A LYRIC OF LIFE.

Said one to me: "I seem to be— Like a bird blown out to sea, In the hurricane's wild track— Lost, wing-weary, beating back Vainly toward a fading shore, It shall rest on nevermore."

Said I: "Betide, some good ships ride, Over all the waters wide; Spread your wings upon the blast, Let it bear you far and fast: In some sea, serene and blue, Succor-ships are waiting you."

This soul then said: "Would I were dead— Billows rolling o'er my head! Those that sail the ships will cast Storm-waifs back into the blast; Omens evil will they call What the hurricane lets fall."

For my reply: "Beneath the sky Countless isles of beauty lie: Waifs upon the ocean thrown, After tossings long and lone, To those blessed shores have come, Finding there love, heaven, and home."

This soul to me: "The seething sea, Tossing hungry under me, I fear to trust; the ships I fear; I see no isle of beauty near; The sun is blotted out—no more 'T will shine for me on any shore."

Once more I said: "Be not afraid; Yield to the storm without a dread; For the tree, by tempests torn From its native soil, is borne Green, to where its ripened fruit Gives a sturdy forest-root.

That which we lose, we think we choose, Oft, from slavery to use. Shocks that break our chains, tho' rude, Open paths to highest good: Wise, my sister soul, is she Who takes of life the proffered key."