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To-day is life in blossom:
Heart's-ease in every bosom,
And all is beautiful.

A spirit within us springing
At heaven's gate will be singing,
Thanks for the Sunday school!

We sun us in its brightness;
We clothe us in its whiteness,
As doth the wayside pool,
That holds from morn till even
Its little bit of heaven, —

The gladsome Sunday school! Here learn we how to lighten The heaviest lot, and brighten

The day most dark and dule, And lay up childhood's treasure, To reap immortal pleasure

Even in a Sunday school.

The summer earth rejoices,
With hers we lift our voices,

This was first used in a collection of hymns, by a committee of the Methodist Protestant Church, by permission of the author, in 1860.

LORD of all being throned afar,
Thy glory flames from sun and star :
Centre and soul of every sphere,
Yet to each loving heart how near!
Sun of our life, thy quickening ray
Sheds on our path the glow of day;
Star of our hope, thy softened light
Cheers the long watches of the night.
Our midnight is thy smile withdrawn ;
Our noontide is thy gracious dawn;
Our rainbow arch thy mercy's sign;
All, save the clouds of sin, are thine.

Lord of all life, below, above,

Whose light is truth, whose warmth is love, Before thy ever-blazing throne

We ask no lustre of our own.

Grant us thy truth to make us free,
And kindling hearts that burn for thee,
Till all thy living altars claim

One holy light, one heavenly flame.

And could I bear to sit alone

Mid nature's fixed benignities, While my warm pulse was moving. Too dark thou art, O glittering sun, Too strait ye are, capacious seas, To satisfy the loving.

It seems a better lot than so,

To sit with friends beneath the beech, And call them dear and dearer;

Or follow children as they go

In pretty pairs, with softened speech As the church-bells ring nearer.

Love me, sweet friends, this Sabbath day,
The sea sings round me while ye roll
Afar the hymn unaltered,

And kneel, where once I knelt to pray,
And bless me deeper in the soul,

Because the voice has faltered.

And though this Sabbath comes to me Without the stoled minister

Or chanting congregation, God's spirit brings communion, HE Who brooded soft on waters drear, Creator on creation.

Himself, I think, shall draw me higher.
Where keep the saints with harp and song
An endless Sabbath morning,

And on that sea commixed with fire
Oft drop their eyelids raised too long
To the full Godhead's burning.

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

May grace be given that I may walk therein, Not like the hireling, for his selfish gain, With backward glances and reluctant tread, Making a merit of his coward dread, —

But, cheerful, in the light around me thrown, Walking as one to pleasant service led; Doing God's will as if it were my own, Yet trusting not in mine, but in his strength alone!

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

SUNDAY.

EDMUND SPENSER, the most poetical of English poets, was born in London in 1552 or 1553. and died there Jan. 16, 1599. He is best known as the author of an allegorical religious poem entitled "The Faerie Queene."

MOST glorious Lord of life, that on this day Didst make thy triumph over death and sin, And, having harrowed hell, didst bring away Captivity thence captive, us to win ;

This joyous day, dear Lord, with joy begin, And grant that we, for whom thou didest die, Being with thy dear blood clean washed from sin,

May live forever in felicity:

And that thy love we weighing worthily,
May likewise love thee for the same again;
And for thy sake, that all like dear didst buy,
With love may one another entertain.

So let us love, dear love, like as we ought:
Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught.

1593.

EDMUND SPENSER.

FIRST-DAY THOUGHTS.

IN calm and cool and silence, once again
I find my old accustomed place among
My brethren, where, perchance, no human
tongue

Shall utter words; where never hymn is sung,

Nor deep-toned organ blown, nor censer swung,

Nor dim light falling through the pictured pane!

There, syllabled by silence, let me hear
The still small voice which reached the proph-
et's ear;

Read in my heart a still diviner law,
Than Israel's leader on his tables saw!
There let me strive with each besetting sin,
Recall my wandering fancies, and restrain
The sore disquiet of a restless brain;
And, as the path of duty is made plain,

FOR THE LORD'S DAY.
SWEET is the work, my God, my King,
To praise thy name, give thanks and sing:
To show thy love by morning light,
And talk of all thy truth at night.

Sweet is the day of sacred rest;
No mortal care shall seize my breast;
Oh, may my heart in tune be found,
Like David's harp of solemn sound!

My heart shall triumph in my Lord,
And bless his works, and bless his word;
Thy works of grace, how bright they shine!
How deep thy counsels! how divine!

Fools never raise their thoughts so high; Like brutes they live, like brutes they die : Like grass they flourish, till thy breath Blasts them in everlasting death.