“And once, when the daily march was o’er,
    As tired I sat in my tented door,
    Hope failed me, as never it failed before.

    “In swarming city, at wayside fane,
    By the Indus’ bank, on the scorching plain,
    I had taught,—­and my teaching all seemed vain.

    “No glimmer of light (I sighed) appears;
    The Moslem’s Fate and the Buddhist’s fears
    Have gloomed their worship this thousand years.

    “’For Christ and his truth I stand alone
    In the midst of millions:  a sand-grain blown
    Against your temple of ancient stone

    “‘As soon may level it!’” Faith forsook
    My soul, as I turned on the pile to look;
    Then, rising, my saddened way I took

    To its lofty roof, for the cooler air: 
    I gazed, and marvelled;—­how crumbled were
    The walls I had deemed so firm and fair!

    For, wedged in a rift of the massive stone,
    Most plainly rent by its roots alone,
    A beautiful peepul-tree had grown: 

    Whose gradual stress would still expand
    The crevice, and topple upon the sand
    The temple, while o’er its wreck should stand

    The tree in its living verdure!—­Who
    Could compass the thought?—­The bird that flew
    Hitherward, dropping a seed that grew,

    Did more to shiver this ancient wall
    Than earthquake,—­war,—­simoon,—­or all
    The centuries, in their lapse and fall!

    Then I knelt by the riven granite there,
    And my soul shook off its weight of care,
    As my voice rose clear on the tropic air:—­

    “The living seeds I have dropped remain
    In the cleft:  Lord, quicken with dew and rain,
    Then temple and mosque shall be rent in twain!”

MARGARET J. PRESTON.

* * * * *

OF BIRDS.

See, Christ makes the birds our masters and teachers! so that a feeble sparrow, to our great and perpetual shame, stands in the gospel as a doctor and preacher to the wisest of men.

MARTIN LUTHER.

* * * * *

BIRDS IN SPRING.

    Listen!  What a sudden rustle
          Fills the air! 
    All the birds are in a bustle
          Everywhere. 
    Such a ceaseless croon and twitter
          Overhead! 
    Such a flash of wings that glitter
          Wide outspread! 
    Far away I hear a drumming,—­
          Tap, tap, tap! 
    Can the woodpecker be coming
          After sap? 
    Butterflies are hovering over
          (Swarms on swarms)
    Yonder meadow-patch of clover,
          Like snow-storms. 
    Through the vibrant air a-tingle
          Buzzingly,
    Throbs and o’er me sails a single
          Bumble-bee. 
    Lissom swayings make the willows