What if memories vanish too, And the past be lost to view; Is it all for nought that I Heard and saw and hurried by? Where are childhood's merry hours, Bright with sunshine, crossed with showers? Are they dead, and can they never Come again to life forever? No--'t is false, I surely trow; Though awhile they vanish now; Every passion, deed, and thought Was not born to come to nought! Will the past then come again, Rest and pleasure, strife and pain, All the heaven and all the hell? Ah, we know not: God can tell. _GOOD WORDS_. * * * * * HUMILITY. The bird that soars on highest wing Builds on the ground her lowly nest; And she that doth most sweetly sing Sings in the shade, where all things rest; In lark and nightingale we see What honor hath humility. When Mary chose "the better part," She meekly sat at Jesus' feet; And Lydia's gently opened heart Was made for God's own temple meet: Fairest and best adorned is she Whose clothing is humility. The saint that wears heaven's brightest crown, In deepest adoration bends: The weight of glory bows him down Then most, when most his soul ascends: Nearest the throne itself must be The footstool of humility. JAMES MONTGOMERY. * * * * * KING ROBERT OF SICILY. Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane And Valmond, emperor of Allemaine, Apparelled in magnificent attire, With retinue of many a knight and squire, On Saint John's eve, at vespers, proudly sat And heard the priests chant the Magnificat. And as he listened o'er and o'er again Repeated, like a burden or refrain, He caught the words, "_Deposuit potentes De sede, et exaltavit humiles;"_ And slowly lifting up his kingly head, He to a learned clerk beside him said, "What mean these words?" The clerk made answer meet, "He has put down the mighty from their seat, And has exalted them of low degree." Thereat King Robert muttered scornfully, "'T is well that such seditious words are sung Only by priests and in the Latin tongue; For unto priests and people be it known, There is no power can push me from my throne!" And leaning back, he yawned and fell asleep, Lulled by the chant monotonous and deep. When he awoke, it was already night; The church was empty, and there was no light, Save where the lamps that glimmered, few and faint, Lighted a little space before some saint. He started from his seat and gazed around, But saw no living thing and heard no sound. He gropèd towards the door, but it was locked; He cried aloud, and listened, and then knocked, And uttered awful threatenings and complaints, And imprecations upon men and saints. The sounds reëchoed from the roof and walls As if dead priests were laughing in their stalls.