THE CRY OF THE HUMAN.

"THERE is no God," the foolish saith,

But none, "There is no sorrow;" And nature oft, the cry of faith,

In bitter need will borrow: Eyes which the preacher could not school,

By wayside graves are raised;

And lips say, God be pitiful,"
That ne'er said, "God be praised."
Be pitiful, O God!

We sit together with the skies,

The steadfast skies, above us: We look into each other's eyes,

"And how long will you love us?" The eyes grow dim with prophecy, The voices low and breathless "Till death us part!"-O words to be

Our best for love, the deathless!
Be pitiful, dear God!

We tremble by the harmless bed
Of one loved and departed

Our tears drop on the lips that said

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Last night, Be stronger hearted!" O God, to clasp those fingers close, And yet to feel so lonely!.

To see a light upon such brows,
Which is the daylight only!
Be pitiful, O God!

We sit on hills our childhood wist,

Look up and triumph rather — Lo! in the depth of God's Divine, The Son abjures the Father — BE PITIFUL, O GOD!

ONLY A CURL.

FRIENDS of faces unknown and a land

Unvisited over the sea,

Who tell me how lonely you stand, With a single gold curl in the hand Held up to be looked at by me!

While you ask me to ponder and say What a father and mother can do, With the bright yellow locks put away

Out of reach, beyond kiss, in the clay, Where the violets press nearer than you:

Shall I speak like a poet, or run

Into weak woman's tears for relief?

Oh, children! I never lost one.
But my arm's round my own little

son,

And Love knows the secret of Grief.