For "mortal," read "mortality." It is true that this practice may be defended to a certain extent by the example and authority of Milton. But Miss Barrett is mistaken if she supposes that her frequent and prominent use of such a form of speech, can be justified by the rare and unobtrusive instances of it which are to be found in the _Paradise Lost_. To use an anomalous expression two or three times in a poem consisting of many thousand lines, is a very different thing from bringing the same anomaly conspicuously forward, and employing it as a common and favourite mode of speech in a number of small poems. In the former case, it will be found that the expression is vindicated by the context, and by the circumstances under which it is employed; in the latter case it becomes a nuisance which cannot be too rigorously put down. One step further and we shall find ourselves talking, in the dialect of Yankeeland, of "us poor Humans!" However, as the point appears to us to be one which does not admit of controversy, we shall say no more on the subject, but shall proceed to the more agreeable duty of quoting the greater portion of Miss Barrett's poem, which may be regarded as a commentary on the prayer--"The Lord be merciful to us sinners." 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,' Which ne'er said, 'God be praised.' Be pitiful, O God! "The curse of gold upon the land, The lack of bread enforces-- The rail-cars snort from strand to strand, Like more of Death's White horses! The rich preach 'rights' and future days, And hear no angel scoffing: The poor die mute--with starving gaze On corn-ships in the offing. Be pitiful, O God! "We meet together at the feast-- To private mirth betake us-- We stare down in the winecup, lest Some vacant chair should shake us! We name delight and pledge it round-- 'It shall be ours to-morrow!' God's seraphs! do your voices sound As sad in naming sorrow? 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 Last night, 'Be stronger-hearted!' O God--to clasp those fingers close, And yet to feel so lonely!-- To see a light on dearest brows, Which is the daylight only! Be pitiful, O God!