SONNET. OURNER, that dost deserve thy mournfulness, Mou Call thyself punished, call the earth thy hell; Say, "God is angry, and I earned it well; I would not have Him smile and not redress." Say this, and straightway all thy grief grows less. "God rules at least, I find, as prophets tell, And proves it in this prison." Straight thy cell Smiles with an unsuspected loveliness. “A prison, —and yet from door and window-bar I catch a thousand breaths of His sweet air; Even to me, His days and nights are fair; ANON. From "Adela Cath:art? A LITTLE BIRD I AM. Written during ten years' imprisonment in the Bastille. A LITTLE bird I am, Shut from the fields of air; To Him who placed me there; Naught have I else to do; I sing the whole day long; And He whom most I love to please He caught and bound my wandering wing, Thou hast an ear to hear, A heart to love and bless; And though my notes were e'er so rude, My cage confines me round; Abroad I cannot fly; But though my wing is closely bound, My heart's at liberty; My prison walls cannot control The flight, the freedom of the soul. O, it is good to soar These bolts and bars above, MADAME GUYON, 1648-1717. I THE WISH OF TO-DAY. ASK not now for gold to gild With mocking shine a weary frame ; The yearning of the mind is stilled A rose-cloud, dimly seen above, Melting in heaven's blue depths away O! sweet, fond dream of human Love! For thee I may not pray. But, bowed in lowliness of mind, O Father, to thine own! To-day, beneath thy chastening eye, A marvel seems the Universe, In vain I task my aching brain, In vain the sage's thought I scan; I only feel how weak and vain, How poor and blind, is man! And now my spirit sighs for home, Though oft, like letters traced on sand, In JOHN G. WHittier. RABIA.* ROUND holy Rabia's suffering bed The wise men gathered, gazing gravely — "Daughter of God!" the youngest said, "Endure thy Father's chastening bravely; They who have steeped their souls in prayer, Can every anguish calmly bear." She answered not, and turned aside, Though not reproachfully nor sadly; Then spake she out, "Your words are fair; A holy Arabian woman, who lived in the second century of the Hegira. I know not, when absorbed in prayer, From "Palm Leaves," by LORD HOUGHTON. MADE PERFECT THROUGH SUFFERING. I BLESS Thee, Lord, for sorrows sent To break my dream of human power ; I take Thy hand, and fears grow still; That Love this restless soul doth teach O be it patient in Thy hands, And drawn, through each mysterious hour, The narrow way to Love and Power! SAMUEL JOHNSON. |