the church would languish.  In the early years of the century, Mr. John Norris, of Salem, proposed to give a large sum of money to the cause of foreign missions.  He was persuaded, however, to transfer the gift to the foundation of the Andover Theological Seminary, assured that thus he was really giving it to the missionary cause.  So the event proved.  For the first American missionaries were trained at Andover.  Thus, he who gives his money to the college, gives it to the fostering of the highest and best forces in American thought and character.

* * * * *

SONG OF THE WINDS.

BY HENRY B. CARRINGTON.

  I.

  Thin as the viewless air,
    Swifter than dreams can be,
  Above, around, and everywhere,
   We speed with pinions free. 
  No barrier bounds our path,
    But, ever, to and fro,
  Angels of mercy and of wrath. 
    Onward, in haste we go.

  II.

  Our birth, mid Chaos rude,
    Ere Earth had formed its shell;
  And nursed we were, in solitude,
  Where hoary night did dwell. 
    We tossed her raven hair,
  Ere sun began to glow,
  And whirled the atoms through the air,
    To form the moon, I trow.

  III.

  We heard the Eternal Voice
    Pronounce, “Let there be Light!”
  And, shrieking, fled, beneath the wings
    Of the escaping Night. 
  We saw the earth arise,
    Childlike, from Nature’s womb,
  And flew to it, with joyous cries,—­
    We knew it was our home.

  IV.

  How brilliant, then, its dyes,
    O’er past we could not grieve;—­
  We rocked the trees of Paradise,
    And whisked the locks of Eve. 
  Mid things so gay and calm,
    With wings, as those of doves,
  We floated o’er those fields of balm,
    As lightest zephyr roves.

  V.

  All changed from peace to wrath
    When stern Archangel came
  And drove that pair from garden path,
    With sword of lambent flame. 
  Our wings grew strong and broad,
    Our anger burst on high,
  We tore huge trees,—­we dashed along,
    Our shadows gloomed the sky.

  VI.

  Our home, the boundless air
    Or Ocean’s surging breast,—­
  We meet the lightnings’ lurid glare,
    Or hang on rainbow’s crest;
  At touch, the forests bow,
    The lake uplifts its voice,
  The long grass hums its anthem low,
    And ocean waves rejoice.

  VII.

  Our flocks, the drifting clouds
    That sweep across the plain,
  Like vessels seen, with netted shrouds,
    At rest upon the main. 
  We laugh to see them spread
    With darkened fleece, afar,—­
  While thunders mutter, overhead,
    Like trumpet notes of war.

  VIII.

  We scorn the pride of man,
    With us he dare not cope,
  Build vessel strong as e’er he can,
    We shiver mast and rope. 
  Too long we tarry now—­
    Away,—­with speed, away,
  More than a thousand miles we go,
    To sink a ship to-day.