Motherhood.

From out the font of being, undefiled, A life hath been upheaved with struggle and pain; Safe in her arms a mother holds again That dearest miracle--a new-born child. To moans of anguish terrible and wild-- As shrieks the night-wind through an ill-shut pane-- Pure heaven succeeds; and after fiery strain Victorious woman smiles serenely mild.

Yea, shall she not rejoice, shall not her frame Thrill with a mystic rapture! At this birth, The soul now kindled by her vital flame May it not prove a gift of priceless worth? Some saviour of his kind whose starry fame Shall bring a brightness to the darkened earth.

THE ASCENT OF MAN.

PART III.

"Our spirits have climbed high By reason of the passion of our grief,-- And from the top of sense, looked over sense To the significance and heart of things Rather than things themselves."

E. B. BROWNING.