To one of Nature's loving tricks
Chance lent a solemn power,
A skull beneath a crucifix
Upheld a shining flower.
This by the road a traveller saw,
And wondering could not chuse
But nearer still and nearer draw,
In silence then to muse.
To faith he owned with bated breath
An emblematic call;
Life blooming in the jaws of death,
And Jesus over all.

THE BOOMERANG.

On isles within a distant zone,
Where bows are slighted or unknown,
Of toughest wood they say is made
A missile with a curving blade,
Which at an angle cleaves the air,
And smites its victim unaware.
But, should a hand unskilful throw,
It works an unexpected woe,
Swift on its owner whirling back
Like levin on its deadly track.
So from malicious lips slung forth,
False words of calumny or wrath
Recoil upon the utterer's heart,
Inflicting with remorseful dart
The festering wound, so slow to heal
In breasts that are not brass or steel.

THE WRONG PLACE.