That mysterious thing,

Which hath no limit from the walls of sense,—

No chill from hoary time,—with pale decay

No fellowship,—but shall stand forth unchanged,

Unscorched amid the resurrection fires,

To bear its boundless lot of good or ill.

Mrs. Sigourney.

SOWING.

They that sow in tears shall reap in joy.—Psalm cxxvi. 5.