POETRY.

JOAN OF ARC.

I WAS caught up, by God's command, To come before His throne, Where Christ cloth stand on His right hand

And on His left stands Joan.

Joan the maid, with her heart of fire And her all-conquering sword, Who lifted fair France out of the mire—.

And for England, pardon, 0 Lord!

And I heard her sing, as the lark sings, Marvellous sweet and clear, And all her song was of happy things And the casting out of fear.

Out of wide heaven, from every part, Angels came hastening,

.And our Lord Christ was glad at heart

To hear His sister sing.

And when she sang of her life on earth,.

Her death, and her cruel foes, She laughed, as a maid will laugh in her mirth, Telling her childhood's woes.

Her happy laughter made heaven glad; • For joy did Mary weep;

Oa earth old mothers forgot to be sad, And babies-laughed in their sleep.

And then full sweetly did she pray Unto the Lord of heaven, That England's shame be put away And that black sin forgiven.

She said, " They have repented long, The good men of that land— Father, wipe out that ancient wrong, Let not its record stand.

Now are they friends and lovers all Of my fair France and of me, And that old tale is bitter as gall In England's memory."

The wise saints praised her as she stood, The Word of Pardon is said— Now all good men of English blood Honour and praise the Maid!