If we are salt to salt the earth, Ah, then, our savor, to be known, Must be diffused; for what 's the worth Of salt _en masse_, boxed up alone? The touchstone, where we must inquire If we have safely hid our life, Is found in pitfall, flood, and fire, Allurements sweet, and bitter strife. Come out! behold the billowy seas, The flowery earth, and shining skies: Say wherefore God created these; And then, fair Nun, thy beauteous eyes. Was it for thee to turn and slight The glorious things he spread to view-- To give earth, ocean, air, and light, And freedom, for a dismal mew? O! if beneath some lawless vow To man, in self-delusion made, An heir of heaven is brought to bow, That vow were better broke than paid. What binds thee here? or who shall set His name endorsed a pledge for thee, When Christ has died to pay thy debt, And burst the tomb to make thee free? The world's the great arena, where The fight of faith must well be fought, And each good warrior seen to wear The armor for the victory wrought. How dost thou know but it may be Thy foe, thy tempter, who has found This cunning way to corner thee, To keep thee from the battle-ground? Come forth, thou timid, hampered one, And doff that outward, odd disguise, That cumbers thee, if thou wouldst run, Or fight the fight, to win the prize. Come! from the bushel take thy light, And give its radiance room to play; Bind on thy shoes and armor tight, And up, and to the field away! TREES FOR THE PILGRIM'S WREATH. Knowing that tribulation worketh patience, and patience experience, and experience hope; and hope maketh not ashamed. ROMANS v. 3-5. Tribulation, if by loss, Or by thorny gain, the cross, Thou art not a barren tree; Seeds of Patience drop from thee. Patience, bitter from thy root Upward, till we reach the fruit, Thou hast golden grains to sow, Whence Experience full shall grow. Broad Experience, rank and dark; Thick in leaves, and rough in bark; Through thy dubious shade we grope, Till we grasp the bough of Hope. Hope, we 're not ashamed, with thee Showered by drops from Calvary, When thy branches shoot and bloom Through a Saviour's broken tomb. Trees, whereof the pilgrim weaves For his crown the mingled leaves, Wreaths of you are rich and bright; Earth 's the shade, and heaven 's the light. THE MUSHROOM'S SOLILOQUY.