GOOD FRIDAY.

Ready to give thanks and live
On the least that Heaven may give.

If, the quiet brooklet leaving,

Up the stony vale I wind, Haply half in fancy grieving

For the shades I leave behind, By the dusty wayside drear, Nightingales with joyous cheer Sing, my sadness to reprove, Gladlier than in cultured grove.

Where the thickest boughs are twining

Of the greenest, darkest tree,
There they plunge, the light declining-
All may hear, but none may see.
Fearless of the passing hoof,
Hardly will they fleet aloof;
So they live in modest ways,
Trust entire, and ceaseless praise.

Good Friday.

OS it not strange, the darkest hour
That ever dawned on sinful earth
Should touch the heart with softer power

For comfort, than an angel's mirth?

That to the Cross the mourner's eye should turn
Sooner than where the stars of Christmas burn?

Sooner than where the Easter sun

Shines glorious on yon open grave,
And to and fro the tidings run,

"Who died to heal, is risen to save"?

Sooner than where upon the Saviour's friends
The very Comforter in light and love descends?

Yet so it is; for duly there

The bitter herbs of earth are set,

Till tempered by the Saviour's prayer,

And with the Saviour's life-blood wet,

They turn to sweetness, and drop holy balm,

Soft as imprisoned martyr's death-bed calm.

*

The Fisherman.

PERILOUS life, and sad as life may be,

Hath the lone fisher on the lonely sea,

O'er the wild waters labouring, far from home,
For some bleak pittance e'er compelled to roam :

AN AGRARIAN LAW.

Few hearts to cheer him through his dangerous life, And none to aid him in the stormy strife: Companion of the sea and silent air,

The lonely fisher thus must ever fare;

Without the comfort, hope,-with scarce a friend; He looks through life, and only sees-its end!

Divide what we have earned by our hard labour?
Let all men share alike? The idle take

The industrious labourer's mite? The drunkard swill
The drink that we have bought with sober toil?
The robber come into our doors, and cry,

"Half of your loaf is mine"?-If we divide

Our neighbours' goods to-day, why not divide
Again to-morrow? Will our wealth become

Aught the more sacred 'cause 't was plundered first?
Why may not one to-morrow come, and claim

What we have stol'n to-day?

Save by our strength of arm,

A week,-a day, an hour?

How can we keep, the gold we get,

How can we tell

If what he earns be never safe? who'll sow,
That they who trade in plunder still may reap
The corn he ought to gather? One great end

Of all laws is Security-that lost,

A country doth become a robber's den,

Bloody and base, where nought but bad men thrive.

ORGET thee?" if to dream by night, and muse on thee by day,
If all the worship deep and wild a poet's heart can pay,
If prayers in absence breathed for thee to Heaven's pro-

tecting power,

If winged thoughts that flit to thee, a thousand in an hour,

If busy fancy blending thee with all my future lot,—

If this thou call'st "forgetting," thou, indeed, shalt be forgot!