e; theirs, endless bliss.

And pagan Rome herself? Her wisest teacher
Could teach but how to die!
Sad, hopeless emperor, echoing the Preacher,
"All, all is vanity."

He slew the martyrs. Yet, through ages crying,
This noble truth they give:
"Life is but birth-throes. Death itself, not dying.
We pass to God--to live."

O blessed hope! O faith that conquers sorrow!
Pain, heart-break, all shall cease.
They are but gateways to a glad to-morrow.
"IN PACE." God is peace.

[Illustration]

PREFACE.

The writer having made the early Christian Catacombs a special study for
several years, and his larger volume on that subject having been
received with great favour in Great Britain, the United States, and
Canada, has endeavoured in this story to give as popular an account as
he could of early Christian life and character as illustrated by these
interesting memorials of the primitive Church. He has been especially
careful to maintain historical accuracy in all his statements of fact,
and in the filling up of details he has endeavoured to preserve the
historical "keeping" of the picture. Persons wishing to pursue the study
of the Catacombs still further are referred to the Author's special work
on that subject. See note at the end of this volume.

W.H.W.

THE CATACOMBS.

BY HARRIET ANNIE WILKINS.

"Miles after miles of graves, and not one word or sign of the gloominess
or death." _Professor Jules De Launay._

MILES after miles of graves,
League after league of tombs,
And not one sign of spectre Death,
Waving his shadowy plumes;
Hope, beautiful and bright,
Spanning the arch above
Faith, gentle, overcoming Faith,
And Love, God's best gift, Love.

For early Christians left
Their darlings to their rest,
As mothers leave their little ones
When the sun gilds the west;
No mourning robes of black,
No crape upon the doors,
For the victorious palm-bearers,
Who tread the golden floors.

Arrayed in garments white,
No mournful dirges pealing,
Bearing green branches in their hands,
Around the tomb they're kneeling;
This was their marching song,
"By death we are not holden;"
And this their glorious funeral hymn,
"Jerusalem the golden."

Beautiful girls sleep there,
Waiting the Bridegroom's call.
Each lamp is bu