My Lord had fled-he could not stay, For earth, you know, is not His homeBut yet, he said, "at break of day, Salome! Love! again I'll come."

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Thou mourner! yet bear up awhile, The day," he cried," is coming fast, When thou shalt dwell beneath the smile, The sunshine of my love at last."

Sweet promise! ah what else could make These tears of rapture fill my eye ? Without it, Lord! my heart would break, My mourning spirit droop and die.

There is, there is a world of rest,
Dear Saviour! for my weary soul,
Where all are holy, all are blest,
And love's unfailing waters roll.

And there, beside those living rills,
Far, far away from fear and strife,
Thy Dove shall fold her silver wings,
And nestle in the tree of life."

ANON.

THE TRAGEDY

OF THE

MARTYRDOM OF ST. IGNATIUS.

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The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth: so is every one that is born of the Spirit."

I thank you Polycarp.

IGNATIUS.

John iii. 8.

(Polycarp looks towards the end of the room.)

What see you there?

POLYCARP.

One of the soldiers looks extremely thoughtful.

A softness creeping o'er his hardy face;
How all the longing that an eye can carry,
He darts at you: then checks himself, and droops,
Fixed on the earth. One step he just has taken,
But fears to add a second.... Shall we call him?

IGNATIUS.

Yes, by all means. . .Friend would you speak with me? (A soldier advances from the rest up to Ignatius and Polycarp.

SOLDIER.

I am not worthy holy man to come

Into your presence.

IGNATIUS.

Why? what is the matter?

SOLDIER.

Dont you remember that a soldier struck you ?..

IGNATIUS.

I have forgot it.

SOLDIER.

And derided you

This very morning? I was the vile wretch
That did it; but this heart is humbled since.

I can't tell what! my soul

Draws to you strangely. 'Tis as if it melted To take your mold. I would be what you are!