Time will reveal the calyxes of gold. And if, with patient toil, we reach the land

Where tired feet in sandals loose may

rest,

When we shall clearly know and understand,

I think we then will say that "God knew

best".

MAY RILEY SMITH.

SOMEWHERE

How can I cease to pray for thee? Somewhere

In God's great universe thou art to

day;

Can He not reach thee with His tender

care?

Can He not hear me when for thee I

pray?

What matters it to Him who holds with

in

The hollow of His hand all worlds, all

space,

That thou art done with earthly pain and sin?

Somewhere within His ken thou hast a place.

Somewhere thou livest and hast need of Him;

Somewhere thy soul sees higher heights to climb;

And somewhere still there may be valleys dim

That thou must pass to reach the hills sublime.

Then all the more because thou canst

not hear

Poor human words of blessing, will I

pray:

"O true, brave heart, God bless thee,

wheresoe'er

In His great universe thou art to-day!"

ANONYMOUS.

COMMISSIONED

WHAT can I do for thee, beloved,
Whose feet so little while ago

Trod the same wayside dust with mine,
And now, up paths I do not know,
Speed, without sound, or sign?

What can I do? The perfect life
All fresh, and fair, and beautiful,
Has opened its wide arms to thee.
Thy cup is overbrimmed and full,
Nothing remains for me.

I used to do so many things:

Love thee, and chide thee, and caress;
Brush little straws from off thy way,
Tempering, with my poor tenderness,
The heat of thy short day.

Not much, but very sweet to give,
And it is grief of griefs to bear,

That all these ministries are o'er :
And thou, so happy, love, elsewhere,
Dost need me nevermore.

And I can do for thee but this-
(Working on blindly, knowing not
If I may give thee pleasure so)-
Out of my own dull, shadowed lot
I can arise and go

To sadder lives, and darker homes,
A messenger, dear heart from thee,
Who wast on earth a comforter;
And say to those who welcome me,
"I am sent forth by her."

Feeling, the while, how good it is
To do thy errands thus, and think
It may be, in the blue far space,
Thou watchest from the Heaven's brink,
A smile upon thy face.

And when the day's work ends with day, And star-eyed Evening, stealing in, Waves her cool hand to flying Noon,