O, Hercules, where art thou? thou whose heart
Will be so brave and just, whose arm will dare
To cleave the bonds of rank intolerance
And set the captives free forevermore?

O, men and women of the world to-day,

'Tis this my song, if sung, would strive to teach, "Infinite love and patience infinite."

Ida Crouch bazlitt.

MORITURUM.

Dying the winds are desolate with the wail
Of unforgotten summers; the sweet breath
Of balmy mornings innocent of death,
Lingers caressing in the shadowy vale,
Reluctant to depart;

And murmuring midst the rushing of the gale
The minor echoes of a saddened heart.

Dying-a lone bird whistles for a mate

Floating, perhaps, through sunny southern skies,
The hills are hazy with the hue that lies
Upon their swelling breasts, as tho' the fate
Of love's remembered woe

In brooding mysteries would round them wail
And vibrate chords of long ago.

Dying a lonely spirit rides the blast;

Dying-a somber spirit fills the air;

The requiems chanted for the dead are there; The soft sweet summer days are in the past; The harmonies divine

Of tender memories too dear to last,

Sob over shattered heart-strings-harp of mine.

JUNE ROSES.

Oh, the skies are bright with beauty,

And the world is bright with love, For God is in earth and heaven,

His smile below and above.

Beautiful roses; rare June roses,

The smile of God on the world of His love!

The days are steeped in their fragrance;

The night's deep passion breathes

A tremulous odor of blossoms,

A languor of perfumed wreaths.

'Tis heavy with roses, dewy roses,
Red, rich roses for maidens' wreaths.

They lie on the breast of beauty,
And heave with its tender tide;

They garland the sacred altars,

And rival the blush of the bride.

They are clasped in the waxen fingers
Love kisses in bitter loss;

They bloom in the gardens of sorrow,
They smile at the foot of the cross.

Saintly roses; pure, sweet roses,

Love's own roses that cover Christ's cross.

Oh, bring me no costly flowers,

They tell of life's foolish pride;

But bury me deep in roses,

Roses on every side.

Passionate roses, loving roses,

God's pleading gift to a world of pride.

HIS REASON.

Why I love you? Ask the rivers
Why they flow to meet the sea;
Ask the fountain why its waters
Leap to kiss the sun in glee;

Ask the dewdrop why it sparkles
In the bosom of the rose;

Ask the lily why its fragrance

Perfumes every breeze that blows;

Ask the moonbeams why they quiver On the dimples of the lake;

Ask the rainbow why it arches,

Ask the billows why they break;

Ask the rosebud why it trembles,
Trembles on your beating breast;
Ask your fair cheek why it blushes-
Tells a tale but half confessed.

When these whisper all their story,
Shall my answer be complete,
And your tender heart shall feel it-
Just because I love you, sweet!

Frank Crain Schofield.

THE SOLDIER BOY.

"Ask me not to stay my mother,
Hark! the battle has begun,
And the blood of fallen kindred
Loudly calls from Lexington.

"Back the hated ranks are marching,
Back to Boston's safe retreat;
But their dead shall line the road-side,
Our revenge will be replete.

"Listen, now the drums are beating And the fifes play loud and shrill;

How it stirs my soul to action,

How it makes my heart to thrill.

"Ask me not to stay, my mother,
For my country I must go.
Liberty shall be the watchword
And its love will ever grow.

"Fare thee well, but not forever,
Kiss the cheek you love so true;
Bless me ere I leave you, mother,
My duty shall I try to do."