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Though faith alone in Christ can save,
Man must be plunged beneath the wave,
To show the world unfaltering faith
In what the sacred Scripture saith:
O swell, ye rising waters, swell,"
Peal'd out the clear-toned Baptist bell.

"Not faith alone, but works as well,
Must test the soul," said a soft bell;
"Come here, and cast aside your load,
And work your way along the road,
With faith in God, and faith in man,
And hope in Christ, where hope began:
Do well do well - do well - do well,"

Peal'd forth the Unitarian bell.

"Farewell! farewell! base world, farewell,"
In gloomy tones exclaim'd a bell;
"Life is a boon to mortals given,
To fit the soul for bliss in Heaven:
Do not invoke the avenging rod;

Come here, and learn the way to God:
Say to the world farewell farewell!"

Peal'd out the Presbyterian bell.

"In after life there is no Hell!
In raptures rang a cheerful bell;
"Look up to Heaven this holy day,
Where angels wait to lead the way;
There are no fires, no fiends, to blight
The future life; be just, do right:

No Hell! no Hell! no Hell! no Hell!"
Rang out the Universalist bell.

"To all the truth we tell we tell,"
Shouted in ecstasies a bell;
"Come all ye weary wanderers, see!
Our Lord has made salvation free:

Repent! believe! have faith! and then

Be saved, and praise the Lord.

Amen.

we tell,”

Shouted the Methodistic bell.

EVENING AT THE FARM.

J. T. TROWBRIDGE.

OVER the hill the farm-boy goes:
His shadow lengthens along the land,
A giant staff in giant hand;
In the poplar-tree above the spring
The katydid begins to sing;

The early dews are falling:

Into the stone-heap darts the mink,
The swallows skim the river's brink,
And home to the woodland fly the crows,
When over the hill the farm-boy goes,

"Co', boss! co', boss! co'! co'! co?!" Further, further over the hill,

Faintly calling, calling still,

Into the yard the farmer goes,

With grateful heart, at the close of day:
Harness and chain are hung away;

In the wagon-shed stand yoke and plough;
The straw's in the stack, the hay in the mow;
The cooling dews are falling:

The friendly sheep his welcome bleat,

The pigs come grunting to his feet,

The whinnying mare her master knows,

When into the yard the farmer goes,
His cattle calling,-

66

"Co', boss! co', boss! co'! co'! co'!"

While still the cow-boy, far away,
Goes seeking those that have gone astray,
"Co', boss! co', boss! co'! co'!"

Now to her task the milkmaid goes ;
The cattle come crowding through the gate,
Lowing, pushing, little and great;
About the trough, by the farm-yard pump,
The frolicsome yearlings frisk and jump,

While the pleasant dews are falling:
The new milch heifer is quick and shy,
But the old cow waits with tranquil eye;
And the white stream into the bright pail flows,
When to her task the milkmaid goes,

Soothingly calling,—

"So, boss! so, boss! so! so! so!"
The cheerful milkmaid takes her stool,
And sits and milks in the twilight cool,
Saying, "So, so, boss! so! so!"

To supper at last the farmer goes:
The apples are pared, the paper read,
The stories are told, then all to bed:
Without, the cricket's ceaseless song
Makes shrill the silence all night long;
The heavy dews are falling:

The housewife's hand has turn'd the lock;
Drowsily ticks the kitchen clock;

The household sinks to deep repose;

But still in sleep the farm-boy goes

Singing, calling

"Co', boss! co', boss! co'! co'! co'!"

And oft the milkmaid, in her dreams,

Drums in the pail with the flashing streams,
Murmuring." So, boss! so!"

THE LAST HYMN.

MRS. M. FARMINGHAM.

THE Sabbath day was ending in a village by the sea,
The utter'd benediction touch'd the people tenderly;

And they rose to face the sunset in the glowing, lighted west,
And then hasten'd to their dwellings for God's blessèd boon of rest.
But they look'd across the waters, and a storm was raging there;
A fierce spirit moved about them, — the wild spirit of the air;
And it lash'd, and shook, and tore them, till they thunder'd, groan’d,
and boom'd:

And, alas! for any vessel in their yawning gulfs entomb'd.
Very anxious were the people on that rocky coast of Wales,
Lest the dawns of coming morrows should be telling awful tales,
When the sea had spent its passion, and should cast upon the shore
Bits of wreck, and swollen victims, as it had done heretofore.
With the rough winds blowing round her, a brave woman strain'd
her eyes,

As she saw along the billows a large vessel fall and rise.

O! it did not need a prophet to tell what the end must be,
For no ship could ride in safety near that shore on such a sea.

Then the pitying people hurried from their homes, and throng'd the beach.

O, for power to cross the waters, and the perishing to reach! Helpless hands were wrung in terror, tender hearts grew cold with

dread,

And the ship urged by the tempest to the fatal rock-shore sped. She has parted in the middle! O, the half of her goes down! God have mercy! Is His Heaven far to seek, for those who drown? Lo! when next the white, shock'd faces look'd with terror on the

sea,

Only one last clinging figure on a spar was seen to be.

Nearer to the trembling watchers came the wreck toss'd by the

wave,

And the man still clung and floated, though no power on Earth could save.

"Could we send him a short message? Here's a trumpet, shout away!"

'Twas the preacher's hand that took it, and he wonder'd what to

say:

Any memory of his sermon? Firstly? Secondly? Ah, no!
There was but one thing to utter in that awful hour of woe.

So he shouted through the trumpet, "Look to Jesus! Can you hear?"

And “Ay, ay, sir!" rang the answer o'er the waters, faint and clear.

Then they listen'd: "He is singing, 'Jesus, lover of my soul,'' And the winds brought back the echo, "While the nearer waters roll."

Strange indeed it was to hear him, "Till the storm of life is past," Singing bravely o'er the waters, "O, receive my soul at last." He could have no other refuge, "Hangs my helpless soul on Thee." "Leave, O! leave me not," - the singer dropp'd at last into the sea. And the watchers looking homeward, through their eyes by tears made dim,

Said, "He pass'd to be with Jesus in the singing of that hymn."

THE LITTLE TELLTALE.

ONCE, on a golden afternoon,

With radiant faces and hearts in tune,
Two fond lovers in dreaming mood

Threaded a rural solitude.

Wholly happy, they only knew

That the earth was bright and the sky was blue;
That light and beauty and joy and song
Charm'd the way as they pass'd along :

The air was fragrant with woodland scents;
The squirrel frisk'd on the roadside fence;

And hovering near them, "chee, chee, chink?”
Queried the curious bobolink,

Pausing and peering with sidelong head,

As saucily questioning all they said;

While the ox-eye danced on its slender stem,

And all glad Nature rejoiced with them.

Over the odorous fields were strown

Wilting windrows of grass new-mown,