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CXI. "HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED, SLEEP."

1. Of all the thoughts of God that are
Borne inward unto souls afar,

Along the Psalmist's music deep,
Now tell me if that any is,

For gift or grace, surpassing this,—
"He giveth his beloved, sleep!”

2. What would we give to our beloved?
The hero's heart to be unmoved,

The poet's star-tuned harp, to sweep,
The patriot's voice, to teach and rouse,
The monarch's crown, to light the brows?-
"He giveth his beloved, sleep.”

3. What do we give to our beloved?

A little faith all undisproved,

A little dust to overweep,

And bitter memories to make

The whole earth blasted for our sake,-
"He giveth his beloved, sleep."

4. "Sleep soft, beloved!" we sometimes say,
But have no tune to charm away

Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep.

But never doleful dream again

Shall break his happy slumber when
"He giveth his beloved, sleep."

5. O earth, so full of dreary noises!
O men, with wailing in your voices!

O delvèd gold, the wailers heap!
O strife, O curse, that o'er it fall!
God strikes a silence through you all,
And "giveth his beloved, sleep."

6. His dews drop mutely on the hill,
His cloud above it saileth still,
Though on its slope men sow and reap.
More softly than the dew is shed,
Or cloud is floated overhead,

"He giveth his beloved, sleep."

7. Ay, men may wonder while they scan
A living, thinking, feeling man,
Confirmed in such a rest to keep;
But angels say - and through the word
I think their happy smile is heard -
"He giveth his beloved, sleep."

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8. And friends, dear friends,- when it shall be
That this low breath is gone from me,
And round my bier ye come to weep,
Let one most loving of you all
Say, "Not a tear must o'er her fall;

'He giveth his beloved, sleep.""

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

CXII. OPPORTUNITY.

EDWARD ROWLAND SILL.

EDWARD ROWLAND SILL (1841-1887) was an educator and a writer. His most pretentious production was The Hermitage and Other Poems. He was born at Windsor, Connecticut, graduated at Yale College, and died at Cleveland, Ohio.

THIS I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream: There spread a cloud of dust along a plain,

And underneath the cloud, or in it, raged
A furious battle, and men yelled, and
swords

Shocked upon swords and shields. A prince's banner
Wavered, then staggered backward, hemmed by foes.
A craven hung along the battle's edge,

And thought: "Had I a sword of keener steel —
That blue blade that the king's son bears- but this
Blunt thing
"he snapped and flung it from his hand,

And, lowering, crept away and left the field.

Then came the king's son, wounded, sore bestead,
And weaponless, and saw the broken sword,
Hilt-buried in the dry and trodden sand,
And ran and snatched it, and with battle-shout
Lifted afresh, he hewed his enemy down.
And saved a great cause that heroic day.

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EDWARD ROWLAND SILL.

MASTER of human destinies am I!

Fame, love and fortune on my footsteps wait.
Cities and fields I walk; I penetrate

Deserts and seas remote, and, passing by

Hovel and mart and palace, soon or late
I knock unbidden once at every gate!
If sleeping, wake-if feasting, rise before
I turn away. It is the hour of fate,
And they who follow me reach every state
Mortals desire, and conquer every foe
Save death; but those who doubt or hesitate,
Condemned to failure, penury and woe,
Seek me in vain and uselessly implore.
I answer not, and I return no more.

JOHN J. INGALLS.

CXIII. LAFAYETTE.

1. WHILE We bring our offerings for the mighty of our own land, shall we not remember the chivalrous spirits of other shores, who shared with them the hour of weakness and woe? Pile to the clouds the majestic column of glory; let the lips of those who can speak well, hallow each spot where the bones of your bold repose; but forget not those who, with your bold, went out to battle.

2. Among those men of noble daring, there was one, a young and gallant stranger, who left the blushing vine-hills of his delightful France. The people whom he came to succor were not his people; he knew them only in the sad story of their wrongs. He was no mercenary adventurer, striving for the spoil of the vanquished; the palace acknowledged him for its lord, and the valley yielded him its increase. He was no nameless man, staking life for reputation; he ranked among nobles, and looked unawed upon kings.

3. He was no friendless outcast, seeking for a grave to hide

a broken heart; he was girdled by the companions of his childhood; his kinsmen were about him; his wife was before him. Yet from all these loved ones he turned away. Like a lofty tree that shakes down its green glories, to battle with the winter storm, he flung aside the trappings of place and pride to crusade for Freedom, in Freedom's holy land. He came; but not in the day of successful rebellion; not when the new-risen sun of Independence had burst the cloud of time, and careered to its place in the heavens.

4. He came when darkness curtained the hills, and the tempest was abroad in its anger; when the plow stood still in the field of promise, and briers cumbered the garden of beauty; when fathers were dying and mothers were weeping over them; when wife was binding up the gashed bosom of her husband; and the maiden was wiping the death-damp from the brow of her lover. He came when the brave began to fear the power of man, and the pious to doubt the favor of God. It was then that this one joined the ranks of a revolted people.

5. Freedom's little phalanx bade him a grateful welcome. With them he courted the battle's rage; with theirs, his arm was lifted; with theirs, his blood was shed. Long and doubtful was the conflict. At length kind Heaven smiled on the good cause, and the beaten invaders fled. The profane were driven from the temple of Liberty, and, at her pure shrine, the pilgrim-warrior, with his adored commander, knelt and worshipped. Leaving there his offering, the incense of an uncorrupted spirit, he at length rose, and, crowned with benedictions, turned his happy feet toward his long-deserted home.

6. After nearly fifty years, that one has come again. Can mortal tongue tell, can mortal heart feel, the sublimity of that coming? Exulting millions rejoice in it; and their loud, long,

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