Thro’ your Eden creeps the Serpent Luring to the paths of sin: In your own, weak self-indulgence Life accursing crimes begin: Aye, you blight your own with evils Yielding to the tempter’s sway, Hushing conscience, Sin imputing To Eve’s early, shadowed day. Science swings her torch above you From her lofty templed heights— Paths, by which the Race climb upward, By command of God she lights; Can you, with His laws before you, Violate your sacred trust? Dare you taint the soul you’re moulding For Eternity, with lust? Holy is your mission, mother, Lives confided to your care— Shall they, of your dissipations Foulest scars forever bear? Hush the voice of self-indulgence— Thrust the serpent from your heart, That he lure not to partaking Of the sins you may impart. While the fires of Being kindle At your own life’s flame and glow And the mother love is springing From this holy interflow— While the crimson tide is pulsing Thro’ but one heart, for the two, Stain not thou, with sin, the fountain That the new life passes through. Pebbles. Pebbles, thrown upon the shore By a storm-stirred wild commotion, Tell of tumult, crash and roar, When wild furies lashed the ocean. Pebbles, gathered from the shore When the waves were only sighing, Tell of balmy evening strolls When the sunset fires were dying. Pebbles—some of brightest hue— That were snatched by dimpled fingers When the waves came rolling in— Loving thought around them lingers. Pebbles, in life’s pathway lie That the careless roughly tread, While another passing by Finds them gems that lustre shed. Pebbles—scan them—cast away Wave-worn, rounded bits of stone, But if one hath lighting ray, Keep the treasure as thine own. * * * * * When the heart is sorrow-laden Seek the spirit’s shrine of prayer, Jesus there will meet and bless you And you’ll leave your burdens there. * * * * * As the blessed, healing mentha Holds for mortal pains nepentha, So hath sympathy the art To soothe the bruises of the heart. * * * * * From each act, however small, Some result must ever fall; Drop a pebble in the wave Distant shores its ripples lave. * * * * * Give gladness to childhood! ’twill brighten life’s years; Pour hydromel for it, unmingled with tears, So fondly, caressingly, memory clings To youth’s every joy, forgetting its stings. * * * * *