V.

Slow turning through the glimmering aisles to range, Amid the hum the loitering footsteps wrought I lost the questioning face, but not the thought Of that dim life, to which the night seemed strange Of Calvary’s God, to whom all life is owed— That clouded life wherein Faith’s pure sunshine Casts faintest gleam of its strong light divine That strengthens soul, makes fair the daily load. Far down the hall full notes of organ poured, And broke in song strong voices manifold; Glad alleluias all exultant rolled, As if proclaiming on each soaring chord: “Happy the people of this wealth possessed!” Nay, Happy they whom God the Lord hath blessed.

ENGLISH RULE IN IRELAND.