herself to a glow; She was stirred by the thought she could stir a man so. That was all. She had nothing to give in return. One can't light a fire with no fuel to burn; And the love Roger dreamed he could rouse in her soul Was not there to be wakened. He stood at his goal As the Arctic explorer may finally stand, To see all about him an ice prisoned land, White, beautiful, useless. 

 Some women are chaste, Like the snows which envelop the bleak arid waste Of the desert; once melted, alas! what remains But the poor, unproductive, dry soil of the plains? The flora of Cupid will never be found, However he toil there, to thrive in such ground. 

Some women are chaste,

 Mabel Montrose was held in the highest esteem By her neighbors; I think neighbors everywhere deem Such women to be all that's noble. They sighed When they spoke of her husband; they told how she tried To convert him, and how they had thought for a season His mind was bent Christ-ward; and then, with no reason, He seemed to drift back to the world, and grew jealous Of Mabel, and thought her too faithful and zealous In duty to others. 

 The death of his child Only hardened his heart against God. He grew wild, Took to drink; spent a week at a time in the city, Neglecting his saint of a wife—such a pity. It was true. Our friends keep a sharp eye on our deeds But the fine interlining of causes—who heeds? The long list of heartaches which lead to rash acts Would bring pity, not blame, if the world knew the facts. 

The death of his child

 There are women so terribly free from all evil, They discourage a man, and he goes to the devil. There are people whose virtues result in appalling, And they prove a great aid to his majesty's calling. 

 Roger's wife rendered goodness so dreary and cold, His tendril-like will lost its poor little hold On the new better life he was longing to reach, And slipped back to the dust. Oh! to love, not to preach. Is a woman's true method of helping mankind. The sinner is won through his heart, not his mind. As the sun loves the seed up to life through the sod, So the patience of love brings a soul to its God. But when love is lacking, the devil is sure To stand in the pathway with some sort of lure. Roger turned to the world for distraction. The world Smiled a welcome, and then like an octopus curled All its tentacles 'round him, and dragged him away Into deep, troubled waters. 

 One late summer day He awoke with a headache, which will 

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