A SABBATH SUMMER NOON.

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And from debasement rescued. By Thy grace
The particle divine remained unquenched;
And, 'mid the wild weeds of a rugged soil,
Thy bounty caused to flourish deathless flowers,
From Paradise transplanted: wintry age

Impends; the frost will gather round my heart;
If the flowers wither, I am worse than dead!
Come, Labor, when the worn-out frame requires
Perpetual sabbath; come, disease and want;
And sad exclusion through decay of sense;
But leave me unabated trust in Thee, -
And let thy favor, to the end of life,
Inspire me with ability to seek

Repose and hope among eternal things, -
Father of heaven and earth! and I am rich,
And will possess my portion in content.

A SABBATH SUMMER NOON.

AN EXTRACT.

WILLIAM MOTHERWELL.

THE calmness of this noontide hour,
The shadow of this wood,

The fragrance of each wilding flower,
Are marvellously good;

O, here crazed spirits breathe the balm
Of nature's solitude!

It is a most delicious calm

That resteth everywhere,

The holiness of soul-sung psalm,
Of felt but voiceless prayer!

With hearts too full to speak their bliss,
God's creatures silent are.

They silent are; but not the less,
In this most tranquil hour
Of deep unbroken dreaminess,

They own that Love and Power
Which, like the softest sunshine, rests
On every leaf and flower.

How silent are the song-filled nests
That crowd this drowsy tree!
How mute is every feathered breast
That swelled with melody!

And yet bright, bead-like eyes declare

This hour is ecstasy.

Heart forth! as uncaged bird through air,

And mingle in the tide

Of blessed things, that, lacking care,

Now full of beauty glide

Around thee, in their angel hues

Of joy and sinless pride.

Here, on this green bank that o'erviews The far-retreating glen,

A SABBATH SUMMER NOON.

Beneath the spreading beech-tree muse
On all within thy ken;

For lovelier scene shall never break
On thy dimmed sight again.

Slow stealing through the tangled brake

That skirts the distant hill,

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With noiseless hoof two bright fawns make

For yonder lapsing rill;

Meek children of the forest gloom,
Drink on, and fear no ill!

I bend me towards the tiny flower,
That underneath this tree
Opens its little breast of sweets
In meekest modesty,

And breathes the eloquence of love,
In muteness, Lord! to thee.

Far down the glen in distance gleams
The hamlet's tapering spire,
And glittering in meridial beams,

Its vane is tongued with fire;
And hark how sweet its silvery bell,
And hark the rustic choir!

The holy sounds float up the dell

To fill my ravished ear,

And now the glorious anthems swell

Of worshippers sincere,

Of hearts bowed in the dust, that shed
Faith's penitential tear.

Dear Lord! thy shadow is forth spread

On all mine eye can see;

And, filled at the pure fountain-head

Of deepest piety,

My heart loves all created things,
And travels home to thee.

Around me while the sunshine flings
A flood of mocky gold,

My chastened spirit once more sings,
As it was wont of old,

That lay of gratitude which burst
From young heart uncontrolled,

When, in the midst of nature nursed,
Sweet influences fell

On childly hearts that were athirst,

Like soft dews in the bell

Of tender flowers, that bowed their heads, And breathed a fresher smell.

So, even now this hour hath sped
In rapturous thought o'er me,
Feeling myself with nature wed, –
A holy mystery,—

A part of earth, a part of heaven,
A part, great God! of thee.

THE USE OF FLOWERS.

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THE USE OF FLOWERS.

MARY HOWITT.

GOD might have made the earth bring forth Enough for great and small,

The oak-tree and the cedar-tree,

Without a flower at all.

We might have had enough, enough

For every want of ours,

For luxury, medicine, and toil,

And yet have had no flowers.

The ore within the mountain mine
Requireth none to grow;

Nor doth it need the lotus-flower

To make the river flow.

The clouds might give abundant rain,
The nightly dews might fall,
And the herb that keepeth life in man,
Might yet have drunk them all.

Then wherefore, wherefore were they made,

All dyed with rainbow light,

All fashioned with supremest grace

Upspringing day and night,