Thou dost herald no longer Apollo,
The god of the sunbeam and lyre;
The pride of his empire is ended,

And pale is his armor of fire.

From a loftier height than Olympus
Light flows, from the Temple above,
And the mists of old legends are scattered
In the dawn of the Kingdom of Love.
Come forth from the cloudland of fable,
For day in full splendor make room-
For a triumph that lost not its glory

As it paused in the sepulchre's gloom.
She comes the bright goddess of morning,
In crimson and purple array;

Far down on the hill-tops she tosses

The first golden lilies of day.

On the mountains her sandals are glowing,
O'er the valleys she speeds on the wing,

Till earth is all rosy and radiant

For the feet of the new-risen King.

Open the gates of the Temple;

Spread branches of palm and of bay;

Let not the spirits of nature

Alone deck the Conqueror's way.

While Spring from her death sleep arises
And joyous His presence awaits,

While Morning's smile lights up the heavens,
Open the Beautiful Gates!

He is here! The long watches are over,

The stone from the grave rolled away. "We shall sleep," was the sigh of the midnight; "We shall rise," is the song of to-day.

O Music! no longer lamenting,

On pinions of tremulous flame
Go soaring to meet the Beloved,

And swell the new song of His fame!

The altar is snowy with blossoms,
The font is a vase of perfume,
On pillar and chancel are twining
Fresh garlands of eloquent bloom.
Christ is risen! with glad lips we utter,
And far up the infinite height
Archangels the pæan re-echo,

And crown Him with Lilies of Light!

FRANCES L. MACE.

A

EVE AND THE SERPENT.

FRENCHMAN'S idea of the modus operandi by which that objectionable reptile, the serpent, carried out his programme with Eve, is thus pleasingly narrated in the French gentleman's broken English:

"Monsieur Adam he walked up, he sees une belle demoiselle aslip in ze garden. Viola de la chance. 'Bon jour, Madame Iv.' Madame Iv she wake; she hole her fan before to her face. Adam put up his eyeglass to admire ze tableau. Zey make one promenade. Madame Iv she feel hungry. She sees appel on ze arbre. Serpent ze promene sur l'arbre, make one walk on ze tree. 'Monsieur Serpent,' says Iv,' Weel you have not ze bonte to peek me some appel, j'ai faime?' 'Certainment, madame,' say ze serpent, 'charme de vous voir.' 'Holo, mon ami, ar-r-r-eter vous,' say Adam; 'stop que songez vous faire! What madness is zees? You must

not peek ze appel.' Ze snake he take one pinch of snuff; he say: 'Ah, Monsieur Adam, do you not know there is nothing prohebeet for ze ladies? Madame Iv, permeet me to offer you some of this fruit defendu.' Iv she make one courtesy. Ze snake he fill her whole parasol wiz appel."

TOM.

YES, Tom's the best fellow that ever you knew.

Just listen to this:

When the old mill took fire, and the flooring fell

through,

And I with it, helpless there, full in my view
What do you think my eyes saw through the fire
That crept along, crept along, nigher and nigher,
But Robin, my baby-boy, laughing to see

The shining? He must have come there after me,
Toddled alone from the cottage without

Any one's missing him. Then, what a shout-
Oh! how I shouted, "For Heaven's sake, men,
Save little Robin!"

Again and again

They tried, but the fire held them back like a wall.
I could hear them go at it, and at it, and call,
"Never mind, baby, sit still like a man!

We're coming to get you as fast as we can."
They could not see him, but I could. He sat
Still on a beam, his little straw hat
Carefully placed by his side; and his eyes
Stared at the flame with a baby's surprise,
Calm and unconscious, as nearer it crept.
The roar of the fire up above must have kept

The sound of his mother's voice shrieking his name
From reaching the child. But I heard it. It came
Again and again. O God, what a cry!

The axes went faster: I saw the sparks fly

Where the men worked like tigers, nor minded the heat That scorched them,-when, suddenly, there at their feet,

The great beams leaned in-they saw him-then, crash,
Down came the wall! The men made a dash,—
Jumped to get out of the way,-and I thought,
"All's up with poor little Robin!" and brought
Slowly the arm that was least hurt to hide

The sight of the child there,-when swift, at my side,
Some one rushed by, and went right through the flame,
Straight as a dart-caught the child-and then came
Back with him, choking and crying, but-saved!
Saved safe and sound.

Oh, how the men raved,

Shouted, and cried, and hurrahed! Then they all
Rushed at the work again, lest the back wall

Where I was lying, away from the fire,

Should fall in and bury me.

Oh! you'd admire

To see Robin now: he's as bright as a dime,
Deep in some mischief, too, most of the time.
Tom, it was, saved him. Now, is n't it true
Tom's the best fellow that ever you knew?
There's Robin now! See, he's strong as a log!
And there comes Tom, too-

Yes, Tom was our dog.
CONSTANCE FENIMORE WOOLSON.

ST. JOHN THE AGED.

'M growing very old. This weary head

I'

groans,

That hath so often leaned on Jesus' breast, In days long past that seem almost a dream, Is bent and hoary with its weight of years. These limbs that followed him, my Master, oft! From Galilee to Judah; yea, that stood Beneath the cross and trembled with his Refuse to bear me even through the streets To preach unto my children. E'en my lips Refuse to form the words my heart sends forth. My ears are dull; they scarcely hear the sobs Of my dear children gathered 'round my couch; My eyes so dim, they cannot see their tears. God lays his hand upon me,—yea, his HAND, And not his ROD—the gentle hand that I Felt, those three years, so often pressed in mine, In friendship such as passeth woman's love.

I'm old, so old! I cannot recollect
The faces of my friends, and I forget

The words and deeds that make up daily life;
But that dear face, and every word HE spoke,
Grow more distinct as others fade away,
So that I live with him and th' holy dead
More than with living.

Some seventy years ago

I was a fisher by the sacred sea.

It was at sunset. How the tranquil tide

Bathed dreamily the pebbles! How the light Crept up the distant hills, and in its wake