TO THE RIVER CHARLES,

Was balmy with her breath, and her loved form,
The rainbow of the heart, was hovering there.

'Tis in life's noontide she is nearest seen,

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Her wreath the summer flower, her robe of summer green.

But though less dazzling in her twilight dress,

There's more of heaven's pure beam about her now;

That angel-smile of tranquil loveliness,

Which the heart worships, glowing on her brow;
That smile shall brighten the dim evening star
That points our destined tomb, nor e'er depart
Till the faint light of life is fled afar,

And hush'd the last deep beating of the heart;
The meteor-bearer of our parting breath,
A moonbeam in the midnight cloud of death.

TO THE RIVER CHARLES.

BY HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.

RIVER! that in silence windest

Through the meadows, bright and free,
Till at length thy rest thou findest
In the bosom of the sea!

Four long years of mingled feeling,
Half in rest, and half in strife,
I have seen thy waters stealing
Onward, like the stream of life.

Thou hast taught me, Silent River!
Many a lesson, deep and long;
Thou hast been a generous giver;
I can give thee but a song.

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TO THE RIVER CHARLES.

Oft in sadness and in illness,

I have watch'd thy current glide,
Till the beauty of its stillness
Overflow'd me, like a tide.

And in better hours and brighter,
When I saw thy waters gleam,
I have felt my heart beat lighter,
And leap onward with thy stream.

Not for this alone I love thee,

Nor because thy waves of blue
From celestial seas above thee

Take their own celestial hue.

Where yon shadowy woodlands hide thee,
And thy waters disappear,

Friends I loved have dwelt beside thee,
And have made thy margin dear.

More than this;-thy name reminds me
Of three friends, all true and tried ;
And that name, like magic, binds me
Closer, closer to thy side.

Friends my soul with joy remembers!
How like quivering flames they start,
When I fan the living embers

On the hearth-stone of my heart!

'Tis for this, thou Silent River!

That my spirit leans to thee;
Thou hast been a generous giver,
Take this idle song from me.

"LET THERE BE LIGHT."

BY WILLIAM H. BURLEIGH.

NIGHT, stern, eternal, and alone,
Girded with solemn silence round,
Majestic on his starless throne,

Sat brooding o'er the vast profound—
And there unbroken darkness lay,
Deeper than that which veils the tomb,
While circling ages wheel'd away
Unnoted mid the voiceless gloom,

Then moved upon the wayeless deep
The quickening Spirit of the Lord,
And broken was its pulseless sleep
Before the Everlasting Word!
"Let there be light!" and listening earth,
With tree, and plant, and flowery sod,
"In the beginning" sprang to birth,
Obedient to the voice of GOD.

Then, in his burning track, the sun

Trod onward to his joyous noon, And in the heavens, one by one,

Cluster'd the stars around the moon

In glory bathed, the radiant day

Wore like a king his crown of light—

And, girdled by the Milky Way,"

How queenly look'd the star-gemm'd night!

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26 LET THERE BE LIGHT."

Bursting from choirs celestial, rang
Triumphantly the notes of song;
The morning stars together sang

In concert with the heavenly throng;
And earth, enraptured, caught the strain
That thrill'd along her fields of air,
Till every mountain-top and plain
Flung back an answering echo there!

Creator! let thy Spirit shine

The darkness of our souls within,
And lead us by thy grace divine

From the forbidden paths of sin;
And may that voice which bade the earth
From Chaos and the realms of Night,
From doubt and darkness call us forth
To God's own liberty and light!

Thus, made partakers of Thy love,
The baptism of the Spirit ours,
Our grateful hearts shall rise above,
Renew'd in purposes and powers;
And songs of joy again shall ring

Triumphant through the arch of heaven-
The glorious songs which angels sing,
Exulting over souls forgiven!

THE CAMBRIDGE CHURCHYARD.

BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

OUR ancient church! its lowly tower,
Beneath the loftier spire,

Is shadow'd when the sunset hour
Clothes the tall shaft in fire;
It sinks beyond the distant eye,
Long ere the glittering vane,
High wheeling in the western sky,
Has faded o'er the plain.

Like sentinel and nun, they keep
Their vigil on the green;

One seems to guard, and one to weep,
The dead that lie between ;

And both roll out, so full and near,

Their music's mingling waves, They shake the grass, whose pennon'd spear Leans on the narrow graves.

The stranger parts the flaunting weeds,
Whose seeds the winds have strown

So thick beneath the line he reads,

They shade the sculptured stone;
The child unveils his cluster'd brow,
And ponders for a while

The graven willow's pendent bough,
Or rudest cherub's smile.