I read the records of passing life, With a careful, earnest eye— And smiled or wept, as my pulses leapt, To the scenes that hurried by; From the busy play of infancy To the busier care of age— And nothing so fair as an upright soul Was traced on the glowing page. “Whatever he doeth shall prosper well”— “In his darkness ariseth light”— So—softly and sweetly a whisper fell, Like the smile of an angel bright. Though he win not the glitter of gold or fame, Yet his wealth shall be far above; He shall coin it freely of precious words From the treasure of God’s deep love. “Whatever he doeth shall prosper well,” Though his path may be rough awhile, Enough for him is the lights of truth And his Father’s ceaseless smile. He shall grow like a tree by the river-side, And if tempests sweep around— Then proved and tried by their searching wrath Shall the ripened fruit be found. “Whatever he doth shall prosper well,” (For he waiteth his Father’s will,) Though it seems not so in this outer world, In a better and brighter still. His leaf shall not wither—it keepeth fair, Through the cold or gusty blast; And his fruit shall ripen to holiness When the season comes at last. * * * * * =THE USEFUL ARTS.= =THEIR ORIGIN AND THEIR EARLIEST HISTORY.= =BY CHARLES WILLIAMS.= The origin of the useful arts is not like a spring gushing forth from the earth, a simple and indivisible cause of diversified results; it rather resembles the noble river, whose waters arise and increase from a large confluence of streams. I. _Endowments for Labor._