OH! let not gems or woven gold
Entwine thy waves of shadowy hair,
Or art arrange each modest fold

That lightly shades thy bosom fair.
Fix not the hues that delicately fly,
Deepening thy soft cheeks pure though paler
dye.

Who ever hangs the simple rose

With glittering gems or golden threads? Deepens with paint the blush that glows On every leaf? or perfume sheds

To scent the flower of love which fragrance flings,

Wherever Zephyr waves his golden wings?

Nor a plant, a leaf, a flower, but contains
A folio volume. We may read and read,
And read again; and still find something new,
Something to please, something to instruct,
Even in the noisome weed.

THOUGHTS.

Lquch.

How comes a thought?
Even as the dew,

Which falls not in a visible drop,
But the still night through
Gathers upon the flower cup,
Life to renew.

How unfolds a thought?

As a bud of spring,

Which in itself contains a branch,
Leaf and blossoming-

A bough on which a happy bird
May rest and sing.

How abides a thought?

As a heavenly star,

Which, seen by us but not controll'd, Burns in its sphere;

Veiled often, but by passing clouds,

Our own eye near.

Hath a thought voice?
As sweet as bird,

Whose melody in a dusky wood,
With wind unstirr'd,

Spreading like brightness from a lamp,
All around is heard.

Will a thought leave us?

Even as the moon

Which from fullest beauty failing,
For a while is gone-
To come again with softest light,
Surely and soon.

Doth thought propagate?
The power of an eye,

Whose expression the soul changes,
As the sun the sky;

There are sudden lights, a slow dawn,
Shadows that fly.

FROM FLORA AND THE FLOWERS.'

Lyurh.

FLORA! beautiful and wise,

Skilled in human mysteries,

Hearts there are to hymn thy praises,

Many and lowly as the daisies-
Daisies which embellish spring

With half-hidden blossoming.
Hearts there are, deep and pondering,
Flower-filled with love and wondering!
Every when and every where
Sweetest flowers welcome are.

The little one, too early blest,
Hath flowers in his coffin'd rest;
New gathered blooms their odors shed,
Sweet as the memory of the dead.

Oh! gather from the rough hill-side
Some flower to adorn the bride;
It shall fade: let love endure

Strong as the hill, its flower as pure.

Nature is the robe of God-
God the merciful and good;
Flowers are the embroidered hem:
Virtue he hath given them.

The green earth has its flower, the sky-
Its mighty flower of blue;

And whilst it still blossoms bright and high,
Shall lesser flowers bloom too.

Work, Flora! then, rejoicingly,
And give us blossoms new.

GOD'S STRENGTH.

Bowring.

His strength nor perishing tongue can tell,
Nor immortal hymns rehearse.
'Tis high as heaven, 'tis deep as hell,
And wide as the universe.

The ocean to him is a dew drop small,

And mountains an atom of sand,

And the sun, and the stars, and this earthly ball

Are dust in his mighty hand.

And how can a Being so great as he
Bend down to the earth his ear ?
Can children of clay so frail as we
In his awful presence appear?
O yes, to his throne even we may rise
To us his promise is given,
For a broken heart is a sacrifice,

Which will find its way to heaven.