THE LAST HYMN.

MARIANNE FARNINGHAM.

The Sabbath day was ending, in a village by the sea,
The uttered benediction touched the people tenderly,

And they rose to face the sunset in the glowing, lighted west,
And then hastened to their dwellings for God's blessed boon of

rest.

But they looked across the waters, and a storm was raging

there;

A fierce spirit moved above them,-the wild spirit of the air,— And it lashed and shook and tore them, till they thundered, groaned and boomed,

And alas, for any vessel in their yawning gulfs entombed !

Very anxious were the people on that rocky coast of Wales, Lest the dawns of coming morrows should be telling awful

tales,

When the sea had spent its passion and should cast along the shore

Bits of wreck and swollen victims, as it had done heretofore.

With the rough winds blowing round her, a brave woman strained her eyes,

And she saw along the billows a large vessel fall and rise.
Oh! it did not need a prophet to tell what the end must be,
For no ship could ride in safety near that shore on such a sea.

Then the pitying people hurried from their homes and thronged the beach.

Oh! for power to cross the waters and the perishing to reach! Helpless hands were wrung for sorrow, tender hearts grew cold with dread,

And the ship, urged by the tempest, to the fatal rock-shore sped.

She has parted in the middle! Oh, the half of her goes down!

God have mercy! Is heaven far to seek for those who drown?" Lo! when next the white, shocked faces looked with terror on

the sea,

Only one last clinging figure on the spar was seen to be.

Nearer the trembling watchers came the wreck tossed by the

wave,

And the man still clung and floated, though no power on earth could save.

"Could we send him a short message? Here's a trumpet. Shout away!"

'Twas the preacher's hand that took it, and he wondered what

to say.

Any memory of his sermon? Firstly? Secondly? Ah, no!
There was but one thing to utter in the awful hour of woe;
So he shouted through the trumpet: "Look to Jesus! Can
you hear?"

And "Ay, ay, sir!" rang the answer, o'er the waters, loud and

clear.

Then they listened. "He is singing, 'Jesus, lover of my

Strange, indeed, it was to hear him, "Till the storm of life was

past,"

Singing bravely from the waters,

last!"

"Oh, receive my soul at

He could have no other refuge. 'Hangs my helpless soul on

Thee;

Leave, ah, leave me not." The singer dropped at last into the

sea.

And the watchers, looking homeward through their eyes with tears made dim,

Said, “He passed to be with Jesus in the singing of that hymn."

SALLY HAYES.

ANONYMOUS.

A gossiping spinster was old Sally Hayes,
Who ne'er saw in any one aught she could praise
From early in life to the end of her days.

No matter how good or how great was a man,
Whether reared in America, France or Japan,
To censure, not praise him, was ever her plan.
Where Sally resided she made it her trade
To know if the bills of her neighbors were paid,
And who all the rules of the Bible obeyed.
Joy never illumined her sharp ugly face
Except when some one who stood high in the place
Had by a false step fallen into disgrace.
The star of a scion to quickly decline,

The fall of some maiden while heated by wine,
Would cause her such rapture no pen could define.
Detaining each person who passed by her door,
By numberless questions an hour or more,
Of the news of the town she kept a full store.
For none who pass by were sufficiently bold
To step e'en their feet o'er the slimy threshold
Of this wretched old jade of whom I have told.
So Sally had made it an every-day rule

To quiz e'en the children who pass by the school,
Not even forgetting one poor little fool.

66

Ah, what is the news? she beseechingly asked
Of Joe Look, a wag, who her domicile passed
On the day that is known as an Annual Fast.
"Did you know," replied Joe, that Mr. Defife
Hurled a knife at the face of Anna, his wife,

Which cut a deep gash and endangered her life?"

"

"Why, no," she exclaimed, seemingly greatly amazed,

And as to the blue sky her gray eyes she raised,

Her heart seemed to say. For this heaven be praised; For joy ne'er illumined her sharp, ugly face

Except when some one who stood bright in the place,

Had by a misstep fallen into disgrace.

The star of a scion to quickly decline,

The fall of some maiden while heated by wine Would cause her such rapture no pen could define. "Will it sear her fair face?" Sally asked with a smile, "And think you that she a petition will file

To be rid of Defife, so brutally vile?"

Joe said, as he felt a slight pang af remorse, "I hardly believe she will seek a divorce

From a man who is kind e'en unto his horse."

66

Why did you not tell me that Mr. Defife
Hurled a knife at the face of Anna, his wife,

Which cut a deep gash and endangered her life?"
"I did, but it happened, so I have been told,
When they were mere children-scarce seven years old,
Ha ha! Sally Hayes, ha ha! you are sold."

IF WE KNEW.

ANONYMOUS.

If we knew the woe and heartache
Waiting for us down the road,
If our lips could taste the wormwood,
If our backs could feel the load;
Would we waste the day in wishing
For a time that ne'er can be?
Would we wait with such impatience
For our ships to come from sea?

If we knew the baby fingers,

Pressed against the window pane,
Would be cold and stiff to-morrow,-
Never trouble us again;

Would the bright eyes of our darling

Catch the frown upon our brow?
Would the print of rosy fingers

Vex us then as they do now?

Ah, these little ice-cold fingers!

How they point our memories back
To the hasty words and actions

Strewn along our backward track!
How these little hands remind us,
As in snowy grace they lie,
Not to scatter thorns, but roses,
For our reaping by and by.

Strange we never prize the music

Till the sweet-voiced bird has flown; 8trange that we should slight the violets Till the lovely flowers are gone; Strange that summer skies and sunshine Never seem one-half so fair

As when winter's snowy pinions

Shake their white down in the air.

Lips from which the seal of silence
None but God can roll away,
Never blossomed in such beauty
As adorns the mouth to-day;

And sweet words that freight our memory
With their beautiful perfume,

Come to us in sweeter accents

Through the portals of the tomb,

Let us gather up the sunbeams,
Lying all around our path;
Let us keep the wheat and roses,
Casting out the thorns and chaff;
Let us find our sweetest comfort
In the blessing of to-day;
With the patient hand removing
All the briers from our way.