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seem to say,--
"O, bought with my own blood,
Mine own, for whom my precious
life I gave,
Am I so little prized, remembered, loved,
By those I died to save?"
And under that deep gaze
Sorrow awakes; we kneel with eyelids wet,

And marvel, as with Peter at the gate,
That we could so forget,

We tell Thee of our care,
Of the sore burden, pressing day by day,

And in the light and pity of Thy face
The burden melts away.
We breathe our secret wish,
The importunate longing which no man
may see;
We ask it humbly, or, more restful still,
We leave it all to Thee.
And last our amulet
Of precious names we thread, and soft and low

We crave for each beloved, or near or far,
A blessing ere we go.
The thorns are turned to flowers,
All dark perplexities seem light and
fair,
A mist is lifted from the heavy hours,
And Thou art everywhere.
A FAREWELL.
Go, sun, since go you must,
The dusky evening lowers above our sky,

Our sky which was so blue and sweetly fair;
Night is not terrible
that we should sigh.
A little darkness we can surely bear;
Will there
not be more sunshine--by and by?
Go, rose, since go you must,
Flowerless and chill the winter draweth
nigh;
Closed are the blithe and fragrant lips which made
All
summer long perpetual melody.
Cheerless we take our way, but not
afraid:
Will there not be more roses--by and by?
Go, love, since go you must,
Out of our pain we bless you as you fly;

The momentary heaven the rainbow lit
Was worth whole days of
black and stormy sky;
Shall we not see, as by the waves we sit,

Your bright sail winging shoreward--by and by?

Go, life, since go you must,
Uncertain guest and whimsical ally!
All
questionless you came, unquestioned go;
What does it mean to live,
or what to die?
Smiling we watch you vanish, for we know

Somewhere is nobler living--by and by.
EBB AND FLOW.
How easily He turns the tides!
Just now the yellow beach was dry,

Just now the gaunt rocks all were bare,
The sun beat hot, and thirstily

Each sea-weed waved its long brown hair,
And bent and
languished as in pain;
Then, in a flashing moment's space,
The
white foam-feet which spurned the sand
Paused in their joyous
outward race,
Wheeled, wavered, turned them to the land,
And, a
swift legionary band,
Poured oil the waiting shores again.
How easily He turns the tides!
The fulness of my yesterday
Has
vanished like a rapid dream,
And pitiless and far away
The cool,
refreshing waters gleam:
Grim rocks of dread and doubt and pain
Rear their dark fronts where once was sea;
But I can smile and wait
for Him
Who turns the tides so easily,
Fills the spent rock-pool to
its brim,
And up from the horizon dim
Leads His bright morning
waves again.
ANGELUS.
Softly drops the crimson sun:
Softly down from overhead,
Drop the
bell-notes, one by one,
Melting in the melting red;
Sign to angel
bands unsleeping,--
"Day is done, the dark is dread,
Take the world
in care and keeping.
"Set the white-robed sentries close,
Wrap our want and weariness

In the surety of repose;
Let the shining presences,
Bearing fragrance
on their wings,
Stand about our beds to bless,
Fright away all evil
things.

"Rays of Him whose shadow pours
Through all lives a brimming
glory,
Float o'er darksome woods and moors,
Float above the
billows hoary;
Shine, through night and storm and sin,
Tangled fate
and bitter story,
Guide the lost and wandering in!"
Now the last red ray is gone;
Now the twilight shadows hie;
Still
the bell-notes, one by one,
Send their soft voice to the sky,
Praying,
as with human lip,--
"Angels, hasten, night is nigh,
Take us to thy
guardianship."
THE MORNING COMES BEFORE THE SUN.
Slow buds the pink dawn like a rose
From out night's gray and cloudy
sheath;
Softly and still it grows and grows,
Petal by petal, leaf by
leaf;
Each sleep-imprisoned creature breaks
Its dreamy fetters, one
by one,
And love awakes, and labor wakes,--
The morning comes
before the sun.
What is this message from the light
So fairer far than light can be?

Youth stands a-tiptoe, eager, bright,
In haste the risen sun to see;

Ah! check thy lunging, restless heart,
Count the charmed moments as
they run,
It is life's best and fairest part,
This morning hour before
the sun.
When once thy day shall burst to flower,
When once the sun shall
climb the sky,
And busy hour by busy hour,
The urgent noontide
draws anigh;
When the long shadows creep abreast,
To dim the
happy task half done,
Thou wilt recall this pause of rest,
This
morning hush before the sun.
To each, one dawning and one dew,
One fresh young hour is given by
fate,
One rose flush on the early blue.
Be not impatient then, but
wait!
Clasp the sweet peace on earth and sky,

By midnight angels
woven and spun;
Better than day its prophecy,--
The morning
comes before the sun.

LABORARE EST ORARE.
"Although St. Franceses was unwearied in her devotions, yet if, during
her prayers, she was called away by her husband or any domestic duty,
she would close the book cheerfully, saying that a wife and a mother,
when