THE HAND THAT STRUCK THEE DOWN.

The hand that struck thee down Could not have known That thou hadst songs unsung And flights unflown.

But ours will be the loss— No more at morn Will sound the reveillé From thy wee horn.

Thy form will not be one That flits the air, As one that trusts in God And knows no care.

Then when the shadows creep, And light grows dim, We’ll list, but never hear, Thy vesper-hymn.

The hand that struck thee down Could not have known That thou hadst songs unsung And flights unflown. —J. D. LaBarre Van Schoonhoven.