So here he crept in silence

Beneath the golden skies, And look'd into the distance

With sad and thoughtful eyes.

Perchance amid life's bustle
He softly stole away
In this sequester'd corner
To meditate and pray.
Perchance he was a poet,

And here in Nature's fane

He woo'd the nymph of numbers, And drank her liquid strain.

I watch'd him till the moonlight
Fell on the silver'd mere,
And beautified the common
In tissue-robings clear.
Then, like a pleasant vision,
He pass'd me with a smile,

And oft appears before me,
That old man by the stile.

THE UNSUCCESSFUL MINER.

FAR underground a miner
Is labouring most severe,
Blasting the shining marble
In lonely cavern drear.

O how the perspiration

Is streaming from him there! And like a wretch expiring He panted in his lair.

A month was nearly ended,
And he severe had wrought
Day after day in darkness,

And it was all for nought..
The mineral-vein had faded,
And now all hope was fled;
To-morrow should be pay-day,
His children have no bread.

He stood within the office,

His hat was in his hand; He spoke, and much he trembled Before that busy band: "I've spent a month in labour, A month of toil and pain, A month of disappointment; No tin was in the vein.

"And now I'm come to borrow
What surely should be fees,
Till I shall better prosper,
And pay you if you please.
O, think upon my household
All friendless and forlorn,
Weeping for bitter hunger

This golden summer morn.”

He hung his head in silence,
A cloud pass'd o'er his brow,
As spake the ruddy captain,
"We've nothing for you now."
Within his soul an arrow

By those dread words was thrown;
His body bow'd and quiver'd,
His soul sent forth a groan.

GOD'S GREATEST WORK.

ON through the meadow-paths they walk'd
Towards the setting sun,

By hedgerows bright with hyacinths,
That father and his son.

And now the old man raised his eyes,
And ask'd with earnest joy,
"Which is the greatest work of God?
Come, answer me, my boy."

Before them rose a lofty hill,
With rocks upon its crest;

A rushing river at its base,
And woods upon its breast;

The eagles perch'd among the crags :
"O father, it must be

God's greatest work to raise and rib
The eternal hills,” said he.

"O no, my son: the hills are grand,
And grand they will remain :
But God's great work is grander still!
Come, answer me again."

Upon their ears came up the sound

Of sea-waves on the shore:

"Is it yon ocean," said the boy,

"With everlasting roar?"

“O no, my son: the sea is great ; But answer me again :

God's greatest work is greater still And grander than the main.” Just then the sun set, and the moon Came stealing forth in love: "O, is it, father," said the boy, "The bright blue heavens above?"

"O no, my son: the starry heavens Proclaim the Almighty's power;

blade of grass,

And

every tiny flower.

But God's great work surpasses these,

Repeated o'er and o'er,

More lofty than the loftiest skies :
Come, answer me once more."

The cottar's song came floating then Across the dusky dell,

And sweetly solemn music made

The slow-struck curfew bell. And holding fast his father's hand,

As by his side he ran,

He lifted up his voice, and said,
"God's greatest work is man."

"O no, my son: the greatest, best, And noblest work of God

Is giving us His only Son,

To ransom us with blood.