THE MODEL CHURCH, Well, wife, I've found the model church! I worshipped there to-day; It made me think of good old times before my hair was gray; The meeting-house was fixed up more than they were years ago, But then I felt when I went in it wasn't built for show. The sexton didn't seat me way back by the door, poor; He must have been a Christian, for he led me boldly through The long aisles of that crowded church to find a pleas ant pew. I wish you'd heard the singing; it had the old time ring; The preacher said, with trumpet voice, "Let all the people sing;" The tune was Coronation, and the music upward rolled, Till I thought I heard the angels striking all their harps of gold. My heart seemed melt away, my spirit caught the fire; I joined my feeble trembling voice with that melodious choir, And sang as in my youthful days, "Let angels pros Bring forth the royal diadem, and crown Him Lord of all," I tell you, wife, it did me good to sing that song once more; I felt like some wrecked mariner, who gets a glimpse of shore; I almost wanted to lay down this weather-beaten form, And anchor in the blessed port, forever from the storm. The preaching-well, I can't just tell all that the preacher said, I know it wasn't written, I know it wasn't read; The sermon wasn't flowery, 'twas simple gospel truth, The preacher made sin hideous in Gentiles and in Jews; He shot the golden sentences down in the finest pews; And though I can't see very well-I saw the falling tear, That told me hell was some way off, and heaven very near. How swift the golden moments fled within that holy place, How brightly beamed the light of heaven from ever happy face; Again I longed for that sweet time, when friend shall welcome friend, "Where congregations ne'er break up, and Sabbaths have no end." I hope to meet that minister-that congregation, too, In the dear home beyond the stars that shine from heaven's blue; I doubt not I'd remember beyond life's evening gray The happy hour of worship in that model church to-day. Dear wife, the fight will soon be fought, the victory be won, The shining goal is just ahead, the race is almost run; O'er the river we are nearing, they are thronging to the shore, To shout our safe arrival where the weary weep no more. Will. Carleton. A DAY OF SUMMER BEAUTY. Out in the golden summer air, Though all her life looked cold and dead, Too dulled her soul, too worn to feel While earth was praising God aloud, Contented that her soul was sad, While all God's soulless things were glad, That day of summer beauty. And where she stayed, a dusty speck In gorse and heather glory, The pathos of her story; A spirit doubt opprest and worn Had found another more forlorn, Good Words. A WOMAN'S CONCLUSIONS. I said, if I might go back again To the very hour and place of my birth, Might have my life whatever I chose, And live it in any part of the earth; Put perfect sunshine into my sky; If I could have known in the years now gone, The best that a woman comes to know; Could have had whatever will make her blest, Or whatever she thinks will make her so; Have found the highest and purest bliss And gained the one out of all the world That my heart, as well as my reason, chose; Yea, I said, if a miracle such as this Could be wrought for me at my bidding, still I would choose to have my past as it is, SOME DAY. Some day, we say, and turn our eyes Some day, some time, a sweet new rest Some time, some day, our eye The faces kept in memory. shall see Some day their hands shall clasp our hands, Some day our ear shall hear the song Of triumph over sin and wrong. Some day, some time, but oh! not yet, That some day all these things shall be, ENCHANTMENT. The sails we see on the ocean |