ly a song
That the Spirit said "Sing to-night;
Thy voice is thy Master's by purchased right";
But you thought, "'Mid this motley throng
I care not to sing of the city of gold"--
And the heart that your words might have reached grew cold;
You were "out of touch" with your Lord.

Only a day, yes, only a day!
But oh, can you guess, my friend,
Where the influence reaches, and where it will end
Of the hours that you frittered away?
The Master's command is "Abide in me"
And fruitless and vain will your service be
If "out of touch" with your Lord.

--Jean H. Watson.

Prayer is Innocence's friend; and willingly flieth incessant
'Twixt the earth and the sky, the carrier-pigeon of heaven.

--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

We may question with wand of science,
Explain, decide, and discuss;
But only in meditation
The Mystery speaks to us.

--John Boyle O'Reilly.

THE VALLEY OF SILENCE

I walk down the Valley of Silence,
Down the dim, voiceless valley alone!
And I hear not the fall of a footstep
Around me--save God's and my own!
And the hush of my heart is as holy
As hovers where angels have flown.

Long ago was I weary of voices
Whose music my heart could not win;
Long ago was I weary of noises
That fretted my soul with their din;
Long ago was I weary of places
Where I met but the human and sin.

And still did I pine for the perfect,
And still found the false with the true;
I sought 'mid the human for heaven,
But caught a mere glimpse of the blue;
And I wept when the clouds of the world veiled
Even _that_ glimpse from my view.

And I toiled on, heart-tired of the human,
And I moaned 'mid the mazes of men,
Till I knelt, long ago, at an altar,
And heard a Voice call me. Since then
I walk down the Valley of Silence
That lies far beyond mortal ken.

Do you ask what I found in the Valley?
'Tis my trysting place with the Divine.
When I fell at the feet of the Holy,
And about me a voice said, "Be mine,"
There arose from the depths of my spirit
An echo: "My heart shall be thine."

Do you ask how I live in the Valley?
I weep, and I dream, and I pray;
But my tears are as sweet as the dew-drops
That fall on the roses in May;
And my pr