Creeds change as ages come and go; We see by faith, but little know: Perchance the sense was not so dim To her who "strove to follow Him." SARAH KNOWLES BOLTON. * * * * * MY CREED. I hold that Christian grace abounds Where charity is seen; that when We climb to heaven, 't is on the rounds Of love to men. I hold all else, named piety, A selfish scheme, a vain pretence; Where centre is not--can there be Circumference? This I moreover hold, and dare Affirm where'er my rhyme may go,-- Whatever things be sweet or fair, Love makes them so. Whether it be the lullabies That charm to rest the nursling bird, Or the sweet confidence of sighs And blushes, made without a word. Whether the dazzling and the flush Of softly sumptuous garden bowers, Or by some cabin door, a bush Of ragged flowers. 'Tis not the wide phylactery, Nor stubborn fast, nor stated prayers, That make us saints: we judge the tree By what it bears. And when a man can live apart From works, on theologic trust, I know the blood about his heart Is dry as dust. ALICE CAREY. * * * * * GIVE ME THY HEART. With echoing steps the worshippers Departed one by one; The organ's pealing voice was stilled, The vesper hymn was done; The shadow fell from roof and arch, Dim was the incensed air, One lamp alone, with trembling ray, Told of the Presence there! In the dark church she knelt alone; Her tears were falling fast; "Help, Lord," she cried, "the shades of death Upon my soul are cast! Have I not shunned the path of sin, And chose the better part? "-- What voice came through the sacred air?-- _"My child, give me thy heart!"_ "Have not I laid before thy shrine My wealth, O Lord?" she cried; "Have I kept aught of gems or gold, To minister to pride? Have I not bade youth's joys retire, And vain delights depart?"-- But sad and tender was the voice,-- _"My child, give me thy heart!"_ "Have I not, Lord, gone day by day Where thy poor children dwell; And carried help, and gold, and food? O Lord, thou know'st it well! From many a house, from many a soul, My hand bids care depart":-- More sad, more tender was the voice,-- _"My child, give me thy heart!"_ "Have I not worn my strength away With fast and penance sore? Have I not watched and wept?" she cried; "Did thy dear saints do more? Have I not gained thy grace, O Lord, And won in heaven my part?"-- It echoed louder in her soul,-- "_My child, give me thy heart_! "For I have loved thee with a love No mortal heart can show; A love so deep my saints in heaven Its depths can never know: When pierced and wounded on the cross, Man's sin and doom were mine, I loved thee with undying love, Immortal and divine!