"Fail-yet rejoice; because no less
The failure which makes thy distress
May teach another full success.

"It may be that in some great need
Thy life's poor fragments are decreed
To help build up a lofty deed."

LIGHT AND SHADE.

- Miss Procter.

"The highest fame was never reached except
By what was aimed above it. Art for art,
And good for God Himself, the essential Good!
We'll keep our aims sublime, our eyes erect,
Although our woman-hands should shake and fail;
And if we fail. . . . But must we?

Shall I fail?

The Greeks said grandly in their tragic phrase,
'Let no one be called happy till his death.'
To which I add, - Let no one till his death

Be called unhappy. Measure not the work
Until the day's out and the labour done;
Then bring your gauges. If the day's work's scant,
Why, call it scant; affect no compromise;

And, in that we have nobly striven at least,
Deal with us nobly, women though we be,
And honour us with truth, if not with praise."

Mrs. Browning.

"Work, true work, done honestly and manfully for Christ, never can be failure. . . . True Christian life is like the march of a conquering army into a fortress which has been breached. Men fall by hundreds in the ditch. Was their fall a failure? Nay, for their bodies bridge over the hollow, and over them the rest pass on to victory... These are the two remedies for doubt― Activity and Prayer. He who works and feels he works- he who prays and knows he prays-has got the secret of transforming life-failure into life-victory." —Robertson.

"He [F. W. Robertson] lies in a hollow of the Downs he loved so well. The sound of the sea may be heard there in the distance; and, standing by his grave, it seems a fair and fitting requiem; for if its inquietude was the image of his outward life, its central calm is the image of his deep peace of activity in God. He sleeps well;

and we, who are left alone with our love and his great result of work, cannot but rejoice that he has entered on his Father's rest.' Stopford A. Brooke.

"O dull, one-sided voice,' said I,
Wilt thou make everything a lie
To flatter me that I may die?

"I know that age to age succeeds,
Blowing a noise of tongues and deeds,
A dust of systems and of creeds.

"I cannot hide that some have striven,
Achieving calm, to whom was given
The joy that mixes man with Heaven:
"Who, rowing hard against the stream,
Saw distant gates of Eden gleam,
And did not dream it was a dream;
"But heard, by secret transport led,
Even in the charnels of the dead,
The murmur of the fountain-head —
"Which did accomplish their desire,
Bore and forebore, and did not tire,
Like Stephen, an unquenched fire.

"He heeded not reviling tones,

Nor sold his heart to idle moans,

Though cursed and scorned, and bruised with stones:

"But looking upward, full of grace,
He prayed, and from a happy place
God's glory smote him on the face.""

THE TWO VOICES. - Tennyson.

Low Pitch.

"If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well
It were done quickly: If the assassination
Could trammel up the consequences, and catch,
With his surcease, success; that but this blow
Might be the be-all and the end-all here,
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,—
We'd jump the life to come.
We still have judgment here;

But in these cases, that we but teach

Bloody instructions, which being taught, return
To plague the inventor: This even handed justice
Commends the ingredient of our poison'd chalice
To our own lips. He's here in double trust:
First, as I am his kinsman and his subject,
Strong both against the deed; then, as his host,
Who should against the murder bar the door,
Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan
Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been
So clear in his great office, that his virtues will
Plead like angels, trumpet-tongued against
The deep damnation of his taking off;
And pity, like a naked new-born babe,

Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, hors'd
Upon the sightless couriers of the air,
Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye,

That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur
To prick the sides of my intent, but only
Vaulting ambition which o'erleaps itself,
And falls on the other."- Macbeth.

"All he had loved and moulded into thought,
From shape, and hue, and odor, and sweet sound,
Lamented Adonais. Morning sought

Her eastern watch-tower, and her hair unbound,
Wet with the tears which should adorn the ground,
Dimmed the aërial eyes that kindle day;

Afar the melancholy thunder moaned;

Pale ocean in unquiet slumber lay,

And the wild winds flew around, sobbing in their dismay.'

ADONAIS.-Shelley.

"The breath whose might I have invoked in song
Descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven
Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng
Whose sails were never to the tempest given;
The massy earth and sphered skies are riven !

I am borne darkly, fearfully afar;

Whilst burning through the inmost vail of heaven,

The soul of Adonais, like a star,

Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are."— Ibid.

"The Niobe of nations! there she stands,

Chi lless and crownless, in her voiceless woe;

An empty urn within her wither'd hands,
Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago;
The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now;
The very sepulchres lie tenantless

Of their heroic dwellers: dost thou flow,
Old Tiber! through a marble wilderness?

Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress."

CHILDE HAROLD.— Byron

'One in whose eyes the smile of kindness made

Its haunts, like flowers by sunny brooks in May, Yet, at the thought of others' pain, a shade

Of sweeter sadness chased the smile away.

Nor deem that when the hand that moulders here

Was raised in menace, realms were chilled with fear,
And armies mustered at the sign, as when

Clouds rise on clouds before the rainy East,

Gray captains leading bands of veteran men

And fiery youths to be the vulture's feast.

Not thus were waged the mighty wars that gave
The victory to her who fills this grave;

Alone her task was wrought,

Alone the battle fought;

Through that long strife her constant hope was staid
On God alone, nor looked for other aid.

"She met the hosts of sorrow with a look

That altered not beneath the frown they wore,
And soon the lowering brood were tamed, and took,
Meekly, her gentle rule, and frowned no more.
Her soft hand put aside the assaults of wrath,
And calmly broke in twain

The fiery shafts of pain,

And rent the nets of passion from her path.
By that victorious hand despair was slain.
With love she vanquished hate and overcame
Evil with good, in her Great Master's name."

THE CONQUEROR'S GRAVE.- Bryant.

"He did but float a little way

Adown the stream of time,

With dreamy eyes watching the ripples play,

Or listening their fairy chime;

His slender sail

Ne'er felt the gale;

He did but float a little way,
And putting to the shore
While yet 't was early day,
Went calmly on his way,
To dwell with us no more!

No jarring did he feel,

No grating on his vessel's keel;
A strip of silver sand

Mingled the waters with the land
Where he was seen no more;

O stern word-Nevermore!

"Full short his journey was; no dust
Of earth unto his sandals clave;
The weary weight that old men must,
He bore not to the grave.

He seemed a cherub who had lost his way
And wandered hither, so his stay

With us was short, and 't was most meet

That he should be no delver in earth's clod,
Nor need to pause and cleanse his feet
To stand before his God:

And woe are twins! and may not deeply bless

Except together, when the tear one weeps

Falls in the golden cup the other keeps

Hid for this moment in his breast, unshown

Till needed most."- AFTER PARTING. - Miss Greenwell.

"The melancholy days are come,

The saddest of the year,

Of wailing winds and naked woods,
And meadows brown and sear;
Heaped in the hollow of the grave,

The Autumn leaves lie dead;
They rustle to the eddying gust,
And to the rabbit's tread.