EARNESTNESS.

     The hurry of the times affects us so
       In this swift rushing hour, we crowd and press
     And thrust each other backward as we go,
       And do not pause to lay sufficient stress
       Upon that good, strong, true word, Earnestness. 
     In our impetuous haste, could we but know
     Its full, deep meaning, its vast import, oh,
       Then might we grasp the secret of success! 
     In that receding age when men were great,
       The bone and sinew of their purpose lay
       In this one word.  God likes an earnest soul—­
     Too earnest to be eager.  Soon or late
       It leaves the spent horde breathless by the way,
       And stands serene, triumphant at the goal.

     A PICTURE.

     I strolled last eve across the lonely down;
       One solitary picture struck my eye: 
       A distant ploughboy stood against the sky—­
     How far he seemed above the noisy town!

     Upon the bosom of a cloud the sod
       Laid its bruised cheek as he moved slowly by,
       And, watching him, I asked myself if I
     In very truth stood half as near to God.

     [Illustration:]

     TWIN-BORN.

     He who possesses virtue at its best,
       Or greatness in the true sense of the word,
       Has one day started even with that herd
     Whose swift feet now speed but at sin’s behest. 
     It is the same force in the human breast
       Which makes men gods or demons.  If we gird
       Those strong emotions by which we are stirred
     With might of will and purpose, heights unguessed
       Shall dawn for us; or if we give them sway
     We can sink down and consort with the lost. 
     All virtue is worth just the price it cost. 
       Black sin is oft white truth that missed its way
     And wandered off in paths not understood. 
     Twin-born I hold great evil and great good.

     FLOODS.

     In the dark night, from sweet refreshing sleep
       I wake to hear outside my window-pane
       The uncurbed fury of the wild spring rain,
     And weird winds lashing the defiant deep,
     And roar of floods that gather strength and leap
       Down dizzy, wreck-strewn channels to the main. 
       I turn upon my pillow and again
     Compose myself for slumber. 
               Let them sweep;
       I once survived great floods, and do not fear,
     Though ominous planets congregate, and seem
     To foretell strange disasters. 
               From a dream—­
       Ah! dear God! such a dream!—­I woke to hear,
     Through the dense shadows lit by no star’s gleam,
       The rush of mighty waters on my ear. 
     Helpless, afraid, and all alone, I lay;
       The floods had come upon me unaware. 
       I heard the crash of structures that were fair;