59 69 TO A WATERFOWL. All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere; And soon that toil shall end; Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest Thou 'rt gone; the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form; yet on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon depart. He, who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone, Will lead my steps aright. THE SILKWORM. BY S. J. HALE. 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 friendJust at the age when childhood's grace And maiden softness blend. A silkworm in her hand she laid; She raised it to her dimpled cheek, That worm-I should have shrunk, in truth, To feel the reptile o'er me move— THE AUTUMN EVENING. But, loved by innocence and youth, I deemed it worthy love. Would we, I thought, the soul imbue, And, when with usefulness combined, 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! The winds breathe low; the withering leaf Scarce whispers from the tree; So gently flows the parting breath, How beautiful on all the hills The crimson light is shed! 'Tis like the peace the Christian gives 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, But soon the morning's happier light 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, Each pure desire, each high request That burned before the temple shrineThe hopes, the fears, that moved the breastAll 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, |