athers would think,
From the death we are shrinking from, they too would shrink,
To the life we are clinging to, they too would cling,
But it speeds from the earth like a bird on the wing.

They loved--but their story we cannot enfold,
They scorned--but the heart of the haughty is cold,
They grieved--but no wail from their slumbers may come,
They joy'd--but the voice of their gladness--is dumb.

They died, ay, they died! and we things that are now,
Who walk on the turf that lies over their brow,
Who make in their dwellings a transient abode
Meet the changes they met on their pilgrimage road.

Yea, hope and despondence, and pleasure and pain,
Are mingled together in sunshine and rain;
And the smile, and the tear, and the song and the dirge
Still follow each other like surge upon surge.

'Tis the wink of an eye, 'tis the draught of a breath
From the blossoms of health to the paleness of death;
From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud--
Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud!

_William Knox._

How He Saved St. Michael's

'Twas long ago--ere ever the signal gun
That blazed before Fort Sumter had wakened the North as one;
Long ere the wondrous pillar of battle-cloud and fire
Had marked where the unchained millions marched on to their heart's desire.
On roofs and glittering turrets, that night, as the sun went down,
The mellow glow of the twilight shone like a jeweled crown,
And, bathed in the living glory, as the people lifted their eyes,
They saw the pride of the city, the spire of St. Michael's rise
High over the lesser steeples, tipped with a golden ball
That hung like a radiant planet caught in its earthward fall;
First glimpse of home to the sailor who made the harbor round,
And last slow-fading vision dear to the outward bound.
The gently gathering shadows shut out the waning light;
The children prayed at their bedsides as they were wont each night;
The noise of buyer and seller from the busy mart was gone,
And in dreams of a peaceful morrow the city slumbered on.

But another light than sunrise aroused the sleeping street,
For a cry was heard at midnight, and the rush of trampling feet;
Men stared in each other's faces, thro' mingled fire and smoke,
While the frantic bells went clashing clamorous, stroke on stroke.
By the glare of her blazing roof-tree the houseless mother fled,
With the babe she pressed to her bosom shrieking in nameless dread;
While the fire-king's wild batt