And, as the lonely spot I pass I think, like them, how soon, alas! Like them, I think, when I am gone, Yet, ah!—and let me lightly tread!— Her image 'tis-to memory dear- Evergreens.-PINKNEY. WHEN Summer's sunny hues adorn But when the tints of autumn have The landscape that cold shadow shows Into a light converted. Thus thoughts that frown upon our mirth Will smile upon our sorrow, And many dark fears of to-day May be bright hopes to-morrow. The Flower Spirit.-ANONYMOUS. I AM the spirit that dwells in the flower; When silence and moonlight reign over each bower, I woo the bird with his melody glowing To leap in the sunshine, and warble its strain, There dwells no sorrow where I am abiding; And the winds, as they pass, when too hastily riding, And look for us hourly, and think of us long. Who of the dull earth that's moving around us, "Man giveth up the Ghost, and where is he?”— CHRISTIAN EXAMINER. I STAND among the dark-gray stones; Beneath me are the mouldering bones And here, perhaps, they mused like me, On every side, its victory, And saw how frail they were. Like me, they felt that sense is nought, That pleasure's bark, though richly fraught, Yet sense and passion held them slaves, Till they were wrecked upon their graves, Perhaps, like them, I, too, shall go, And yet I would not live in vain, O God of mercy, make me know Nor let me idly spend it so, But make it fit for heaven! Woods in Winter.-LONGFELLOW. WHEN winter winds are piercing chill, And through the white-thorn blows the gale, With solemn feet I tread the hill, That over-brows the lonely vale. O'er the bare upland, and away Through the long reach of desert woods, The embracing sunbeams chastely play, And gladden these deep solitudes. On the gray maple's crusted bark Its tender shoots the hoar-frost nips; Whilst in the frozen fountain-hark!His piercing beak the bittern dips. Where, twisted round the barren oak, The summer vine in beauty clung, And summer winds the stillness broke,The crystal icicle is hung. Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs Shrilly the skater's iron rings, And voices fill the woodland side. Alas! how changed from the fair scene, But still wild music is abroad, Pale, desert woods, within your crowd; And gathered winds, in hoarse accord, Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud. Chill airs, and wintry winds, my ear I listen, and it cheers me long. A Last Wish.-ANONYMOUS. WHEN breath and sense have left this clay, To some lone, green, and sunny spot; And gently, o'er my last, still beď, To whispering winds, the grass shall wave. The wild flowers, too, I loved so well, Shall blow, and breathe their sweetness there, And all around my grave shall tell, "She felt that nature's face was fair." And those that come because they loved While that sweet spot shall soothe their wo. The notes of happy birds alone Shall there disturb the silent air; And when the cheerful sun goes down, Roving among the sleeping flowers, The Winged Worshippers.-CHARLES SPRAGUE. GAY, guiltless pair, What seek ye from the fields of heaven? Ye have no sins to be forgiven. Why perch ye here, Where mortals to their Maker bend? Can your pure spirits fear The God ye never could offend? Ye never knew The crimes for which we come to weep: Blessed wanderers of the upper deep. To you 'tis given To wake sweet nature's untaught lays; Then spread each wing, Far, far above, o'er lakes and lands, In yon blue dome not reared with hands. |