PER PACEM AD LUCEM.
I do not ask, O Lord! that life may be
A pleasant road;
I do not ask that Thou wouldst take from me
Aught of its load:
I do not ask that flowers should always spring
Beneath my feet;
I know too well the poison and the sting
Of things too sweet.
For one thing only, Lord, dear Lord! I plead:
Lead me aright—
Though strength should falter, and though heart should bleed—
Through Peace to Light.
I do not ask, O Lord! that Thou shouldst shed
Full radiance here;
Give but a ray of peace, that I may tread
Without a fear.
I do not ask my cross to understand,
My way to see,—
Better in darkness just to feel Thy hand,
And follow Thee.
Joy is like restless day, but peace divine
Like quiet night.
Lead me, O Lord! till perfect day shall shine,
Through Peace to Light.
Adelaide Anne Procter.
* * * * *
THE NEWSBOY'S DEBT.
Only last year, at Christmas time, while pacing down the city street,
I saw a tiny, ill clad boy—one of the many that we meet—
As ragged as a boy could be, with half a cap, with one good shoe,
Just patches to keep out the wind—I know the wind blew keenly too:
A newsboy, with a newsboy's lungs, a square Scotch face, an honest brow,
And eyes that liked to smile so well, they had not yet forgotten how:
A newsboy, hawking his last sheets with loud persistence; now and then
Stopping to beat his stiffened hands, and trudging bravely on again.
Dodging about among the crowd, shouting his "Extras" o'er and o'er;
Pausing by whiles to cheat the wind within some alley, by some door.
At last he stopped—six papers left, tucked hopelessly beneath his arm—
To eye a fruiterer's outspread store; here, products from some country farm;
And there, confections, all adorned with wreathed and clustered leaves
and flowers,
While little founts, like frosted spires, tossed up and down their mimic
showers.
He stood and gazed with wistful face, all a child's longing in his eyes;
Then started as I touched his arm, and turned in quick, mechanic wise,
Raised his torn cape with purple hands, said, "Papers, sir? The
Evening News!"
He brushed away a freezing tear, and shivered, "Oh, sir don't refuse!"
"How many have you? Never mind—don't stop to count—I'll take them all;
And when you pass my office here, with stock on hand, give me a call."
He thanked me with a broad Scotch smile, a look half wondering and half
glad.
I fumbled for the proper "change," and said, "You seem a little lad
To rough it in the streets like this." "I'm ten years old on Christmas-day!"
"Your name?" "Jim Hanley." "Here's a crown, you'll get change there across
the way.