King Robert, who was standing near the throne, Lifted his eyes, and lo! he was alone! But all apparelled as in days of old, With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold; And when his courtiers came they found him there Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent prayer. HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. * * * * * SERVICE. FROM "PIPPA PASSES." All service ranks the same with God: If now, as formerly he trod Paradise, his presence fills Our earth, each only as God wills Can work--God's puppets, best and worst, Are we; there is no last nor first. Say not "a small event"! Why "small"? Costs it more pain than this, ye call A "great event," should come to pass, Than that? Untwine me from the mass Of deeds which make up life, one deed Power shall fall short in or exceed! ROBERT BROWNING. * * * * * THE TWO ANGELS. God called the nearest angels who dwell with Him above: The tenderest one was Pity, the dearest one was Love. "Arise," He said, "my angels! a wail of woe and sin Steals through the gates of heaven, and saddens all within. "My harps take up the mournful strain that from a lost world swells, The smoke of torment clouds the light and blights the asphodels. "Fly downward to that under world, and on its souls of pain, Let Love drop smiles like sunshine, and Pity tears like rain!" Two faces bowed before the Throne, veiled in their golden hair; Four white wings lessened swiftly down the dark abyss of air. The way was strange, the flight was long; at last the angels came Where swung the lost and nether world, red-wrapped in rayless flame. There Pity, shuddering, wept; but Love, with faith too strong for fear, Took heart from God's almightiness and smiled a smile of cheer. And lo! that tear of Pity quenched the flame whereon it fell, And, with the sunshine of that smile, hope entered into hell! Two unveiled faces full of joy looked upward to the Throne, Four white wings folded at the feet of Him who sat thereon! And deeper than the sound of seas, more soft than falling flake, Amidst the hush of wing and song the Voice Eternal spake: "Welcome, my angels! ye have brought a holier joy to heaven; Henceforth its sweetest song shall be the song of sin forgiven!" JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. * * * * * THE SELF-EXILED. There came a soul to the gate of Heaven Gliding slow-- A soul that was ransomed and forgiven, And white as snow: And the angels all were silent. A mystic light beamed from the face Of the radiant maid, But there also lay on its tender grace A mystic shade: And the angels all were silent. As sunlit clouds by a zephyr borne Seem not to stir, So to the golden gates of morn They carried her: And the angels all were silent.