Is on his forehead. May he, manful, fight
Under thy banner, till upon his sight
Fair Paradise shall shine;
Till, crown and palm-branch won,
He shall before thee stand without a fear,
Wearing the bright and morning star, and hear
The Master say, Well done.
JANE’S VOCATION.
“O amare! O ire! O sibi perire! O ad Deum pervenire.”—St. Augustine.
She sat upon an enormous sea-washed cliff of granite, in a flood of golden light from the stooping western sun behind her. Beneath her the sea-waves rippled lightly against the cliff. Far out before her the broad expanse of sea extended till it met the sky. But on neither sea nor sky were the girl’s eyes fastened. She was looking steadily across the narrow gulf that separated the high promontory where her home was from the fishing town on the mainland. Behind her was a farm-house with its prosaic surroundings, and a few huts for drying fish were close at hand. Not far beyond these the stage-road ran, and coming over the brow of the promontory was the lumbering stage.