Not a flower

But shows some touch, in freckle, streak, or stain,

Of his unrivalled pencil. He inspires
Their balmy odours, and imparts their hues,
And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes,
In grains as countless as the sea-side sands,

The forms with which he sprinkles all the earth.

Happy who walks with him! whom what he finds
Of flavour or of scent in fruit or flower,

Or what he views of beautiful or grand

In nature, from the broad majestic oak

To the green blade that twinkles in the sun,

Prompts with remembrance of a present God.-COWPER.

WILD FLOWERS.

BEAUTIFUL children of the woods and fields!
That bloom by mountain streamlets 'mid the heather,
Or into clusters 'neath the hazels gather-
Or where by hoary rocks you make your bields,
And sweetly flourish on through summer weather--
I love ye all!

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Beautiful flowers! to me ye fresher seem
From the Almighty hand that fashion'd all,
Than those that flourish by a garden-wall;
And I can image you, as in a dream,

Fair, modest maidens, nursed in hamlets small-
I love ye all!

Beautiful gems! that on the brow of earth
Are fixed as in a queenly diadem:

Though lowly ye, and most without a name, Young hearts rejoice to see your buds come forth, As light erewhile into the world came

I love ᎩᎾ all!

Beautiful things ye are, where'er ye grow!

The wild red rose-the speedwell's peeping eyes: Our own blue-bell-the daisy, that doth rise Wherever sunbeams fall or winds do blow; And thousands more, of blessed forms and dyesI love ye all!

Beautiful nurslings of the early dew!

Fann'd in your loveliness by every breeze,
And shaded o'er by green and arching trees:
I often wish that I were one of you

Dwelling afar upon the grassy leas
I love ye all!

f

Beautiful watchers! day and night ye wake!
The evening star grows dim and fades away,
And morning comes and goes, and then the day
Within the arms of night its rest doth take;
But ye are watchful wheresoe'er we stray-
I love ye all!
Beautiful objects of the wild bee's love!
The wild-bird joys your opening bloom to see,
And in your native woods and wilds to be.
All hearts, to Nature true, ye strangely move;
Ye are so passing fair-so passing free-
I love ye all!

Beautiful children of the glen and dell

The dingle deep-the moorland stretching wide, And of the mossy fountain's sedgy side!

Ye o'er my heart have thrown a lovesome spell; And though the worldling, scorning, may derideI love ye all!

NICOLL.

LET US GO TO THE WOODS.

LET us go to the woods-'tis a bright sunny day:
They are mowing the grass, and at work with the hay.
Come over the meadow and scent the fresh air,
For the pure mountain breezes are everywhere.
We'll follow this winding path up to the hills,
And spring with a lightsome foot over the rills.
Up, up-it grows sweeter the higher we get,
With the flowers of the season that linger here yet.
Nay, pause not to gaze at the landscape now;
It is finer when seen from the high hill's brow.
We will gather all curious flowers as we go;
The sweet and the scentless, and those that bend low;
The pale and the gaudy, the tiny, the tall,

From the vine, from the shrub, we will gather them all.

Now here's the Clematis, all graceful and fair;
You may set it like pearls in the folds of your hair.
And if for your bosom you'd have a bouquet,
Here's the Meadow-pink sweet, and the Touch-me-
not gay.

Here's the full-blown Azalea, perfuming the air, Here's the Cardinal-flower, that a princess might

wear.

And the wild mountain Phlox, pink and purple and

blue,

And Star-flowers both of white and of golden hue. And here's a bright blossom, a gay one indeed, Our mountain maids name it the Butterfly-weed;

So

gorgeous its colours, one scarcely can tell If the flower or the insect in beauty excel.

Here's the low dwarf Acacia, that droops as it
grows,
And its leaves, as you gather them, tremble and close:
And near us, I know by her breath on the gale,
Is the tall yellow Primrose, so pretty and pale.

Here's the Pigeon-pea, fit for a fairy's bowers,
And the purple Thrift, straightest and primmest of
flowers.

Here is Privet, no prettier shrub have we met;
And the Midsummer-daisy is hiding here yet.

But stay-we are now on the high hill's brow!
How bright lie the fields in the sunlight below!
Do you see those white chimneys that peep o'er the
grove?

'Tis your own little cottage, the home that you love: Let us go by the fields where the Chinkapins are, And through the long lane where the Chestnuts hang fair,

They are scarcely yet ripe, but their tender green Looks lovely the dark clustering foliage between : And we'll stop at the nest that we found in the wood, And see if the blackbird hath flown with her brood: And we'll list to the mocking-bird, wondering thereat,

Till he pauses, as if to ask, "Who can do that?"
We will listen and gaze, for the lowliest thing
Some lesson of worth to the mind can bring.

If we read Nature's book with a serious eye,
Not a leaf but some precious thought on it doth lie:
And it is good to go forth among scenes like these,
Amid music and sunshine, and flowers and trees,
if 'twere only to waken the deep love that springs
At the sight of all lovely and innocent things.

ANONYMOUS.