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HOPE.

T summer eve, when Heaven's ethereal bow Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below, Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye, Whose sun-bright summit mingles with the sky? Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear More sweet than all the landscape smiling near? "Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, And robes the mountain in its azure hue. Thus, with delight, we linger to survey The promised joys of life's unmeasured way; Thus, from afar, each dim-discovered scene More pleasing seems than all the past hath been,

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EQUINOCTIAL.

HE sun of life has crossed the line;
The summer-shine of lengthened light
Faded and failed-till, where I stand,
"Tis equal day and equal night.

One after one as dwindling hours,

Youth's glowing hopes have dropped away, And soon may barely leave the gleam That coldly scores a winter's day.

I am not young-I am not old;

The flush of morn, the sunset calm, Paling and deepening, each to each, Meet midway with a solemn charm.

One side I see the summer fields,
Not yet disrobed of all their green;

While westerly, along the hills,
Flame the first tints of frosty sheen.

Ah, middle-point, where cloud and storm
Make battle-ground of this my life!
Where, even matched, the night and day
Wage round me their September strife.

I bow me to the threatening gale:
I know when that is overpast,
Among the peaceful harvest days
An Indian Summer comes at last.
MRS. A. D. T. WHITNEY.

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How hard he breathes! over the snow I heard just now the crowing cock. The shadows flicker to and fro:

The cricket chirps: the light burns low:

"Tis nearly twelve o clock.

Shake hands before you die.

Old year, we 'll dearly rue for you:
What is it we can do for you?
Speak out before you die.

His face is growing sharp and thin.
Alack! our friend is gone.

Close up his eyes: tie up his chin:

Step from the corpse, and let him in
That standeth there alone,

And waiteth at the door.

There's a new foot on the floor, my friend
And a new face at the door, my friend,
A new face at the door.

HOPE.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

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Has spread in the frosts, and far regions
Of snows in the North, and South sands,
Where never the tramp of his legions

Was heard, nor has reached forth his red hands.
Be thankful; the price and the payment,
The birth, the privations and scorn,
The cross, and the parting of raiment,

Are finished. The star brought us morn. Look starward; stand far and unearthy, Free-souled as a banner unfurled; Be worthy, O brother, be worthy! For a God was the price of the world. JOAQUIN MILLER.

ALAS! HOW LIGHT A CAUSE MAY MOVE.

LAS! how light a cause may move Dissension between hearts that love!

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SEASON as the princess, dwells in the highest and inwardest room; the senses are the guards and attendants on the court, without whose aid nothing is admitted into the presence; the supreme faculties are the Peers; the outward parts and inward affections are the Commons.

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