(Jan. 26, 1885.)

C hrist’s noble Warrior thou! Single thine aim
H appy thou wast when the last summons came.
A re there no friends around thee? None to aid?
R ound thee to rally? None! Thou art betrayed!
L one dost thou stand amid the savage horde.
E choes the faithful promise of the Lord:
S aved shall he be who to the end endured.
G entle thy presence; great thy power to lead.
E ach nation sought thy help, thy word obeyed.
O pen thy heart and hearth to all Christ’s poor,
R oyal thy gifts, and boundless was thy store.
G allant Commander thou, as Knight of old!
E ver true-hearted, simple, fearless, bold.
G reatness and goodness thine, Faith, Hope, and Love,
O n sword thy hand, thy brave heart fixed above:
R eady to dare and die at Duty’s call.
D oubts hadst thou none, but trust invincible.
O nce was a Noble Life for faithless friends laid down;
N ow hast thou followed Him, and won thy crown.

TWO DAYS TOO LATE!

[After the battle near Metemneh, Sir Charles Wilson pushed on to Khartoum in one of the steamers which General Gordon had sent down the Nile to meet our troops. But two days before his arrival—so it is said—Khartoum had been betrayed into the hands of the rebels, and its heroic defender had been slain.]

Two days too late! Through trackless wastes of sand
Our gallant sons in vain have fought their way!
In vain has brain conceived, has genius planned:
Hope has but smiled, the better to betray.
With victory almost ours, the hero’s hand
Outstretched in welcome, every heart elate,
Khartoum has fallen, and the traitors stand
With mocking faces as we reach the gate
Two days too late!
Two days too late! Two days too late to save
The grand heroic soul who dared so long;
Who for nine weary months withstood the wave
Of countless thousands, chanting their deathsong!
His foes without, the bravest of the brave—
Famine and treachery within the gate!
And we but come to find a new-made grave:
The help arrives—alas! two days too late!
Two days too late!
Too late! too late! England is dumb to-day—
Too new her grief for words, too deep her love!
The giant heart and soul have passed away,
And we but strive in faith to look above
And pray as he so often loved to pray:
“Father, Thy will be done, Thy purpose great!”
Till knowing of his peace, we’ve strength to say
“In God’s good time, and not two days too late!”
No, not too late!

MEDALS.

“Ambition sigh’d: she found it vain to trust
The faithless column and the crumbling bust;
Huge moles, whose shadow stretch’d from shore to shore,
Their ruins perish’d, and their place no more;
Convinced, she now contracts the vast design,—
And all her triumphs sink into a coin.
A narrow orb each crowded conquest keeps;
Beneath her palm here sad Judæa weeps;
Now scantier limits the proud arch confine,
And scarce are seen the prostrate Nile or Rhine;
A small Euphrates through the piece is roll’d,
And little eagles wave their wings in gold.”—Pope.

[CHAPTER XV.]