NOCTURNE.

There'll come a day when the supremest splendor Of earth or sky or sea, Whate'er their miracles, sublime or tender, Will wake no joy in me. There'll come a day when all the aspiration, Now with such fervor fraught, As lifts to heights of breathless exaltation, Will seem a thing of naught. There'll come a day when riches, honor, glory, Music and song and art, Will look like puppets in a wornout story, Where each has played his part. There'll come a day when human love, the sweetest Gift that includes the whole Of God's grand giving—sovereignest, completest— Shall fail to fill my soul. There'll come a day—I will not care how passes The cloud across my sight, If only, lark-like, from earth's nested grasses, I spring to meet its light. Margaret J. Preston.