Five were ye, the beauteous blossoms
Of our hopes, and hearts, and hearth;
Two asleep lie buried under,-

Three for us yet gladden earth.
Thee, our hyacinth gay Charlie,
Willie, thee our snow-drop pure,
Back to us shall second spring time
Never more allure!

Yet while thinking, O our lost ones!

Of how dear ye were to us,

Why should dreams of doubt and darkness,
Haunt our troubled spirits thus?
Why across the cold dim church-yard,
Flit our visions of despair?
Seated on the tomb, Faith's angel
Saith,-"Ye are not there."

Where then, are ye? With the Saviour

--

Blest, forever blest are ye,

'Mid the sinless little children,

Who have heard his " Come to me! "

'Yond the shades of death's dark valley,
Now ye lean upon his breast,
Where the wicked dare not enter,
And the weary rest.

We are wicked,

we are weary;

For us pray and for us plead ;
God, who ever hears the sinless,
May through you the sinful heed.
Pray that through Christ's mediation,
All our faults may be forgiven;
Plead that ye be sent to greet us
At the gates of heaven!

ANON.

Nature.

I have learned

To look on Nature, not as in the hour

Of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes The still sad music of humanity;

Not harsh nor grating, though of ample power To chasten and subdue.

WORDSWORTH.

Nature's Beauties.

There's beauty in her when she springs
From slumbers of the darksome night,
And bears upon her joyous wings

The cheerful beams of morning light.
The sunlight sporting on the hills
Illumes the dewy drops of morn;
With iris hues the welkin fills,

And gorgeous tints the east adorn.

When evening mantles earth and air,
And silence reigns in bower and hall,
And peaceful quiet, resteth where

Were heard the merry laugh and call;
And up the sky its empress rides,
Attended by her starry train;

And many a phantom round us glides,
By woody marge, and dusky plain.

And, too, when Spring chill Winter's cloak
Throws off, and comes forth gayly free;
And every icy fetter 's broke,

And wintry blasts with swiftness flee ;Then softly comes on every gale,

A voice of joyousness and love; And zephyrs wafted from the vale Seem spirits from the land above.

Imbedded in their pebbly track,
The crystal riv'lets wind along ;
A gentle echo throwing back

Like distant tones of fairy song.
Sweet perfumes come on breezes mild,
The offering of the opening flowers,
And warbling songsters in each wild,
Invite us to her festooned bowers.

Autumn can beauties boast, though fast
The wreaths of summer to decay
Are falling, and the piercing blast,
Flits sadly on its wintry way.

Through leafless boughs and naked trees,
The wind a mournful requiem sings
For days departed, and the breeze

A tale of sadness with it brings.

In all her aspects, sad or gay,

Are seen the beautiful and grand; And on the spirits ever play

Her messengers, with thrilling hand.

W. A. SLEEPER.

The Worship of Nature.

The ocean looketh up to heaven,
As 't were a living thing;
The homage of its waves is given
In ceaseless worshiping.

They kneel upon the sloping sand,
As bends the human knee,
A beautiful and tireless band,
The priesthood of the sea!

They pour the glittering treasures out
Which in the deep have birth,
And chant their awful hymns about
The watching hills of earth.

The green earth sends its incense up From every mountain shrine, From every flower and dewy cup That greeteth the sunshine.

The mists are lifted from the rills
Like the white wing of prayer;
They lean above the ancient hills,
As doing homage there.