They debated, thought, suggested, till at last "dear Brother York," Who last winter made a million on a sudden rise in pork, Rose and moved that a committee wait at once on Brother Eyer, And proceed to rake him lively "for disturbin' of the choir." Said he: "In that 'ere organ I've invested quite a pile, Fer to make God understand him when the brother tries to sing. "We've got the biggest organ and the best-dressed choir in town, We pay the steepest sal'ry to our pastor, Brother Brown; But if we must humor ignorance because it's blind and old,— If the choir's to be pestered, I will seek another fold." Of course the motion carried, and one day a coach and four, With the latest style of driver, rattled up to Eyer's door; And the sleek, well-dressed committee, Brothers Sharkey, York, and Lamb, As they crossed the humble portal took good care to miss the jamb. They found the choir's great trouble sitting in his old armchair, And the summer's golden sunbeams lay upon his thin white hair; He was singing "Rock of Ages" in a voice both cracked and low, But the angels understood him, 'twas all he cared to know. Said York: "We're here, dear brother, with the vestry's approbation, To discuss a little matter that affects the congregation;" "And the choir, too," said Sharkey, giving Brother York a nudge, "And the choir, too!" he echoed with the graveness of a judge. "It was the understandin', when we bargained for the chorus, That it was to relieve us, that is, do the singin' for us ; "We don't want any singin' except that what we've bought! The latest tunes are all the rage; the old ones stand for naught; And so we have decided are you listenin', Brother Eyer? That you'll have to stop your singin' for it flurrytates the choir." The old man slowly raised his head, a sign that he did hear, And on his cheek the trio caught the glitter of a tear; His feeble hands pushed back the locks white as the silky snow, As he answered the committee in a voice both sweet and low: "I've sung the psalms of David for nearly eighty years, They've been my staff and comfort and calmed life's many fears; I'm sorry I disturb the choir, perhaps I'm doing wrong; But when my heart is filled with praise, I can't keep back the song. "I wonder if beyond the tide that's breaking at my feet, In the far-off heavenly temple, where the Master I shall greet, Yes, I wonder when I try to sing the songs of God up higher, If the angel band will church me for disturbing heaven's choir." A silence filled the little room; the old man bowed his head; The carriage rattled on again, but Brother Eyer was dead ! Yes, dead! his hand had raised the veil the future hangs before us, And the Master dear had called him to the everlasting chorus. The choir missed him for a while, but he was soon forgot, not. Far away, his voice no longer cracked, he sings his heart's desires, Where there are no church committees and no fashionable choirs! MARION MOORE. JAS. G. CLARK. GONE art thou, Marion, Marion Moore, - Round the lone rock on the storm-beaten shore. Dear wert thou, Marion, Marion Moore, — Dear as the tide in my broken heart throbbing, Dear as the soul o'er thy memory sobbing: Sorrow my life of its roses is robbing; Wasting is all the glad beauty of yore. I will remember thee, Marion Moore, — I shall remember, alas! to regret thee; Deep in my breast will the hour that I met thee i Gone art thou, Marion, Marion Moore !Gone like the breeze o'er the billow that bloweth, Gone as the rill, to the ocean that floweth, Gone as the day from the gray mountain goeth, Darkness behind thee, but glory before. Peace to thee, Marion, Marion Moore, Peace which the queens of the earth cannot borrow, Peace from a kingdom that crowned thee with sorrow ; O! to be happy with thee on the morrow, Who would not fly from this desolate shore ? WORLDLY WISDOM. ETHEL LYNN. “Он, ma, it is dreadful ! I've quarreled with John, And left him forever To live all alone. "He will not go with me "Well, Tillie, I told you "And you might have married Old Gunnybags' heir. 'Tis very provoking For me, I declare ! "And John is a fogy And acts like a brute, To deny you a party "A mean, ugly fellow-" "He is always respectful "And now I remember, He said he would go "Poor, patient old fellow ! The worldly-wise mother "I know how to manage THE MIRACLE OF CANA. FRED EMERSON BROOKS. THE water-pots were filled at God's behest; |