LAZARUS THE BEGGAR.

St. Luke, Chapt. xvi.

'Twas noon

a summer day.

The balmy air, with fragrant odors filled,
Moved lazily, and thro' the graceful palms
Soft sighed to murmur of the crystal fount,
Where birds of colors gay the pinion laved,
Disporting in the rainbow-tinted spray;
And ever and anon, with voice refreshed,
Ascended to the leafy bowers o'erhead,
To warble forth their notes of joyful praise.
While from within the stately palace walls,
In dulcet strains, the notes of lute and harp
Stole on the ear; and din of hurrying feet,
And clink of wares, and odors of choice fare,
Bespoke the rich man at his midday feast.

Two massive columns stood,
Superb in marbles graced by sculptor's art,
Like sentinels, on either side, to guard
The entrance to this passing fair domain;
And cedars from historic Lebanon's groves,
Lent a rich shading to th' enchanting scene.

While all within of lavish bounty spake, The beggar Lazarus, hungered, lay outside, Desiring to be fed of th' crumbs that fell Beside the rich man's board. But all in vain; And only canine strays their pity showed, As at the gate he breathed his plaint.

That night the beggar died Or what we all call death, his pulses stilled. But Lazarus woke in Paradise. And there, With early vigor health and hope renewedNo pangs of hunger gnawing at his heart, No spurning of the haughty rich man's foot, He breathed th' inspiring air that flows O'er æther plains with healing on its wings; And basking in elysian fields, bestrown With beauties rare, unto the earth unknown, His thirst allayed at limpid fountains pure; While noble men sincere, and women true, The hand of fellowship most cordial gave: And one of royal mien-e'en Abraham, Became his bosom friend.

Secure, with goods laid up for many years, In pompous ease the rich man sat, composed; Nor deemed that aught could mar his peace,

Within those palace walls. O vain conceit ! One day the angel Death, a shaft let fly, And thro' the walls, it pierced his iron heart; And sinking down, he died, as dies the least, The lowest thing on earth, at God's decree. But in the realms of pain his soul awoke; And seeing Lazarus from afar, implored His royal friend to send him to his aid, That he might soothe his woes.

But Abraham replied;

"Remember, Son! that in thy lifetime thou,
Ungrateful all thy bounties didst receive,
While unto him whose services ye crave,
Came only evil. He is happy now,
While thou, reciprocal, his pains dost bear.
Besides, unlike as in our former sphere,
A bound impassible is strictly set
Betwixt the good and ill; so that none may
To thee go hence, or thou come thence.'

Imploring still, the rich man further spake:
"A warning to my brothers yet on earth
I fain would send, lest they come also here!
Oh, grant some child of light may bear
A message to them there!" In tender tone

God's saint replied, "They have the books Of Moses and the Prophets for their guide; Scarce would they heed one from the dead, If not the warnings that the Prophets gave" And thus the colloquy was closed.

The following lines were suggested by the reply of Hon. James G. Blaine, candidate for President of the United States of America, in 1884, to the inquiry as to whether or not he was a Catholic.

THE LAMP STILL BURNS.

What sought they thus afar?
Bright jewels of the mine?
The wealth of seas? the spoils of war?
They sought a faith's pure shrine.
Aye! call it holy ground-

The soil where first they trod;

And stainless left what there they found,
Freedom to worship God!

Mrs. Hemans.

And has that sacred trust
Been guarded faithfully,

And saved from time's decay and dust,
By the sons born of the Free?
Or has the flight of years,

And bitter war of creeds,
Despoiled the temple, laid in tears,
And reared by noblest deeds?

Has that intolerance dire,

From which they fled before, Quenched out the sacred beacon-fire, Left bright on Plymouth's shore? Or burns there yet upon Columbia's holy shrine,

That Lamp of Hope, hailed by men from The lands of every clime?

Three centuries-almost,

Have flown, since first was heard, Along that stern and rock-bound coast, Those hymns the echoes stirred; But that the lamp still burns,The hope of the distressed, Who toward its radiance gladly turn, From every land oppressed;