FLOWERS FOR THE BEE.
COME, honey-bee, with thy busy hum,
To the fragrant tufts of the wild thyme come,
And sip the sweet dew from the cowslip's head,
From the lily's bell and the violet's bed,
Come, honey bee,
There is spread for thee
A rich repast in wood and field,
And a thousand flowers
Within our bowers
To thee their sweetest essence yield.
Come, honey-bee, to our woodlands come,
There's a lesson for us in thy busy hum;
Thou hast a treasure in store in the hawthorn's
wreath,
In the golden broom and the purple heath;
And flowers less fair
Like pleasant friends drop balm for thee,
And thou winnest spoil
Thou patient, and thrifty, and diligent bee,
We may learn from the bee the wise man's lore,
"The hand of the diligent gathereth store."
He plies in his calling from morn till night,
Nor tires of his labour nor flags in his flight
From numberless blossoms of every hue,
He gathers the nectar and sips the dew,
Then homeward he speeds
O'er the fragrant meads,
And he hums as he goes his thankful lay-
Let our thanks too arise
For our daily supplies,
As by our God upheld, we hasten on our way,
To where the living waters flow,
And fruits celestial ever grow.
THE SUN OF RIGHTEOUSNESS.
CHRIST, whose glory fills the skies,
Christ, the true, the only light,
Sun of righteousness, arise,
Triumph o'er the shades of night:
Day-spring from on high, be near
Day-star of my heart appear.
Dark and cheerless is the morn,
Unaccompanied by thee;
Joyless is the day's return,
Till thy mercy's beams I see;
Till thou inward light impart,
Glad my eyes, and warm my heart.
Visit, then, this soul of mine,
Pierce the gloom of sin and grief;
Fill me, Radiancy Divine !
Scatter all my unbelief,
More and more thyself display,
Shining to the perfect day.
ON HER BIRTH-DAY, WHEN SHE WAS FIVE YEARS OLD.
LITTLE Beatrice! I may
Give to thee my votive lay;
Wishing length of days and health,
Years of comfort and of wealth;
And that friends, with hearts sincere,
May increase each opening year.
Nor will I omit t' express
Wish of greater tenderness ;-
That thou mayest, in thy youth,
Know the God of love and truth;
That his Spirit may impart
His own image to thy heart;
That thou ever may'st be found
Pilgrim unto Zion bound;
That thy course may be direct,
That thy progress be uncheck'd;
That thy heart may ever prove
Given to thy Saviour's love;
And that, when thy course is o'er,
Thou may'st gain that happy shore,
Where, on thy Redeemer's breast,
Thou may'st find eternal rest.
FLOWERS of the field, how meet ye seem
Man's frailty to portray;
Blooming so fair in morning's beam,
Passing at eve away!
Teach us, and oh! though short your reign,
Sweet flowers, ye shall not live in vain!
Go, form a monitory wreath
For youth's unthinking brow;
Go, and to busy manhood breathe,
What most he fears to know;
Go, strew the path where age doth tread,
And tell him of the silent dead.
But, whilst to thoughtless ones and gay
Ye breathe these truths severe,
To those who droop in pale decay,
Have ye no word of cheer?
Oh! yes; ye weave a double spell,
And death and life betoken well.
Go, then, when wrapt in fear and gloom,
Fond hearts and true are sighing,
And deck with emblematic bloom
The pillow of the dying;
And softly speak, nor speak in vain,
Of your long sleep and broken chain.
And say, that He who from the dust
Recalls the slumbering flower,
Will surely visit those who trust
The Saviour's love and power;
Will mark where sleeps their peaceful clay,
And roll, ere long, the stone away.
THE bird let loose in eastern skies,
When hastening fondly home,
Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies
Where idle warblers roam.
But high she shoots through air and light,
Above all low delay,
Where nothing earthly bounds her flight,
Nor shadows dim her way.
So grant me, God, from every care,
And sinful passion free,
Through pure religion's clearer air,
To hold my course to thee!
No sin to cloud-no lure to stay
My soul, as home she springs;
Thy sunshine on her joyful way:
Thy freedom on her wings.
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