This shall remain, this shall remain,

Forever type of poet's pain. For he who souls of men may touch Must in himself have suffered much.

"O poet life! O poet story! O poet love, and poet glory! Alas! Alas!"

Fell then a hush of holy calms
Yet echoing 'neath the priestly palms,
The immortals' chime the mortal warns ;
For poets' crowns are crowns of thorns.
MARY E. C. WYETH.
ST. LOUIS, 1880.

THE LAST WISH.

The eminent author of the following poem was a minister of the Congregational Church of Scotland. He was born at Leith, Aug. 24, 1808, and was pastor of the Augustine Church, Edinburgh. He died in December, 1884.

No more, no more of the cares of time!
Speak to me now of that happy clime
Where the ear never lists to the sufferer's
moan,

And sorrow and care are all unknown:
Now, when my pulse beats faint and slow,
And my moments are numbered here below,
With thy soft, sweet voice, my sister, tell
Of that land where my spirit longs to dwell.

Oh yes, let me hear of its blissful bowers, And its trees of life, and its fadeless flowers; Of its crystal streets and its radiant throng, With their harps of gold and their endless song;

Of its glorious palms and its raiment white,

And its streamlets all lucid with living light; And its emerald plains, where the ransomed stray,

Mid the bloom and the bliss of a changeless day.

And tell me of those who are resting there,
Far from sorrow, and free from care,
The loved of my soul, who passed away
In the roseate bloom of their early day;
Oh, are they not bending around me now,
Light in each eye, and joy on each brow,
Waiting until my spirit fly,

To herald me home to my rest on high?

Thus, thus, sweet sister, let me hear
Thy loved voice fall on my listening ear,
Like the murmur of streams in that happy
grove

That circles the home of our early love;
And so let my spirit calmly rise

From the loved upon earth to the blest in the skies,

And lose the sweet tones I have loved so long, In the glorious burst of the heavenly song.

WILLIAM LINDSAY ALEXANDER, D. D.

ASPIRATIONS.

ADAM GOTTLOB OEHLENSCHLAEGER, the greatest of Danish poets, was born at Copenhagen, Nov. 14, 1779, and died at the same place, Jan. 20, 1850. His first collected poems were published in 1803 and 1805, though he had written verse at the age of ten. Influenced by Henrich Steffens, he studied the philosophy of Schelling, and in 1805, on a visit to Germany, became acquainted with Fichte, Schleiermacher, Wieland, Jean Paul, and Goethe, by whom he was cordially received. In 1809 he became Professor of Esthetics in the University of Copenhagen, and the remainder of his life was that of a quiet scholar. His great and almost universal genius was expressed in a style of considerable adornment. His death caused public mourning

Oн, teach me, thou forest, to testify glad,

As in autumn the gloom of thy yellowing leaf,

That my spring cometh back after winter the

sad,

That my tree gleameth green after mournfulness brief.

The roots of my tree stand strong, deep, and divine

In eternity's summer; oh, why then repine?

Bird of passage, thou frail little thing, oh, teach

me

To fly with bold wing and with spirit as bold, To lands undiscovered far over the sea.

When all here is stormy and cloudy and cold, Throws wide open its gates, a sweet paradise

there;

Let me haste to its sunshine, its odorous air.

Oh, teach me, oh, teach me, thou butterfly bright,

To shatter the chrysalis dungeon and chain, Which rob me of freedom, of joy, and of light:

I grovel, a worm, in this desert of pain ; But soon, ah! sublimely transfigured, I fly, With wings valiant, of purple and gold, in the sky.