"COULD WE BUT KNOW"

COULD we but know

The land that ends our dark, uncertain travel, Where lie those happier hills and meadows low,

Ah, if beyond the spirit's utmost cavil,

Aught of that country could we surely know, Who would not go?

Might we but hear

The hovering angels' high imagined chorus,
Or catch, betimes, with wakeful eyes and clear,
One radiant vista of the realm before us,—
With one rapt moment given to see and hear,
Ah, who would fear?

Were we quite sure

To find the peerless friend who left us lonely, Or there, by some celestial stream as pure, To gaze in eyes that were love-lit only,weary mortal coil, were we quite sure, Who would endure?

This

Edmund C. Stedman.

THE SLEEP

"He giveth his beloved sleep.”—Psalm cxxvii. 2.

Of all the thoughts of God that are
Borne inward unto souls afar,

Along the Psalmist's music deep,
Now tell me if that any is,

For gift or grace, surpassing this"He giveth his beloved sleep?"

What would we give to our beloved?
The hero's heart to be unmoved,
The poet's star-tuned harp to sweep,

The patriot's voice to teach and rouse, The monarch's crown to light the brows? "He giveth his beloved sleep."

What do we give to our beloved?
A little faith all undisproved,

A little dust to overweep,

And bitter memories to make

The whole earth blasted for our sake. "He giveth his beloved sleep."

66

THE SLEEP

Sleep soft, beloved!" we sometimes say, But have no tune to charm away

Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep; But never doleful dream again

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Shall break the happy slumber when

He giveth his beloved sleep.”

O earth, so full of dreary noises!
O men, with wailing in your voices!
O delved gold, the wailers heap!

O strife, O curse, that o'er it fall!
God strikes a silence through you all,
And "giveth his beloved sleep."

His dews drop mutely on the hill,
His cloud above it saileth still,

Though on its slope men sow and reap.
More softly than the dew is shed,
Or cloud is floated overhead,
"He giveth his beloved sleep."

For me, my heart that erst did go
Most like a tired child at a show,

THE SLEEP

That sees through tears the mummers leap, Would now its wearied vision close, Would childlike on his love repose, Who "giveth his beloved sleep!"

And friends, dear friends, when it shall be
That this low breath is gone from me,
And round my bier ye come to weep,
Let one, most loving of you all,
Say, "Not a tear must o'er her fall—
He giveth his beloved sleep."

Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

BURIED TO-DAY

BURIED to-day:

When the soft green buds are bursting out, And up on the south wind comes a shout Of village boys and girls at play

In the mild spring evening gray.

Taken away,

Sturdy of heart and stout of limb,

From eyes that drew half their right from him,

And put low, low underneath the clay,

In his spring-on this spring day.

Passes away

All the pride of boy-life begun,

All the hope of life left to run;

Who dares to question when One saith “Nay!” Murmur not-only pray.