The blossomed flax, the tulip-trees in And no man's faith he made a cause of

Of sound; nor eye was raised nor hand | Nay, were the plant itself but mythical, was stirred Set in the fresco of tradition's wall Like Jotham's bramble, mattereth not at all.

And century-rooted mosses o'er it creep,
The Nürnberg scholar and his helpmeet And lo! the fulness of the time has

Her speech dropped prairie flowers; the God giveth quietness at last!

What to shut eyes has God revealed?
What hear the ears that death has sealed?
What undreamed beauty passing show
Requites the loss of all we know?

O silent land, to which we move,
Enough if there alone be love,
And mortal need can ne'er outgrow
What it is waiting to bestow !

O white soul! from that far-off shore
Float some sweet song the waters o'er,
Our faith confirm, our fears dispel,
With the old voice we loved so well!

CHICAGO.

MEN said at vespers: "All is well!"

In one wild night the city fell;

How instant rose, to take thy part,
The angel in the human heart!

Ah! not in vain the flames that tossed
Above thy dreadful holocaust;

The Christ again has preached through
thee

The Gospel of Humanity!

Then lift once more thy towers on
high,

And fret with spires the western sky,
To tell that God is yet with us,

And love is still miraculous!

MY BIRTHDAY.

BENEATH the moonlight and the snow
Lies dead my latest year;

Fell shrines of prayer and marts of gain The winter winds are wailing low
Before the fiery hurricane.

On threescore spires had sunset shone,
Where ghastly sunrise looked on none.
Men clasped each other's hands, and said:
"The City of the West is dead!

Brave hearts who fought, in slow retreat,
The fiends of fire from street to street,
Turned, powerless, to the blinding glare,
The dumb defiance of despair.

A sudden impulse thrilled each wire
That signalled round that sea of fire;
Swift words of cheer, warm heart-throbs
came;

In tears of pity died the flame !

From East, from West, from South and
North,

The messages of hope shot forth,
And, underneath the severing wave,
The world, full-handed, reached to save.

Fair seemed the old; but fairer still
The new, the dreary void shall fill
With dearer homes than those o'erthrown,
For love shall lay each corner-stone.

Rise, stricken city! — from thee throw
The ashen sackcloth of thy woe;
And build, as to Amphion's strain,
To songs of cheer, thy walls again!
How shrivelled in thy hot distress
The primal sin of selfishness !

Its dirges in my ear.

I grieve not with the moaning wind
As if a loss befell;
Before me, even as behind,

God is, and all is well!

His light shines on me from above,
His low voice speaks within,
The patience of immortal love
Outwearying mortal sin.

Not mindless of the growing years

Of care and loss and pain,
My eyes are wet with thankful tears-
For blessings which remain.

If dim the gold of life has grown,

I will not count it dross,
Nor turn from treasures still my own
To sigh for lack and loss.

The years no charm from Nature take;
As sweet her voices call,
As beautiful her mornings break,
As fair her evenings fall.

Love watches o'er my quiet ways,

Kind voices speak my name,
And lips that find it hard to praise
Are slow, at least, to blame.

How softly ebb the tides of will !

How fields, once lost or won,
Now lie behind me green and still
Beneath a level sun!