SUMMER STUDIES.

147

Wilt thou, then, all thy wintry feelings keep, The old dead routine of thy book-writ lore; Nor deem that God can teach by one bright hour What life hath never taught to thee before?

See what vast leisure, what unbounded rest,
Lie in the bending dome of the blue sky;
Ah! breathe that life-born languor from thy
breast,

And know once more a child's unreasoning joy.

Cease, cease to think, and be content to be;
Swing safe at anchor in fair Nature's bay ;
Reason no more, but o'er thy quiet soul

Let God's sweet teachings ripple their soft way.

Soar with the bird, and flutter with the leaf;

Dance with the seeded grass in fringy play; Sail with the cloud; wave with the dreaming pine,

And float with Nature all the live-long day.

Call not such hours an idle waste of life;

Land that lies fallow gains a quiet power; It treasures from the brooding of God's wings Strength to unfold the future tree and flower.

So shall it be with thee if, restful still,

Thou rightly studiest in the summer hour; Like a deep fountain which a brook doth fill, Thy mind in seeming rest shall gather power.

And when the summer's glorious show is past,
Its miracles no longer charm thy sight;
The treasured riches of these thoughtful hours
Shall make thy wintry musings warm and
bright.

SUGGESTED BY A STATUE EXECUTED BY MR. ROGERS, IN FLORENCE,

FROM age to age, from clime to clime,
A spirit bright as her own morn,
She walks the golden fields of Time,
As erst amid the yellow corn.

A form o'er which the hallow'd vail
Of years bequeaths a lovelier light,
As when the mists of morning sail

Round some far isle to make it bright.

And as some reaper 'mid the grain,
Or binder resting o'er his sheaf,
Beheld her on the orient plain,

A passing vision, bright and brief;

And while he gazed, let fall, perchance,
The sheaf or sickle from his hand-

Thus, even here, as in a trance,

Before her kneeling form I stand.