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Of old a little man prayed Jove to make him mighty. And Jove heard his prayer, and said unto him: Mortal, behold I commit into thy hand this single bolt of thunder; hide it about thee,—and strike but thy most formidable foe.—Thus armed, the little man rejoiced, and feared not, and the world gave back before him. A hero he lived; and in a gray old age, lifting in his hands the unspent bolt to heaven, he cried. Behold,! Jove, thy minister unused! The confidence of divinity is as divinity itself.

THE FUTURE.

No truth shall fall: but, weary of their load, Fear's haggard pillars shall lie down; and the owl,

Hooting the pilgrim on his ruined road. Shall mock his twilight stories of the soul.

I see far vistas, to be man's abode,

Where bell funereal never more shall toll, Nor cypress quiver;

I see the flashing of the splendid wave

That makes the posies grow on Error's grave. Along Life's river.

The Son of Man, at length the son of woman, Brother of all men, and the Prince of Peace,

Grafts on the solemn valor of the Roman His Christian sweetness, and the wit of Greece.

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