No rocks across the pathway lie,—
No fallen trunk is o'er it thrown,—
And yet it winds, we know not why,

And turns as if for tree or stone.

Perhaps some lover trod the way
With shaking knees and leaping heart,—
And so it often runs astray

With sinuous sweep or sudden start.

Or one, perchance, with clouded brain
From some unholy banquet reeled,-
And since our devious steps maintain
His track across the trodden field.

Nay, deem not thus-no earth-born will
Could ever trace a faultless line;
Our truest steps are human still,—
To walk unswerving were divine!

Truants from love, we dream of wrath,—
Oh, rather let us trust the more!
Through all the wanderings of the path,
We still can see our Father's door!

Oliver Wendell Holmes.

ASK AND YE SHALL RECEIVE.

O praying one, who long has prayed,
And yet no answer heard,

Have ye been sometimes half afraid
God might not keep His word?
Seems prayer to fall on deafened ears?
Does Heaven seem blind and dumb?
Is hope deferred? Believe-believe-
The answer time will come!

"Ask what ye will"-His word is true,

His power is all divine;

Ye cannot test his love too far;

His utmost shall be thine.
God does not mock believing prayer;
Ye shall not go unfed!

He gives no serpent for a fish,
Nor gives He stones for bread.

Thy inmost longings may be told;
The hopes that turned to shame,
The empty life, the thwarted plans;
The good that never came.
Say not, "The promise is not mine,
God did not hear me pray;
I prayed-I trusted fully-but
The grave hath barred the way."

God heard thee-he hath not forgot,
Faith shall at length prevail!
Yea-know it! Not one smallest jot
Of all His word can fail.

For, if ye truly have believed,

Not vain hath been thy prayer!
As God is true thy hope shall come-
Sometime, someway, somewhere.

BEREAVED.

Let me come in where you sit weeping-aye
Let me, who have not any child to die,
Weep with you for the little one whose love
I have known nothing of.

Mrs. Havens.

The little arms that slowly, slowly loosed

Their pressure round your neck; the hands you used To kiss such arms, such hands I never knew,

May I not weep with you?

Fain would I be of service-say something,
Between the tears, that would be comforting-
But ah! no sadder than yourself am I

Who have no child to die!

James Whitcomb Riley.

THE CHILDREN.

When the lessons and tasks are all ended,
And the school for the day is dismissed,
And the little ones gather around me
To bid me good-night and be kissed;
Oh! the little white arms that encircle
My neck in a tender embrace!

Oh! the smiles that are halos of Heaven
Shedding sunshine of joy on my face!

And when they are gone, I sit dreaming
Of my childhood, too lovely to last;
Of love that my heart well remembers
When it wakes to the pulse of the past,
Ere the world and its wickedness made me
A portion of sorrow and sin—
When the glory of God was about me
And the glory of gladness within.

Oh! my heart grows as weak as a woman's,
And the fountain of feeling will flow
When I think of the path, steep and stony,
Where the feet of the dear ones must go;
Of the mountains of sin, hanging o'er them,
Of the tempest of fate blowing wild,
Oh! there's nothing on earth half so holy
As the innocent heart of a child.

They are idols of hearts and of households;
They are angels of God, in disguise;
His sunlight still sleeps in their tresses,
His glory still gleams in their eyes.

Oh! those truants from home and from Heaven,
They make me more manly and mild;

And I know now how Jesus can liken
The kingdom of God to a child.

I ask not a life for the dear ones,

All radiant, as others have done;

But that life may have just enough shadow
To temper the glare of the sun.

I would pray God to guard them from evil-
But my prayer would bound back to myself-
Ah! a seraph can pray for a sinner,
But a sinner must pray for himself.

The twig is so easily bended,

I have banished the rule and the rod;

I have taught them the goodness of knowledge; They have taught me the goodness of God.

My heart is a dungeon of darkness

When I shut them from breaking a rule;

My frown is sufficient correction

My love is the law of the school.

I shall leave the old house in the autumn
To traverse its threshhold no more,
Ah! how I shall sigh for the dear ones
That meet me each morn at the door!
I shall miss the "good-nights" and the kisses,
And the gush of their innocent glee,
The group on the green, and the flowers
That are brought every morning to me.

I shall miss them at morn and at eve'n,
Their songs in the school and the street,
I shall miss the low hum of their voices,
And the tramp of their delicate feet.
When the lessons and tasks are all ended,
And death says, "The school is dismissed,”
May the little ones gather around me

To bid me good-night, and be kissed.

Charles M. Dickinson.

A GOOD FRIEND.

To have a good friend is one of the highest delights of life; to be a good friend is one of the noblest and most difficult undertakings. Friendship depends not upon fancy, imagination or sentiment, but upon character. There is no man so poor that he is not rich if he have a friend; there is no man so rich that he is not poor without a friend. But friendship is a word made to cover many kindly, impermanent relationships. Real friendship is abiding. Like charity, it suffereth long and is kind. Like love, it vaunteth not itself, but pursues the even tenor of its way, unaffrighted by ill report, loyal in adversity, the solvent of infelicity, the shining jewel of happy days. Friendship has not the iridescent joys of love, though it is closer than is often known to the