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TO A

WATERFOWL.

59

All day thy wings have fanned,
At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere;
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,

Though the dark night is near.

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.

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There is no form upon our earth,

That bears the mighty Maker's seal, But has some charm to draw this forth,

We need but hearts to feel.

I saw a fair young girl — her face

Was sweet as dream of cherished friend Just at the age when childhood's grace

And maiden softness blend.

A silkworm in her hand she laid ;

Nor fear, nor yet disgust, was stirred; But gayly with her charge she played,

As 't were a nestling bird.

She raised it to her dimpled cheek,

And let it rest and revel there : O, why for outward beauty seek!

Love makes its favourites fair.

That worm-- I should have shrunk, in truth,

To feel the reptile o'er me move

THE

AUTUMN EVENING.

61

But, loved by innocence and youth,

I deemed it worthy love.

Would we, I thought, the soul imbue,

In early life, with sympathies
For every harmless thing, and view

Such creatures formed to please

And, when with usefulness combined,

Give them our love and gentle care — 0, we might have a world as kind

As God has made it fair!

There is no form upon our earth,

That bears the mighty Maker's seal, But has some charm-to call this forth,

We need but hearts to feel.

THE AUTUMN EVENING.

BY W.

0. B. PEABODY.

Behold the western evening light!

It melts in deepening gloom; So calmly Christians sink away,

Descending to the tomb.

The winds breathe low; the withering leaf

Scarce whispers from the tree; So gently flows the parting breath,

When good men cease to be.

How beautiful on all the hills

The crimson light is shed ! 'Tis like the peace the Christian gives

To mourners round his bed.

How mildly on the wandering cloud

The sunset beam is cast! 'Tis like the memory left behind

When loved ones breathe their last.

And now, above the dews of night,

The yellow star appears ;
So faith springs in the heart of those

Whose eyes are bathed in tears.

But soon the morning's happier light

Its glory shall restore,
And eyelids that are sealed in death

Shall wake to close no more.

SABBATH EVENING TWILIGHT.

BY

W.

CUTTER

DELIGHTFUL hour of sweet repose,

Of hallowed thoughts, of love, of prayer! I love thy deep and tranquil close,

For all the sabbath-day is there. Each pure desire, each high request

That burned before the temple shrineThe hopes, the fears, that moved the breast

All live again in light like thine.

I love thee for the fervid glow

Thou shed'st around the closing day — Those golden fires, those wreaths of snow,

That light and pave his glorious way! Through them, I've sometimes thought, the eye

May pierce the unmeasured deeps of space, And track the course where spirits fly,

On viewless wings, to realms of bliss.

I love thee for the unbroken calm,

That slumbers on this fading scene, And throws its kind and soothing charm

O'er" all the little world within."

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