The sapling draws its sustenance, Stand the gray rocks, and trem and thrives; bling shadows throw, Though stricken to the heart with And the fair trees look over, side winter's cold, The drooping tree revives. The softly-warbled song Comes from the pleasant woods. and colored wings Nor shall they fail, till, to its au- The golden robin moves. The WITH What a glory comes and And pecks by the witch-hazel, goes the year! whilst aloud The buds of spring, those beauti. From cottage roofs the warbling ful harbingers bluebird sings, Of sunny skies and cloudless And merrily, with oft-repeated stroke, times, enjoy Life's newness, and earth's garni- Sounds from the threshing-floor ture spread out; the busy flail. Oh, what a glory doth this world put on For him who, with a fervent heart, goes forth Under the bright and glorious sky, and looks On duties well performed, and days well spent! For him the wind, ay, and the yellow leaves, There is a beautiful spirit breath- Shall have a voice, and give him ing now eloquent teachings. Its mellow richness on the clus- He shall so hear the solemn hymn tered trees, that Death And, from a beaker full of richest Has lifted up for all, that he shall dyes, go Pouring new glory on the autumn To his long resting-place without Lifts up her purple wing, and in WHEN winter winds are piercing the vales The gentle wind, a sweet and pas sionate wooer, chill, And through the hawthorn blows the gale, Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs With solemn feet I tread the hill, Where Autumn, like a faint old The embracing sunbeams chastely Where, twisted round the barren | And the censer burning swung, oak, The summer vine in beauty clung, prayer And summer winds the stillness Had been consecrated there. broke, The crystal icicle is hung. Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs And the nuns' sweet hymn was heard the while, Sung low, in the dim, mysterious aisle. Pour out the river's gradual Take thy banner! May it wave tide, Shrilly the skater's iron rings, Alas! how changed from the fair scene, When birds sang out their mel low lay, Proudly o'er the good and brave; And winds were soft, and woods 'Take thy banner! and, beneath 'Take thy banner! But when night Closes round the ghastly fight, Has grown familiar with your If the vanquished warrior bow, song; I hear it in the opening year, I listen, and it cheers me long. Spare him! By our holy vow, By the mercy that endears, HYMN OF THE MORAVIAN Spare him! as thou wouldst be NUNS OF BETHLEHEM AT THE CONSECRATION OF PU LASKI'S BANNER WHEN the dying flame of day spared! 'Take thy banner! and if e'er Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier, And the muffled drum should beat The warrior took that banner And the wild horn, whose voice proud, the woodland fills, And it was his martial cloak and Was ringing to the merry shout shroud! SUNRISE ON THE HILLS That faint and far the glen sent out, Where, answering to the sudden shot, thin smoke, I STOOD upon the hills, when Through thick-leaved branches, heaven's wide arch Was glorious with the sun's return ing march, And woods were brightened, and soft gales from the dingle broke. If thou art worn and hard beset With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget, will keep Went forth to kiss the sun-clad If thou wouldst read a lesson, that vales. The clouds were far beneath me; Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep, bathed in light, They gathered midway round the Go to the woods and hills! No The noisy bittern wheeled his spi- It fills the nice and delicate ear of Came sweetly to the echo-giving In the green valley, where the sil hills; ver brook, From its full laver, pours the white | My busy fancy oft embodies it, cascade; And, babbling low amid the tan gled woods, Slips down through moss-grown As a bright image of the light and beauty That dwell in nature; of the heavenly forms stones with endless laughter. We worship in our dreams, and And frequent, on the everlasting hills, Its feet go forth, when it doth wrap itself In all the dark embroidery of the storm, And shouts the stern, strong wind. And here, amid The silent majesty of these deep woods, Its presence shall uplift thy thoughts from earth, As to the sunshine and the pure, bright air Their tops the green trees lift. Hence gifted bards Have ever loved the calm and quiet shades. For them there was an eloquent voice in all The sylvan pomp of woods, the golden sun, The flowers, the leaves, the river the soft hues That stain the wild bird's wing, and flush the clouds When the sun sets. Within her tender eye The heaven of April, with its changing light, And when it wears the blue of May, is hung, And on her lip the rich, red rose. Her hair Is like the summer tresses of the trees, When twilight makes them brown, and on her cheek Blushes the richness of an autumn sky, With ever-shifting beauty. Then her breath, It is so like the gentle air of Spring, As, from the morning's dewy flowers, it comes Full of their fragrance, that it is a joy To have it round us, and her silver voice Is the rich music of a summer bird, Heard in the still night, with its passionate cadence. BURIAL OF THE MINNISINK In many a lazy syllable, repeat- ON sunny slope and beechen ing Their old poetic legends to the wind. swell, The shadowed light of evening fell; And, where the maple's leaf was brown, And this is the sweet spirit, that❘ With soft and silent lapse came doth fill down, The world; and, in these wayward The glory, that the wood receives, At sunset, in its golden leaves. days of youth, |