might have been.

Once they were little children.
And perhaps their unstained feet
Were led by a gentle mother
Toward the golden street;

Therefore, if in life's forest
They since have lost their way,
For the sake of her who loved them,
God pity them! still I say.

O mothers gone to heaven!
With earnest heart I ask
That your eyes may not look earthward
On the failure of your task.

For even in those mansions
The choking tears would rise,
Though the fairest hand in heaven
Would wipe them from your eyes!

And you, who judge so harshly,
Are you sure the stumbling-stone
That tripped the feet of others
Might not have bruised your own?

Are you sure the sad-faced angel
Who writes our errors down
Will ascribe to you more honor
Than him on whom you frown?

Or, if a steadier purpose
Unto your life is given;
A stronger will to conquer,
A smoother path to heaven;

If, when temptations meet you,
You crush them with a smile;
If you can chain pale passion
And keep your lips from guile;

Then bless the hand that crowned you,
Remembering, as you go,
'T was not your own endeavor
That shaped your nature so;

And sneer not at the weakness
Which made a brother fall,
For the hand that lifts the fallen,
God loves the best of all!

And pray for the wretched prisoners
All over the land to-day,
That a holy hand in pity
May wipe their guilt away.

MAY RILEY SMITH.

* * * * *

CONSCIENCE AND REMORSE.

"Good-bye," I said to my Conscience--
"Good-bye for aye and aye;"
And I put her hands off harshly,
And turned my face away:
And Conscience, smitten sorely,
Returned not from that day.

But a time came when my spirit
Grew weary of its pace:
And I cried, "Come back, my Conscience,
I long to see thy face;"
But Conscience cried, "I cannot,--
Remorse sits in my place."

PAUL LAWRENCE DUNBAR.

* * * * *

FOUND WANTING.

Belshazzar had a letter,--
He never had but one;
Belshazzar's correspondent
Concluded and begun
In that immortal copy
The conscience of us all
Can read without its glasses
On revelation's wall.

EMILY DICKINSON.

* * * * *

DALLYING WITH TEMPTATION.

FROM THE FIRST PART OF "WALLENSTEIN," ACT II