HORATIUS BONAR. W. ALEXANDER. 247 HORATIUS BONAR. THE INNER CALM. CALM me, my God, and keep me calm, Calm me, my God, and keep me calm, Soft resting on thy breast; Calm me, my God, and keep me calm; Yes, keep me calm, though loud and rude The sounds my ear that greet, Calm in the hour of buoyant health, Calm in the sufferance of wrong, Like Him who bore my shame, Calm mid the threatening, taunting throng, Who hate Thy holy name; Great Master, touch us with thy skilful hand; Let not the music that is in us die! Great Sculptor, hew and polish us; nor let, Hidden and lost, thy form within us lie! Spare not the stroke do with us as thou wilt! Let there be naught unfinished, broken, marred; Complete thy purpose, that we may be come Thy perfect image, thou our God and Lord! W. ALEXANDER. UP ABOVE. Down below, the wild November whistling Through the beech's dome of burning red, And the Autumn sprinkling penitential Dust and ashes on the chestnut's head. Down below, a pall of airy purple Darkly hanging from the mountain-side; And the sunset from his eyebrow staring O'er the long roll of the leaden tide. Calm when the great world's news with Up above, the tree with leaf unfading, power My listening spirit stir; Let not the tidings of the hour E'er find too fond an ear; Calm as the ray of sun or star Which storms assail in vain, Moving unruffled through earth's war, The eternal calm to gain. THE MASTER'S TOUCH. In the still air the music lies unheard; In the rough marble beauty hides unseen: To make the music and the beauty, needs The master's touch, the sculptor's chisel keen. A vicious parent shaming still its child, | Three wives sat up in the lighthouse Poor anxious penitence, is quick dis solved; Its discords quenched by meeting har monies, Die in the large and charitable air. tower, And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went down, They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower, And the night rack came rolling up ragged and brown! That watched to ease the burden of the But men must work, and women must Which martyred men have made more And the sooner it's over, the sooner to That purest heaven, - be to other souls The cup of strength in some great agony, Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love, Beget the smiles that have no cruelty, Be the sweet presence of a good diffused, "O MARY, go and call the cattle home, And in diffusion ever more intense ! CHARLES KINGSLEY. [1819-1874.] THE THREE FISHERS. THREE fishers went sailing out into the west, Out into the west as the sun went down ; And call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, Across the sands of Dee"; The western wind was wild and dank wi' foam, And all alone went she. The western tide crept up along the sand, And o'er and o'er the sand, And round and round the sand, As far as eye could see. The rolling mist came down and hid the land, And never home came she. Each thought on the woman who loved "O, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair, |