We are told of a poor weary traveller who had plucked a flower. The
shadows of a grand cathedral lay before him. He entered; its
architecture charmed him, its calmness refreshed him. Approaching a
shrine he laid his flower upon it, saying: "It is all I can give; it,
too, is God's work, although gathered by a feeble, dying hand." A priest
standing near looked upon the flower and said: "God bless you, my
brother, heaven is nearer to me." So, if by the perusal of "Victor Roy"
one ear hears more distinctly the Apostolic declaration, "Pure religion
is to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction," or if one
poor sinking spirit is strengthened, as Longfellow says, to "touch God's
right hand in the darkness," the wishes of the Authoress will be fully
accomplished.
HARRIETT ANNIE.
Hamilton, August, 1882.
VICTOR ROY.
Victor's Soliloquy.
Heavily rolleth the wintry clouds,
And the ceaseless snow is falling, falling,
As the frost king's troops in their icy shrouds,
Whistle and howl, like lost spirits calling.
But a warm luxuriantly furnished room,
Is an antidote to the wild night storm,
Lamplight and firelight banish the gloom,
No poverty stalks there with cold gaunt form.
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