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SONG OF THE SEA.

RY HENRY J. SLACK,

AUTHOR OF THE “MINISTRY OF THE BEAUTIFUL."

Oh! many-voiced sea,
I pray thee, tell me
What thou art saying
To the clouds and the caves,
With thy rippling waves ?
Oh! sunlight and sky,
Gentle breeze passing by,
What are you saying
To cave, drop, and fern,
Which speak in return?
Oh! mosses and maiden-hair,
Sea-weed and crystal clear,
What are you saying
To the sun and the sea,
I pray you, tell me ?

FALLING LEAVES.

BY BISHOP HORNE.

See the leaves around us falling,

Dry and withered, to the ground: Thus to thoughtless mortals calling,

With a sweet and solemn sound :

"Yearly in our course returning,

Messengers of shortest stay; We come to give the yearly warning,

Heaven and earth shall pass away.”

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THE CROCUS.

BY MISS AGNES STRICKLAND.

Oh, pleasant is the hopeful hour

When from her lowly bed
We mark the early crocus flower,

Uprear her golden head.
To

greet the first soft smile of spring,

She opes her joyous eye,
Ere blackthorn buds are blossoming,

Or sky-lark sings on high.
When southern breezes melt the snow,

She struggles into birth,
And sheds a bright rejoicing glow,

Like sunshine on the earth.

We deem the weary winter past,

When from her darksome tomb,
The merry crocus bursts at last,

In her perennial bloom,
And as her earthward part decays,

Her frame of living gold
Becomes, to our admiring gaze,

More beauteous to behold.

The shapeless bulb in autumn sown,

Is now a flower of spring;
The same 'tis called, yet all will own

It is another thing.
The bulb that slumbered in the ground,

Hath felt a quickening change,
And wakes, with bright apparel crowned,

As beautiful as strange.
E'en thus the spirits of the just,

In glorious forms shall rise,
When God shall summons from the dust,

His chosen to the skies.

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