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There is a brighter book unrolling now;

Fair are its leaves as is the tree of heaven,

All veined, and dewed, and gemmed with wondrous figns,

To which a healing, myftic power is given.

A thousand voices to its ftudy call,
From the fair hill-top, from the water-fall;
Where the bird fingeth, and the yellow bee,
And the breeze talketh from the airy tree.

Now is that glorious resurrection time,

When all earth's buried beauties have new birth:

Behold the yearly miracle complete, —

God hath created a new heaven and earth!

No tree that wants his joyful garments now,
No flower but haftes his bravery to don;
God bids thee to this marriage-feaft of joy,
Let thy soul put the wedding garment on.

All fringed with feftal gold the barberry ftands,
The ferns exultant clap their new-made wings,
The hemlock ruftles broideries of frefh green,
And thousand bells of pearl the blueberry rings.

The long, light fingers of the old white pines
Do beckon thee into the flickering wood,
Where moving spots of light fhow myftic flowers,
And wavering mufic fills the dreamy hours.

Haft thou no time for all this wondrous fhow, —
No thought to spare? Wilt thou forever be
With thy laft year's dry flower-ftalk and dead leaves,
And no new moot or bloffom on thy tree \

See how the pines pufh off their laft year's leaves,
And ftretch beyond them with exultant bound;
The grass and flowers with living power o'ergrow
Their laft year's remnants on the greening ground.

Wilt thou then all thy wintry feelings keep,
The old dead routine of thy book-writ lore,
Nor deem that God can teach by one bright hour
What life hath never taught to thee before?

See what vaft leisure, what unbounded reft,

Lie in the bending dome of the blue fky;

Ah! breathe that life-born languor from thy breaft,

And know once more a child's unreasoning joy.

Cease, cease to tbitii, and be content to be;
Swing safe at anchor in fair Nature's bay;
Reason no more, but o'er thy quiet soul
Let God's sweet teachings ripple their soft way.

Soar with the birds, and flutter with the leaf;
Dance with the seeded grass in fringy play;
Sail with the cloud; wave with the dreaming pine,
And float with Nature all the livelong day.

Call not such hours an idle wafte of life;
Land that lies fallow gains a quiet power;
It treasures from the brooding of God's wings
Strength to unfold the future tree and flower.

So fhall it be with thee, if reftful ftill
Thou rightly ftudieft in the summer hour;
Like a deep fountain which a brook doth fill,
Thy mind in seeming reft fhall gather power.

And when the summer's glorious fhow is paft,
Its .miracles no longer charm thy fight,
The treasured riches of these thoughtful hours
Shall make thy wintry mufings warm and bright.

Mrs. H. B. Stowe. OLD AGE.


A very aged Chriftian, who was so poor as to be in an almshouse, was afked what he was doing now. He replied, "Only Waiting."

ONLY waiting till the fhadows
Are a little longer grown;
Only waiting till the glimmer

Of the day's laft beam is flown;
Till the night of earth is faded

From the heart once full of day;
Till the ftars of heaven are breaking
Through the twilight soft and gray.

Only waiting till the reapers

Have the laft fheaf gathered home;
For the summer-time is faded,

And the autumn winds have come.
Quickly, reapers, gather quickly

The laft ripe hours of my heart,
For the bloom of life is withered,

And I haften to depart.

Only waiting till the angels

Open wide the myftic gate, At whose foot I long have lingered,

Weary, poor, and desolate. Even now I hear the footfteps,

And their voices, far away; If they call me, I am waiting,

Only waiting to obey.

Only waiting till the fhadows

Are a little longer grown; Only waiting till the glimmer

Of the day's laft beam is flown: Then from out the gathered darkness

Holy, deathless ftars fhall rise, By whose light my soul fhall gladly

Tread its pathway to the Ikies.


FATHER! into Thy loving hands My feeble spirit I commit, While wandering in these border-lands Until Thy voice fhall summon it.

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