Fairer in their fair hues Than the fresh flowers of earth, More fragrant than the fragrant climes Where odors have their birth. Each word of thine a gem From the celestial mines, A sunbeam from that holy heaven Where holy sunlight shines. Thine, thine, this book, though given In man's poor human speech, Telling of things unseen, unheard, Beyond all human reach. No strength it craves or needs From this world's wisdom vain; No filling up from human wells, Or sublunary rain. No light from sons of time, Nor brilliance from its gold; It sparkles with its own glad light, As in the ages old. A thousand hammers keen, With fiery force and strain, Brought down on it in rage and hate, Have struck this gem in vain. Against this sea-swept rock Ten thousand storms their will Of foam and rage have wildly spent; It lifts its calm face still. It standeth and will stand, Without or change or age, The word of majesty and light, The church's heritage. HORATIUS BONAR. * * * * * THE MEETING. The elder folk shook hands at last, Down seat by seat the signal passed. To simple ways like ours unused, Half solemnized and half amused, With long-drawn breath and shrug, my guest His sense of glad relief expressed. Outside, the hills lay warm in sun; The cattle in the meadow-run Stood half-leg deep; a single bird The green repose above us stirred. "What part or lot have you," he said, "In these dull rites of drowsy-head? Is silence worship? Seek it where It soothes with dreams the summer air; Not in this close and rude-benched hall, But where soft lights and shadows fall, And all the slow, sleep-walking hours Glide soundless over grass and flowers! From time and place and form apart, Its holy ground the human heart, Nor ritual-bound nor templeward Walks the free spirit of the Lord! Our common Master did not pen His followers up from other men; His service liberty indeed, He built no church, he framed no creed; But while the saintly Pharisee Made broader his phylactery, As from the synagogue was seen The dusty-sandalled Nazarene Through ripening cornfields lead the way Upon the awful Sabbath day, His sermons were the healthful talk That shorter made the mountain-walk, His wayside texts were flowers and birds, Where mingled with his gracious words The rustle of the tamarisk-tree And ripple-wash of Galilee."