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Ever dwells the lesser in the greater;
In God's love the human: we by these
Know he holds Love's simplest stammering sweeter Than cold phrase of wordy Pharisees.
Anna Lynch Botta.
THE LESSON OF THE BEE.
The honey-bee that wanders all day long
The field, the woodland, and the garden o'er,
To gather in his fragrant winter store;
Humming in calm content his quiet song,
Seeks not alone the rose's glowing breast,
The lily's dainty cup, the violet's lips, But from all rank and noxious weeds he sips.
The single drop of sweetness closely pressed
Within the poison chalice. Thus, if we,
Seek only to draw forth the hidden sweet
In all the varied human flowers we meet
In the wide garden of humanity, And, like the bee, if home the spoil we bear.
Hived in our hearts, it turns to nectar there.
Go forth in life, O friend! not seeking love,
A mendicant that with imploring
And outstretched hand asks of the passers-by The alms his strong necessities may move:
For such poor love, to pity near allied, Thy generous spirit may not stoop and wait,
A suppliant whose prayer may be denied [ gate:
Like a spurned beggar's at a palaeeBut thy heart's affluence lavish uncontrolled, — The largest of thy love give full and free,
As monarchs in their progress scatter gold;
And be thy heart like the exhaustless sea,
That must its wealth of cloud and
dew bestow. Through tributary streams or ebb or
The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day has but one; Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.
The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one;
When its day is done.
LOVE'S RE WARD.
For Love I labored all the day, Through morning chill and midday heat,
For surely with the evening gray,
At eventide, with weary limb,
Where Love had bid me come to him;
For he with idle folks had gone
And I that toiled was left alone,
Sweeter than voices in the scented hay,
Or laughing children gleaning ears that stray,
Or Christmas songs that shake the
snows above, Is the first cuckoo, when he comes
Sadder than birds in sunless summer eves,
Or drip of rain-drops on the fallen leaves,
Or wail of wintry waves on frozen shore,
Is spring that comes, but brings us love no more.
William Lisle Bowles.
0 Time! who know'st a lenient hand
Softest on sorrow's wound, and
slowly thence — Lulling to sad repose the weary
The faint pang stealest, unperceived away;
On thee I rest my only hope at last, And think when thou hast dried
the bitter tear That flows in vain o'er all my soul
I may look back on every sorrow past, And meet life's peaceful evening with
a smile — As some lone bird, at day's departing hour, [ shower,
Sings in the sunbeam of the transient
Forgetful, though its wings are wet the while:
Yet, ah! how much must that poor heart endure
Which hopes from thee, and thee alone, a cure!
Oh! when 'tis summer weather,
The waters clear is humming round,
And to wind through the greenwood together.
But when 't is winter weather,
Of the friends with whom, in the days of Spring,
We roamed through the greenwood together.
Anna C. Brackett.
I N GARFIELD'S DANGER.
Is it not possible that all the love
From all these million hearts, which breathless turns
To one hushed room where silent footsteps move,
May have some power on life that feebly burns?
Must it not have some power in some strange way,
Some strange, wise way, beyond our tangled ken,
When far and wide, from sea to sea to-day,
Even in quiet fields, hard-handed men
Pause in their toil to ask the passer-by
"What news?" and then, "We cannot spare him yet!"
Surely no tide can powerless rise so high.
Bear on, brave heart! The land does not forget.
Thou yet shalt be upborne to life and strength again
On this flood-tide of love of millions of brave men.
Mary E. Bradley.
There was a time when death and 1
I was but young indeed to die,
One happy year a wedded wife,
Yet I was slipping out of life.
You knelt beside me, and I heard,
A bitter cry that dimly stirred
You thought me dead: you called
But oh! that you had made no sign,
For now the yearning voice is mine,
Death never could so cruel be
As Life — and you — have proved to me!
John G. C.
I Saw two clouds at morning,
Tinged by the rising sun,
And mingled into one; [blest, I thought that morning cloud was It moved so sweetly to the west.
I saw two summer currents
And join their course with silent force,
Calm was their course through banks
While dimpling eddies played between.
Such be your gentle motion,
Till life's last pulse shall beat; Like summer's beam, and summer's stream, Float on, in joy, to meet A calmer sea, where storms shall cease —
A purer sky, where all is peace.
THE PETRIFIED FERN.
In a valley, centuries ago, Grew a little fern-leaf, green and slender,
Veining delicate and fibres tender; Waving when the wind crept down so low;
Rushes tall, and moss, and grass
grew round it. Playful sunbeams darted in and
Drops of dew stole in by night,
and crowned it, But no foot of man e'er trod that
Earth was young and keeping holiday.
Monster fishes swam the silent main, Stately forests waved their giant
branches, Mountains hurled their snowy avalanches.
Mammoth creatures stalked across
the plain; Nature revelled in grand mysteries; But the little fern was not of these. Did not number with the hills and
Only grew and waved its wild
sweet way. No one came to note it day by day.
Earth, one time, put on a frolic mood,
Heaved the rocks and changed the
mighty motion Of the deep, strong currents of the
Moved the plain and shook the
haughty wood, Crushed the little form in soft
moist clay, Covered it, and hid it safe away, O, the long, long centuries since
that day! O, the agony, O, life's bitter cost, Since that useless little fern was
Useless! Lost! There came a thoughtful man Searching Nature's secrets, far and deep;
From a fissure in a rocky steep He withdrew a stone, o'er which
there ran Fairy pencillings, a quaint design, Veinings, leafage, fibres clear and
And the fern's life lay in every line!
So, I think, God hides some souls away.
Sweetly to surprise us the last day.
IF THIS BE ALL.
O Got>! if this indeed be all
That life can show to me;
No freshening dew from Thee; — If with no brighter light than this
The lamp of Hope may glow,
And wake to weary woe! —
When other joys are gone,
And love must keep so far away,
While I go wandering on,— Wandering and toiling without gain.
The slave of others' will, With constant care and frequent pain,
Despised, forgotten still.
Yet powerless to quell
The outward torrent's swell;
The feelings I would share,
Are driven backward to my heart And turned to wormwood there; —
If clouds must ever keep from sight the glories of the sun,
And I must suffer winter's blight
Ere summer is begun; —
Then call me soon to Thee!
My load of misery.
LIFE WILL BE GONE ERE I
Life will be gone ere I have lived;
Where now is life's first prime? I've worked and studied, longed and grieved
Through all that busy time.
To toil, to think, to long, to grieve —
Is such my future fate? The morn was dreary, must the eve
Be also desolate? Well, such a life at least makes Death
A welcome, wished-for friend; Then aid me, Reason, Patience, Faith,
To suffer to the end.
No coward soul is mine, No trembler in the world's stormtroubled sphere: I see heaven's glories shine, And Faith shines equal, arming me from fear.
O God within my breast, Almighty, ever present Deity!
Life — that in me has rest, As I — undying Life — have power in thee!
Vain are the thousand creeds That move men's hearts; unutterably vain
Worthless as withered weeds, Or idlest froth amid the boundless main,
To waken doubt in one
So surely anchored on
With wide-embracing love
Pervades and broods above, Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates, and rears.
Though earth and man were gone,
And suns and universes ceased to be,
And Thou wert left alone, Every existence would exist in Thee.
There is not room for Death, Nor atom that his might could render void:
Thou — Thou art Being and
And what Thou art may never be destroyed.
Colt> in the earth — and the deep snow piled above thee,
Far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave! [thee,
Have lforgot, my only Love, to love
Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave?