No mingling voices sound

An infant wail alone;
A sob suppressed-again

That short deep gasp, and then
The parting groan.

Oh, change! oh, wondrous change!

Burst are the prison barsThis moment, there, so low, So agonised-and now Beyond the stars!

Oh, change! stupendous change!
There lies the soulless clod;
The sun eternal breaks-

The new immortal wakes

Wakes with his God.

CAROLINE SOUTHEY.

GENTLE WORDS.

Use gentle words, for who can tell
The blessings they impart!
How oft they fall (as manna fell)
On some nigh fainting heart!

On lonely wilds by light-wing'd birds
Rare seeds have oft been sown;

And hope has sprung from gentle words,
Where only griefs had grown.

Household Words.

PEACE.

An Emblematic Design by Henry Anelay, for the Peace Congress Members' Card.

Is it the picture of a lovely dream,

That thought-embodied, delicate design?
A master-hand expounds a glorious theme,
In voiceless eloquence, and truthful line;
Which, with a mental music, stirs the heart,

And teaching through the eye, seeks wisdom to impart.

A form of loveliness, in beauty bright,

Is seated on the earth; 'mid wreaths of flowers
Her banner waves above in glorious light,

And nations say, "This heritage is ours."
Hail, lovely Peace! oh plant thy standard here—
The Dove of Promise seeks a place of rest—
The voice of love has fallen on our ear-

The Bonds of Brotherhood alone are blest.

Peace, with her loving heart and gentle hand, Points to the Holy Bond that makes them one. “All nations, kindreds, tribes of every land,

Made of one blood," and ransomed by His Son. Europe arises from her dream of war,

Receives the sacred truth with fervent joy; And injured Africa has heard from far,

That Freedom shall be free, and gold without alloy,

Asia, in thoughtful wisdom, sits serene,

Points to the treaty that has blessed the land;

And wild America, with earnest mien,

Subdued and listening, seeks to understand.

The Holy Book is open-Peace must come

The Holy Book is open-Peace must spread— The Dove must find an universal home,

And mingling nations meet, and at one altar wed.

Up, Brothers-all! help on the glorious day-
United hearts, and hands, and voices raise;
Statesmen and ministers, a bright array,

And Poets breathing only Gospel lays,
Sculptors and Painters, each with gifted art,
The many-tongued interpreters of mind,
Shall mirror forth deep lessons to the heart,
Teaching sweet hymns of Peace to all mankind.

C. M. FRY

PROGRESS.

On! ye have glorious duties to fulfil,
Nor faint nor fear upon the weary way,
Ye who, with earnest rectitude of will,

Marshal the millions for the moral fray ;
Ye who, with vollied speech and volant lay,
'Gainst the dark crowd of social ills engage-
Lead us from out the darkness, to the day
We languish to behold; exalt the age,

And write your names in fire on truth's unspotted page.

With hopeful heart, and faith-uplifted brow,
Press on, crusaders, for the goal is near!
Desert and danger are behind, and now
Sweet winds and waters murmur in our ear!
And plenteous signs of peaceful life appear,
And songs of solace greet us as we go,

And o'er the horizon's rim, not broad, but clear,
The light of a new morning seems to flow-
We journey sunwards on! and hail the uprising glow!

In the sad wilderness we've wandered long,
Thirsting amid the inhospitable sand,
Cheered by that burden of prophetic song-

"The clime, the time of freedom, is at hand,"

And, lo! upon the threshold of the land,

We strive and hope, keep patient watch and wait; And few and feeble are the foes that stand

Between us and our guerdon. Back, proud gate, That opes into the realm of freedom's high estate.

Not ours, perchance, the destiny to see

The unveiled glories of her inner bower ;
But myriads, following in our steps, shall be
Equal partakers of the coming hour.
The unencumbered heritage, the dower,

With its full fruits, is theirs, with all its store
Of fine fruition and exalted power,

And Truth shall teach them her transcendent lore"Man towards the Perfect God advanceth evermore.

And in our upward progress through the past, What giant evils have been trodden down! Dread deeds, which struck the shrinking soul aghast, Branding the doer with unblest renownThe inquisitor's harsh face, and gloomy gown, Girt with a thousand torture-tools-the flame, In whose fierce fold the martyr won his crown; Are gone into the darkness whence they came; There let them rust and rot, in God's insulted name! JOHN CRUTCHLEY PRINCE.