Dive down in search, where the root is found; In vain you look for the purer ground; The root is fixed in the foulest mud; And from it grows this pure lily bud; While speckled frogs, and the slimy eels, Around its roots find their daily meals. As lilies fair from the foul mud grow, So oft it is with good men below; In daily life they absorb the pure, And the adverse elements endure; And rise, through grace, to a higher sphere, Their hearts in heaven, and their root down here. Though foul the world where they have their growth, Unfit the soil, and the climate both, The blood of Christ does their stains remove; His power to keep they all daily prove; As lilies pure are these plants of grace, Though growing now in so foul a place. "HE SHALL WIPE AWAY EVERY TEAR" Every tear that dims the eye, Or bedews the careworn cheek, Will our God, who reigns on high, With a hand so kind and meek, Wipe away, nor leave a trace Of its stain on eye or face. He alone life's ills can right. Each His tender pity needs; None are hidden from His sight; "_Every tear_," the promise reads-- Every tear shall cease to flow, Cease, likewise, the cause of woe. O may I in Him confide While I tread this vale of tears! Walking closely by His side He will dissipate my fears, And when ends the weary strife, May I share the tearless life! THE TAJ OF AGRA The Shah Jehan sat with his much-loved wife, The Empress Mahal, one hot summer day, In a cool arbor far from courtly strife, Close by the Jumna, winding on its way. In silence played they long their game of chess, But Jehan's eyes rose oft to Mahal's brow, His ardent love he could not well repress, Nor tried--she was his own rich jewel now. He stayed the game to breathe some words of love And press her lips with lips that knew no guile, And felt the thrill, and peace like white-winged dove Flew down, and she repaid with loving smile. Then said, "What would you do if I should die?" He paused a moment, some bright thought to woo, And then, in solemn tone, made this reply: "This thing, by Allah's help, I'll surely do: "I'll build upon the spot where we now sit The grandest tomb a woman ever had; All sombre tints I deem would be unfit; For never have such tints thy bosom clad. "Of pure white marble shall its walls be built, Adorned with gold, and earth's most costly gems; Each minaret shall glow like jewelled hilt, Sarcophagus surpass kings' diadems. "Then to the world it shall the truth proclaim That Moomtaza surpassed all woman kind, And I esteemed her more than gold or fame: Thus cycles vast will find our names combined." The summer breeze now sighed among the flowers As they play on with solemn thoughts; and sweet As running brook passed by the pleasant hours, And likewise passed the burning summer heat.