Perhaps she hath a charge from God
To see that ne'er, through Satan's camp,
I slumber on my dangerous way
Too sound or long. A safety lamp
Meantime by Joy is carried nigh,
Somewhat aloof; for he is shy,
Too shy within my grasp to stay,
Though seldom is he far away.

Thus, fellow-pilgrims, fare we on;
But, in what mortals call my death,
My Fear is doomed to die anon;

When Woe shall leave me safe,- SO saith

My sweet-voiced Hope, and turn to
bring

Some other soul; while Joy shall spring
With me through heaven's strait door,
to be
Forever of my company

!

SARAH HAMMOND PALFREY

A STRIP OF BLUE

I Do not own an inch of land,
But all I see is mine,
The orchard and the mowing-fields,

The lawns and gardens fine.
The winds my tax-collectors are,
They bring me tithes divine,
Wild scents and subtle essences,

A tribute rare and free;
And, more magnificent than all,
My window keeps for me
A glimpse of blue immensity,-
A little strip of sea.

Richer am I than he who owns

Great fleets and argosies; I have a share in every ship Won by the inland breeze, To loiter on yon airy road Above the apple-trees.

I freight them with my untold dreams;
Each bears my own picked crew;
And nobler cargoes wait for them
Than ever India knew, -

My ships that sail into the East
Across that outlet blue.

Sometimes they seem like living shapes,
The people of the sky,-
Guests in white raiment coming down
From heaven, which is close by;
I call them by familiar names,
As one by one draws nigh.
So white, so light, so spirit-like,
From violet mists they bloom!
The aching wastes of the unknown
Are half reclaimed from gloom,
Since on life's hospitable sea

All souls find sailing-room.

The ocean grows a weariness
With nothing else in sight;
Its east and west, its north and south,
Spread out from morn till night;
We miss the warm, caressing shore,
Its brooding shade and light.
A part is greater than the whole;
By hints are mysteries told.
The fringes of eternity, -

God's sweeping garment-fold,
In that bright shred of glittering sea,
I reach out for and hold.

The sails, like flakes of roseate pearl, Float in upon the mist;

The waves are broken precious stones,Sapphire and amethyst

Washed from celestial basement walls,
By suns unsetting kist.

Out through the utmost gates of space,
Past where the gray stars drift,
To the widening Infinite, my soul
Glides on, a vessel swift,
Yet loses not her anchorage
In yonder azure rift.

Here sit I, as a little child;
The threshold of God's door
Is that clear band of chrysoprase;
Now the vast temple floor,
The blinding glory of the dome
I bow my head before.
Thy universe, O God, is home,
In height or depth, to me;

What thrills me? What comes near me? Do I stand on the sward alone? Was that a light wind, or a whisper? a touch, or the pulse of a tone? Olivia! whose spells from my slumber my broken heart sway and control, At length bring'st thou death to me, dearest, or rest to my suffering soul? No sound but the psalm of the ocean: "Bow down to the solemn decree, The lovely, the lost Olivia will never return to thee ! "

With the light in his eyes of a young man's dream,

As he thought of his wedding on New Year's Day

To Ruth, the maid with the bonnie brown hair,

And eyes of the deepest, sunniest blue, Modest and winsome, and wondrous fair, And true to her troth, for her heart was true.

"Thou's surely not going!" shouted mine host,

"Thou 'll be lost in the drift, as sure as thou's born;

Thy lass winnot want to wed wi' a ghost, And that's what thou 'll be on Christmas

morn.

"It's eleven long miles from Skipton toon To Blueberg hooses 'e Washburn dale: Thou had better turn back and sit thee doon,

And comfort thy heart wi' a drop o' good ale."

The braces are taut, the lithe boom quivers, And the waves with the coming squallcloud blacken.

Open one point on the weather-bow,

Is the light-house tall on Fire Island Head. There's a shade of doubt on the captain's brow,

And the pilot watches the heaving lead.

I stand at the wheel, and with eager eye To sea and to sky and to shore I gaze, Till the muttered order of "Full and by !" Is suddenly changed for "Full for stays!'

The ship bends lower before the breeze,

As her broadside fair to the blast she lays; And she swifter springs to the rising seas, As the pilot calls," Stand by for stays!"

It is silence all, as each in his place,

With the gathered coil in his hardened hands,

By tack and bowline, by sheet and brace,

Waiting the watchword impatient stands.