Hast thou not seen in heaven its hills arise?
Hast thou not viewed its glories manifold,
Midst sky-wide scenery splendidly unrolled,
Ripe for hearts' trust and godlike enterprise?
Yes, thou hast known it in familiar guise,

Its soil thy feet are keeping with fast hold;
And thou dost love its songs, its flowers dost prize;
Thy corn-land and thy wine-land is its mould:
'Tis here, 'tis here God's land lies, the divine,→
America, thy heart's true home and mine!

All lands are God's lands; yet is this indeed
The home express of his divinity;

His visible hand redeemed it from the sea,
And sowed its fields with freedom's deathless seed.
He succored it most swiftly in its need;

In field and council men with awe did see
His arm made manifest almightily,

Scarce veiled in instruments of mortal breed.

He laid a way here for the feet that bleed,
A space for souls ayearn for liberty

To grow immortal in-no more to plead

With nature for their portion which should be. "Tis here, O friend! the land lies, that shall grow The vine of sacred brotherhood below.

THE CHURCH FAIR.-L. EISENBEIS.

By permission of the Author.

There! I knowed it would be so, spite of all my word and prayer,

They've resolved to jine together for to hold a fancy fair; When I told them my objections, though my words were few an' mild,

They just turned to one another and they looked so queer and smiled.

Now, I've mingled with them sisters for a score of years of

more,

And there's none that has worked harder, but I wept my eyelids sore

When I saw them smile and giggle in the solemn place of

prayer,

Just because I spoke an' voted 'gin the holding of a fair.

But they p'inted their committees and arranged the plaguey

thing

Just to suit their crazy notions,-for the money it would

bring;

As they said, they needed carpet, and new cushions in the pews,

For the church was out of fashion,-nothing in it fit to use.

And the choir wants an organ, and the church a chandelier, And the pulpit must be altered for it looks so odd an' queer; They had tried to raise the money by collection in the pew, But they couldn't git no dollars, and of pennies but a few. Sermons didn't seem to reach 'em, but they loved to drink and eat,

So to save the dyin' people, they must give them fleshly

meat;

If their souls were worth the savin', they must have a sweet

ened cup,

Gospel meat was too insipid for to keep the meetin's up.

There was sisters Jane and Sary, and a score of others too, Met together every evenin' for to put the matter through: They would move and reconsider, then resolve and move agin,

Till it seemed as if the business never would be voted in.

Some thought the waiting maidens should be of the "upper

ten,"

'Cause they said their charms would dazzle an' draw in the younger men.

They must have a pond for fishin', with some tender little baits,

Where the boys could ketch a trifle, and the girls could fish for mates.

They must have a postal office and a guessin' stand they

sayed,

And Rebecca at the well, a-dispensin' lemonade;

They must vote a handsome dolly to the prettiest Miss in

town,

And the spryest lookin' bach'lor gits the gaudy dressin' gown. The sweetest maiden gets the ring, lodged within the mas

sive cake,

And for very little money you can learn your future fate; Little maidens dressed like fairies, must go bobbin' here

and there,

Sellin' little buds and roses for the boys and girls to wear.

So they plan, invent and settle, for to help the thing along, Just as if the Lord had blundered, and had fixed the matter wrong;

Just as if the souls of people could be fed on such a hash, And the church was built a purpose for to git the people's cash.

Then they read it in the meetin', when the thing was comin' off,

And although it seemed irreverent, I jist gave a scornful cough;

For I wanted them to know it, even though the thing might win,

I was down upon sich nonsense, so they needn't count me in. So when everything was ready for the openin' of the show (With their trinkets and their gewgaws-and I tell you 'twasn't slow,)

There were vases, sewing baskets, needle work and rubber toys,

Fancy hoods and gingham aprons, velvet slippers for the

boys;

There were fancy smellin' bottles, collars, handkerchiefs and

sich,

Stacks and stacks of shinin' nothin', which they said were very rich;

There were heaps of little trifles, hardly worth a grain of

dust,

Stacks and stacks of empty bubbles, which they said would never bust.

Then they had a lively raffle for a lot of showy stuff,

Which they said was for the winner, if he got but votes

enough;

All they had to do to git it was to pay a little fee,

As it went to help the meetin', there was not a better plea.

So the thing was kept a-movin', crowds went pourin' in and

out,

Till the meetin' folks and others said 'twas grand without a doubt.

They had bought their pockets empty, and had filled their stomachs full,

Till the sisters fairly shouted; they had made so good a pull.

Now," they said, "we've got the money, not in vain our toil and search,

We'll put in the latest fashions, we will have a stylish church;

We will show these fossil fogies, churches can't be run on

air; Churches fatten more on dollars than they do on faith and prayer."

I have been a faithful sister ever since my youthful days,
I have loved the Courts of Zion, I have prized her simple

ways;

I have read my Bible over, I have read it through in prayer, But I've never seen a passage that enjined a fancy Fair.

THE BORROWED BABY.-EDSON W. B. TATLOW. Written expressly for this Collection.

'Twas on a bleak, chill, cold, and stormy day in November, that there came into our little cosy home a bright, bouncing, dimple-cheeked baby girl. It really seemed as though the millenium had come,-so bright did things appear. After the excitement caused by the new arrival had somewhat subsided, and the regular order of things once more prevailed, we watched the new comer carefully, and cared for it tenderly. Each hour it seemed to grow more beautiful, until, finally, Idell, my husband, said we must name her Lily. To this I good-naturedly assented, and on Christmas day she was christened at the baptismal font. May God bless, preserve and save this child," was the parting prayer of the minister. Although Idell was sceptical, and I entertained many of his ideas, I had mustered courage to go, unattended, and have this simple rite performed, and I was glad of it. Idell had said, "What nonsense, Edith; you might just as well stand the child in the yard sometime when it is raining." While I then believed there was truth in his remark, still I felt a consciousness of having actel a good part.

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As the days flew by, our pride and joy began to toddle around the floor, and to prattle, in her sweet, childish way, for "Papa," and "Mamma." Not only was she the light of our own home, but our neighbors thought she

was "Just too sweet to live." And, perhaps, they were right.

Idell had not yet returned from his office in the city, when, one day, late in the afternoon, the little daughter of our neighbor knocked at the door, and as I opened it, said, "Please, Mrs. Clement, may I borrow the baby? You know I've no one to play with, and she's so cute." I was loath to spare her, but, finally, yielded.

My husband came home shortly afterward, and as he quickly glanced about the room, his first words were, "Dear, where's Lily?" I was half afraid to answer, knowing that his life was bound up in that of the child. Summoning all the courage I possessed, I said, "Why, that dear little daughter of our neighbor asked to borrow her for a little while, and I couldn't resist." With an anxious laugh, he said, "Well, that's a great note. So you've loaned your child, have you? Be careful they don't adopt her into their own family, because you know they belong to that heretical Methodist sect, and we don't want the child's mind filled with a lot of foolish notions about creation, heaven, eternal punishment, and all such stuff as they believe and teach."

Just before tea, Jessie, our neighbor's daughter, returned with the baby, saying, "We have had just a lovely time, thank you, Mrs. Clement." Before leaving, she asked, "May I call for her to-morrow?" Lily looked so joyful and happy that even Idell could not say no, and I nodded affirmatively. The next day I saw Jessie coming for the baby, and quickly made her ready.

Thus, for quite a while, it continued, until one day, Idell heard Jessie say, "Mrs. Clement, Lily's learning to зing so sweetly; she sings, 'Jesus Loves Me, this I Know,' and 'I am so Glad that our Father in Heaven,' and I do like her so." The next evening, as Idell opened the door, he said, sharply, "What! Edith, the baby gone again? This must be stopped." I sighed, as I thought of the two flaxen-haired, blue-eyed children who used to