bloweth ;

Temple and statue the marble block hides.

Droop not, though shame, sin, and anguish are round thee;

Bravely fling off the cold chain that hath bound thee!

Look to yon pure heaven smiling beyond thee:

Rest not content in thy darkness, а

clod!

Work for some good, be it ever SO slowly;

Cherish some flower, be it ever so lowly:
Labor!- all labor is noble and holy;
Let thy great deeds be thy prayer to
thy God.

JONES VERY.

[U. S. A.]

THE PRESENT HEAVEN.

FATHER! thy wonders do not singly stand, Nor far removed where feet have selAround us ever lies the enchanted land, dom strayed; In marvels rich to thine own sons displayed.

In finding thee are all things round us found;

In losing thee are all things lost beside; Ears have we, but in vain sweet voices sound,

And to our eyes the vision is denied.

Open our eyes, that we that world may

see!

Open our ears, that we thy voice may hear,

And in the spirit-land may ever be,
And feel thy presence with us, always

near.

TO THE PAINTED COLUMBINE.

BRIGHT image of the early years When glowed my cheek as red as thou,

I see the hill's far-gazing head, Where gay thou noddest in the gale; I hear light-bounding footsteps tread The grassy path that winds along the vale.

I hear the voice of woodland song Break from each bush and wellknown tree,

And, on light pinions borne along, Comes back the laugh from childhood's heart of glee.

O'er the dark rock the dashing brook,

With look of anger, leaps again, And, hastening to each flowery nook, Its distant voice is heard far down the glen.

Fair child of art! thy charms decay, Touched by the withered hand Time;

of

And hushed the music of that day, When my voice mingled with the streamlet's chime:

JOHN KEBLE.

[1796-1821.]

MORNING.

glee

That echoed on thy native hill; And when, loved flower! I think of thee,

My infant feet will seem to seek thee still.

Hearts that with rising morn arise! Eyes that the beam celestial view, Which evermore makes all things new!

New every morning is the love Our wakening and uprising prove

Fast silent tears were flowing,
When something stood behind;
A hand was on my shoulder, -
I knew its touch was kind:
It drew me nearer, -nearer, —
We did not speak one word,
For the beating of our own hearts
Was all the sound we heard.

THE MEN OF OLD.

I KNOW not that the men of old
Were better than men now,

Of heart more kind, of hand more bold,
Of more ingenuous brow;

I heed not those who pine for force
A ghost of time to raise,

As if they thus could check the course
Of these appointed days.

Still is it true and over-true,
That I delight to close
This book of life self-wise and new,
And let my thoughts repose
On all that humble happiness
The world has since foregone, —
The daylight of contentedness
That on those faces shone !