HE CAME. He came :- -Thy burthen on him laid, He meekly bow'd his head :-'Twas done, Justice!-command thy storm to roll,- For thee, my soul, though nature fail, Thy glory, and thy life shall shine. THE MOUNTAIN BEE. 'Tis morning's earliest dawn; The dark grey clouds grow rosy in the east, And cast a crimson glow of shining light Upon the surface of the broad lake's breast. Slowly and silently The day-king lifts his ray-encircled brow And hark! a low soft hum Of gently murmured music now is heard, Too near the earth to be the wild lark's song, Too tremulous for the woods by soft winds stirred. It is the mountain bee Deep hidden in the purple fox-glove's bell, EBEN. Anon those tones are still, And then he revels on the nectar there, Now on a bed of thyme He folds his silver wings-but not to sleep. He loiters not, but works throughout the day, To those who idly wile life's precious hours away. But see, the sun goes down His parting rays are gilding tower and trec, The flowers have closed their eyes, and homeward comes Laden with honey sweets, the wearied mountain bee. Winchester. THE EARLY DEAD. ANNIE WHITE. Gently they passed away In the full glory of their youthful prime, And sought in the far distant land of day A more congenial clime. They found an early tomb; Their life was like the fragrance of a flower, Fleeting but beautiful; their radiant bloom Faded in one short hour. Life's summer morning broke In glorious beauty, but its brilliant skies Why should we mourn their loss? Or think it hard that they so soon should die. They gained the crown, but scarcely bore the cross, And now they rest on high. Death with its sable wing May darken all that's bright and lovely here, But never can his blighting shadows fling On what is lovely there. Here shall they spotless bloom In everlasting beauty, while the night Shall never shadow with its cheerless gloom, Those flow'rets of the light. No blighting winter's breath Shall ever sweep across that garden fair, E. E. AUTUMN WOODS. ERE, in the northern gale, The summer tresses of the trees are gone, The mountains that infold In their wide sweep, the colored landscape round, I roam the woods that crown The upland, where the mingled splendors glow, My steps are not alone In these bright walks; the sweet south-west, at play, Flies, rustling, where the painted leaves are strown Along the winding way. And far in heaven, the while, The sun, that sends that gale to wander here, Where now the solemn shade, Verdure and gloom where many branches meet; Let in through all the trees Come the strange rays; the forest depths are bright; Twinkles, like beams of light. The rivulet, late unseen, Where bickering through the shrubs its waters run, And glimmerings of the sun. Oh, Autumn! why so soon Depart the hues that make thy forest glad? Ah! 'twere a lot too blest For ever in thy colored shades to stray; To rove and dream for aye; And leave the vain low strife That makes men mad-the tug for wealth and power, The passions and the cares that wither life, And waste its little hour. Bryant. NIAGARA. "Deep calleth unto deep." And what are we, Brainerd. |