Northern Weekly Gazette. — 1899-10-14 (Stockton-on-Tees, Cleveland, England)

NIGHT.  We need no poet to proclaim to the world that night is beautiful. To go out under the canopy of a en/Tinier night, to see the heavens declaring the glory of God and the firmament glowing His handiwork how exquisite is this! And the spark. ling clearness of a night in autumn, or the brilliant intensity of a !starry night over a herd black wintry frost—is there not beauty in these? The piercing keenmi of the large stars in the blue black immensity; the moon a bright sickle in the sky, keen silver where the set sun touches her; grey muffled silver where the earth light shows the old moon in the new moon's lap—is not this beautiful? Or the full moon, almost quenching the vivid starlight as it rises out of the bank of haze, to east clear pearly shadows over the pure still snow; or the moist windy sunset out of which rises the misty moon hunted by grey clouds soros. the blue black gape of illimitable heaven; long : lank hounds that pursue the flying quarry till the movement eosins a real thing to the dizzied gazing eye. Yee, night is beautiful. It is beautiful, and to us here, in this weary, hurrying life, night is the embodiment of rest and calm, but although night ie beautiful it has it. danger. and terrors. Beasts of prey and men of prey and many evil things steal forth in the night The thief and the murderer wait for the night; in the night they dig through houses which they had marked for themselves in the day time. There may be a lurking sadness sometimes in the annourinement concerning the happy land, "There shall be no night there." especially to the tired and sad, to whom night is always welcome. How Isswitiftil is night A dewy freshness tire the si:ent sir ; . .  No rni;t o,r:rum+, vor 010,14, hor apeck, o stain Breaks the 'wen., of heaven. In full-orbed glory yonder moon arias Rolla through the dark blue depths. How beautlful is night! —Madge Greenhow, Appleton, Mahon, Yorks.  "MY REST IS NOT HEREIN Sweet hymn: through the ages. With yeorniers sublime, Life's care but presorts For some tuture time, The sweetest of comforts; Then why should 1 fear, Though !ile has its troubles In ways dark and drear? "My rest is in Heaven, My rest is not here." The days of my childhood can never deport, When mania and mother Have charms or my heart. When woes and depression Blcit out heaven's sun, "Be husinsd. my dark spirit, The worgt that Cjll e,me But shortens my lourney. And hsetens me home."  As days pass me over. In sorrow or j,y As hopes; tiit and hover, To cause me annoy; I fancy that mother W smiling *near; Her VOiCe with my treble Is music to bear; It rises to Heaven, The glerilled sphere. 0 happy and treasured. Are days past away, With mucic untneassurad, To linger hr ay,: The hymns cf my childhood In manhood I hear; They tell me of Heasen. Thou why should I fear? "Mv teat is in Heaven, My rest is not here." Old Time palsies o'er WI. And we must comply, With Tline's evo:utiuna, My mother and I; But. Mid. when I gather, With hearts that are dear, The hymn if my childhood With nleaaure I hear; "My rest is in Heaven, My rest is not here." Then may I endeavor, Though feeble and weak, To Journey forever, The highest to seek. May life's tribulation But nourish my song; "The road may be rough, But it oannot be long, So I'll smooth it with hope, And I'll cheer it with  E.uldun-roitd