He cast his net at morn where fishers toiled, At eve he drew it empty to the shore; He took the diver's plunge into the sea, But thence within his hand no pearl he bore. He ran a race, but never reached his goal; He sped an arrow, but he missed his aim; And slept at last beneath a simple stone, With no achievements carved about his name. Men called it failure; but for my own part I dare not use that word, for what if Heaven Shall question, ere its judgment shall be read, Not, "Hast thou won?" but only, "Hast thou striven?" --Kate Tucker Goode. THE BEGGAR'S REVENGE The king's proud favorite at a beggar threw a stone. He picked it up as if it had for alms been thrown. He bore it in his bosom long with bitter ache, And sought his time revenge with that same stone to take. One day he heard a street mob's hoarse, commingled cry: The favorite comes!--but draws no more the admiring eye. He rides an ass, from all his haughty state disgraced; And by the rabble's mocking gibes his way is traced. The stone from out his bosom swift the beggar draws, And flinging it away, exclaims: "A fool I was! 'Tis madness to attack, when in his power, your foe, And meanness then to strike when he has fallen low." --From the Persian. A THOUGHT Hearts that are great beat never loud; They muffle their music, when they come; They hurry away from the thronging crowd With bended brows and lips half dumb. And the world looks on and mutters--"Proud." But when great hearts have passed away, Men gather in awe and kiss their shroud, And in love they kneel around their clay. Hearts that are great are always lone; They never will manifest their best; Their greatest greatness is unknown, Earth knows a little--God the rest. --Abram J. Ryan. HIS MONUMENT He built a house, time laid it in the dust; He wrote a book, its title now forgot; He ruled a city, but his name is not On any tablet graven, or where rust Can gather from disuse, or marble bust. He took a child from out a wretched cot; Who on the State dishonor might have brought; And reared him in the Christian's hope and trust. The boy, to manhood grown, became a light To many souls and preached to human need The wondrous love of the Omnipotent. The work has multiplied like stars at night When darkness deepens; every noble deed Lasts longer than a granite monument. --Sarah Knowles Bolton. It is not the wall of stone without That makes a building small or great, But the soul's light shining round about, And the faith that overcometh doubt, And the love that stronger is than hate. --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. THE NOBLY BORN