A bove our pillowed slumber.
Sweet friend, perchance both thou and I,
Ere love is past forgiving,
Should take the earnest lesson homeBe patient with the living !
To-day’s repressed rebuke may save
Our blinding tears to-morrow
Then patience-e’en when keenest edge
May what a nameless sorrow
Tis easy to be gentle when
Death’s silence shames our clamour,
And easy to discern the best
Through memory’s mystic glamour;
But wise it were for thee and me
Ere love [is?] past forgiving
To take the tender lesson to beBe patient with the living!
THE MEDICINE OF SUNSHINE - The
world wants more sunshine in its dispo­
sition, in its business, in its charities, in
its theology. For ten thousands of the
aches and pains and irritations of men and
women we commend sunshine. It soothes
better than morphine; it stimulates better
than champagne; it is the best plaster for
a wound. The Good Samaritan poured
out into the fallen traveller’s gash more of
this than of wine, and oil. Florence
Nightingale used it on Crimean battle
fields. Take it into all, the alleys, on
board all the ships, by all the sick-beds,
-not a phial full but a soul full. It is
good for spleen, for liver complaint, for
neuralgia, for rheumatism, for falling
fortunes, for melancholy. We suspect
that heaven itself is only more sunshine.