COMFORT. PEAK low to me, my Saviour, low and sweet Who art not missed by any that entreat. Speak to me as to Mary at Thy feet! And if no precious gums my hands bestow, Let my tears drop like amber while I go In humanest affection-thus, in sooth, To lose the sense of losing. As a child, Till, sinking on her breast, love-reconciled, FUTURITY. ND, O beloved voices, upon which The poor world with the sense of love, and witch The heart out of things evil,-I am strong, Knowing ye are not lost for aye among The hills, with last year's thrush. God keeps a niche In Heaven to hold our idols: and albeit He brake them to our faces and denied That our close kisses should impair their white, I know we shall behold them raised, complete, The dust swept from their beauty,-glorified, New Memnons singing in the great God-light. ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. THE PROSPECT. ETHINKS we do as fretful children do, Leaning their faces on the window-pane To sigh the glass dim with their own breath's stain, And shut the sky and landscape from their view: And thus, alas, since God the Maker drew A mystic separation 'twixt those twain, The life beyond us, and our souls in pain, Thy vision may be clear to watch along THOUGHT once how Theocritus had sung Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years, Who each one in a gracious hand appears I saw, in gradual vision through my tears, And a voice said in mastery, while I strove,— 'Guess now who holds thee?'-'Death,' I said. But there, The silver answer rang,-'Not Death, but Love.' ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. Y own beloved, who hast lifted me From this drear flat of earth where I was thrown, And, in betwixt the languid ringlets, blown Before thy saving kiss! My own, my own, |