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Among the ones who often came
To observe the progress made
Was a teacher great, who sadly smiled,
But with a sigh he said:

My friend, where'er your chisel moves
Great transformation shows:

I wish I could on hearts of stone
Deal such transforming blows!"

The sculptor slowly raised his head,
And said with look sublime:

"Perhaps you might, my friend, if you worked At your work as I work at mine; Perhaps the heart of adamant

Would grow soft as the evening breeze,
If the work of softening was done,
Like mine, on your bended knees."

He said no more, but the lesson sank
Deep into the teacher's heart;
Perhaps at last he had really learned
The long-despaired of art.
Perhaps a human heart, tho' soft,

A marble coat may wear,
But the marble cover can be chipped off
And rent by the aid of prayer.

The Angelus.

IN the freezing cold and the blinding snow
Of a wintry eve in the long ago,
Folding his cloak o'er clanking mail,
A soldier is fighting the angry gale
Inch by inch in the campfire's light,
Star of his longing this wintry night.

All in a moment his path is barred;
He draws his sword as he stands on guard.
But who is this with a wan, white face,
And piteous hands upheld for grace?
Tenderly bending, the soldier bold
Raises a beggar faint and cold.
Famished he seems, and almost spent,
The rags that cover him worn and rent.
Crust nor coin can the soldier find;
Never his wallet with gold is lined;
But his soul is sad at the sight of pain:
The sufferer's pleading is not in vain.
His mantle of fur is broad and warm,
Armor of proof against the storm.
He snatches it off without a word;

One downward pass of the gleaming sword,
And cleft in twain at his feet it lies

And the storm-wind howls 'neath the frowning skies.

"Half for thee"-and with tender art

He gathers the cloak round the beggar's heart

"And half for me;" and with jocund song
In the teeth of the tempest he strides along,
Daring the worst of the sleet and snow,
That brave young spirit so long ago.

Lo! as he slept at midnight's prime,
His tent had the glory of summer-time;
Shining out of a wondrous light,

The Lord Christ beamed on his dazzled sight.
"I was a beggar," the Lord Christ said,
As he stood by the soldier's lowly bed.
"Half of thy garment thou gavest me;
With the blessing of heaven I dower thee."
And Martin rose from the hallowed tryst,
Soldier and servant and knight of Christ.
Margaret E. Sangster.


THE honey-bees on Mount Hymettus, long and long ago,

Had made some honey from the very sweetest flowers that grow;

It was very clear, translucent, and golden in its hue, It tasted of the sunshine, the roses, and the dew. And they all declared, the oldest inhabitant as well As the youngest, that for whiteness and firmness of the cell,

For sweetness and for flavor, that there was not anywhere

A drop of honey that with this a moment could compare.

It seemed as though all gracious things had entered into it,

It seemed an offering for the king of high Olympus fit.

So thought the queen bee, and, of course, the others thought as she did;

Therefore, without dissenting, it quickly was conceded

That she should take it up to him (I quite assume that you know

That when I speak of Jupiter, I am including Juno).

So up to Mount Olympus, to Jupiter the Great, The queen bee of Hymettus went flying swift and straight,

And laid her gift of honey, fresh, amber-hued, and sweet,

With many pretty compliments, low at his highness' feet,


Saying: "O gracious Jupiter! the gift I bring contains

The life of verdant valleys, and the soul of summer rains;

The freshness of the morning, the noon's effulgent glory,

The blushes of the roses as they listen to the story That the south wind whispers to them, and the fragrant breath that comes

From the lips of lily blossoms and the heart of clover-blooms;

Besides which, and far better, it holds a love as true

As the sweetness of the lilies or the freshness of the dew.

And with humble admiration, we beg that you will let us

At the feet of Mount Olympus lay the heart of Mount Hymettus."

From all of which remarks it is plainly to be seen That she was a very eloquent, poetical bee queen.

And Jupiter, admiring, unto himself avers That his kindness and politeness at least shall▾ equal hers.

And so, with many a winning smile and many a gracious bow,

He accepted her fair offering, explaining to her how

Of all the gifts from any land or clan, or tribe or nation,

There could be none that he would hold in higher estimation.

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