While ye sit idle, do ye think

The Lord's great work sits idle too? That light dare not o'erleap the brink

Of morn, because 'tis dark with you?

Though yet your valleys skulk in night,
In God's ripe fields the day is cried,
And reapers, with their sickles bright,
Troop, singing, down the mountain-side :
Come up, and feel what health there is
In the frank dawn's delighted eyes,

As, bending with a pitying kiss,

The night-shed tears of Earth she dries!

The Lord wants reapers: O, mount up,
Before night comes, and says, -"Too late!"

Stay not for taking scrip or cup,

The Master hungers while ye wait;

'Tis from these heights alone your eyes
The advancing spears of day can see,

Which o'er the eastern hill-tops rise,
To break your long captivity.

II.

Lone watcher on the mountain-height!
It is right precious to behold
The first long surf of climbing light
Flood all the thirsty east with gold;

But we, who in the shadow sit,

Know also when the day is nigh, Seeing thy shining forehead lit

With his inspiring prophecy.

Thou hast thine office; we have ours;
God lacks not early service here,
But what are thine eleventh hours
He counts with us for morning cheer;
Our day, for Him, is long enough,
And when he giveth work to do,
The bruised reed is amply tough

To pierce the shield of error through.

But not the less do thou aspire
Light's earlier messages to preach ;
Keep back no syllable of fire, -

Plunge deep the rowels of thy speech.
Yet God deems not thine aeried sight
More worthy than our twilight dim,
For meek Obedience, too, is Light,

And following that is finding Him.

Lowell.

NOON AT THE LAKE-SIDE.

HITE clouds, whose shadows haunt the deep,

WH

Light mists, whose soft embraces keep

The sunshine on the hills asleep!

O, isles of calm !- O, dark, still wood!

And stiller skies that overbrood
Your rest with deeper quietude!

O, shapes and hues, dim beckoning, through Yon mountain gaps, my longing view Beyond the purple and the blue,

To stiller sea and greener land,

And softer lights and airs more bland,
And skies - the hollow of God's hand!

Transfused through you, O mountain friends!
With mine your solemn spirit blends,
And life no more hath separate ends.

I read each misty mountain sign,
I know the voice of wave and pine,
And I am yours, and ye are mine.

Life's burdens fall, its discords cease,
I lapse into the glad release
Of nature's own exceeding peace.

O, welcome calm of heart and mind!
As falls yon fir-tree's loosened rind
To leave a tenderer growth behind,

So fall the weary years away;
A child again, my head I lay
Upon the lap of this sweet day.

This western wind hath Lethean powers,
Yon noonday cloud nepenthe showers,
The lake is white with lotus-flowers!

Even Duty's voice is faint and low,
And slumberous Conscience, waking slow,
Forgets her blotted scroll to show.

The Shadow which pursues us all,
Whose ever-nearing steps appall,
Whose voice we hear behind us call-

That Shadow blends with mountain gray,
It speaks but what the light waves say-
Death walks apart from Fear to-day!

Rocked on her breast, these pines and I
Alike on Nature's love rely;

And equal seems to live or die.

Assured that He, whose presence fills
With light the spaces of these hills,
No evil to his creatures wills,

The simple faith remains, that He
Will do, whatever that may be,
The best alike for man and tree.

What mosses over one shall grow,
What light and life the other know,
Unanxious, leaving Him to show.

Whittier.

WE

AMONG THE PINES.

́E paused amid the pines that stood
The giants of the waste,

Tortured by storms to shapes as rude
As serpents interlaced,

And soothed by every azure breath
That under heaven is blown,
To harmonies and hues beneath,
As tender as its own;

Now all the tree-tops lay asleep,
Like green waves on the sea,
As still as in the silent deep
The ocean woods may be.

How calm it was!- the silence there
By such a chain was bound,
That even the busy woodpecker
Made stiller by her sound
The inviolable quietness;

The breath of peace we drew

With its soft motion made not less
The calm that round us grew.
There seemed from the remotest seat
Of the wide mountain waste,

To the soft flower beneath our feet,

A magic circle traced;

A spirit interfused around

A thrilling silent life,

To momentary peace it bound

Our mortal nature's strife;