Rather rejoice, for thou hast borne across Shalt thou be called, but Christopher. Now plant Close by the stream thy pine-tree staff, so long Withered and lifeless. It shall put forth leaves, And bud and blossom; such shall be the sign." The Christ-child vanished in a beaming light; But the old giant, folding each on each His massive hands, lifted his eyes and prayed: "My Master, Christ! I feel my end draws nigh, My limbs are weak, my strength is gone, but thou Hast washed me pure, my blessed Lord and God!" So on the morrow from the pine-tree staff Burst leaves and flowers and fruit. The third day Around that hut upon the sedgy bank, Those patient souls Who, with no boast of famous words or deeds, Have sought no higher office than to aid With comfortable words and loving deeds Poor, weary pilgrims, find, as did this saint, They bore their Master, and their names shall shine In golden letters in the Book of Life. ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase!) And with a look made of all sweet accord, 66 And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so," Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then, Write me as one that loves his fellow-men." The angel wrote and vanished. The next night It came again, with a great wakening light, And showed the names whom love of God had blessed, And, lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest. LEIGH HUNT. “Good is the word,” she answered. we now And evermore that it is good allow! Two children pale; and he the jewels knew "May THE PALMER'S VISION. NOON o'er Judea! All the air was beating With the hot pulses of the day's great heart; The birds were silent, and the rill, retreating, Shrank in its covert, and complained apart, When a lone pilgrim, with his scrip and burdon Dropped by the wayside, weary and distressed, His sinking heart grown faithless of its guerdon, The city of his recompense and rest. No vision yet of Galilee and Tabor! No glimpse of distant Zion throned and crowned! Behind him stretched his long and useless labor, Before him lay the parched and stony ground. So he set himself by the young man's side, And the state of his soul with questions tried; But the heart of the stranger was hardened Nor received the stamp of the one true creed, "As each beholds in cloud and fire So each," said the youth, "in the Law shall find The figure and features of his mind; And to each in his mercy hath God allowed The soul of Ambrose burned with zeal I fear me thy heart is too cramped with sin The shape and fashion of the tree attend: Or as a yoke that in the furrow stands Three days the slip from which this tree should spring Appeared as dead; then suddenly it bore, While earth and heaven stood awed and wondering, Harvest of vital fruit: the fortieth more Beheld it touch heaven's summit with its height, And shroud its sacred head in clouds of light. Yet the same while it did put forth below Now there bubbled beside them where they Which mortal man might eat, and eating, be stood A fountain of waters sweet and good: The youth to the streamlet's brink drew near, Saying, "Ambrose, thou maker of creeds, look here!" Six vases of crystal then he took, And set them along the edge of the brook. "As into these vessels the water I pour, O thou who wouldst unity make through strife When Ambrose looked up. he stood alone, gone; But he knew, by a sense of humbled grace, THE TREE OF LIFE. THERE is a spot, of men believed to be That blessed fruit was culled by other hand. Sharers henceforth of immortality. But when another fifty days were gone, Beneath that tree's great shadow on the plain Put flovers of such unfading beauty forth. And thither did all people, young and old, Stretched forth their hands, and eager glances Toward the fruit distilling that sweet dew. But touch they might not these, much less Their hunger, howsoe'er they might desire, |