Struggle.

REAT strength is bought with pain

From out the strife

From out the storms that sweep the human soul—
Comes forth the lofty calm of self-control.

Peace after war. Although the heart may be
Trampled and plowed like a torn battle-field,
Rich are the fruits that follow victory,

And battle grounds the fullest harvests yield.

Strong grows his arm who breasts a downward stream,
And stems with steady stroke the mighty tide
Of his own passions. Sore the wrench may seem,
Yet only he is strong whose strength is tried.

To toil is hard. To lay aside the oar

To softly rise and fall with passion's swell-
Is easier far, but when the dream is o'er,
The bitterness of waking none can tell.

To float at ease, by sleepy zephyrs fanned,
Is but to grow more feeble, day by day,
While slips life's little hour out, sand by sand,
And strength and hope together waste away.

He only wins who sets his thews of steel
With tighter tension for the prick of pain;
Who wearies, yet stands fast; whose patient zeal
Welcomes the present loss for future gain.

Toil before ease; the cross before the crown.

Who covets rest, he first must earn the boon. He who at night in peace would lay him down Must bear his load amid the heats of noon.

The Gambler's Wife.

ARK is the night! how dark-no light-no fire! Cold on the hearth, the last faint sparks expire! Shivering she watches by the cradle side, For him who pledged her love-last year a bride!

Hark! 'tis his footstep! No-'tis past 'tis gone.
Tick!-Tick!-How wearily the time crawls on!
Why should he leave me thus? He once was kind!
And I believed 'twould last-how mad!-how blind!

"Rest thee, my babe!-rest on!-'tis hunger's cry! Sleep! for there is no food! the fount is dry! Famine and cold their wearing work have done,

My heart must break! and thou!" The clock strikes one.

"Hush! 'tis the dice-box! Yes, he's there, he's there,

For this! for this he leaves me to despair!

Leaves love! leaves truth! his wife! his child! for what? The wanton's smile-the villain-and the sot!

"Yes, I'll not curse him! No! 'tis all in vain! 'Tis long to wait, but sure he'll come again! And I could starve and bless him, but for you, My child!-his child!-O fiend!" The clock strikes two.

Hark! how the sign-board creaks! The blast howls by!
Moan! moan! A dirge swells through the cloudy sky!
Ha! 'tis his knock! he comes!-he comes once more!
'Tis but the lattice flaps! Thy hope is o'er.

"Can he desert me thus? He knows I stay
Night after night in loneliness to pray
For his return-and yet he sees no tear!
No! no! it can not be. He will be here.

"Nestle more closely, dear one, to my heart!
Thou'rt cold! thou'rt freezing! But we will not part.
"Husband!-I die!-Father! It is not he!

O God! protect my child!" The clock strikes three.

They're gone! they're gone! the glimmering spark hath fled;
The wife and child are numbered with the dead!
On the cold hearth, outstretched in solemn rest,
The child lies frozen on its mother's breast!
The gambler came at last-but all was o'er—
Dead silence reigned around-the clock struck four.