Some wounds have turned to pearls ; some limbs offending
We have had strength to seize and rend away;
Some passionate earthly songs have changed, in ending,
To choral anthem and triumphant lay.

To build of gentle hearts thy church, the peerless,
To speak the truth in love, whate'er befalls,
To make our brothers humble, tireless, fearless,
This is the work to which thy Spirit calls.

Some seeds we sow may blossom into flowers,
And those bear fruit, to ripen 'neath thy sun;
And thou wilt lead these trembling hearts of ours

On to that peace where aim and deed grow one.

The next four pieces are from the "Book of Hymns." The first has been highly commended by eminent men as the best statement they have seen of the way in which the subject to which it relates stood to their own minds. The second was not, like the rest, inserted in the "Hymns of the Spirit," probably because the national evil to which it refers had become well-nigh a thing of the past. We give it a place here, with the others, that our collection of Mr. Higginson's hymns may be as complete as we can make it.

THE MYSTERY OF GOD.

NO human eyes thy face may see;

No human thought thy form may know ;

But all creation dwells in thee,

And thy great life through all doth flow!

And yet, O strange and wondrous thought!
Thou art a God who hearest prayer,
And every heart with sorrow fraught
To seek thy present aid may dare.

And though most weak our efforts seem
Into one creed these thoughts to bind,
And vain the intellectual dream

To see and know the Eternal Mind,

Yet thou wilt turn them not aside,
Who cannot solve thy life divine,
But would give up all reason's pride
To know their hearts approved by thine.

And thine unceasing love gave birth
To our dear Lord, thy holy Son,
Who left a perfect proof on earth.

That Duty, Love, and Truth are one.

So, though we faint on life's dark hill,
And Thought grow weak, and Knowledge flee,
Yet Faith shall teach us courage still,
And Love shall guide us on to thee!

What good, though growing might and wealth Shall stretch from shore to shore,

If thus the fatal poison-taint

Be only spread the more?

Wipe out, O God, the nation's sin,
Then swell the nation's power;

But build not high our yearning hopes,
To wither in an hour!

No outward show nor fancied strength
From thy stern justice saves;

There is no liberty for them

Who make their brethren slaves!

THE HOPE OF MAN.

HE Past is dark with sin and shame,

THE

The Future dim with doubt and fear;
But, Father, yet we praise thy name,
Whose guardian love is always near.
For man has striven, ages long,

With faltering steps to come to thee,
And in each purpose high and strong
The influence of thy grace could see.

He could not breathe an earnest prayer,
But thou wast kinder than he dreamed;
As age by age brought hopes more fair,
And nearer still thy kingdom seemed.

But never rose within his breast

A trust so calm and deep as now;
Shall not the weary find a rest?
Father, Preserver, answer thou!

'Tis dark around, 'tis dark above,

But through the shadow streams the sun;

We cannot doubt thy certain love;

And man's true aim shall yet be won!

I WILL ARISE, AND GO TO MY FATHER.

To thine eternal arms, O God,

Take us, thine erring children, in ;

From dangerous paths too boldly trod,
From wandering thoughts and dreams of sin.

Those arms were round our childish ways,

A guard through helpless years to be;

O, leave not our maturer days,

We still are helpless without thee !

We trusted hope and pride and strength;

Our strength proved false, our pride was vain, Our dreams have faded all at length,

We come to thee, O Lord, again!

A guide to trembling steps yet be!
Give us of thine eternal powers!
So shall our paths all lead to thee,

And life smile on, like childhood's hours.

The following is from Scribner's Monthly, June, 1874:—

DECORATION.

"Manibus date lilia plenis."

'MID

ID the flower-wreathed tombs I stand,
Bearing lilies in my hand.

Comrades in what soldier-grave
Sleeps the bravest of the brave?

Is it he who sank to rest

With his colors round his breast?
Friendship makes his tomb a shrine;
Garlands veil it; ask not mine.

One low grave, yon trees beneath,
Bears no roses, wears no wreath;
Yet no heart more high and warm
Ever dared the battle-storm.

Never gleamed a prouder eye
In the front of victory;
Never foot had firmer tread
On the field where hope lay dead,

Than are hid within this tomb,
Where the untended grasses bloom;
And no stone, with feigned distress,
Mocks the sacred loneliness.

Youth and beauty, dauntless will,
Dreams that life could ne'er fulfil,

Here lie buried, — here in peace
Wrongs and woes have found release.

Turning from my comrades' eyes,
Kneeling where a woman lies,

I strew lilies on the grave

Of the bravest of the brave.

NEWPORT, R.I., Decoration Day, 1873.

ness.

FRANCES M. CHESBRO.

(1824.)

MRS. FRANCES M. CHESBRO was born in Warwick, Mass., July 13, 1824, her parents being Amory and Sophronia Mayo, prominent members of the Unitarian Church in that town. Here and at Deerfield Academy she received her early education, and when she was only sixteen she began to teach district schools. At twenty, she was married to George L. Chesbro, who, like her father, was engaged in mercantile busiAbout this time she became acquainted with the gifted authoress, Miss Sarah C. Edgarton, who afterward became the wife of her brother, Rev. A. D. Mayo, now of Springfield, Mass., and at whose suggestion she began to contribute to various magazines and papers, some of which Miss Edgarton herself either edited or wrote for. The family removed at length to Gloucester, where Rev. Mr. Mayo was then the pastor of a Universalist Church, and where, after the sudden death of his accomplished wife, on the 9th of July, 1848, they were gathered with him under the same roof. Here Mrs. Chesbro had the advantage of her brother's library, and continued to write for the periodicals, many of her contributions being sketches of character drawn from life. In 1858 she published a story-book for children, "Smiles and Tears," which she wrote mainly to weave into a pleasant story for her little daughter some of the events of her own early days in the country. Since then, she has sent numerous hymns and poems to the "Liberal Christian" and other Unitarian publications, so far as her busy domestic life has permitted her to compose them. She now resides at Northboro', Mass., whither the family removed in 1866, and where she is an active member of the society which was so long under the care of the venerated Rev. Joseph Allen, D.D.