With each some sorrow dies,

With each some shadow flies,

Until at last

The red dawn in the east

Bids weary night depart,

And pain is past.

Rejoice then, grieving heart,

The hours fly fast!

STRIVE, WAIT, AND PRAY.

TRIVE; yet I do not promise
The prize you dream of to-day
Will not fade when you think to
grasp it,

And melt in your hand away;
But another and holier treasure,
You would now perchance disdain,
Will come when your toil is over,
And pay you for all your pain.

Wait; yet I do not tell you

The hour you long for now,

Will not come with its radiance vanished
And a shadow upon its brow;
Yet far through the misty future,
With a crown of starry light,
An hour of joy you know not
Is winging her silent flight.

Pray; though the gift you ask for
May never comfort your fears,
May never repay your pleading,

Yet pray, and with hopeful tears;
An answer, not that you long for,
But diviner, will come one day;
Your eyes are too dim to see it,
Yet strive, and wait, and pray.

A LAMENT FOR THE SUMMER.

OAN, oh ye Autumn Winds!

M

Summer has fled,

The flowers have closed their tender leaves and die ;

The Lily's gracious head

All low must lie,

Because the gentle Summer now is dead.

Grieve, oh ye Autumn Winds!

Summer lies low;

The rose's trembling leaves will soon be shed,

For she that loved her so,

Alas, is dead!

And one by one her loving children go.

Wail, oh ye Autumn Winds!

She lives no more,

The gentle Summer, with her balmy breath,

Still sweeter than before

When nearer death,

And brighter every day the smile she wore!

Mourn, mourn, oh Autumn Winds,

Lament and mourn ;

How many half-blown buds must close and die; Hopes with the Summer born

All faded lie,

And leave us desolate and Earth forlorn!

THE UNKNOWN GRAVE.

N

O name to bid us know
Who rests below,

No word of death or birth,

Only the grass's wave,

Over a mound of earth,

Over a nameless grave.

Did this poor wandering heart
In pain depart ?

Longing, but all too late,

For the calm home again,

Where patient watchers wait,
And still will wait in vain.

Did mourners come in scorn,
And thus forlorn,

Leave him, with grief and shame,
To silence and decay,
And hide the tarnished name

Of the unconscious clay?

It may be from his side
His loved ones died,
And last of some bright band,
(Together now once more,)
He sought his home, the land
Where they had gone before.

No matter-limes have made
As cool a shade,

And lingering breezes pass
As tenderly and slow,
As if beneath the grass

A monarch slept below.

No grief, though loud and deep, Could stir that sleep;

And earth and heaven tell

Of rest that shall not cease, Where the cold world's farewell Fades into endless peace.

G

GIVE ME THY HEART.

ITH echoing steps the worshippers
Departed one by one;

The organ's pealing voice was stilled.

The vesper hymn was done;

The shadows fell from roof and arch,

Dim was the incensed air,

One lamp alone with trembling ray,
Told of the Presence there!

In the dark church she knelt alone;
Her tears were falling fast;

"Help, Lord," she cried, "the shades of death

Upon my soul are cast!

Have I not shunned the path of sin,

And chosen the better part?"

What voice came through the sacred air?--

"My child, give me thy Heart!"

"Have I not laid before Thy shrine
My wealth, oh Lord?" she cried;
"Have I kept aught of gems or gold,
To minister to pride?

Have I not bade youth's joys retire,
And vain delights depart?"-
But sad and tender was the voice-

"My child, give me thy Heart!"