THE BOWER OF BLISS.

E. SPENSER.

HERE the most dainty paradise on ground
Itself doth offer to his sober eye,

In which all pleasures plenteously abound,
And none does others' happiness envy;

The painted flowers, the trees upshooting

high,

The dales for shade, the hills for breathing

space,

The trembling groves, the crystal running by,

And that which all fair works doth most aggrace,

The art, which all that wrought, appeared in no place.

One would have thought (so cunningly the rude
And scorned parts were mingled with the fine)

That nature had for wantonness ensued

Art, and that art at nature did repine; So striving each the other to undermine, Each did the other's work more beautify; So differing both in wills, agreed in fine: So all agreed through sweet diversity, This garden to adorn with all variety.

Eftsoons they heard a most melodious sound,
Of all that might delight a dainty ear,
Such as at once might not on living ground,
Save in this paradise be heard elsewhere:
Right hard it was for wight which did it hear,
To read what manner music that might be:
For all that pleasing is to living ear,

Was there consorted in one harmony;

Birds, voices, instruments, winds, waters, all agree.

The joyous birds, shrouded in cheerful shade,
Their notes unto the voice attempered sweet;
The angelical soft trembling voices made
To the instruments divine respondence meet;
The silver sounding instruments did meet
With the base murmur of the water's fall:
The water's fall with difference discreet,
Now soft, now loud, unto the wind did call:
The gentle warbling wind low answered to all.

NATURE'S HYMNS.

J. G. WHITTIER.

[By permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co.] And to her voice the solemn ocean lent, Touching its harp of sand, a deep accompaniment.

HE harp at Nature's advent strung

Has never ceased to play:

The song the stars of morning sung

Has never died away.

And prayer is made, and praise is given,
By all things near and far;

The ocean looketh up to heaven,

And mirrors every star.

Its waves are kneeling on the strand,
As kneels the human knee,

Their white locks bowing to the sand,
The priesthood of the sea!

They pour their glittering treasures forth,

Their gifts of pearl they bring, And all the listening hills of earth

Take up the song they sing.

The green earth sends her incense up
From many a mountain shrine;
From folded leaf and dewy cup
She pours her sacred wine.

The mists above the morning rills
Rise white as wings of prayer;
The altar-curtains of the hills
Are sunset's purple air.

The winds with hymns of praise are loud,
Or low with sobs of pain,-

The thunder-organ of the cloud,

The dropping tears of rain.

With drooping head and branches crossed

The twilight forest grieves,

Or speaks with tongues of Pentecost
From all its sunlit leaves.

The blue sky is the temple's arch,

Its transept earth and air,
The music of its starry march
The chorus of a prayer.

So Nature keeps the reverent frame
With which her years began,
And all her signs and voices shame
The prayerless heart of man.

MAJESTY OF GOD.

T. STERNHOLD.

The Lord descended from above,
And bowed the heavens most high,

And underneath his feet he cast

The darkness of the sky.

On cherubim and seraphim

Full royally he rode,

And on the wings of mighty winds
Came flying all abroad.

He sat serene upon the floods,
Their fury to restrain;

And he, as sovereign Lord and King,

For evermore shall reign.

Give glory to his awful name,
And honor him alone;
Give worship to his majesty,
Upon his holy throne.