave thee,

And deceive thee,

But now of all the world I love thee best!

KEATS, Endymion.