"Weep, weep, unhappy ones, bewail! We too our prayers and tears will lend: Our supplication may prevail, And haply God some respite send." Then upward from the lost there swept Entreaty multitudinous, As every wave of ocean wept: "O Christ! have mercy upon us!" And as their clamor rose on high Beyond the pathway of the sun, Heav'n's happy legions joined the cry, Their voices melting into one. The saint, up-gazing through the dew Of pity brimming o'er his eyes, Discerned in Heav'n's remotest blue The Son of God lean from the skies. Then through their agonies were heard The tones which still'd the angry sea, The voice of the Eternal Word: "And do ye ask repose of me? "Me whom ye pierced with curse and jeer, Whose mortal thirst ye quenched with gall? I died for your immortal cheer: What profit have I of you all? "Liars, traducers, proud in thought, Misers! no offering of psalms Or prayer or thanks ye ever brought-- No deed of penitence or alms." Michael and Paul at that dread speech, With all the myriads of Heaven, Fell on their faces to beseech Peace for the lost one day in seven. The Son of God, who hearkens prayer, In mercy to those souls forlorn Bade that their torments should forbear From Sabbath eve to Monday morn. The torments swarmed forth at the gate-- Hell's solemn guardians let them pass: Those awful cherubim who wait All sorrowful surveyed the mass. But from the lost a single cry, Which rang rejoicing through the spheres: "O blessed Son of God most high! Two nights, a day, no pain or tears?" "O Son of God, for ever blessed! Praise and give thanks, all spirits sad: A day, two nights of perfect rest? So much on earth we never had!" [Footnote 1: See Fauriel, _Hist. de la Poésie provençale_, tom. i. ch. 8.] THE ATONEMENT OF LEAM DUNDAS. BY MRS. E. LYNN LINTON, AUTHOR OF "PATRICIA KEMBALL." CHAPTER XXIX. THE FRIEND OF THE FUTURE. Instead of going home when she left Steel's Corner, Leam turned up into the wood, making for the old hiding-place where she and Alick had so often sat in the first days of her desolation and when he had been her sole comforter. She was very sorrowful, and oppressed with doubts and self-reproaches. As she climbed the steep wood-path, her eyes fixed on the ground, her empty basket in her hand, and her heart as void of hope or joy as was this of flowers, she thought over the last hour as she might have thought over a death. How sorry she was that Alick had said those words! how grieved that he loved her like this, when she did not love him, when she could never have loved him if even she had not been a Spaniard and her mother's daughter!