Uplifts them to a perfect peace,
A rest beyond all earthly ease,
'Neath the white shadow of the throne--
Low nest forever overshone
By tenderest love, our Lord's dear will;
Oh, heart, be still--be still!



SQUIRE PERCY'S PRIDE.


The Squire was none of your common men
Whose ancestors nobody knows,
But visible was his lineage
In the lines of his Roman nose,
That turned in the true patrician curve--
In the curl of his princely lips,
In his slightly insolent eyelids,
In his pointed finger-tips.

Very erect and grand looked the Squire
As he walked o'er his broad estate,
For he felt that the earth was honored
In bearing his honorable weight;
Proudly he strolled through his wooded park
Deer-haunted and gloomily grand,
Or gazed from his pillared porticoes
On his far-outlying land.