"He who went in was there no more than I." "All that is true, but he has married been, And so on earth has suffered for all sin." "Married? "Tis well; for I have been married twice!" 66 Begone! We'll have no fools in Paradise. THE FOOL'S PRAYER. THE royal feast was done; the King The jester doffed his cap and bells, He bowed his head, and bent his knee 66 "No pity, Lord, could change the heart ""Tis not by guilt the onward sweep Of truth and right, O Lord, we stay; "Tis by our follies that so long We hold the earth from heaven away. "These clumsy feet, still in the mire, "The ill-timed truth we might have keptWho knows how sharp it pierced and stung! The word we had not sense to say Who knows how grandly it had rung! "Our faults no tenderness should ask, The chastening stripes must cleanse them all; But for our blunders-oh, in shame Before the eyes of heaven we fall. "Earth bears no balsam for mistakes; Men crown the knave, and scourge the tool That did his will; but Thou, O Lord, Be merciful to me, a fool!" The room was hushed; in silence rose Ed. R. Sill. THE BIRD AND THE BABY. "Birdie, rest a little longer, Till the little wings are stronger." What does little baby say Tennyson. THE WIND AND THE MOON. SAID the Wind to the Moon, "I will blow you out; You stare In the air Like a ghost in a chair, Always looking what I am about— I hate to be watched; I'll blow you out." The Wind blew hard, and out went the Moon, So deep Of cloudless sleep, Down lay the Wind, and slumbered soon, He turned in his bed; she was there again! On high, With her ghost eye, The Moon shone white and alive and plain; The Wind blew hard, and the Moon grew dim: "With my sledge, And my wedge, I have knocked off her edge! If only I blow right fierce and grim, The creature will soon be dimmer than dim." He blew and he blew, and she thinned to a thread; "One puff More's enough To blow her to snuff! One good puff more where the last was bred, And glimmer, glum will go the thread." He blew a great blast, and the thread was gone In the air; Nowhere Was a moonbeam bare; Far off and harmless the sky stars shone— The Wind he took to his revels once more; On down In town, Like a merry-mad clown, He leaped and halloed with whistle and roar: "What's that?" The glimmering thread once more! He flew in a rage-he danced and blew; But in vain Was the pain Of his bursting brain; For still broader the moon-scrap grew, Slowly she grew-till she filled the night, On her throne In the sky alone, A matchless, wonderful, silvery light, |