23 MAY 1874, Page 16

"IN THE SWEAT OF THY FACE SHALT THOU EAT BREAD."

MY spirit has fed full of idleness ;

And through the empty chambers of the mind Goes wandering ill at ease ; nor can it find What may console or stay its loneliness.

With ghostly echoing feet follows behind The phantom of Unrest ; sad thoughts oppress, An unseen band, but blightful none the less, The spirit sundered from its toiling kind.

Thus hopeless, sick at heart, it onward strays Through many dust-strewn chambers; till at last To a window looking outwards it bath passed, And there the whole toilsome earth with one long gaze Sees ; and borne downwards on the trumpet-blast Hears God's oracular answer, "'Work and Praise." A.