Sigh, and you "rake in" nothing,
Work, and the prize is won;

For the nervy man

With backbone can

By nothing be outdone.

Hustle and fortune awaits you,

Shirk! and defeat is sure;

For there's no chance

Of deliverance

For the chap who can't endure.

Sing, and the world's harmonious,
Grumble, and things go wrong,
And all the time

You are out of rhyme

With the busy, hustling throng.

Kick, and there's trouble brewing,
Whistle, and life is gay,

And the world's in tune

Like a day in June,

And the clouds all melt away.

"UNTIL THE DAY BREAK.”

A human soul went forth into the night,

Shutting behind it Death's mysterious door,
And shaking off, with strange, resistless might
The dust that once it wore.

So swift its flight, so suddenly it sped-
As when by skillful hand a bow is bent
The arrow flies-those watching round the bed
Marked not the way it went.

Anon.

Heavy with grief, their aching, tear-dimmed eyes
Saw but the shadow fall, and knew not when,
Or in what fair or unfamiliar guise,

It left the world of men.

It broke from sickness, that with iron bands
Had bound it fast for many a grievous day;
And Love itself with its restraining hands
Might not its course delay.

Space could not hold it back with fettering bars,
Time lost its power, and ceased at last to be;
It swept beyond the boundary of the stars,
And touched Eternity.

Out from the house of mourning faintly lit,
It passed upon its journey all alone;
So far not even thought could follow it
Into those realms unknown.

Through the clear silence of the moonless dark,
Leaving no footprint of the road it trod,
Straight as an arrow cleaving to its mark,
The soul went home to God.

"Alas!" they cried, "he never saw the morn,
But fell asleep outwearied with the strife"-
Nay, rather, he arose and met the dawn

Of Everlasting Life.

Christian Burke.

"THE HOLY CITY."

Thirty men, red-eyed and disheveled, lined up before a judge of the San Francisco police court. It was the regular morning company of "drunks and disorderlies." Some were old and hard

ened, others hung their heads in shame. Just as the momentary disorder attending the bringing in of the prisoners quieted down, a strange thing happened. A strong, clear voice from below began singing:

"Last night I lay a-sleeping,

There came a dream so fair."

Last night! It had been for them all a nightmare or a drunken stupor. The song was such a contrast to the horrible fact that no one could fail of a sudden shock at the thought the song suggested.

"I stood in old Jerusalem,
Beside the Temple there,"

the song went on. The judge had paused. He made a quiet inquiry. A former member of a famous opera company, known all over the country, was awaiting trial for forgery. It was he who was singing in his cell.

Meantime the song went on, and every man in the line showed emotion. One or two dropped on their knees; one boy at the end of the line, after a desperate effort at self-control, leaned against the wall, buried his face against his folded arms, and sobbed, "Oh, mother, mother!"

The sobs, cutting to the very heart the men who heard, and the song, still welling its way through the court-room, blended in the hush.

At length one man protested. "Judge," said he, "have we got to submit to this? We're here to take our punishment, but this-" He, too, began to sob.

It was impossible to proceed with the business of the court, yet the judge gave no order to stop the song. The police sergeant,

after an effort to keep the men in line, stepped back and waited with the rest. The song moved on to its climax:

“Jerusalem, Jerusalem! Sing, for the night is o'er!
Hosanna in the highest! hosanna for evermore !"

In an ecstasy of melody the last words rang out, and then there was silence.

The judge looked into the faces of the men before him. There was not one who was not touched by the song; not one in whom some better impulse was not stirred. He did not call the cases singly—a kind word of advice, and he dismissed them all. No man was fined or sentenced to the workhouse that morning. The song had done more good than punishment could possibly have accomplished.

Youth's Companion.

TWO LOVERS.

Two lovers by a moss-grown spring;

They leaned soft cheeks together there,
Mingled the dark and sunny hair,
And heard the wooing thrushes sing.
O budding time!

O love's blest prime!

Two wedded from the portal stept;
The bells made happy carolings,
The air was soft as fanning wings,
White petals on the pathway swept.
O pure-eyed bride!

O tender bride!

Two faces o'er a cradle bent;

Two hands above the head were locked;

These pressed each other while they rocked;
These watched a life that love had sent.
O solemn hour!

O hidden power!

Two parents by the evening fire;
The red light fell about their knees
On heads that rose by slow degrees
Like buds upon the lily spire.
O patient life!

O tender strife!

The two still sat together there;

The red light shone about their knees,
But all the heads by slow degrees
Had gone and left the lonely pair.
O voyage fast!

O vanished past!

The red light shone about the floor

And made the space between them wide;
They drew their chairs up side by side,
Their pale cheeks joined and said once more:

O memories!

O past that is!

George Eliot.

SMOKING SPIRITUALIZED.

Moral Truths Taught in Similies Derived from the Weed. The Wheeling Intelligencer has dug up this poem from an old book published in Pittsburgh in 1831, called "Gospel Sonnets