LOVE.

LOVE is too great a happiness
For wretched mortals to possess;
For could it hold inviolate
Against those cruelties of fate
Which all felicities below
By rigid laws are subject to,
It would become a bliss too high

For perishing mortality;
Translate to earth the joys above;
For nothing goes to Heaven but Love,
All love at first, like generous wine,
Ferments and frets until 'tis fine;
For when 'tis settled on the lee,
And from the impurer matter free,
Becomes the richer still, the older,
And proves the pleasanter, the colder.

WORK AND WORSHIP. "Laborare est orare."- ST. AUGUSTINE.

CHARLEMAGNE, the mighty monarch,

As through Metten Wood he
strayed,

Found the holy hermit, Hutto,
Toiling in the forest glade.

In his hand the woodman's hatchet,
By his side the knife and twine,
There he cut and bound the faggots
From the gnarled and stunted pine.

Well the monarch knew the hermit

For his pious works and cares, And the wonders which had followed From his vigils, fasts, and prayers.

Much he marvelled now to see him Toiling thus, with axe and cord; And he cried in scorn, “O Father, Is it thus you serve the Lord ?”

But the hermit resting neither

Hand nor hatchet, meekly said: "He who does no daily labor

May not ask for daily bread.

Think not that my graces slumber While I toil throughout the day; For all honest work is worship, And to labor is to pray.

THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH.
A DREAM OF PONCE DE LEON.

A STORY of Ponce de Leon,

A voyager withered and old, Who came to the sunny Antilles, In quest of a country of gold. He was wafted past islands of spices, As bright as the emerald seas, Where all the forests seem singing,

So thick were the birds on the trees; The sea was clear as the azure,

And so deep and so pure was the sky That the jasper-walled city seemed shining

Just out of the reach of the eye.

By day his light canvas he shifted, And round strange harbors and bars:

By night, on the full tides he drifted, 'Neath the low-hanging lamps of the stars. [sunset, 'Neath the glimmering gates of the In the twilight empurpled and dim, The sailors uplifted their voices,

And sang to the Virgin a hymn. "Thank the Lord!" said De Leon, the sailor,

At the close of the rounded refrain; "Thank the Lord, the Almighty, who blesses

The ocean-swept banner of Spain!

The shadowy world is behind us,
The shining Cipango before;
Each morning the sun rises brighter
On ocean, and island, and shore.
And still shall our spirits grow lighter,
As prospects more glowing unfold;
Then on, merry men! to Cipango,

To the west, and the regions of gold!"

There came to. De Leon the sailor,
Some Indian sages, who told
Of a region so bright that the waters
Were sprinkled with islands of gold.
And they added: "The leafy Bimini,
A fair land of grottos and bowers
Is there; and a wonderful fountain
Upsprings from its gardens of
flowers.

That fountain gives life to the dying,

And youth to the aged restores: They flourish in beauty eternal,

Who set but their feet on its shores!"

Then answered De Leon, the sailor: "I am withered, and wrinkled, and old;

I would rather discover that fountain Than a country of diamonds and gold."

Away sailed De Leon, the sailor;
Away with a wonderful glee,
Till the birds were more rare in the

azure,

The dolphins more rare in the sea. Away from the shady Bahamas,

Over waters no sailor had seen, Till again on his wandering vision, Rose clustering islands of green. Still onward he sped till the breezes Were laden with odors, and lo! A country embedded with flowers,

A country with rivers aglow! More bright than the sunny Antilles, More fair than the shady Azores. "Thank the Lord!" said De Leon, the sailor,

As feasted his eye on the shores, "We have come to a region, my brothers,

More lovely than earth, of a truth; And here is the life-giving fountain, The beautiful Fountain of Youth."