And with starry veil enfold

Sin, the trailing serpent old,
Till his scales shine out like gold;

Though his words seem true and wise,

Soul, I say to thee-Arise,

He is a Demon in disguise!

MY PICTURE.

TAND this way-more near the win

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By my desk-you see the light

Falling on my picture better—

Thus I see it while I write !

Who the head may be I know not,

But it has a student air ;

With a look half sad, half stately,

Grave sweet eyes and flowing hair.

Little care I who the painter,

How obscure a name he bore;

Nor, when some have named Velasquez,

Did I value it the more.

As it is, I would not give it
For the rarest piece of art;

It has dwelt with me, and listened
To the secrets of my heart.

Many a time, when to my garret
Weary I returned at night,

It has seemed to look a welcome

That has made my poor room bright.

Many a time, when ill and sleepless,
I have watched the quivering gleam
Of my lamp upon that picture,

Till it faded in my dream.

When dark days have come, and friendship Worthless seemed, and life in vain,

That bright friendly smile has sent me

Boldly to my task again.

Sometimes when hard need has pressed me

To bow down where I despise,

I have read stern words of counsel
In those sad reproachful eyes.

Nothing that my brain imagined,
Or my weary hand has wrought,
But it watched the dim Idea

Spring forth into armed Thought.

It has smiled on my successes,

Raised me when my hopes were low,
And by turns has looked upon me
With all loving eyes I know.

Do you wonder that my picture
Has become so like a friend?-
It has seen my life's beginnings,
It shall stay and cheer the end!

JUDGE NOT.

UDGE not; the workings of his brain
And of his heart thou canst not see;

What looks to thy dim eyes a stain,
In God's pure light may only be
A scar, brought from some well-won field,
Where thou wouldst only faint and yield.

The look, the air, that frets thy sight,
May be a token, that below

The soul has closed in deadly fight

With some infernal fiery foe,

Whose glance would scorch thy smiling grace,

And cast thee shuddering on thy face!

The fall thou darest to despise

May be the slackened angel's hand

Has suffered it, that he may rise

And take a firmer, surer stand;

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Or, trusting less to earthly things,
May henceforth learn to use his wings.

And judge none lost, but wait, and see,
With hopeful pity, not disdain;

The depth of the abyss may be

The measure of the height of pain And love and glory that may raise This soul to God in after days!

FRIEND SORROW.

O not cheat thy Heart and tell her, "Grief will pass away,

Hope for fairer times in future,

And forget to-day."

Tell her, if you will, that sorrow

Need not come in vain;

Tell her that the lesson taught her

Far outweighs the pain.