end my ways;
Lord, say Amen,
And thine be all the praise.

GEORGE HERBERT.

* * * * *

NOTHING BUT LEAVES.

Nothing but leaves; the spirit grieves
Over a wasted life;
Sin committed while conscience slept,
Promises made, but never kept,
Hatred, battle, and strife;
_Nothing but leaves_!

Nothing but leaves; no garnered sheaves
Of life's fair, ripened grain;
Words, idle words, for earnest deeds;
We sow our seeds,--lo! tares and weeds:
We reap, with toil and pain,
_Nothing but leaves_!

Nothing but leaves; memory weaves
No veil to screen the past:
As we retrace our weary way,
Counting each lost and misspent day,
We find, sadly, at last,
_Nothing but leaves_!

And shall we meet the Master so,
Bearing our withered leaves?
The Saviour looks for perfect fruit,
We stand before him, humbled, mute;
Waiting the words he breathes,--
"_Nothing but leaves_?"

LUCY E. AKERMAN.

* * * * *

THE WORLD.

"And when he is come, he will reprove the world of sin, and of
righteousness, and of judgment."--JOHN xvi. 8.

The world is wise, for the world is old;
Five thousand years their tale have told;
Yet the world is not happy, as the world might be,--
Why is it? why is it? Oh, answer me!

The world is kind if we ask not too much;
It is sweet to the taste, and smooth to the touch;
Yet the world is not happy, as the world might be,--
Why is it? why is it? Oh, answer me!

The world is strong, with an awful strength,
And full of life in its breadth and length;
Yet the world is not happy, as the world might be,--
Why is it? why is it? Oh, answer me!

The world is so beautiful one may fear
Its borrowed beauty might make it too dear,
Yet the world is not happy, as the world might be--
Why is it? why is it? Oh, answer me!

The world is good in its own poor way,
There is rest by night and high spirits by day;
Yet the world is not happy, as the world might be,--
Why is it? why is it? Oh, answer me!

The cross shines fair, and the church-bell rings,
And the earth is peopled with holy things;
Yet the world is not happy, as the world might be,--
Why is it? why is it? Oh, answer me!

What lackest thou, world? for God made thee of old;
Why,--thy faith hath gone out, and thy love grown cold;
Thou art