Let not the music that is in us die!
Great Sculptor, hew and polish us, nor let
Hidden and lost, Thy form within us lie!

Spare not the stroke! Do with us as thou wilt!
Let there be naught unfinished, broken, marred;
Complete Thy purpose, that we may become
Thy perfect image, Thou our God and Lord!"




TOM'S TRIAL.


It was a pleasant day in that particularly pleasant part of the summer
time, which the boys call "vacation," when Tiger and Tom walked slowly
down the street together. You may think it strange that I mention
Tiger first, but I assure you Tom would not have been in the least
offended by the preference. Indeed, he would have assured you that
Tiger was a most wonderful dog, and knew as much as any two boys,
though this might be called extravagant.

Nearly a year ago, on Tom's birthday, Tiger arrived as a present from
Tom's uncle, and as he leaped with a dignified bound from the wagon in
which he made his journey, Tom looked for a moment into his great,
wise eyes, and impulsively threw his arms around his shaggy neck.
Tiger, on his part, was pleased with Tom's bright face, and most
affectionately licked his smooth cheeks. So the league of friendship
was complete in an hour.