Through places that summer had made so sweet With a glamour but briefly lent. I trod upon something soft and dry, For my eyes were full on the flaming west; And just where the grass was thick and high Was lying-an empty nest. Oh, what visions of faded spring; Oh, what memories of silenced song, And the thought that suddenly came to me, There were two birds that began to sing Birds of one feather and sister birds, Birds of one feather fare best together: Singing, they built them another nest, Sat in it and sung in the worst of weather, Each loving the other best. But we who listened one morning knew Now, should you chance to pass that way, THE FIELDS ARE GRAY WITH IMMORTELLES. THE sheep are sheltered in the fold, And every living thing is still : Creeps o'er the brown and bristly plain; That flinch not under falling tears; Meek-mouthed and heavy-lidded, and With sleek hair put behind the ears, And crowned with scentless Immortelles! The partridge hath forgot her nest Among the stubble by the rill; In vain the lances of the frost Seek for some tender things to kill: They can not hurt the Immortelles ! Sad empress of the stony fell! For violets finds the Immortelle ! ENTRE NOUS. As we two slowly walked that night, I was afraid to face the light, Lest you should see that I loved you, dear. You drew my arm against your heart, So close I could feel it beating near; You were brave enough for a lover's partYou were so sure that I loved you, dear. Then you murmured a word or two, And tenderly stooped your listening ear; For you thought that all that you had to do Was to hear me say that I loved you, dear. But, though your face was so close to mine That you touched my cheek with your chestnut hair, I wouldn't my lips to yours resign: But that was because I loved you, dear. And so you thought 'twas a drop of rain That splashed your hand? But 'twas a tear; For then you said you'd never again Ask me to say that I loved you, dear. Well! I will tell-if you'll listen now: I thought of the words you said last year; How we girls weren't coy enough, and how There were half a dozen that loved you, dear. And I was afraid that you held me light, And an imp at my shoulder said, "Beware! He's just in a wooing mood to-night.' So I wouldn't say that I loved you, dear. Not though I thought you the Man of men, Chiefest of heroes, brave and rare; Not though I never shall love again Any man as I loved you, dear. I have suffered, and so have you ; And to-night, if you were but standing here, I'd make you an answer straight and true, If you'd ask again if I loved you, dear. My Saviour said: "Take up thy cross O blessed Voice! . . . I hear Him say: The burdens of the world He bore, And shall I shrink from bearing mine? But me upholds with love divine. To find it at my Saviour's feet! MY KNOWLedge. THOUGH men confront the living God With wisdom than His Word more wise, And leaving paths apostles trod, Their own devise; I would myself forsake and flee, O Christ, the living Way, to Thee! I know not what the schools may teach, The Truth Thou art: And learning this, I learn each day I cannot solve mysterious things, That fill the schoolmen's thoughts with strife; But oh what peace this knowledge brings, Thou art the Life; Hid in Thy everlasting deeps, The Way, the Truth, the Life Thou art! I have no doubt to bring to Thee; PRAYING IN SPIRIT. "But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and whe thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret.”— ST. MATT. vi, 6. I NEED not leave the jostling world, As high as heaven, as fair as day, Drink in the spirit-words I say. One hearkening, even, cannot know HUMBLE SERVICE. IT is an easy thing to say, "Thou knowest that I love Thee, Lord!" And easy in the bitter fray For His defence to draw the sword. But when at His dear hands we seek To our ambition vain and weak How strange His bidding, "Feed my sheep." "Too mean a task for love," we cry; Remembering not if, in our pride. O Father! help us to resign For not more solemn the holy chimes, In other times, That helped the faithful to pray aright, Our hearts, our strength, our wills to Thee; And put the spirits of air to flight! Then even lowliest work of Thine Most noble, blest, and sweet will be! MY FRIEND. I WILL not wrong thee, O To-day, Enough for me the loving light That melts the cloud's repellent edges; The still unfolding, bud by bud, Of God's most sweet and holy pledges. I breathe His breath; my life is His; ALL'S WELL. THE day is ended. Ere I sink to sleep My weary spirit seeks repose in Thine: Father! forgive my trespasses, and keep This little life of mine. With loving kindness curtain Thou my bed; And cool in rest my burning pilgrim-feet; The hand He nerves knows no defraud-Thy pardon be the pillow for my head— ing, The Lord will make this joyless waste Wave with the wheat of His rewarding. Of His rewarding! Yes; and yet Not mine a single blade or kernel; The seed is His; the quickening His; The care, unchanging and eternal. His, too, the harvest song shall be, When He who blest the barren furrow Shall thrust His shining sickle in, And reap my little field To-morrow. So shall my sleep be sweet. At peace with all the world, dear Lord, and THE GUEST. "Behold, I stand at the door, and knock : if any man hear my voice, and open the door. I will come in to him, and wil! sup with him, and he with me."-Rev. iii. 20. SPEECHLESS Sorrow sat with me; All my room was dark and damp; Opening wide the door, he came; Was the Guest that supped with me! EMMA LAZARUS. IN THE JEWISH SYNAGOGUE AT NEWPORT. HERE, where the noises of the busy town, The ocean's plunge and roar can enter not, We stand and gaze around with tearful awe, By these lone exiles of a thousand years, From the fair sunrise land that gave them birth! Now as we gaze, in this new world of light, And Eastern towns and temples we behold. In the rich court of royal Solomon- Our footsteps have a strange unnatural sound, The funeral and the marriage, now, alas! Nathless the sacred shrine is holy yet, With its lone floors where reverent feet once trod. Take off your shoes as by the burning bush, Before the mystery of death and God. ON A TUFT OF GRASS. WEAK, slender blades of tender green, What makes ye so dear to all? 'Mongst fairies ye are counted tall. Your hue and fragrance bear me back Bright buds and flowers in blossoming track. All bent one way like flickering flame, Then rising, saddened into shade; No gold ever was buried there Than buttercups with yellow gloss. Of grassy waves and tender moss. While breezes kiss them lovingly! Calm sleepers with sealed eyes lie there; They see not, neither feel nor care If over them the grass be green. And some sleep here who ne'er knew rest, Until the grass grew o'er their breast, And stilled the aching pain within. Have ever cast thereon a stain. Beneath the feet of Eve and Cain. It flutters, bows, and bends, and quivers, |