Light be the heart of the poor lonely wanderer, Far from the track of the mean and the vile. And there shall the dew shed its sweetness and lustre, There shall they mix with the fern and the heather, The wolves with his wild dogs shall lie there together, THE INDIAN SUMMER. WHAT is there sadd'ning in the autumn leaves? When the dread fever quits us-when the storms Of the wild Equinox, with all its wet, The moon stays longest for the hunter now: While man enjoys the breeze that sweeps along Or whispers through the evergreens, and asks, THE SWEET BRIER. OUR sweet autumnal western-scented wind In all the blooming waste it left behind, As that the sweet brier yields it; and the shower The poor girl's pathway, by the poor man's door. 1 I love it, for it takes its untouched stand you hate The little four-leaved rose that I love best, That freshest will awake, and sweetest go to rest? LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY. "AS THY DAY, SO SHALL THY STRENGTH BE." WHEN adverse winds and waves arise, And in my heart despondence sighs, When life her throng of care reveals, That "as my day, my strength shall be." When, with sad footstep, memory roves That "as my day, my strength shall be." One trial more must yet be past, One pang, the keenest, and the last; That "as her day, her strength shall be." MISSIONS. LIGHT for the dreary vales Of ice-bound Labrador! Where the frost-king breathes on the slippery sails, And the mariner wakes no more; Lift high the lamp that never fails, To that dark and sterile shore. Light for the forest child! An outcast though he be, From the haunts where the sun of his childhood smiled, And the country of the free; Pour the hope of Heaven o'er his desert wild, For what home on earth has he? Light for the hills of Greece! Light for that trampled clime Where the rage of the spoiler refused to cease If the Moslem hath dealt the gift of peace, Light on the Hindoo shed! On the maddening idol-train, The flame of the suttee is dire and red, Light for the Persian sky! The Sophi's wisdom fades, And the pearls of Ormus are poor to buy Hark! Hark-'tis the sainted Martyn's sigh From Ararat's mournful shades. Light for the Burman vales! For the islands of the sea! For the coast where the slave-ship fills its sails And her kidnapped babes the mother wails 'Neath the lone banana-tree! Light for the ancient race Exiled from Zion's rest! Homeless they roain from place to place, They shudder at Sinai's fearful base; Guide them to Calvary's breast. Light for the darkened earth! Ye blessed, its beams who shed, Shrink not, till the day-spring hath its birth, Till, wherever the footstep of man doth tread |