All's for the best! Then fling away terrors, Trust like a child, while you strive like a man; ECHO AND SILENCE. SIR EGERTON BRYDGES. IN eddying course when leaves began to fly, And, lo, she's gone!-In robe of dark-green hue For quick the hunter's horn resounded to the sky! Not so her sister.-Hark! for onward still, THE FOUR-LEAVED SHAMROCK. I'LL seek a four-leaved shamrock in all the fairy dells, To worth I would give honor!-I'd dry the mourner's tears, LOVER. And hearts that had been long estranged, and friends that had grown cold, Should meet again-like parted streams--and mingle as of old! The heart that had been mourning o'er vanished dreams of love, THE BLEST OF EARTH. Thou shalt not call him blest, Whose searching eye has read But thou shalt call him blest, J. GILBORNE LYONS. THE HOMES OF ENGLAND. THE stately homes of England, How beautiful they stand! MRS. HEMANS. 31 The deer across their greensward bound And the swan glides past them with the sound The merry homes of England! What gladsome looks of household love There woman's voice flows forth in song, Or childhood's tale is told; The blessed homes of England! Is laid the holy quietness That breathes from Sabbath hours! All other sounds, in that still time, Of breeze and leaf are born. The cottage homes of England! By thousands on her plains, They are smiling o'er the silvery brooks, And fearless there the lowly sleep, The free, fair homes of England! Where first the child's glad spirit loves THE MAGNETIC TELEGRAPH. ALONG the smooth and slender wires, The sleepless heralds run Fast as the clear and living rays Go streaming from the sun: J. GILBORNE LYONS. Nor summer's heat, nor winter's hail They rush, with news of weal or woe, But faster still than tidings borne Rise the pure thoughts of him who loves Maintains high converse here below Ay! though nor outward wish is breathed, The sighing of that humble heart Is known and felt in Heaven: Those long frail wires may bend and break, But Faith's least word shall reach the throne MATIN BELLS. THE Sun is up betimes, And the dappled East is blushing, A. C. COXE. And the merry matin-chimes, They are gushing-Christian-gushing! They are tolling in the tower, For another day begun; And to hail the rising hour Of a brighter, brighter Sun! Rise-Christian--rise! For a sunshine brighter far Is breaking o'er thine eyes, Than the bonny morning star! The lark is in the sky, And his morning-note is pouring: He hath a wing to fly, So he's soaring-Christian-soaring! His nest is on the ground, But only in the night; For he loves the matin-sound, And the highest heaven's height. Hark-Christian--hark! At heaven-door he sings! And be thou like the lark, With thy soaring spirit-wings! The merry matin-bells, In their watch-tower they are swinging; For the day is o'er the dells, And they're singing-Christian-singing! They have caught the morning beam And the chancel-window's gleam For the altar flameth there, There is morning incense flung From the child-like lily-flowers; And their fragrant censer swung, Make it ours-Christian-ours! And hark, the morning hymn, And the organ-peals we love! They sound like cherubim At their orisons above! |