Standing on what too long we bore
    With shoulders bent and downcast eyes,
  We may discern—­unseen before—­
    A path to higher destinies.

  Nor deem the irrevocable Past
    As wholly wasted, wholly vain,
  If, rising on its wrecks, at last
    To something nobler we attain.

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

* * * * *

SAINT CHRISTOPHER.

      “Carry me across!”
  The Syrian heard, rose up, and braced
  His huge limbs to the accustomed toil: 
  “My child, see how the waters boil? 
  The night-black heavens look angry-faced;
      But life is little loss.

      “I’ll carry thee with joy,
  If needs be, safe as nestling dove: 
  For o’er this stream I pilgrims bring
  In service to one Christ, a King
  Whom I have never seen, yet love.” 
      “I thank thee,” said the boy.

      Cheerful, Arprobus took
  The burden on his shoulders great,
  And stepped into the waves once more;
  When lo! they leaping rise and roar,
  And ’neath the little child’s light weight
      The tottering giant shook.

      “Who art thou?” cried he wild,
  Struggling in middle of the ford: 
  “Boy as thou look’st, it seems to me
  The whole world’s load I bear in thee,
  Yet—­” “For the sake of Christ, thy Lord,
      Carry me,” said the child.

      No more Arprobus swerved,
  But gained the farther bank, and then
  A voice cried, “Hence Christopheros be! 
  For carrying thou hast carried Me,
  The King of angels and of men,
      The Master thou hast served.”

      And in the moonlight blue
  The saint saw,—­not the wandering boy,
  But him who walked upon the sea
  And o’er the plains of Galilee,
  Till, filled with mystic, awful joy,
      His dear Lord Christ he knew.

      Oh, little is all loss,
  And brief the space ’twixt shore and shore,
  If thou, Lord Jesus, on us lay,
  Through the deep waters of our way,
  The burden that Christopheros bore,—­
      To carry thee across.

DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK.

* * * * *

SCORN NOT THE LEAST.

  When words are weak and foes encountering strong,
  Where mightier do assault than do defend,
  The feebler part puts up enforced wrong,
  And silent sees that speech could not amend. 
  Yet higher powers most think though they repine,—­
  When sun is set, the little stars will shine.

  While pike doth range, the silly tench doth fly,
  And crouch in privy creeks with smaller fish;
  Yet pikes are caught when little fish go by;
  These fleet afloat while those do fill the dish. 
  There is a time even for the worms to creep. 
  And suck the dew while all their foes do sleep.

  The merlin cannot ever soar on high,
  Nor greedy greyhound still pursue the chase;
  The tender lark will find a time to fly. 
  And fearful hare to run a quiet race. 
  He that high-growth on cedars did bestow,
  Gave also lowly mushrooms leave to grow.