“This may not be,” I cried, and looked again,
To see if there was any here could ease my pain;
But, one by one, I passed them slowly by,
Till on a lovely one I cast my eye.

Fair flowers around its sculptured form entwined,
And grace and beauty seemed in it combined. 
Wondering, I gazed,—­and still I wondered more,
To think so many should have passed it o’er.

But oh! that form so beautiful to see
Soon made its hidden sorrows known to me;
Thorns lay beneath those flowers and colors fair;
Sorrowing, I said, “This cross I may not bear.”

And so it was with each and all around,—­
Not one to suit my need could there be found;
Weeping, I laid each heavy burden down,
As my Guide gently said, “No cross,—­no crown.”

At length to him I raised my saddened heart;
He knew its sorrows, bade its doubts depart;
“Be not afraid,” he said, “but trust in me;
My perfect love shall now be shown to thee.”

And then, with lightened eyes and willing feet,
Again I turned my earthly cross to meet;
With forward footsteps, turning not aside,
For fear some hidden evil might betide;

And there—­in the prepared, appointed way,
Listening to hear, and ready to obey—­
A cross I quickly found of plainest form,
With only words of love inscribed thereon.

With thankfulness I raised it from the rest,
And joyfully acknowledged it the best,
The only one, of all the many there. 
That I could feel was good for me to bear.

And, while I thus my chosen one confessed,
I saw a heavenly brightness on it rest;
And as I bent, my burden to sustain,
I recognized my own old cross again.

But oh! how different did it seem to be,
Now I had learned its preciousness to see! 
No longer could I unbelieving say
“Perhaps another is a better way.”

Ah, no! henceforth my one desire shall be,
That he who knows me best should choose for me;
And so, whate’er his love sees good to send,
I’ll trust it’s best,—­because he knows the end.

HON.  MRS. CHARLES HOBART.

SOMETHING BEYOND.

Something beyond! though now, with joy unfound,
  The life-task falleth from thy weary hand,
Be brave, be patient!  In the fair beyond
      Thou’lt understand.

Thou’lt understand why our most royal hours
  Couch sorrowful slaves bound by low nature’s greed;
Why the celestial soul’s a minion made
      To narrowest need.

In this pent sphere of being incomplete,
  The imperfect fragment of a beauteous whole,
For yon rare regions, where the perfect meet,
      Sighs the lone soul.

Sighs for the perfect!  Far and fair it lies;
  It hath no half-fed friendships perishing fleet,
No partial insights, no averted eyes,
      No loves unmeet.