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LISTENING ANGELS.

LUE against the bluer Heavens

Stood the mountain, calm and still, Two white Angels, bending earthward, Leant upon the hill.

Listening leant those silent Angels, And I also longed to hear
What sweet strain of earthly music Thus could charm their ear.

I heard the sound of many trumpets In a warlike march draw nigh;
Solemnly a mighty army
Passed in order by.

But the clang had ceased; the echoes

Soon had faded from the hill; While the Angels, calm and earnest, Leant and listened still.

Then I heard a fainter clamour,

Forge and wheel were clashing near, And the Reapers in the meadow Singing loud and clear.

When the sunset came in glory,
And the toil of day was o'er,
Still the Angels leant in silence,
Listening as before.

Then, as daylight slowly vanished, And the evening mists grew dim,
Solemnly from distant voices
Rose a vesper hymn.

When the chant was done, and lingering

Died upon the evening air,
From the hill the radiant Angels
Still were listening there.

Silent came the gathering darkness,
Bringing with it sleep and rest;
Save a little bird was singing
Near her leafy nest.

Through the sounds of war and labour She had warbled all day long, While the Angels leant and listened Only to her song.

But the starry night was coming;

When she ceased her little lay From the mountain top the Angels Slowly passed away.

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GOLDEN DATS.

OLDEN days—where are they? Pilgrims east and west Cry; if we could find them We would pause and rest: We would pause and rest a little

From our long and weary ways:— Where are they, then, where are they— Golden days 1

Golden days—where are they?

Ask of childhood's years,
Still untouched by sorrow,

Still undimmed by tears:
Ah, they seek a phantom Future,

Crowned with brighter, starry rays ;— Where are they, then, where are they— Golden days?

Golden days—where are they 1
Has Love learnt the spell That will charm them hither,
Near our hearth to dwell?Insecure are all her treasures,
Restless is her anxious gaze:— Where are they, then, where are they-
Golden days?

Golden days—where are they?

Farther up the hill I can hear the echo

Faintly calling still: Faintly calling, faintly dying,

In a far-off misty haze :— Where are they, then, where are theyGolden days?

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