The Higher View

THE HIGHER VIEW. "Where, where are the men for the on-coming years?" A graybeard's disconsolate cry; For he lives in the pas!, and verily fears All greatness is dead, or will die.

"Gone, gone are the sires, and the sons are swift passing; The giants are under the sod. Where, where are the armies of Israel massing— The hope of the Kingdom of God?

"Yea, where are the prophets, the songsters, the sages, God's rulers, through whom he hath reigned Since Chaos was quickened, and, launched on the ages- A new world, to glory ordained? " They are not, they are not, and the fountains are sealed- Brass above and iron beneath. Truth's fulness is past, and the portion revealed Now sleeps as a sword in its sheath." So the pessimist sang, and his doleful refrain Smote my ear with sorrowful sound. Then straightway the spirit within me made plain A vision from loftier ground:

Not true, said my soul, that the mighty have ceased; That all greatness is passing away;

Or more precious the knowledge at yesterday's feasl Than the banquet provided today.

In the wide human fores!:, by Providence planted, Great trees are yet growing sublime. When a worn beam shall break—when a new helve is wanted, 'Twill be found in its season and time.

What though, summoned hence by the Chieftain com- manding, Hosts vanish, death-conquered in vain. On time's stormy shore other legions are landing, From triumphs on life's spirit plain.

The pasl is the parent— today, a descendant, Whose heirs are the ages unborn; Like springing from like, in a scale still ascendant. Then how shall the future be shorn?

Deem not the all-wise and almighty Creator Of stars, suns, and systems untold, A bankrupt to Fate, an apprentice to Nature; He is God— the same God as of old. Can the glory now pale— the intelligence perish, That founded eternity's throne? When failed the Good Shepherd his chosen to cherish? Fear not— he will care for his own. Orson F. Whitney.