And like the fading day, the Empress, too, For scarce a year had passed ere set her sun, But Shah Jehan, to promise ever true, Thought of the tomb his loving wife had won. No common architect would he engage; From far and near he sought with eager heart. At last there came one Issa, gifted sage, Whose plan pleased the great shah in whole and part. On the same spot where they that day had played The game of chess, and he the promise gave, The massive stone foundation strong was laid, On which would rest a palace o'er her grave. Then Issa disappeared, but where, none knew; Cast in the Jumna stream, by foes, some thought. They dragged the stream, nor came the slightest clue, And on his fate the oracles were dumb. The years rolled by, yet Jehan rested not, Tho' hope, so long delayed, engendered gloom, Content to live himself in any cot; But no inferior hand must touch her tomb. Seven years had gone, when Issa came again, And offered this excuse for his delay, "The soil is spongy all along this glen-- To have it settle I have stayed away. "I now can build on base that will not sink, Though pierced the clouds which bend so kindly down, 'Twere fit this long delay, dost thou not think? So chide me not nor on thy servant frown." Then on this base as firm as granite rock, He built its walls as fair as falling snow, And built them well, nor storm, nor earthquake shock Has moved, tho' built two hundred years ago. For ten long years wrought twenty thousand men, While many thousand carts the marble drew; And proud Jehan told o'er his love again; To love so Jacob-like the years seemed few. From every part of his domain they brought Rare gems and precious stones of every hue; Skilled hands, in form of birds and flowers inwrought In snow-white walls, these gems the building through, The name of God, one hundred times save one, On the sarcophagus, by cunning hand, Then lined with gold ere they pronounced it done; But then the grandest tomb in any land. By Titans built, it seems, as mountain high Of pure white marble, based on pink sandstone; In length it is a thousand feet well nigh, Its width three hundred feet by measure shown. It seems a temple of the living _One_, Though tomb to hide the dust of Jehan's queen. It serves each purpose well--her course was run, Returned to God, love must the dust ensheen. To many hearts it speaks of God and rest, And lifts our thoughts above the things of earth; It teaches us that love will give its best, And then regard its gifts of little worth. ENGLAND'S BRAVE SONS The yeoman lays aside his soil-stained smock, And from his herd selects a trusty steed, And sallies forth to help in hour of need; Nor dreads the battle's shock. The artisan from mine, or shop, or store, Responds at duty's call without delay, Nor stops to ask, "What will my nation pay?" It calls--what needs he more?