In heat the landscape quivering lies;
The cattle pant beneath the tree;
Through parching air and purple skies
The earth looks up in vain for thee;
For thee for thee it looks in vain,
O, gentle, gentle summer rain.

Come thou and brim the meadow streams,
And soften all the hills with mist,

O, falling dew! from burning dreams
By thee shall herb and flower be kissed,
And earth shall bless thee yet again,

O, gentle, gentle summer rain.

W. C. Bennett.

WE

BEFORE THE RAIN.

E knew it would rain, for all the morn,
A spirit on slender ropes of mist
Was lowering its golden buckets down
Into the vapory amethyst

Of marshes and swamps and dismal fens,·
Scooping the dew that lay in the flowers,
Dipping the jewels out of the sea,

To sprinkle them over the land in showers.

We knew it would rain, for the poplars showed
The white of their leaves, the amber grain
Shrunk in the wind, and the lightning now

Is tangled in tremulous skeins of rain!

T. B. Aldrich.

AFTER A SUMMER SHOWER.

THE

HE rain is o'er. How dense and bright
Yon pearly clouds reposing lie!

Cloud above cloud, a glorious sight,
Contrasting with the dark blue sky!

In grateful silence earth receives
The general blessing; fresh and fair,
Each flower expands its little leaves,
As glad the common joy to share.

The softened sunbeams pour around
A fairy light, uncertain, pale;
The wind flows cool; the scented ground
Is breathing odors on the gale.

'Mid yon rich clouds' voluptuous pile, Methinks some spirit of the air

Might rest, to gaze below awhile,

Then turn to bathe and revel there.

The sun breaks forth; from off the scene

Its floating veil of mist is flung; And all the wilderness of green

With trembling drops of light is hung.

Now gaze on Nature,

yet the same,

Glowing with life, by breezes fanned, Luxuriant, lovely, as she came,

Fresh in her youth, from God's own hand.

Hear the rich music of that voice,

Which sounds from all below, above;

She calls her children to rejoice,

And round them throws her arms of love.

Drink in her influence; low-born care,

And all the train of mean desire,

Refuse to breathe this holy air,

And 'mid this living light expire.

Andrews Norton.

THE POET'S SONG.

HE rain had fallen, the Poet arose,

THE

He pass'd by the town and out of the street,

A light wind blew from the gates of the sun,
And waves of shadow went over the wheat,
And he sat him down in a lonely place,

And chanted a melody loud and sweet,
That made the wild-swan pause in her cloud,
And the lark drop down at his feet.

The swallow stopt as he hunted the bee,

The snake slipt under a spray,

The wild-hawk stood with the down on his beak,
And stared, with his foot on the prey,

And the nightingale thought, "I have sung many

songs,

But never a one so gay,

For he sings of what the world will be

When the years have died away."

Tennyson

0

A PRAISE OF EARTH.

EARTH,

I count the praises thou art worth,
By thy waves that move aloud,
By thy hills against the cloud,
By thy valleys warm and green,
By thy copses' elms between;
By their birds which, like a sprite
Scattered by a strong delight
Into fragments musical,
Stir and sing in every bush;
By thy silver founts that fall,
As if to entice the stars at night
To thine heart; by grass and rush,
And little weeds the children pull,
Mistook for flowers!

— Oh, beautiful

Art thou, Earth, albeit worse
Than in heaven is called good!
Good to us, that we may know
Meekly from thy good to go. -

'Praised be the mosses soft
In thy forest pathways oft,

And the thorns, which make us think
Of the thornless river-brink,

Where the ransomed tread!
Praised be thy sunny gleams,

And the storm, that worketh dreams
Of calm unfinished!

Praised be thine active days,

And thy night-time's solemn need,

When in God's dear book we read
No night shall be therein.

'Earth, we Christians praise thee thus,
Even for the change that comes,
With a grief from thee to us!
For thy cradles and thy tombs;
For the pleasant corn and wine,
And summer-heat; and also for
The frost upon the sycamore,
And hail upon the vine!'

Mrs. Browning.