He wraps it in his glory's blaze,
He stoops to kiss its forehead cold;
And, all transfigured by his rays,

It gleamsan Isle of molten gold.

The sun may set, the shades descend,

Earth sleep — and yet while sleeping smile; But it will live unto life's end

That vision of the Golden Isle.

Mrs. Craik.

BEYOND THE HILLS.

EYOND the hills where suns go down,

BEYON

And brightly beckon as they go,

I see the land of fair renown,

The land which I so soon shall know.

Above the dissonance of time,

And discord of its angry words,

I hear the everlasting chime,
The music of unjarring chords.

and my

haste

I bid it welcome;
To join it cannot brook delay.
O song of morning, come at last!
And ye who sing it, come away!

O song of light, and dawn, and bliss,
Sound over earth, and fill these skies!
Nor ever, ever, ever cease

Thy soul-entrancing melodies!

Glad song of this disburdened earth,
Which holy voices then shall sing;
Praise for creation's second birth,
And glory to creation's King!

Bonar.

THE

AT SUNSET.

lights o'er yonder snowy range
Shine yet, intense and tender;
Or, slowly passing, only change
From splendor on to splendor.

Before the dying eyes of day,
Immortal visions wander,
Dreams prescient of a purer ray,

And morn spread still beyond her.

Lo! heavenward now those gleams expire,
In heavenly melancholy;

The barrier-mountain, peak and spire,

Relinquishing them slowly.

Thus shine, O God! our mortal powers,
While grief and joy refine them :
And when in death they fade, be ours

Thus gently to resign them!

Aubrey de Vert

OVER THE HILLSIDE.

FARE

AREWELL. In dimmer distance
I watch your figures glide,

Across the sunny moorland,
The brown hillside;

And the white road, slow winding
To where, each after each,
You slipped away — ah, whither?
I cannot reach.

And if I call, what answers?

Only 'twixt earth and sky, Like wail of parting spirit,

The curlew's cry.

Yet, sunny is the moorland,
And soft the pleasant air,

And little flowers like blessings,
Grow everywhere.

While, over all, the mountain

Stands sombre, calm, and still,

Immutable and steadfast,
As the One Will,

Which, done on earth, in heaven

Eternally confessed

By men and saints and angels,

Be ever blest!

Under its infinite shadow

(Safer than light of ours!)

I'll sit me down a little,

And gather flowers.

Then I will rise and follow
After the setting day,

Without one wish to linger, -
The appointed way.

Mrs. Craik.

SW

THE VANISHERS.

WEETEST of all childlike dreams
In the simple Indian lore

Still to me the legend seems
Of the shapes who flit before.

Flitting, passing, seen and gone,
Never reached nor found at rest,
Baffling search, but beckoning on
To the Sunset of the Blest.

From the clefts of mountain rocks,
Through the dark of lowland firs,
Flash the eyes and flow the locks
Of the mystic Vanishers!

And the fisher in his skiff,

And the hunter on the moss, Hear their call from cape and cliff,

See their hands the birch-leaves toss.