Eyes 'most blinded, nerves all shaken, By this fearful storm o'ertaken, As it swept on toward the sunrise; Yet, I chanced to lift my dim eyes Upward, when, O sight entrancing, I beheld, to west advancing, Other clouds, in higher current, Unlike earth's, so wild and errant. Far above the wild commotion, Like great ships on peaceful ocean, Floating westward, grand and steady, Were those clouds, as if made ready, As great cars, with grand pavilions, To convey the ransomed millions From this earth where storms are raging To that land of charms engaging. Life on earth is a probation; Storms fit well in this relation; Yet, above, are peaceful regions, Where ne'er come hell's dreaded legions. Looking toward the things eternal, We may rise to realms supernal, Where earth's dust will not defile us Nor the cunning foe beguile us. To this higher plain, O lift me, Gracious Lord! ere Satan sift me, Far above this noisy Babel; Far above earth's clouds, all sable; Up so far no darts can reach me, Where the Holy Ghost will teach me; And, in perfect peace abiding, I will sing while heavenward riding! BAG YOUR GAME Two men, well versed in use of arms, Set out, 'tis said, in search of game. Each felt that hunting had its charms, Yet widely differed they in aim. Both felt their need of wholesome food For present use and winter's store; But one was of a careless mood-- Than the day's sport he asked no more. No game he bagged from morn till night, Content to show his master skill In hitting every bird at sight, And shooting down the deer at will. Grand sport he deemed it, day by day, As in the tangled forest brake He brought the bounding stag to bay, Or shot the wood-duck in the lake. As he each night to home returned He sang the pleasure of the chase; But had not yet the lesson learned That he was loser in the race. Yet, when sat in the winter's cold And game had fled to warmer clime, He had no stock to sell for gold, Nor food: and past his harvest time. The chase the other prized as well; But bagged his game as best he could, And thus had lots of pelts to sell-- For self and wife the choicest food. In the pursuit of game a thrill Of keenest joy shot through his heart; But joy complete he knew not till He went his way joy to impart. While he with wife and children shared The roasted duck and venison, He felt he as a king had fared; And though of earth a denizen, Such food would give both strength and cheer To meet lifes daily toil aright, And winter months he did not fear, His larder filled, and prospect bright. The search for Truth with pleasure thrills; To find it, we our end attain-- Possessed, new joy the spirit fills, And to retain is highest gain. The pleasure of pursuit is lost If truth itself is not secured. O buy the truth at any cost, And from your aim be not allured! OTHERS' BURDENS