THE summer comes with rosy wreaths,
To dance among the fragrant flowers,
While friendly autumn plenty breathes,
And blessings in abundant showers.
E'en winter with its frost and snow
Brings much the mind to calm and cheer,
But there's a season worth them all
And that's the spring-time of the year.
In spring the farmer ploughs the field
That yet will wave with yellow corn,
In spring the birdie builds its nest
In foggy bank or budding thorn;
The bank and brae, the hill and dell,
A song of hope are heard to sing,
And summer, autumn, winter tell
With joy and grief the work of spring.
Now youth's the spring-time of your life,
When seed is sown with care and toil,
And hopes are high and fears are rife,
Lest weeds should rise the grain to spoil.
I've sown the seed, my bairnies dear,
By precept and example too,
And may the Hand that guides us here
Preserve us all the journey through.
But soon the time will come when you
May lose a mother's tender care,
A world with sorrows not a few,
With all its stormy strife to share :
Then as you pass through life along
Let fortune kind or frowning prove,
Ne'er let the Tempter lead you wrong,
But still be guided by His love.
GEORGE DONALD.
HAST thou, midst life's empty noises,
Heard the solemn steps of Time,
And the low, mysterious voices
Of another clime?
Early hath life's mighty question
Thrilled within thy heart of youth,
With a deep and strong beseeching, -
What, and where, is truth?
Not to ease and aimless quiet
Doth the inward answer tend;
But to works of love and duty,
As our being's end.
Earnest toil and strong endeavor
Of a spirit which within
Wrestles with familiar evil
And besetting sin;
And without, with tireless vigor,
Steady heart, and purpose strong, In the power of Truth assaileth
Every form of wrong.
THE BUILDING OF THE HOUSE.
THE BUILDING OF THE HOUSE.
I HAVE a wondrous house to build,
A dwelling, humble yet divine;
A lowly cottage to be filled
With all the jewels of the mine.
How shall I build it strong and fair,-
This noble house, this lodging rare,
So small and modest, yet so great?
How shall I fill its chambers bare
With use, with ornaments, with state?
My God hath given the stone and clay;
"T is I must fashion them aright;
"T is I must mould them day by day,
And make my labor my delight;
This cot, this palace, this fair home,
This pleasure-house, this holy dome,
Must be in all proportions fit,
That heavenly messengers may come
To lodge with him who tenants it.
No fairy bower this house must be,
To totter at each gale that starts,
But of substantial masonry,
Symmetrical in all its parts:
Fit in its strength to stand sublime
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