Oh, better worship at pagan shrine; Or, prophet of Islam, e'en at thine; To seek Nirvana in Buddhist lore, Or pray to Isis on Afric's shore; Better the dark, mysterious rites Of Ceres on Elusian heights; Better the Gueber's fierce God of fire-- Oh, better to wake the trembling lyre To any Savior than to be hurled Godless and hopeless out of the world; To madly plunge in death's dark river, Lost to life and heaven forever. In dark seas where the whirlpool rages Stands the eternal Rock of Ages; Amid dangers dire, 'mid wreck and wraith God plants the banner of Christian faith. Unworthy the sailor whose heart doth fail When the God of storms rides on the gale; Coward the soldier who shuns the grave, And thrice accursed the trembling slave Who in life's battles, darkest hour Renounces God and denies His power. Then Tiens ta Foi through the bitter strife! O cling to the cross--through death to life! * * * THOMAS CARLYLE. Of a recent edition of Carlyle's "Heroes and Hero Worship," it is said that 100,000 copies are already sold. The work has been on the market many years, and this continued popularity is indeed encouraging. It argues that the taste for the legitimate, the sane in literature, has not yet been drowned in the septic sea of fin de siecle slop--that, despite the enervating influence of an all- pervasive sensationalism, or sybaritism, there be still minds capable of relishing the rugged, strong enough to digest the mental pabulum furnished by a really masculine writer. Carlyle ranges like an archangel through the universe of intellect, overturning mountains to see how they are made-- now cleaving the empyrean with strong and steady wing, now shearing clear down to the profoundest depths of Ymir's Well at the foundations of the world. That his followers continue to increase argues well for the age, for he is a man whom weaklings should avoid if they would not be sawed in twain by mountain chains, forever lost in pathless limboes or drowned in the unmeasured deep. Even the strongest must perforce part company with him at times, else follow with the eye of faith, for his path oft leads up into that far region where mortals can scarce breathe, over Walpurgis' peaks, through bottomless chasms and along the filmy edge of clouds.