Till from out the fearful conflict

Rose the man from off the ground;
Gashed and gory from the struggle,
But the beast lay stiff and dead;
There he stood while people gathered
And rained blessings on his head.

"Friends," he said, "from one great peril
With God's help I've set you free,
But my task is not yet ended,

There is danger now in me.
Yet secure from harm you shall be,
None need fear before I die:
That my sufferings may be shortened,
Ask of Him who rules on high."

Then unto his forge he straightway
Walked erect with rapid step,
While the people followed after,
Some with shouts while others wept,
And with nerve as steady as when
He had plied his trade for gain,
He selected without faltering
From his store, the heaviest chain.

To his anvil first he bound it,
Next his limb he shackled fast,
Then he said unto his townsfolk,
"All your danger now is past.
Place within my reach, I pray you,
Food and water for a time;
Until God shall ease my sufferings
By His gracious will divine.

Long he suffered, but at last

Came a summons from on high,
Then his soul with angel escort,
Sought its home beyond the sky;
And the people of that village,

Those whom he had died to save,
Still with grateful hearts assemble,
And with flowers bedeck his grave.

THE BETTER LAND.

A father and mother, with their two children, once lived on an uncultivated island far out in the ocean, where they had been cast by a shipwreck. Roots and herbs served them

for sustenance, a spring supplied them with drink, and they were sheltered in a cavern in the rocks.

The children could not remember how they came to this island; they knew nothing of the main land, and bread, milk, fruit, and all else that could be procured in it for their nourishment and enjoyment, were to them wholly unknown. Having no definite knowledge of a better land, or mode of living, they were contented with the miserable shelter, the fare and enjoyments the poor island supplied, and when their parents spoke to them of the beautiful groves, rivulets and gardens the main land abounded in they thought they were not half so enjoyable as the sandy beach, stunted shrubs and naked rocks among which they spent all their hours.

Their appetite was never satisfied, for the roots and herbs they subsisted on were far from their cave and were hard to get; but though it required all the time that could be spared from their sleeping hours to search and dig for their pitiful subsistence, yet they took no pleasure in anticipating with their parents their deliverance from so poor a habitation, and so mean and precarious a living.

The terrific storms that raged around its shores, and the sultry sun that burned the sand and rocks when there was a calm, did not seem to them less enjoyable, than the refreshing dews, cool shades, and moderate temperature of their parents' land; and the beautiful flowers, golden fruits and mellow toned birds their father told them about did not possess so much interest for them as the smooth stones on their beech, and the hoarse screams of the sea birds that flew about their small and bleak world.

At last a skiff with four black-a-moors in it landed one day on the island.

The parents rejoiced at this, hoping that now their deliverance was near, and while the boat was approaching, they had again told their children of the beauties and joys with which their native land abounded, so that their minds would forget the scenes of their childish cares in anticipation of new and more exciting pleasures in the land to which they were going. But the boat was too small to take more than one besides its crew, and the black-a-moors said they would only take the father with them, but would soon return for the rest and take them one by one.

The mother and children began to wail and lament when they saw him approaching the frail, thin-planked vessel, to step into it and trust himself in it on so boundless and perilous an ocean, and the four black oarsmen stand by ready to push off from the shore and launch into the vast deep, whose storms had so often seemed to shake the island to its foundation.

He turned to them as he came to the water's edge, and said, "Weep not, my children, I am going to my native land of which I have so often told you, and I will soon send for you, and you shall all come to me and enjoy its delights and richness with me."

But after the boat was lost to their sight below the hori zon, and their grief became more calm, they remembered what their father had often told them about the distant country, and asked their mother more of its nature and appearance. The poor island, which had afforded them a temporary shelter and living, seemed no longer a place where they could be contented to spend all their days in, and they often thought of their father's parting words, and the beautiful vessel he was to bring for their voyage over the deep

ocean.

But it was the same boat that came again, and at this time the black-a-moors said they could take only one, and that must be their mother. Again the children cried and lamented at the departure of their other parent, but she turned to them and said, "Weep not, dear children; in the better land, which is our native country, we shall all meet and be happy again; think of your father and me, and be ready to come together, when we shall send for you."

After her departure the children lost all interest in their youthful objects of admiration, and giving only so much of their thoughts to their island home as was necessary to afford them a subsistence, until the boat returned, they conversed with each other constantly on those beautiful things they heard their parents speak of, and held themselves in constant readiness to leave the island and go to their father's land when the black-a-moors came for them.

At last the skiff came to take the two children away, and though they willingly went, they shivered and trembled as

the four black men took hold of them, and handed them into the boat, for their long voyage over the deep, unknown sea.

But their joy was unbounded when they saw their father and mother waiting for them on the far off shore; who, after they had welcomed them, took them by the hands and led them under the shade of a high palm tree, and set honey and delicious fruits on the flowery turf before them. “Oh, how poor and bitter were our roots," said the children to each other," not frightened, but rejoiced, should we have been when the black men came to take us from that island and to bring us to this better and more beautiful land."

"Dear children," said the father, "our deliverance from the poor island to this beautiful land, has yet a higher significance to us than you see. There lies before us a still longer voyage, but also a more beautiful shore. The whole earth upon which we live is but an island also, and the heavenly land to which we are going is typified by this beautiful country. The sea we must cross again is death, but when the hour comes for the four black men and their boat, to take us over it, weep not though your mother and I should go first, and do not tremble when it comes your turn to go, for death is to the righteous but a voyage to a better land."

A DOKETOR'S DRUBBLES.-GEO. M. WARREN.

I youst to bin a doketor vonce,
Vat koored all kints ov gases,
Und in my bragtis I have met
A goot mainy deaferent fases.

Vor dwendy milse round vere I leved,
De beeple vas gwite seekly;-
Boud vonce a veek I galled arount,
Und zo I vound um veekly.

Soam vas seek mit vone decease,—
Und soam dey had anoder,

Und soam you vooden't doght vood leve
Vrom one ent do de oder.

Bud pooty soon I vound dot oud

My bocket book vas dhry,

Und also my oxpensays

Vas runing oval high.

So I vent oud gollecting,
Bud aifery vere I vent,
My batients vas oxhorseted,—
Dey vas not vort a cendt.

Und I vent und seed vone men,
He vas briefing hees preath lasht;
I doght de gwicker I got dot,
De sooner it vas kashed.

So I showed de men hees node,
Und I dold heem do pay;
Hees dime vas shoost up,
Dot vos hees lasht tay.

Hees hands vas in each bocked,
Und dots vy I doght so sdrange,
He died-und hees lasht vords vas,
“I don'd veel ainy shange.”

Und vone sed do me, "Doketor
Howefer can I pay?

You know dot I'm not aple-
I'm vailing afery tay."

Und anoder vailer dold me,
"Shoost valk you ride avay;
You got dot oll vat's due you
Ven comes de shoodgment-tay."
I eshked vone men vor hees sheck,
Id vas yoost pefore hees deadth;'
But I vound he hadn't no dime,

He vas drawing hees lasht breadth. Und I found dish wash de drubbleEen my kase ainy vay

De beeple vot I doketored

Heddent cents enoff to bay.

You'f hurt dot goot old sayink,
Verein dot goot pook says-

I dink id combs out desewise

'Soam rools ken vork bote vays."

Und so it ess mit de doketor

Of he eshkt a man to bay,
Und he tails him "I ken't do id,"
Hees shoor to die dot day.

I vent beck to my offus,

Veeling dired dru und dru; Und togedder mit dese drubble I vash med and shleeby doo.