Of iron were his arms; they could have held The need of half the kingdom up; and in His brow were iron atoms too. Thus was He built. His heart, observe, was wrought of gold, Burnished; it dazzled one to look at it. His feet were carved of clay--and so he fell. Clay unto clay shall perish and return. The tooth of rust shall gnaw the iron down. The conqueror of time, gold must endure. Thou great amalgam! Suffering in thyself, The while inflicting still the certain fate Of thy disharmony. From Nature's law, Unto her law, thy doom appeals; bids thee To fear the metal sinews of thy soul, And scorn the dust on which thou totterest; But save, oh, save the heart of gold for one Who did, beholding, trust in it. IV. AT THE PARTY. Half a dozen children At our house! Half a dozen children Quiet as a mouse, Quiet as a moonbeam, You could hear a pin-- Waiting for the party To begin. Such a flood of flounces! (Oh dear me!) Such a surge of sashes Like a silken sea. Little eyes demurely Cast upon the ground, Little airs and graces All around. High time for that party To begin! To sit so any longer Were a sort of sin; As if you were n't acquainted With society. What a thing to tell of That would be! Up spoke a little lady Aged five; "I 've tumbled up my over-dress, Sure as I 'm alive! _My_ dress came from Paris; We sent to Worth for it; Mother says she calls it Such a fit!" Quick there piped another Little voice-- "_I_ did n't send for dresses, Though I had my choice; _I_ have got a doll that Came from Paris too; It can walk and talk as Well as you!" Still, till now, there sat one Little girl; Simple as a snow-drop, Without flounce or curl. Modest as a primrose, Soft, plain hair brushed back, But the color of her dress was Black--all black. Swift she glanced around with Sweet surprise; Bright and grave the look that Widened in her eyes. To entertain the party She must do her share, As if God had sent her Stood she there; Stood a minute, thinking, With crossed hands How she best might meet the Company's demands. Grave and sweet the purpose To the child's voice given:-- "_I_ have a little brother Gone to Heaven!" On the little party Dropped a spell; All the little flounces Rustled where they fell; But the modest maiden In her mourning gown, Unconscious as a flower, Looketh down. Quick my heart besought her, Silently. "Happy little maiden, Give, O give to me The highness of your courage, The sweetness of your grace, To speak a large word, in a Little place." A JEWISH LEGEND. I like that old, kind legend Not found in Holy Writ, And wish that John or Matthew Had made Bible out of it.