I'll picture on thy pale round face an image vast, complete,
Of pondrous size with oceans wild and mountains high and steep,
A hurling mass of seething lakes, while outward beauties fold
It round and o'er with nature's green, and tinted crusts of gold.

Quite pleased with thought fair lady moon laughed in merry glee,
And begged the secret not reveal but plan all quietly;
Appointing hour and length of time, arranging for the place,
Then hiding lights at midnight bells, when earth passed o'er her face.

While swinging to a silvered chord attached to heaven's dome,
To and fro 'mid seas of stars and spirit worlds unknown,
Earth onward swept with mighty bounds, measured space, and soon
At place appointed and the hour she hovered near the moon.

But scheming of the comrades bright to her had been revealed,
With telescopes and lenses strong, were millions on the field
Of spots and specks as showered sand, by fays called wo and man,
Who gazed with awe at wondrous sight, earth pictured in moonland.

Inspiring vision piled on high in masses huge and dense;
Where camest thou? thou ragged ball thrown out from time, and whence
Doth thou intend to fathom realms of endless space and years?
Art weary of thy dizzy flights? Are rolling seas thy tears?

The silence mocks the questions sighed, and nought but shadows fall;
The picture made the fairies fade, with dying notes they call.
Doth see the Hand that holds the key? Eclipse of moon they sing,
Go, nations, to thy dreamland couch, and ponder o'er this thing.

Midnight Thoughts.

n silent hours of midnight while earth is wrapped in dreams, I ponder o'er my present life—how desolate it seems. Through wakeful hours I scan each page penned in despair and grief, Then turn to my loved childhood's home for comfort and relief. A cottage white was standing there among the grand old hills. And 'midst the spreading shady trees were songs of laughing rills. In that dear home my parents lived, my brothers large and small, With uncles, aunts and cousins near, and I the pet of all. But listen! 'tis my childrens' call, I hear their plaintive prayer, In fancy now I press soft cheeks and fondly stroke fair hair. Wide seas may roll between us, yet my darlings will life brave, Perchance be folded to my heart, or kiss their mother's grave.

Some Mother's Boy.

he battle-cry is sounding loud, a bugle calls to arm, The hills and dales are clouded o'er, troops gather in alarm; With winds is mingled sighing prayer from many a sinking brave; A youth obeying duty's call, a life his country gave. A soldier boy's dying cry is heard amid the roar Of battle strife; surround with slain he falls to rise no more. Some mother's boy! it matters not if clad in blue or gray, If fighting for the right or wrong, is hurried to his grave. Amid the beats of drum and fife, his pillow but a sod, With folded hands and marble brow, his soul returns to God. Some mother's boy is resting where the lonely willows weep, And voices waft with waving trees, while angels watch him sleep. Now comes along the highway a dusty tramp forlorn, A tattered coat conceals beneath a bent and aged form, With hardened weary visage, a bell he faintly rings; The air is rent with pitying notes, an angel softly sings. Upon this frozen nature no love for years has shown; His life is made of cruel words, and knows no kindly tone; And could you see into his past, as mother clasped her boy, He then was innocent and fair—her pride, her hope, her joy. She never dreamed her darling child a weary tramp would be, For o'er his tasks or youthful sports he laughed in childish glee; Perhaps he sinned, but, O! forget, for suffering must repay, And someone's boy has now become wretched, old and gray. Within a large and gilded hall a revel wild is held, The sound of oaths and laughter loud upon the breezes swell; A man is seen with bloated face come reeling to the streets; He turns his fierce and lurid eyes as friends he loudly greets. Some mother's boy has fallen low, we hear the broken sob Of angels who have watched for years his footsteps turn from God. Someone's prayers have oft been made o'er him in childhood's day, When, rocked in love, he knew no wrong, a smiling infant lay. Some mother's tears have freely flowed, and lonely vigils kept; Some mother's heart has often bled while others coldly slept; Some mother suffers for the wrong, and angels sadly weep Whene'er some careless, wayward son has sown what he must reap. A scaffold high with spreading arms on yonder height we see, It waits to take its victim's life, exulting cruelly. While zephyr's blow, birds hover o'er a soul in dire distress, With troubled gaze breathes out a prayer. Will God attend and bless? What matter if he's clothed in sin, what matter if he's wild, In foulest guilt? Remember, that, he is somebody's child. We cannot tell how hard he strove to shun temptation's snare; How often on his mother's breast he wept in his despair. How oft her lips had softly pressed his dimpled infant cheek, How oft her hand in love caressed the sinless baby feet. Then, strangers, pause and listen well; so might your own have been, But Christ can freely pardon all, though scarlet be his sin. Some mother's boy! The sweet refrain is breathed in accents mild. Some mother's boy! If bent and gray, if pure or all denied. Some mother's boy! Soft bells repeat in sad and sweetest chime; Some mother's boy! A mother sighs; perhaps he may be mine.

The Gift.

od calls you, my Daughter—I hear the sweet voice Of Jesus our Saviour, He would make you His choice, To work in His vineyard, to teach in His name; He'd give you the power, lost souls to reclaim. I give you, my darling, an offering to Him Who died to redeem us, to save us from sin; Be filled with His spirit, be strong in the strife, Bring souls unto Jesus, in Christ there is life. And when all is over and we meet on the shore Of Heaven's fair Jordan, to part nevermore, With Christ ever present to soothe away tears, All pain we'll forget of these sorrowful years.

Thou Waters, Tell Me Why.

'er rocks where sea waves wrestled, far from yon city's height A woman walked 'mid shadows, and watched for morning light. A woman strong with