Then bless the hand that crowned you, Remembering, as you go, 'T was not your own endeavor That shaped your nature so; And sneer not at the weakness Which made a brother fall, For the hand that lifts the fallen, God loves the best of all! And pray for the wretched prisoners All over the land to-day, That a holy hand in pity May wipe their guilt away. MAY RILEY SMITH. * * * * * CONSCIENCE AND REMORSE. "Good-bye," I said to my Conscience-- "Good-bye for aye and aye;" And I put her hands off harshly, And turned my face away: And Conscience, smitten sorely, Returned not from that day. But a time came when my spirit Grew weary of its pace: And I cried, "Come back, my Conscience, I long to see thy face;" But Conscience cried, "I cannot,-- Remorse sits in my place." PAUL LAWRENCE DUNBAR. * * * * * FOUND WANTING. Belshazzar had a letter,-- He never had but one; Belshazzar's correspondent Concluded and begun In that immortal copy The conscience of us all Can read without its glasses On revelation's wall. EMILY DICKINSON. * * * * * DALLYING WITH TEMPTATION. FROM THE FIRST PART OF "WALLENSTEIN," ACT III. SC. 4. Wallenstein _(in soliloquy_). Is it possible? Is't so? I _can_ no longer what I _would_! No longer draw back at my liking! I Must _do_ the deed, because I _thought_ of it, And fed this heart here with a dream! Because I did not scowl temptation from my presence, Dallied with thought of possible fulfilment, Commenced no movement, left all time uncertain, And only kept the road, the access open! By the great God of Heaven! It was not My serious meaning, it was ne'er resolve. I but amused myself with thinking of it. The free-will tempted me, the power to do Or not to do it.--Was it criminal To make the fancy minister to hope, To fill the air with pretty toys of air, And clutch fantastic sceptres moving t'ward me? Was not the will kept free? Beheld I not The road of duty clear beside me--but One little step and once more I was in it! Where am I? Whither have I been transported? No road, no track behind one, but a wall, Impenetrable, insurmountable, Rises obedient to the spells I muttered And meant not--my own doings tower behind me. SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. * * * * * EASY TO DRIFT. Easy to drift to the open sea, The tides are eager and swift and strong, And whistling and free are the rushing winds,-- But O, to get back is hard and long. Easy as told in Arabian tale, To free from his jar the evil sprite Till he rises like smoke to stupendous size,-- But O, nevermore can we prison him tight.