ay touch the heart,
And call it back to life;
A look of love bid sin depart,
And still unholy strife.

No act falls fruitless; none can tell
How vast its power may be,
Nor what results enfolded dwell
Within it silently.
Work and despair not; give thy mite,
Nor care how small it be;
God is with all that serve the right,
The holy, true, and free!

CARELESS WORDS.

FIVE years ago, this fair November day,--five years? it seems but
yesterday, so fresh is that scene in my memory; and, I doubt not, were
the period ten times multiplied, it would be as vivid still to us--the
surviving actors in that drama! The touch of time, which blunts the
piercing thorn, as well as steals from the rose its lovely tints, is
powerless here, unless to give darker shades to that picture engraven on
our souls; and tears--ah, they only make it more imperishable!

We do not speak of her now; her name has not passed our lips in each
other's presence, since we followed her--grief-stricken mourners-to the
grave, to which--alas, alas! but why should not the truth be spoken?
the grave to which our careless words consigned her. But on every
anniversary of that day we can never forget, uninvited by me, and
without any previous arrangement between themselves, those two friends
have come to my house, and together we have sat, almost silently, save
when Ada's sweet voice has poured forth a low, plaintive strain to the
mournful chords Mary has made the harp to breathe. Four years ago, that
cousin came too; and since then, though he has been thousands of miles
distant from us, when, that anniversary has returned, he has written to
me: he cannot look into my face when that letter is penned; he but looks
into his own heart, and he cannot withhold the words of remorse and
agony.

Ada and Mary have sat with me to-day, and we knew that Rowland, in
thought, was here too; ah, if we could have known another had been among
us,--if we could have felt that an eye was upon us, which will never
more dim with tears, a heart was near us which carelessness can never
wound again;--could we have known she had been here--that pure,
bright angel, with the smile of forgiveness and love on that beautiful
face--the dark veil of sorrow might have been lifted from our souls! but
we saw only with mortal vision; our faith was feeble, and we have only
drawn that sombre mantle more and more closely about