Many parts being out of print, a SECOND EDITION of BEAUTIFUL POETRY, revised, is now in course of publication. It will be issued in weekly numbers, at 3d. and monthly parts, at 1s., until it overtakes the current number. The first number is now ready. SACRED POETRY is now complete in one vol., price 3s. cloth, 5s. handsomely bound. WIT AND HUMOUR, a Collection of the best things of the kind, is now ready, complete in one vol., price 4s. 6d., cloth. SELECTIONS IN FRENCH LITERATURE is now complete in one vol., price ls. 6d. ADVERTISEMENTS. AS BEAUTIFUL POETRY is a good medium for Advertisements, and as only a few can be inserted, the following is the Scale of Charges: Shortly will be published, demy 8vo., price 5s. CHURCH FURNITURE and DECORATIONS, being a Descriptive Guide in the selection and arrangement of Church Fittings and Ornaments, extracted from the Clerical Journal and Church and University Chronicle. With additional Engravings and Plates. By the Rev. EDWARD L. CUTTS, B. A., Honorary Secretary of the Essex Archæological Society; Author of "The Manual of Sepulchral Slabs and Crosses," published under the sanction of the Central Committee of the Archæological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland, &c. Copies may be obtained, postage free, direct from the publisher, or by order of any bookseller. JOHN CROCKFORD, 29, Essex-street, Strand. WORSHIP. A fine composition by JOHN G. WHITTIER, a poet of America. "Pure religion, and undefiled, before God and the Father, is this: To visit the widows and the fatherless in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world."-James i. 27. THE Pagan's myths through marble lips are spoken, Red altars, kindling through that night of error, Beneath whose baleful shadow, overcasting Then through great temples swell'd the dismal moaning As if the pomp of rituals, and the savour Feet red from war-fields trod the church-aisles holy Crush'd human hearts beneath his knee of prayer. Not such the service the benignant Father For Earth he asks it: the full joy of Heaven He asks no taper lights, on high surrounding For he whom Jesus loved hath truly spoken: Types of our human weakness and our sorrow! Oh, brother man! fold to thy heart thy brother; Each smile a hymn, each kindly deed a prayer. Follow with reverent steps the great example Then shall all shackles fall; the stormy clangor Of wild war music o'er the earth shall cease; Love shall tread out the baleful fire of anger, And in its ashes plant the tree of peace! THE VISION OF A TEMPLE. A passage from a remarkable poem by ROBERT BROWNING, entitled Christmas Eve and Easter Day, a work in his quaintest style, strangely mingling comedy with pathos and the purest poetry with the vilest doggerel. How well he can write this will show. WHAT is it, yon building, Ablaze in front, all paint and gilding, With marble for brick, and stones of price Now I see: it is no dream : It stands there, and it does not seem; And wonder'd how those fountains play, Each to a musical water-tree, Whose blossoms drop, a glittering boon, I, the sinner that speak to you, Was in Rome this night, and stood, and knew The dark is rent, mine eye is free Men in the chancel, body, and nave, Men on the pillars' architrave, Men on the statues, men on the tombs With popes and kings in their porphyry wombs, All famishing in expectation Of the main-altar's consummation. For see, for see, the rapturous moment Of endless life, when He who trod, This earth in weakness, shame and pain, But the one God, all in all, As His servant John received the words, "I died, and live for evermore!" JOHN BARLEYCORN. One of the most spirited of the lyrics of BURNS. Although it must be familiar to every reader, this collection would be incomplete without it. THERE went three kings into the east, They took a plough and plough'd him down, Put clods upon his head; And they have sworn a solemn oath, John Barleycorn was dead. But the cheerful spring came kindly on, John Barleycorn got up again, And sore surprised them all. The sultry suns of summer came, His head well arm'd with pointed spears, The sober autumn enter'd mild, |