POETRY.
CONSTANTINE IS SHOWN THE CROSS,
AN owl in a tree-top hooted ; and he woke ;
Then cast aside the lion-skin coverlet ; And turning softly on his couch of leaves Gazed into the night, his eyes blinded with tears, And his lonely spirit cried, and his tongue unlocked.
"Strengthen my hands, 0 gods of Greece," he prayed, "Help me, ye deities who guard our fanes
Or is it that ye are not?—blind and dumb.
Help me some god who made these lesser gods ; Send me a sign to tell me who Thou art.
If prayer can move Thee, I rvill bring Thee down.
Come to my aid, bright Spirit of the skies."
A whimper shook the stillness of the night,— The wolves were running underneath the pines, For Darkness manifested her decrees.
And then he raised his head, and stared—amazed: Above the flaunting, peering, midnight moon, Where all men's eyes might see it, hung a Sign.
HERBERT E. PALMER.
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