POETRY.

A PRIEST'S JUDGMENT.

First Angel.

SAY, Priest, on whom His task was laid, What of thy sowing thou hart made! The Priest.

The wholesome seed of that quick word I sowed, Sir, with no niggard hand ; Upon the waste and rock it poured As on the good and fruitful land.

First Angel.

0 tried and faithful! Thus sowed He When the crowds thronged in Galilee.

Second Angel.

Now say, dear Priest, how thou mad'st yield The thorny waste that marred the field.

Following His skill who cleaned the soil With heedful hands and day-long toil; Till lust grew clean, extortion meek, And sons of thunder turned the cheek ?

[The Priest is silent.

Third Angel.

The stubborn rock how did'st thou melt ?

With what libation of blood spilt,—

Whose forceful heat can win its way 'Through sturdy stone or limber clay; As broke that robber's heart to see How His heart bled on Calvary !

[The Priest is silent.

B.