From the hour of the invention of printing, books, and not kings, were to rule in the world. Weapons forged in the mind, keen-edged, and brighter than a sunbeam, were to supplant the sword and the battle-axe. Books! light-houses built on the sea of time! Books! by whose sorcery the whole pageantry of the world's history moves in solemn procession before our eyes. From their pages great souls look down in all their grandeur, undimmed by the faults and follies of earthly existence, consecrated by time. EDWIN P. WHIPPLE. [Illustration] ROCK ME TO SLEEP. ELIZABETH AKERS. Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight, Make me a child again just for to-night! Mother, come back from the echo-less shore, Take me again to your heart as of yore; Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care, Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair; Over my slumbers your loving watch keep;-- Rock me to sleep, mother,--rock me to sleep! Backward, flow backward, oh, tide of the years! I am so weary of toil and of tears,-- Toil without recompense, tears all in vain,-- Take them and give me my childhood again! I have grown weary of dust and decay,-- Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away; Weary of sowing for others to reap-- Rock me to sleep, mother--rock me to sleep! Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue, Mother, O Mother, my heart calls for you! Many a summer the grass has grown green, Blossomed and faded, our faces between; Yet, with strong yearning and passionate pain, Long I to-night for your presence again. Come from the silence so long and so deep, Rock me to sleep, mother,--rock me to sleep! Over my heart in the days that are flown, No love like mother-love ever has shown; No other worship abides and endures,-- Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours; None like a mother can charm away pain From the sick soul and the world-weary brain. Slumber's soft calms o'er my heavy lids creep; Rock me to sleep, mother,--rock me to sleep! Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold, Fall on your shoulders again as of old; Let it drop over my forehead to-night, Shading my faint eyes away from the light; For with its sunny-edged shadows once more Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore; Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep;-- Rock me to sleep, mother,--rock me to sleep! Mother, dear mother, the years have been long Since I last listened to your lullaby song; Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem Womanhood's years have been only a dream. Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace, With your light lashes just sweeping my face, Never hereafter to wake or to weep,-- Rock me to sleep, mother,--rock me to sleep. HEROISM. So nigh is grandeur to our dust, So near is God to man, When duty whispers low, "_Thou must_," The youth replies, "_I can_." RALPH WALDO EMERSON. * * * * *