"But why should we chaunt of sorrow and gloom, Of night and the tempest, of tears and the tomb? Those who are parted shall meet again-- The sea yield her victims, the earth her slain; Our mission we haste o'er ocean to bear; We tell of his glory whose servants we are. We quell with our tidings the idol's dark power, That the cries of its victims be heard never more. "We raise from the earth the spirit crushed; At the sight of the cross its murmurs are hushed. Our voice is heard, and the wandering son In spirit turns to his long-left home. He remembers his father's voice in prayer, And he kneels by the side of his mother there; And he cries, while his steps are homeward trod, 'Oh! be thou mine, my father's God!' "Alike is the charge and the mission given To the faithful heart and the winds of heaven, To tell how the Saviour came to earth, How poor he was from the hour of his birth: His own griefs unheeded, for others he sighed; Of the life that he lived, of the death that he died. To earth's farthest shore these tidings we bear-- All glory to Him whose servants we are." Again the Indian mother sings-- "Woman's heart is strong, When she works for those she loves, Through the summer's day so long. I would know what the wild winds said, my babe-- What could their story be, Stirring thy cradle-bed, securely laid In the arms of the forest tree?" [Footnote 24: Indian women take great interest in listening to instruction connected with religious subjects. They often deplore the difference in their position from that of the white woman, desiring for themselves and their children the thousand comforts and advantages they observe the wives and children of the white man possess. Only can they ever hope to enjoy them when their nation becomes a Christian one.] THE WOOD SPIRITS AND THE MAIDEN. BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN. Those who have lived among the Indians are accustomed to their faith in the protecting power of the Spirits of Nature. Especially powerful is the god of the woods and forests. Day with its gorgeous light passes away, Shadows of coming night darken the way. Who is the wanderer With the long braided hair? 'Mid the tall evergreens, She like a fairy seems; Know ye the maiden young, Wood Spirits, say? Know we the maiden young--mark well her form, Like the tall pine tree, when rages the storm. How like the dark bird's wing Glistens her braided hair. When watching o'er her birth, Sang we a song of earth, We were her guardians made, She was our child.