He goes on Sunday to the church,

And sits among his boys;

He hears the parson pray and preach,

He hears his daughter's voice,

Singing in the village choir,

And it makes his heart rejoice.

It sounds to him like her mother's voice,

Singing in Paradise!

He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies;

And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes.

Toiling, rejoicing,

sorrowing,

Onward through life he goes ;

Each morning sees some task begin,

Each evening sees it close;

Something attempted, something done,

Has earned a night's repose.

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,

For the lesson thou hast taught !

Thus at the flaming forge of life

Our fortunes must be wrought;

Thus on its sounding anvil shaped

Each burning deed and thought!

ENDYMION.

THE rising moon has hid the stars; Her level rays, like golden bars,

Lie on the landscape green,

With shadows brown between.

And silver white the river gleams,

As if Diana, in her dreams,

Had dropt her silver bow
Upon the meadows low.

On such a tranquil night as this,
She woke Endymion with a kiss,
When, sleeping in the grove,
He dreamed not of her love.

Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought,
Love gives itself, but is not bought ;
Nor voice, nor sound betrays

Its deep, impassioned gaze.

It comes, the beautiful, the free,
The crown of all humanity, -

In silence and alone

To seek the elected one.

It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep, Are Life's oblivion, the soul's sleep,

And kisses the closed eyes

Of him, who slumbering lies.

O, weary hearts! O, slumbering eyes!
O, drooping souls, whose destinies

Are fraught with fear and pain,

Ye shall be loved again!

No one is so accursed by fate,

No one so utterly desolate,

But some heart, though unknown,

Responds unto his own.

Responds, as if with unseen wings,

A breath from heaven had touched its strings;

And whispers, in its song,

"Where hast thou stayed so long!"

N