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5. Lily bells! lily belis! down in the meadows,

6.

As I see your fair forms 'mid the mosses and brake, My heart wanders back to the past, with its shadows, To Christ, and the wise, loving words that he spake.

Consider the lilies "—yes, this was his teaching, "The modest field-lilies that toil not nor spin, Yet even to them is my loving care reaching,

My heart takes the feeblest and lowliest in."

7. Lily bells lily bells! waving and swinging,
If Jesus, my Master, can watch over you,
I'll go to him daily, with gladness and singing,
Believing he'll love me and care for me too.

8. Lily bells lily bells! bending and swaying,

Ring out your sweet peals on the still summer air; I would ye might lure all to trusting and praying, And teach them sweet lessons of God's loving care.

LXXXI.—A PARABLE.

JAMES R. LOWELL.

1. Worn and footsore was the Prophet,
When he gained the holy hill;
"God has left the earth," he murmured,
"Here his presence lingers still.

2. "God of all the olden prophets,

Wilt thou speak with men no more?
Have I not as truly served thee,
As thy chosen ones of yore?

3. "Hear me, guider of my fathers,
Lo! a humble heart is mine;
By thy mercy, I beseech thee,
Grant thy servant but a sign!"

4. Bowing then his head, he listened
For an answer to his prayer;
No loud burst of thunder followed;
Not a murmur stirred the air :-

5. But the tuft of moss before him
Opened while he waited yet,
And, from out the rock's hard bosom,
Sprang a tender violet.

6. "God! I thank thee," said the Prophet; "Hard of heart, and blind was I, Looking to the holy mountain For the gift of prophecy.

7. "Still thou speakest with thy children
Freely as in eld sublime;
Humbleness and love and patience
Still give empire over time.

8. "Had I trusted in my nature,

And had faith in lowly things,
Thou thyself wouldst then have sought me,
And set free my spirit's wings.

9. "But I looked for signs and wonders,
That o'er men should give me sway;
Thirsting to be more than mortal,
I was even less than clay.

10. "Ere I entered on my journey,
As I girt my loins to start,
Ran to me my little daughter,
The beloved of my heart;—

11. "In her hand she held a flower, Like to this as like may be,

Which, beside my very threshold,

She had plucked and brought to me.”

LXXXII.-SOMETHING LEFT UNDONE.

H. W. LONGFELLOW.

1. Labor with what zeal we will,

Something still remains undone,
Something uncompleted still
Waits the rising of the sun.

2. By the bedside, on the stair,
At the threshold, near the gates,
With its menace or its prayer,
Like a mendicant it waits;

3. Waits, and will not go away;
Waits, and will not be gainsaid;
By the cares of yesterday

Each to-day is heavier made;

4. Till at length the burden seems
Greater than our strength can bear,
Heavy as the weight of dreams,
Pressing on us everywhere.

5. And we stand from day to day,
Like the dwarfs of times gone by,
Who, as Northern legends say,

On their shoulders held the sky.

LXXXIII.—THE INFINITY OF THE UNIVERSE. ·

ORMSBY M. MITCHEL.

1. Light traverses space at the rate of twelve million miles a minute, yet the light from the nearest star requires ten years to reach the earth, and Herschel's telescope revealed stars two thousand three hundred times further distant. The great telescope of Lord Ross pursued these creations of God still deeper into space, and having resolved the

nebulæ of the Milky Way into stars, discovered other systems of stars-beautiful diamond points, glittering through the black darkness beyond. When he beheld this amazing abyss-when he saw these systems scattered profusely throughout space-when he reflected upon their immense distances, their enormous magnitude, and the countless millions of worlds that belonged to them, it seemed to him as though the wild dream of the German poet was more than realized.

2. God called man in dreams into the vestibule of heaven, saying, "Come up hither, and I will show thee the glory of my house." And to his angels who stood about his throne, he said, "Take him, strip him of his robes of flesh; cleanse his affections; put a new breath into his nostrils; but touch not his human heart-the heart that fears and hopes and trembles." A moment, and it was done, and the man stood ready for his unknown voyage. Under the guidance of a mighty angel, with sound of flying pinions, they sped away from the battlements of heaven. Some time on the mighty angel's wings they fled through Saharas of darkness, wilderness of death.

3. At length, from a distance not counted save in the arithmetic of heaven, light beamed upon them-a sleepy flame as seen through a hazy cloud. They sped on in their terrible speed to meet the light; the light with lesser speed came to meet them. In a moment the blazing of suns around them—a moment the wheeling of planets; then came long eternities of twilight; then again on the right hand and the left appeared other constellations. At last the man sank down, crying, "Angel, I can go no further; let me lie down in the grave and hide myself from the infinitude of the universe, for end there is none." "End is there none?" demanded the angel. And from the glittering stars that shone around, there came a choral shout-" End there is none !" "End there is none?" demanded the angel again ; "and is it this that awes thy soul? I answer, end there is none to the universe of God! Lo, also, there is no beginning!"

LXXXIV.-UNDER THE VIOLETS.

O. W. HOLMES.

Her hands are cold; her face is white;
No more her pulses come and go;
Her eyes are shut to life and light ;—
Fold the white vesture, snow on snow,
And lay her where the violets blow.

2. But not beneath a graven stone,

To plead for tears with alien eyes;
A slender cross of wood alone
Shall say, that here a maiden lies
In peace beneath the peaceful skies.

3. And gray old trees of hugest limb

Shall wheel their circling shadows round
To make the scorching sunlight dim
That drinks the greenness from the ground,
And drop their dead leaves on her mound.

4. When o'er their boughs the squirrels run,
And through their leaves the robins call,
And, ripening in the autumn sun,

The acorns and the chestnuts fall,
Doubt not that she will heed them all.

5. For her the morning choir shall sing
Its matins from the branches high,
And every minstrel-voice of spring,
That trills beneath the April sky, .
Shall greet her with its earliest cry.

6. When, turning round their dial-track,
Eastward the lengthening shadows pass,
Her little mourners, clad in black,
The crickets, sliding through the grass,
Shall pipe for her an evening mass.

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