Remember the homes where the light has fled,
Where the rose has faded away

And the love that glows in youthful hearts,

Oh cherish it while you may!

And make your home a garden of flowers,

Where joy shall bloom through childhood's hours,
And fill young hearts with sweetness.

Anonymous.

SONG.

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear,
There is ever a something sings alway;

There's the song of the lark when the skies are clear,
And the song of the thrush when the skies are gray.
The sunshine showers across the grain,

And the bluebird trills in the orchard tree;
And in and out, when the eaves drip rain,
The swallows are twittering ceaselessly.

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear,
Be the skies above or dark or fair;

There is ever a song that our hearts may hear—
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear-
There is ever a song somewhere!

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear,

In the midnight black, or the midday blue;

The robin pipes when the sun is here,

And the cricket chirrups the whole night through.
The buds may blow and the fruit may grow,
And the autumn leaves drop crisp and sere;
But whether the sun, or the rain, or the snow,
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear.

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear,

Be the skies above or dark or fair;

There is ever a song that our hearts may hear-
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear-
There is ever a song somewhere!

James Whitcomb Riley.

IF ALL WHO HATE WOULD LOVE US.

If all who hate would love us,

And all our loves were true,
The stars that swing above us
Would brighten in the blue;
If cruel words were kisses,

And every scowl a smile,
A better world than this is,
Would hardly be worth while;
If purses would not tighten
To meet a brother's need,
The load we bear would lighten
Above the grave of greed.

If those who whine would whistle,
And those who languish laugh,
The rose would route the thistle,
The grain outrun the chaff;
If hearts were only jolly,

If grieving were forgot,
And tears of melancholy

Were things that now are not;
Then love would kneel to duty,

And all the world would seem

A bridal bower of beauty,

A dream within a dream.

If men would cease to worry,
And women cease to sigh,
And all be glad to bury
Whatever has to die;

If neighbor spake to neighbor,
As love demands of all,
The rust would eat the sabre,
The spear stay on the wall;
Then every day would glisten,
And every eve would shine,
And God would pause to listen,
And life would be divine.

James Newton Matthews, in Washington Star.

PATRIOTISM.

Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,

This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned,
As home his footsteps he hath turned
From wandering on a foreign strand?
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no minstrel raptures swell;

High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;
Despite those titles, power and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying shall go down

To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung.

Sir Walter Scott, in "Lay of the Last Minstrel."

LAST WORDS OF WILLIAM MCKINLEY.

"Goodby, all. It is God's way. His will be done."

The late President McKinley's physician, Dr. Rixey, tells us that after his distinguished patient could no longer speak an audible word, he could distinguish his lips uttering in whispers, the words of the following hymn, "Nearer, my God, to Thee." C. H. Grosvenor, in "William McKinley, His Life and Work.”

LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT.

Lead, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom,
Lead thou me on!

The night is dark, and I am far from home-
Lead thou me on!

Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene-one step's enough for me.

I was not ever thus, nor prayed that thou
Shouldst lead me on.

I loved to choose and see my path; but now
Lead thou me on!

I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears,
Pride ruled my will; remember not past years.

So long the power hath blest me, sure it still
Will lead me on,

O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till
The night is gone;

And with the morn those angel faces smile
Which I have loved long since and lost awhile.
Cardinal (John Henry) Newman.

IF YOU HAVE A FRIEND WORTH LOVING.

The following poem was discovered by Mr. George Morgan, of the banking firm of Morgan, Drexel & Co., in a country newspaper. He carried it in his pocket for five years, occasionally reading it to his friends. Inquiries for copies of it were so frequent that he finally had it printed for distribution:

If you have a friend worth loving,
Love him. Yes, and let him know
That you love him, ere life's evening
Tinge his brow with sunset glow.
Why should good words ne'er be said
Of a friend-till he is dead?

If you hear a prayer that moves you
By its humble, pleading tone,

Join it. Do not let the seeker

Bow before its God alone.

Why should not your brother share
The strength of "two or three" in prayer?

If you see the hot tears falling

From a brother's weeping eyes
Share them. And by kindly sharing
Own our kinship in the skies.
Why should anyone be glad
When a brother's heart is sad?