oul so richly gifted
Every child of man can find,
If to mighty Foutsa lifted
He but keep his heart and mind.
He who goods and cattle lacking
Is to fell disease a prey,
In whose household bones are cracking,
Cuts occurring every day,
Who though slumbering never resteth
From excess of bitter pain,
And what he in prayer requesteth
Never, never can obtain,--
To earth-favouring Foutsa's figure
If but reverence he shall pay
Dire misfortune's dreadful rigour
Flits for ever and for aye;
In his sleep no ills distress him,
And of nought he knows the want;
Cattle, corn and riches bless him,
Which the favouring demons grant.
Those, who sombre forests threading,
Those, who sailing ocean's plain,
Fain would wend their way undreading
Evil poisons, beasts and men,
Evil spirits, demons, javals {17},
And the force of evil winds,
And each ill, which he who travels
In his course so frequent finds--
Let them only take their station
'Fore the form of Foutsa Grand,
On it gaze with adoration,
Sacrifice with reverent hand--
And within the forest gloomy,
On the mountain or the vale,
On the ocean wide and roomy
Them no evil shall assail.
Thou, who every secret knowest,
Foutsa, hear my heart-felt pray'r;
Thou, who earth such favour showest,
How shall I thy praise declare?
Through ten million calaps {18} hoary
If with cataract's voice I roar,
Yet of Foutsa's force and glory
I may not the sum out-pour
Whosoe'er the title learning
Of the earth's protector high,
Shall, whene'er his form discerning,
On it gaze with steadfast eye,
And at times shall offer dresses,
Offer fitting drink and food.
He ten thousand joys possesses,
And escapes each trouble rude.
Whoso into deed shall carry
Of the law each precept, he
Through all time alive shall tarry,
And from birth and death be free.
Foutsa, thou, who best of any
Know'st the truth of what I've told,
Spread the tale through regions, many
As the Ganges' sands of gold.

MORAL METAPHORS.

From the Chinese.

1.

From out the South the genial breezes sigh,
They shake the bramble branches to and fro,
Whose lovely green delights the gazer's eye--
A mother's thoughts are troubled even so.

From out the South the genial breezes move,
They shake the branches of the bramble-tree;
Unless the sons fair men and honest prove,
The virtuous mother will dishonor'd be.

The frigid fount with violence and spray
By Shiyoun's town upcasts its watery store;
Though full seven sons sh