23. THE THREE W'S,- WORK, WATCH, WAIT.

ON a stormy night in New York, when the rivers were filled with floating ice, and a heavy sea-fog settled over the city, the steam-whistles, fog-horns, and bells resounded from all directions. The news-boys assembled in their hall, it being Sunday, for singing, and to listen to words of cheer and counsel. Three W's on their blackboard were thus explained.

WATCH! boys, watch! The signal-lights are flashing,
To guide your boat through life to harbor sure;
Fear not the storms you meet, nor waves high dashing,
Nor rocks you press so near, while you endure;

But gird your belt, and steer your craft along,
By beacon light and faithful compass led;
'll rest in peace at last,

voyage o'er, you

The
On waters calm, with stormless skies o'erhead.

Watch! boys, watch!

Work! boys, work! The idler's task is never done:

The faithful rest when he has just begun.
Your hearts will bound with honest pride
As o'er the sea of life you safely glide,

If duty be your law, and work be fitly done,

Your God your guide, your hope, His spotless Son.
Work! boys, work!

Wait! boys, wait! Be sure you 're right, then sail ahead; Impatient zeal to victory never led.

With courage firm, and temper ever sweet,

With cheerful zest your every task to meet;

With kindness pure, for all who toil with you,
As good as brave, and only brave as true,
Then shall you bless the world, and, by it blessed,
Depart from earth, and with the ransomed rest.
Wait! boys, wait!

Watch, work, and wait, boys! but waiting, watch and work!
There's lots of fun ahead, for all you boys,

Who, gathered in this cheerful hall, to-night,
Resolve to face the storms and ills of life,

With faith in God; and fearing ill to do,
But that alone, the right to still pursue.

Yes! watch, work, and wait, boys! beginning now;
And waiting, watch and work!

HENRY B. CARRINGTON.

24. HOW TO HAVE JUST WHAT WE
LIKE.

HARD by a poet's attic lived a chemist,
Or alchemist, who had a mighty
Faith in the "Elixir Vitæ;"

And though unflattered by the dimmest
Glimpses of success, kept credulously groping
And grubbing in his dark vocation;
Stupidly hoping

To find the art of changing metals,

And so coin guineas from his pots and kettles,
By mystery of "transmutation.'

Our starving poet took occasion
To seek this conjurer's abode;
Not with encomiastic ode
Or laudatory dedication;

But with an offer to impart;

For twenty pounds, the secret art
Which should procure without the pain.
Of metals, chemistry, and fire,
What he so long had sought in vain,
And gratify his heart's desire.

The money paid, poor bard was hurried
To the philosopher's sanctorum,
Who, as it were, sublimed and flurried
Out of his chemical decorum,

Crowed, capered, giggled, seemed to spurn his
Crucibles, retort, and furnace,

And cried, as he secured the door,
And carefully put to the shutter,

"Now, now, the secret, I implore! For Heaven's sake, speak, discover, utter!"

With grave and solemn air the poet
Cried, "List, oh, list! for thus I show it;
Let this plain truth those ingrates strike,
Who still, though blessed, new blessings crave:
That we may all have what we like,
Simply by liking what we have!"

HORACE SMITH.

25. WHAT MIGHT BE DONE.

WHAT might be done if men were wise,—
What glorious deeds, my suffering brother,
Would they unite

In love and right,

And cease the scorn of one another!

Oppression's heart might be imbued

With purest drops of loving-kindness,
And knowledge pour,

From shore to shore,

Light on the eyes of mental blindness.

All slavery, warfare, lies, and wrongs,
All vice and crime might die together;
All wine and corn,

To each man born,

Be free as warmth in summer weather.

The meanest wretch that ever trod,
The deepest sunk in guilt and sorrow,
Might stand erect

In self-respect,

And share the teeming world to-morrow.

What might be done? This might be done,
And more than this, my suffering brother,
More than the tongue

E'er said or sung,

If men were wise, and loved each other.

CHARLES MACKAY

26. HOW WE TAKE IT.

THE world is quite as good a world
As mortal man could make it;
If bad is tinctured with the good,
Like honest men we take it.

To pine o'er evil here, and die,
Is not a wise endeavor;

But we should seek a cure for wrong,
And stand by right forever.

This world is not a place for man
To triumph o'er the lowly,
Nor is it quite the wisest plan

To count all things as holy;

For though we act a manly part
And do good deeds sincerely,
How prone to err we mortals are,

E'en when life's sun shines clearly.

This world is fair to those who seek
To dwell in peace and gladness,
Though oft the eyes are dim with tears,
The heart bowed down with sadness.
Grief hath a brief abiding place,

Where charms of earth are given,
And those who dwell in virtue's ways,
Will find it next to heaven.

The world is what we make it, friends,
A home of joy and gladness;
Or, if we turn from sunshine bright,
A place of gloom and sadness.
No matter what our aim may be,

True worth will bring us pleasure;
And if we live and act like men,
Our bliss no words can measure.

The world is quite as good a world
As man in sin can make it.
To help each other is our creed,

Whate'er betides, we take it;
For when the night has passed away,
The sun of morn is given,

To show us that each cross will bring
Us one day nearer heaven.

THEODORE D. C. MILLER, M. D.

HOW TO TAKE IT.

PATIENCE and time do more than strength and passion.

RACINE.