O strong gray walls! blessed was that little space Ye left our souls with Christ on Calvary, Where hearts might weep their living cruelty, In their own depths Jerusalem’s lesson trace. O cross-boughed branch of spicy northern spruce That witness bore on that dim April day To faith no waves of doubt shall wash away, To love’s dear chains no envious state shall loose, Blessing was ours who bore thee that gray morn Through all the heedless glances of the street, Through longing looks that knew thy meaning sweet, And spoken words of unbelieving scorn. Alas! for those, of eyes and heart both blind, Who in such symbol find but empty rite, Who, dazzled by a false and flickering light, See not the cross wherewith the palm is signed. CATHEDRAL OF THE HOLY CROSS, BOSTON, MASS. THE LATE Mr. T. W. M. MARSHALL.[39] On the 14th of December, 1877, died, at the age of sixty-two years and a half, Mr. T. W. M. Marshall. He had borne a long and trying illness of many months with invariable patience and resignation, and gave up his soul to his Maker and Redeemer after a most Christian preparation. He has well deserved that some more explicit notice of his life and what he did in it should be made public than what has hitherto, so far as we know, been given in any native or American source of information. The following slight account is drawn up by one who has known him well for nearly a quarter of a century.