It may be that Death's bright angel
Will speak in that chord again;
It may be that only in heaven
I shall hear that grand Amen.

A WOMAN'S QUESTION

BY ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER

Before I trust my fate to thee,
Or place my hand in thine,
Before I let thy future give
Color and form to mine,
Before I peril all for thee,
Question thy soul to-night for me.

I break all slighter bonds, nor feel
A shadow of regret:

Is there one link within the past
That holds thy spirit yet?

Or is thy faith as clear and free
As that which I can pledge to thee?

Does there within thy dimmest dreams
A possible future shine,
Wherein thy life could henceforth breathe,
Untouched, unshared by mine?

If so, at any pain or cost,

O, tell me before all is lost!

Look deeper still: if thou canst feel,

Within thy inmost soul,

That thou hast kept a portion back,
While I have staked the whole,
Let no false pity spare the blow,
But in true mercy tell me so.

Is there within thy heart a need
That mine cannot fulfil?

One chord that any other hand
Could better wake or still?
Speak now, lest at some future day
My whole life wither and decay.

Lives there within thy nature hid
The demon-spirit, change,
Shedding a passing glory still

On all things new and strange?

It may not be thy fault alone,
But shield my heart against thine own.

Couldst thou withdraw thy hand one day
And answer to my claim,

That fate, and that to-day's mistake, -
Not thou, had been to blame?

Some soothe their conscience thus; but thou
Wilt surely warn and save me now.

Ay, answer not, — I dare not hear;

The words would come too late; Yet I would spare thee all remorse, So comfort thee, my fate: Whatever on my heart may fall,

Remember, I would risk it all!

IN THE OLD CHURCH CHOIR

BY LOWELL OTUS REESE

The world was young in those days of ours.
The world was so young and new,

All builded of birds and of sweet spring flowers,
And to-morrow fresh wonders grew;

But the world rolled back and love reigned instead
And smote on a magic lyre -

For Someone sat in the seat ahead

When we sang in the old church choir.

Someone with eyes of the downcast brown.
And lips that were wondrous rare;
Dark waves of glory that tumbled down
From the crimson " tam set there
At a rakish slant. Oh, that pure delight!
Life! grant me but one desire

To see and feel as I felt that night

When we sang in the old church choir!

The Preacher prayed with a will. And when
He prayed for "those near and dear,"
The deacons shouted a loud "Amen!
And I felt that the Lord was near.

The Preacher preached of the bleeding Lamb,
And his words were as words of fire;
But I worshipped the girl with the crimson tam
When we sang in the old church choir.

The church is gone, and the Preacher long
In the land that he loved so well.

Hark! out of the new church, deep and strong,
Hear the great pipes joyous swell!
I sit and dream and contented am,
For Someone is by my fire,

Sweet as in the days of the crimson tam,
When we sang in the old church choir.

THE OLD SWIMMIN'-HOLE

BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! whare the crick so still and deep

Looked like a baby-river that was lying half asleep,
And the gurgle of the worter round the drift jest below
Sounded like the laugh of something we onc't ust to
know

Before we could remember anything but the eyes
Of the angels lookin' out as we left Paradise;

But the merry days of youth is beyond our controle, And it's hard to part ferever with the old swimmin'hole.

Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! In the happy days of yore,
When I ust to lean above it on the old sickamore,
Oh! it showed me a face in its warm sunny tide
That gazed back at me so gay and glorified,
It made me love myself, as I leaped to caress
My shadder smilin' up at me with sich tenderness.
But them days is past and gone, and old Time's tuck
his toll

From the old man come back to the old swimmin'

hole.

Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! In the long, lazy days When the humdrum of school made so many run-a

ways,

How plesant was the jurney down the old dusty lane, Whare the tracks of our bare feet was all printed so

planc

You could tell by the dent of the heel and the sole They was lots o' fun on hand at the old swimmin'

hole.

But the lost joys is past! Let your tears in sorrow roll Like the rain that ust to dapple up the old swimmin'

hole.

Thare the bulrushes growed, and the cattails so tall,
And the sunshine and shadder fell over it all;
And it mottled the worter with amber and gold
Tel the glad lilies rocked in the ripples that rolled;
And the snake-feeder's four gauzy wings fluttered by
Like the ghost of a daisy dropped out of the sky,
Or a wownded apple-blossom in the breeze's controle
As it cut acrost some orchurd to'rds the old swimmin'-
hole.

Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! When I last saw the place,
The scenes was all changed, like the change in my face;
The bridge of the railroad now crosses the spot
Whare the old divin'-log lays sunk and fergot.
And I stray down the banks whare the trees ust to
be

But never again will theyr shade shelter me!

And I wish in my sorrow I could strip to the soul,

And dive off in my grave like the old swimmin'-hole.