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All the sorrow and the longing
To these hearts of ours belonging?

Out on it! no foolish pining For the sky

Dims thine eye,

Or for the stars so calmly shining;
Like thee, let this soul of mine

Take hue from that wherefor I long,
Self-stayed and high, serene and
strong,

Not satisfied with hoping, but divine. Violet! dear violet!

Thy blue eyes are only wet

With joy and love of Him who sent thee,

And for the fulfilling sense

Of that glad obedience

Which made thee all that nature meant thee!

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

ALMOND BLOSSOM. LOSSOM of the almond trees, April's gift to April's bees. Birthday ornament of Spring, Flora's fairest daughterling; Coming when no flowerets dare Trust the cruel outer air; When the royal kingcup bold Dares not don his coat of gold; And the sturdy black-thorn spray Keeps his silver for the May; Coming when no flowerets would, Save thy lowly sisterhood, Early violets, blue and white, Dying for their love of light. Almond blossom, sent to teach us That the spring-days soon will reach

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THE IVY GREEN.

H, a dainty plant is the Ivy Green,
That creepeth o'er ruins old!

Of right choice food are his meals, I ween,
In his cell so lone and cold.

The wall must be crumbled, the stone decayed,

To pleasure his dainty whim;

And the mouldering dust that years have made

Is a merry meal for him.

Creeping where no life is seen,

A rare old plant is the Ivy Green.

Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings,

And a staunch old heart has he; How closely he twineth, how tight he clings To his friend the huge Oak-tree: And slily he traileth along the ground, And his leaves he gently waves, As he joyously hugs and crawleth around The rich mould of dead men's graves. Creeping where grim death has been, A rare old plant is the Ivy Green.

To those who on my leisure would in- Whole ages have fled, and their works decay

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OR so I have seen a lark rising from his bed of grass, and soaring upwards, singing as he rises, and hopes to get to heaven, and climb above the clouds; but the poor bird was beaten back with the loud sighings of an eastern wind, and his motion made irregular and inconstant, descending more at every breath of the tempest, than it could recover by the liberation and frequent weighing of his wings; till the little creature was forced to sit down and pant, and stay till the storm was over; and then it made a prosperous flight, and did rise and sing, as if it had learned music and motion from an angel, as he passed sometimes through the air, about his ministries here below.

JEREMY TAYLOR.

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