POETRY.

PROGRESS, OR RETROGRESSION?

WHAT Progress in the sum of human years P I asked of Truth, whose wan and weary eyes, Fixed on the strife of hosts contending, The strife of Good and Evil never-ending, Were clouded oft with tears.

Sad as the strain of saddest symphonies, The sorrow of her answer filled my ears :- `Daily men know me more, and love me less.

Time was, I flashed upon the young world's sight, And drew all hearts with wonder and delight, In my first loveliness.

Then a great promise o'er the distance hung That would make all things happy, all things young;.

Redeem the curse, relieve the pain, The great world's misery heal again.

So was it echoed on from tongue to tongue.'

And then ?' I asked. She answered, as a star Glad seers saw and hailed me from afar.

And suddenly a glory was revealed To simple shepherds in the field, Who saw a light in Heaven, and lo !

With angel-forms the dark was all aglow, While through the spheres a sacred music rang : " Peace and goodwill !" 0 blessed word !

" To you is born a Saviour, Christ the Lord."

More strong than blood, That tie of brotherhood I " Goodwill and peace !" To all the promise sang.'

"And now ?" I asked. No answer ! " Now ?" She turned,, And all her cheek one fire of anger burned.

" Listen," she cried. I heard a distant roar, Like starving outcasts on a hungry shore, Rise from a mighty city evermore.

And then anon, piercing that outer din, Rose up the shriek of women mad with gin, And hollow laugh of girls who sold their sin.

And as with age, gaunt on its mother's knee, The babe cried out for bread, no bread had she.

" Listen again I" she cried ; and then, hard by, The rich man's music drowned that "bitter cry," And harp and viol charmed the wintry sky.

• .•

0" Christ, eternal Brother, Once more this day is thine ; Once more to one another Onr stony hearts incline.

Peace and goodwill! And can it be

That this is all we learnt of Thee,—

This splendour to despair allied,— A palace here, there, at its side, Those dens of misery ?

Oh ! rather come the shocks that nations feel I Come, Revolution, with the armed heel!

Come, Attila, with all thy Vandal crew, Tread into dust our gold !

Respect not aught that's old !

Cast in a nobler mould, Our State renew !

I turned, and looked to Truth, but Truth had fled..

Only there lingered on a voice, that said, Sad-echoing still: How little yet ye know the word On that first dawn of Christmas heard, The only power to right the wrong, To fire the cold, and tame the strong, The grand, old, glorious angel-song, " Peace and goodwill."