I live, O lost one, for the living Who drew their earliest life from thee, For life to me is as a station Wherein apart a traveler standsOne absent lors, from home and nation, In other lands And I, as he who stands and listens, For death shall bring another mating; In yonder fields are children playing, Thou, then, the longing heart that breakest, The parted-one. O. M. CONOVER. The Dignity of Death. Here lies a common man. His horny hands, And me, a nameless gazer in the crowd, Seemed not so wide as that which stretches now RICHARD E. BURTON. The Christian View of Death. That My friends, I hope you do not call that death. is an autumnal sunset. That is a crystalline river pourThat is the solo of human life. ing into a crystal sea. overpowered by the Hallelujah chorus. That is a queen's coronation. That is Heaven. That is the way my father stood at eighty-two, seeing my mother depart at seventynine. Perhaps, so your father and mother went. I wonder if we will die as well.-—-TALMAGE. Two. I dreamed I saw two angels, hand in hand; A thorn-wreath crowned the other's matted hair. The one was fair and tall, and white of brow; A radiant spirit smile of wondrous grace The other's face, like marble-carved Grief, And eyes like violets long drenched in rain. Then spake the fair, sweet one and gently said: "Between us-Life and Death-choose thou thy lot. By him thou lovest best thou shalt be led; Choose thou between us, soul, and fear thou not." ( pondered long. "O Life!". at last I cried, "Perchance 't were wiser Death to choose; and yet My soul with thee were better satisfied." The angel's radiant face smiled swift regret. Within his brother's hand he placed my hand. Thou didst mistake," he said, in underbreath, |