I see not a step before me,
As I tread on another year;
But the past is still in God's keeping,
The future his mercy shall clear,
And what looks dark in the distance
May brighten as I draw near.

For perhaps the dreaded future

Has less bitter than I think;
The Lord may sweeten the waters
Before I stoop to drink,
Or, if Marah must be Marah,

He will stand beside its brink.

It may be he keeps waiting

Till the coming of my feet Some gift of such rare blessedness, Some joy so strangely sweet, That my lips shall only tremble With the thanks they cannot speak.

O restful, blissful ignorance!

"T is blessed not to know,
It holds me in those mighty arms
Which will not let me go,
And hushes my soul to rest

On the bosom which loves me so!

So I go on not knowing;

I would not if I might;

As tired of sin as any child
Was ever tired of play,
When evening's hush has folded in
The noises of the day;

When just for very weariness
The little one will creep
Into the arms that have no joy
Like holding him in sleep;

And looking upward to thy face,
So gentle, sweet, and strong,
In all its looks for those who love,
So pitiful of wrong,

I pray thee turn me not away,
For, sinful though I be,
Thou knowest everything I need,
And all my need of thee.

And yet the spirit in my heart

Says, Wherefore should I pray That thou shouldst seek me with thy love, Since thou dost seek alway;

And dost not even wait until

I urge my steps to thee; But in the darkness of my life Art coming still to me?

God,

I pray because I must; There is no meaning in my prayer

But thankfulness and trust.

I would not have thee otherwise
Than what thou ever art:

Be still thyself, and then I know
We cannot live apart.

But still thy love will beckon me,
And still thy strength will come,
In many ways to bear me up

And bring me to my home.

And thou wilt hear the thought I mean, And not the words I say;

Wilt hear the thanks among the words
That only seem to pray;

As if thou wert not always good,
As if thy loving care
Could ever miss me in the midst
Of this thy temple fair.

For, if I ever doubted thee,
How could I any more!

above,

Darkens with storms or melts in hues

of love;

books:

Shakespeare consoles
My heart with true philosophies; a balm
Of spiritual dews from humbler song
or psalm

Fills me with tender calm, Or through hushed heavens of soul Milton's deep thunder rolls!

And more than all, o'er shattered
wrecks of Fate,

The relics of a happier time and state,
My nobler life

Shines on unquenched! O deathless love that lies

In the clear midnight of those passionate eyes!

Joy waneth! Fortune flies! What then? Thou still art here, soul of my soul, my Wife!

ISA CRAIG KNOX.

BALLAD OF THE BRIDES OF QUAIR.

A STILLNESS crept about the house,
At evenfall, in noontide glare;
Upon the silent hills looked forth
The many-windowed House of Quair.

The peacock on the terrace screamed;

Browsed on the lawn the timid hare; The great trees grew i' the avenue, Calm by the sheltered House of Quair.

The pool was still; around its brim The alders sickened all the air;

The days hold on their wonted pace,
And men to court and camp repair,
Their part to fill, of good or ill,

While women keep the House of Quair,

And one is clad in widow's weeds,

And one is maiden-like and fair, And day by day they seek the paths About the lonely fields of Quair.

To see the trout leap in the streams,

The maiden loves in pensive dreams
The summer clouds reflected there,

To hang o'er silver Tweed and Quair. Within, in pall-black velvet clad,

Sits stately in her oaken chair-
A stately dame of ancient name—-
The mother of the House of Quair.
Her daughter broiders by her side,

And listens to her frequent plaint,
With heavy drooping golden hair,

"Ill fare the brides that come to Quair

"For more than one hath lived in pine,

And more than one hath died of care And more than one hath sorely sinned, Left lonely in the House of Quair. "Alas! and ere thy father died I had not in his heart a share, And now--may God forfend her illThy brother brings his bride to Quair.” She came; they kissed her in the hall, They kissed her on the winding stair, They led her to the chamber high,

The fairest in the House of Quair.