To a Waterfowl. HITHER, midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, Seek'st thou the plashy brink There is a power whose care Lone wandering, but not lost, All day thy wings have fanned, And soon that toil shall end; Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend Soon o'er thy sheltered nest. D Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven He who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone, Will guide my steps aright. The Alpine Gentian. )HE, 'neath ice-mountains vast When she looked forth at last Trembling she gazed around, All round her slept, O'er the dead icy ground Cold shadows crept. Wide fields of silent snow, Still frozen seas; What could her young life do 'Mid such as these? Bryant. Not a voice came to her, Not a warm breath: What hope lay there for her, Mournfully pondering, Gazed she on high; Through the blue sky. There smiled the kindly sun, There, twinkling, many a star Danced in sweet mirth; The warm heavens seemed nearer far Than the cold earth. So she gazed steadfastly Loving on high, Till she grew heavenly Blue as the sky; And the cold icicles Near her which grew, Thawed in her skyey bells, Fed her with dew: And the tired traveller Fixing his eyes on her Thinketh on God,— Thinks, how 'mid life's cold snow, Breathe out, where'er they go, Summer and heaven. E. C. The Golden Rule. "All things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them."-Matt. vii, 12. H not alone the murderous blade This golden rule would sheathe, The words of peace to breathe. But were this sacred maxim ours, How oft life's thorns were changed to flowers, Love o'er our chequered, changeful way, Not only near the glittering sword, A thousand trifles, light as air May yet the softer spirit tear With wounds not deep, but keen. But thoughtless words may bear a sting, May wake to pain some secret string, When quivering lip, and flushing cheek, Then, though thou deem thy brother weak, But if the fierce and kindling eye, For if those angry passions wake Thou'lt surely in his guilt partake, In the just view of heaven? When he has been forgiven. |