The Blind Men and the Elephant.

The Third approached the animal,

And happening to take

The squirming trunk within his hands,
Thus boldly up and spake:
"I see," quoth he, "the Elephant
Is very like a snake!"

The Fourth reached out his eager hand,
And felt about the knee.

"What most this wondrous beast is like

Is mighty plain," quoth he; "'Tis clear enough the Elephant Is very like a tree!"

The Fifth, who chanced to touch the ear,
Said: "E'en the blindest man

Can tell what this resembles most;

Deny the fact who can, This marvel of an Elephant Is very like a fan!"

The Sixth no sooner had begun
About the beast to grope,
Than, seizing on the swinging tail
That fell within his scope,
"I see," quoth he, "the Elephant
Is very like a rope!"

And so these men of Indostan
Disputed loud and long,
Each in his own opinion
Exceeding stiff and strong,
Though each was partly in the right,
And all were in the wrong!

MORAL.

So, oft in theologic wars
The disputants, I ween,
Rail on in utter ignorance
Of what each other mean,
And prate about an Elephant
Not one of them has seen!

43 44

The Touch of Rescue.

THE TOUCH OF RESCUE.

T

REV. G. T. COSTER.

THE Fire was master! How the flame
From every window broke,
Like dancing sword, with deadly aim,
From out its sheath of smoke!
And, in the vast one-hearted crowd,
A speechless horror spoke !

To topmost window-sill a man

Clung, hands like hooks of steel!
Oh, who can tell his thoughts? who can

His heart's strong prayer reveal?
Himself a prayer, as hanging there
Where mortal cannot kneel!

The rescuing ladder reared, a brave
Heart went up through the gloom
Of smoke, the imperilled man to save
From edge of fiery tomb,
To save, if such may be, a man

For whom the world hath room!

The fireman cried, "Let go! I'm here!
Fall! fall!" No answer came.
And must that man, deliverance near,
Be eaten of the flame?

"Fall, fall!" the cry, but no reply
Of blessing or of blame!

The ladder could not reach him. Failed
That man to hear the cry.
No heart below but inly quailed;
And wet was many an eye;
Alas, if he, with rescue near,

The fiery death should die!

"He's deaf, he's dumb!" spake one. The word Caught up, from hundreds broke.

"He's deaf, he's dumb!" the fireman heard

It high amid the smoke.

What can he do? His hand must speak

As ne'er before it spoke !

Which is the happiest Death to die?

A tip-toe can he reach the man?

He stood at fullest height!
The poor mute's dangling foot he can
Just touch-not strongly smite!
Enough! Brave arms are near! He need
Not perish in the night!

Enough! His hands unloose their hold !
Saved! How he cannot tell!
Oh many many hearts that rolled
The news that all was well!
Like ocean's glee, that human sea
Of gladness, in its swell!

And this, between the poles,
Where words are air, can from despair
To joy snatch human souls!

45

WHICH IS THE HAPPIEST DEATH TO DIE?

[A REAL OCCURRENCE IN A CIRCLE OF FRIENDS.]

EDMESTON.

WHICH is the happiest death to die?

said one, "if I might choose,

Long at the gates of bliss would I lie,

And feast my spirit e'er it fly

With bright celestial views.

Mine were a lingering death, without pain,

A death which all might love to see,

And mark how bright and sweet should be

The victory I should gain!

"Fain would I catch a hymn of love
From the angel-harps which ring above;
And sing it, as my parting breath
Quivered and expired in death,-

46

Which is the happiest Death to die?

So that those on earth might hear
The harp-notes of another sphere;
And mark, when nature faints and dies,
What springs of heavenly life arise;
And gather, from the death they view,
A ray of hope to light them through,
When they shall be departing, too."

"No," said another, "so not I:
Sudden as thought is the death I would die;
I would suddenly lay my shackles by,
Nor bear a single pang at parting,
Nor see the tears of sorrow starting,
Nor hear the quivering lips that bless me,
Nor feel the hands of love that press me,
Nor the frame, with mortal terror shaking,
Nor the heart, where love's soft bands are

breaking:

"So would I die!

All bliss without a pang to cloud it!
All joy, without a pain to shroud it!
Not slain, but caught up as it were,
To meet my Saviour in the air!

So would I die!

Oh how bright

Were the realms of light,
Bursting at once upon my sight!

Even so,

I long to go:

These parting hours how sad and slow!"

His voice grew faint, and fix'd his eye,
As if gazing on visions of ecstacy:
The hue of his cheek and lips decayed,
Around his mouth a sweet smile played;-
They looked-he was dead!
His spirit had fled,

Painless and swift as his own desire;

The soul, undressed

From her mortal vest,

Had stepped into her car of heavenly fire;

And proved how bright

Were the realms of light

Bursting at once upon the sight!

W

The Saracen's Head.

A HINT.

JANT sense and the world will o'erlook it,
Want feeling, 'twill find some excuse,
But if the world knows you want money,
You're certain to gets its abuse.
The wisest advice in existence
Is ne'er on its kindness to call,
The next way to get its assistance
Is-show you don't need it all.

47

Ο

THE SARACEN'S HEAD.

ALSAGER HAY HILL, LL.B.

Fold when the might of Crusaders went forth, And Peter the Hermit aroused them to war, From the slopes of the South, from the crags of the North, Men stirred them to battle, and hastened afar.

They woke from their dreaming, they buckled the sword, In the first flush of glory, they heard but the cry"The cross is in peril, the shrine of the Lord

Is wasted by Moslem-go, save them or die!"

They went to their warring, they conquered or fell,
And Acre and Joppa were steeped in their blood:
While still to our children the story we tell,
Of Godfrey the gallant, and Louis the good!

There's rust on their harness that hangs in our hall,
And the tomb of the Templars is all that we save;
But the light of their deeds shall not perish nor pall,
While we gather the daisies that grow by their grave!

But we have fresh battles for Knights of the Cross, And a greater than Godfrey now calls to the fight: Hark! the wail of the widow that mourns o'er her loss, The sob of the orphan that starves in the night!

No leagured Damascus, no towers by the sea,

Heaped high with the slaughtered, now promise renown, 'Tis the shrine of the Spirit, the hope of the free,

And worse than the Moslem that tramples them down!