"The Fire.
"The forest trees were waving in the wind;
The sun was slowly sinking o'er the hill,
The clouds in purple, gold and blue outlined,
Were mirrored in the still pond by the mill.
"The birds were twittering their last good-night;
The dainty flow'rets closing up their eyes,
When all at once a fearful lurid light
Shone in the many-colored sunset skies.
"Quickly that awe-inspiring fire spread,
And many a tall and stately tree there fell.
The timid animals and birds all fled,
And naught but charred remains were left the tale to tell.
"At morn when in his glory rose the sun,
Over the blackened, devastated hill,
The scene that there the traveler looked upon
Seemed to his inmost heart to send a chill."
"Isn't she wonderful?" whispered Winifred excitedly to Jack. "I told you hers would be the best."
"It's very pretty," Jack admitted, "but I think I like the one about Ria and the Bear the best of all."
"The next poem," announced Lulu, when the applause had subsided, "is by Miss Elsie Carleton."
There was a little flutter of excitement as Elsie rose—as the brightest girl in the school, a good deal was expected of her. Some of the girls noticed with surprise, that Elsie had grown rather pale, but her voice was as calm and superior as ever, when she unfolded her paper, and began:
"GOD KNOWS.
"Oh, wild and dark was the winter's night
When the emigrant ship went down,
But just outside the harbor bar,
In the sight of the startled town.
And the wind howled, and the sea roared,
And never a soul could sleep,
Save the little ones on their mothers' breasts,
Too young to watch and weep.
"No boat could live in that angry surf,
No rope could reach the land—
There were bold, brave hearts upon the shore;
There was many a helping hand;
Men who strove, and women who prayed,
Till work and prayer were vain;
And the sun rose over that awful void,
And the silence of the main.
"All day the watchers paced the sand;
All day they scanned the deep;
All night the booming minute guns
Echoed from steep to steep.
'Give up thy dead, oh cruel sea!'
They cried athwart the space,
But only a baby's fragile form
Escaped from its stern embrace.
"Only one little child of all,
Who with the ship went down,
That night while the happy babies slept
All warm in the sheltered town.
There in the glow of the morning light
It lay on the shifting sand,
Pure as a sculptor's marble dream,
With a shell in its dimpled hand.
"There were none to tell of its race or kin—
'God knows,' the pastor said,
When the sobbing children crowded to ask
The name of the baby dead.
And so when they laid it away at last,
In the churchyard's hushed repose,
They raised a slab at the baby's head,
With the carven words 'God knows.'"