And ye say,

"Abdallah's dead!"

Weeping at the feet and head;
I can see your falling tears,

I can hear your sighs and prayers:
Yet I smile, and whisper this, -
"I am not the thing you kiss:
Cease your tears and let it lie;
It was mine, it is not I.""

Sweet friends! what the women lave
For its last bed, called the grave,

Is a hut which I am quitting,
Is a garment no more fitting,
Is a cage, from which at last,
Like a bird, my soul has passed;
Love the inmate, not the room;
The wearer, not the garb; the plume

Of the falcon, not the bars

Which kept him from the splendid stars!

Loving friends! be wise, and dry

Straightway every weeping eye:

What ye lift upon the bier

Is not worth a wistful tear.

'Tis an empty sea-shell

one

Out of which the pearl, has gone:

The shell is broken, it lies there;
The pearl, the all, the soul is here.
'Tis an earthen jar, whose lid
Allah sealed, the while it hid
That treasure of its treasury,
A mind that loved him: let it lie!
Let the shard be earth's once more
Since the gold shines in his store!

Allah glorious! Allah good!
Now thy world is understood;
Now the long, long wonder ends!
Yet ye weep, my erring friends,
While the man whom ye call dead,
In unspoken bliss instead,

Lives and loves you: lost, 'tis true,
By such light as shines for you;
But in light ye cannot see

Of unfilled felicity —

In enlarging Paradise

Lives a life that never dies.

Farewell, friends!

Yet not farewell;

Where I am ye too shall dwell.
I am gone before your face

A moment's time, a little space;

When ye come where I have stepped . Ye will wonder why ye wept :

Ye will know, by wise love taught,
That here is all, and there is naught.
Weep awhile if ye are fain,—
Sunshine still must follow rain, -
Only not at death; for death

Now I know is that first breath

Which our souls draw when we enter
Life, which is of life the centre.

Be

ye certain all seems love
Viewed from Allah's throne above;

Be

ye stout of heart, and come Bravely onward to your home!

La Allah illa Allah! yea!

Thou Love divine! Thou love alway!

He who died at Azan gave

This to those who made his grave.

The life-task falleth from thy weary hand, Be brave, be patient! in the fair Beyond Thou'lt understand.

Something beyond! Ah, if it were not so,

Darker would be thy face, O brief to-day! Earthward we'd bow beneath life's smiting woe, Powerless to pray.

Something beyond! The immortal morning stands Above the night, clear shines her prescient brow; The pendulous star in her transfigured hands Lights up the Now.

MARY CLEMMER.

THE

From "Abt Vogler "

`HEREFORE, to whom turn I but to Thee, the ineffable Name?

Builder and maker, Thou, of houses not made with

hands!

What, have fear of change from Thee, who art ever the same?

Doubt that Thy power can fill the heart that Thy power expands?

There shall never be one lost good!

shall live as before,

What was,

The evil is null, is naught, is silence implying sound,

What was good shall be good, with, for evil, so much good more;

On earth the broken arcs; in the heaven the perfect round.

All we have willed, or hoped, or dreamed of good, shall exist;

Not in semblance, but itself; no beauty, nor good,

nor power

Whose voice has gone forth, but each survives for the melodist,

When eternity affirms the conception of an hour. The high that proved too high, the heroic for earth too hard,

The passion that left the ground to lose itself in the sky,

Are music sent up to God by the lover and the

bard;

Enough that He heard it once: we shall hear it

by and by.

ROBERT BROWNING.