The Lord Himself stood by the gate,
      And heard her speak
  Those tender words compassionate,
      Gentle and meek: 
  And the angels all were silent.

  Now, pity is the touch of God
      In human hearts,
  And from that way He ever trod
      He ne’er departs: 
  And the angels all were silent.

  And He said, “Now will I go with you,
      Dear child of love,
  I am weary of all this glory, too,
      In heaven above:” 
  And the angels all were silent.

  “We will go seek and save the lost,
      If they will hear,
  They who are worst but need me most,
      And all are dear:” 
  And the angels were not silent.

WALTER C. SMITH.

* * * * *

SYMPATHY.

    FROM “ION,” ACT I. SC. 2.

                        ’T is a little thing
  To give a cup of water; yet its draught
  Of cool refreshment, drained by fevered lips,
  May give a shock of pleasure to the frame
  More exquisite than when nectarean juice
  Renews the life of joy in happier hours. 
  It is a little thing to speak a phrase
  Of common comfort which by daily use
  Has almost lost its sense, yet on the ear
  Of him who thought to die unmourned ’t will fall
  Like choicest music, fill the glazing eye
  With gentle tears, relax the knotted hand
  To know the bonds of fellowship again;
  And shed on the departing soul a sense,
  More precious than the benison of friends
  About the honored death-bed of the rich,
  To him who else were lonely, that another
  Of the great family is near and feels.

SIR THOMAS NOON TALFOURD.

* * * * *

SIR GALAHAD.

  My good blade carves the casques of men,
    My tough lance thrusteth sure,
  My strength is as the strength of ten,
    Because my heart is pure. 
  The shattering trumpet shrilleth high,
    The hard brands shiver on the steel,
  The splintered spear-shafts crack and fly,
    The horse and rider reel: 
  They reel, they roll in clanging lists,
    And when the tide of combat stands,
  Perfume and flowers fall in showers,
    That lightly rain from ladies’ hands.

  How sweet are looks that ladies bend
    On whom their favors fall! 
  For them I battle till the end,
    To save from shame and thrall: 
  But all my heart is drawn above,
    My knees are bowed in crypt and shrine: 
  I never felt the kiss of love,
    Nor maiden’s hand in mine. 
  More bounteous aspects on me beam,
    Me mightier transports move and thrill;
  So keep I fair thro’ faith and prayer
    A virgin heart in work and will.