Have Love! Not love alone for one;
But man, as man, thy brother call;
And scatter, like the circling sun,
Thy charities on all!

Thus grave these lessons on thy soul—

Hope, Faith, and Love- and thou shalt find

Strength when life's surges rudest roll,
Light when thou else wert blind.

HASTE NOT, REST NOT!

JOHANN WOLFGANG VON Goethe.

WITHOUT haste! without rest!
Bind the motto to thy breast;
Bear it with thee as a spell;

Storm or sunshine, guard it well!

Heed not flowers that round thee bloom,

Bear it onward to the tomb!

Haste not! Let no thoughtless deed

Mar for aye the spirit's speed!

Ponder well, and know the right,
Onward then, with all thy might!
Haste not! Years cannot atone
For one reckless action done.

Rest not! Life is sweeping by,
Go and dare before you die;

Something mighty and sublime
Leave behind to conquer time!
Glorious 'tis to live for aye

When these forms have passed away.
Haste not! rest not! calmly wait;
Meekly bear the storms of fate!
Duty be thy polar guide;

Do the right, whate'er betide!
Haste not! rest not! conflicts past,
God shall crown thy work at last.

GALILEO.

EDWARD EVERETT.

Galileo, the astronomer, for avowing his belief that the earth moves round the sun, was twice persecuted by the Inquisition and compelled to retract his utterances. After his recantation he repeated in a low tone: "It does move."

YES, noble Galileo, thou art right. "It DOES move." Bigots may make thee recant it, but it moves nevertheless. Yes, the earth moves, and the planets move, and the mighty waters move, and the great sweeping tides of air move, and the empires of men move, and the world of thought moves, ever onward and upward, to higher facts and bolder theories. The Inquisition may seal thy lips, but they can no more stop the progress of the great truths propounded by Copernicus, and demonstrated by thee, than they can stop the revolving earth. Close, now, venerable sage, that sightless, tearful eye : it has seen what man never before saw; it has seen

enough. Hang up that poor little spy-glass; it has done its work. Not Herschel nor Rosse has, comparatively, done more. Franciscans and Dominicans deride thy discoveries now; but the time will come when, from two hundred observatories in Europe and America, the glorious artillery of science shall nightly assault the skies; but they shall gain no conquests in those glittering fields before which thine shall be forgotten.

Rest in peace, great Columbus of the heavens ; —like him, scorned, persecuted, broken-hearted! In other ages, in distant hemispheres, when the votaries of science, with solemn acts of consecration, shall dedicate their stately edifices to the cause of knowledge and truth, thy name shall be mentioned with honor.

VIRTUE.

GEORGE HERBERT.

SWEET day! So cool, so calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky,
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night;
For thou must die.

Sweet rose! whose hue, angry and brave,
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye,
Thy root is ever in the grave,

And thou must die.

Sweet spring! full of sweet days and roses,
A box where sweets compacted lie,

My music shows ye have your closes,
And all must die.

Only a sweet and virtuous soul,

Like seasoned timber, never gives,

But, though the whole world turn to coal,
Then chiefly lives.

LINES FOUND IN THE HAND OF THE STATUE OF NIGHT AT FLORENCE IN THE

SIXTEENTH CENTURY.

GIOVANNI STROZZI. TRANSLATION ANONYMOUS.

CARVED by an Angel in this marble white
Sweetly reposing, lo, the Goddess Night!
Calmly she sleeps and so must living be
Awake her gently-she will speak to thee.

MICHAEL ANGELO'S REPLY.

TRANSLATION ANONYMOUS.

GRATEFUL is sleep while wrong and shame survive,
More grateful still in senseless stone to live;
Gladly both sight and hearing I forego.

Oh then awake me not-Hush! Whisper low!

“POVERI! POVERIS!"

"Feed my sheep."

JOAQUIN MILler.

COME, let us ponder; it is fit—

Born of the poor, born to the poor.

The poor of purse, the poor

of wit,

Were first to find God's opened door

Were first to climb the ladder, round by round, That fell from heaven's door unto the ground.

God's poor came first, the very first!

God's poor were first to see, to hear, To feel the light of heaven burst

Full on their faces. Far or near,

His poor were first to follow, first to fall!
What if at last his poor stand first of all?

THE VICTIM.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

A PLAGUE upon the people fell,
A famine after laid them low,
Then thorpe and byre arose in fire,

For on them brake the sudden foe;
So thick they died the people cried,
"The gods are moved against the land."
The priest in horror about his altar

To Thor and Odin lifted a hand: