This their solace evermore.

"Read upon this tomb: Here lies-'
There My Lord-a hard one-dies,
And My Lady in her pride
Crumbles by his crumbling side.

"Thus among the tombs I tread,
I alive, my betters dead-
I alive and they but dust:
Oh, be certain God is just!

In this place that truth I found,
Hence I deem it holy ground,
Over-worth, a thousand-fold,
All the county, wood and wold."
So the feeble murmurs died;
We in Christian words replied,
Speaking in our measured scope
Of a purer faith and hope,

Of the gospel of the poor,
But he answered us no more,
Quickened by one thought alone,
Else his ears were ears of stone.

So we left him. Still o'erhead
Glowed the spire-point flaming red,
But the hill and all below
Lay the color of the crow.

WILLIAM SAWYER.

THE FALLING OF THE APPLE.

AS I stood in meditation

'Neath the orchard trees at night, Where the moon and stars of autumn Bathed the earth in pallid light,

Then my heart was dark and heavy As I saw an iron hand

Moving in a sweep resistless

Through the air and sea and land, Ripening its plans gigantic,

Holding all things helpless, bound, Till the full-grown curse or blessing

Falls as fruitage to the ground.

But the silver autumn splendor
Shone about my waiting feet,
Glistened on the golden fruitage,
Sending up an odor sweet;
And I read a sweeter lesson

In the harvest spread around

Of a God of patience ever

Showering blessings o'er the ground.

A. T. WORDEN.