THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER.

"Lead me from the fleeting into the everlasting, from darkness in light, from death into immortality."-Jnankanda of the Hindu Shastras.

Comes the same cry from where gray Himalay

Leans thoughtful o'er the earliest nation's grave,
As from the land the utmost sunsets lave?
The soul's own language, be the tongue what may?
O this indeed the prayer the world might pray,

The prayer that surges up in one wild wave
From heart of heathen, Christian, king or slave,
Intensest longing, deepest hope each day

Of this sad life roots deeper in each heart!

O men, in union strong, stand not apart.

Crowd not like sheep within your small creed-fold,
Nor make it breast-work betwixt brothers' strife.
Together, the one grand way seek and hold
From darkness into light, from death to life.

LOT'S WIFE.

The woe of woman's life in four small words:
"And she looked back."

Poor soul!

I see her heed the warning. Lo! she girds
Her for the journey straightway, first to obey.
I note her patient care, as for the way

Of travel she prepares the unthinking men
And the weak children. Bravely tries she then
The strange new track,

New goal!

The path lies straight before them. Men of God
Promise new lands,

New lives.

Light steps the foot with goodly promise shod!
The eager men look forward; gay and glad,
The children bound along; she, only, sad

At thought of the old home-nooks, the old places
That echoed these dear voices, framed these faces,

Poor, yearning woman-heart! One glance she craved, And she "looked back."

Poor soul !

Though from the weary journey surely saved.
"O cruel God! I would have looked back, too!"
I used to cry, not understanding. True,

Deep wisdom read I in the legend now→

When change commands thee, in obedience bow.
Take the new path that waits thee.

Looking back

Upon the loss, the ruin and the wrack,

Dreading the changing new, availeth naught,
But turns thee, frozen-hearted and o'erwrought,

Into a statue by thy life's Dead Sea;

A warning unto those who wiser be,

Who, lost the old, seek, wiser still, the new,

And ne'er look back.

AFTER EASTER.

I have arisen, O my Christ,

Christ with the nail-scarred hands and feet!

It was half sorrowful, rising thus;

Always I thought, in the old time sweet,

Resurrection was fair and new,

Resurrection was strong and whole.

Never, I know, can rise with me

All of my crucified heart and soul.

Yet even so, I have risen, Christ.

Reading thine Easter story o'er, Listlessly, hopelessly, brokenly,

Sudden I found in it something more

Than the old garish joy that seems

Blaze of sunlight on tear-worn eyes, Mocking glory of baseless dreams,

Fleeting echo of song that dies.

If thou had'st risen in youth's lost grace,
Or in thy manhood's promise-glory,

Scarless victor, triumphant king,

Heart would have sighed: "O vain, vague story!

Not for me-not for me !" But to see

Print of the nail on foot and hand, Spear-pierced side as the signs that be For thy disciples to understand!

Rising to thy few chosen ones

Though they failed thee and calmly slept Through thy vigil; though they, so few, Room for denier and doubter kept

And betrayer! O courage, heart!

This is no miracle far away,

Vague, impossible. This is part
Of the story of every day.

Easter morning hath meaning new.
Every morning may Easter be,

Ye who can never be whole again
Rise in your wounds as did even he!

Patience Stapleton.

TOLTEC GORGE.

Against the snows of cloud hills high,
Majestic mountains, centuries old,

Reach rugged heights far up the sky,
Like Babel's tower in story old.

The winds of night in furious rage

Beat 'gainst the wall 'twixt earth and heaven;

Each element tireless war did wage;

Backward, defeated each was driven.

The warm Chinook o'er the prairie sighed;
The north wind fled to frozen seas;
The chill east wind in coast fogs died;
The avalanche crashed amid the trees.

Furrowed and tortured, in silent woe,

One mountain bore the storms of ages, And sun of summer or winter's snow Left no trace on its mystic pages.

But a drift of snow that lay long hidden
In creviced niche on a lean peak's crest,

Wept bitter tears that crept unchidden

Far down the mountain's unyielding breast.