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And let me too, sweet May!
Of this world's pomp, then teach, that though decay In his short winter, bury beauty's frame,
In fairer worlds the soul shall break his sway, Another spring shall bloom eternal and the same.
BY HANNAH F. GOULD
“ Now, if I fall, will it be my lot
And there will my course be ended ?"
It seemed in mid air suspended.
“Oh! no,” said the Earth, “ thou shalt not lie
For thou wilt be safe in my keeping.
But then, I must give thee a lovelier form-
And the flowers from my bosom are peeping!
“ And then thou shalt have thy choice, to be
Or aught of thy spotless whiteness :-
Regaining thy dazzling brightness.
“ I'll let thee awake from thy transient sleep,
In a drop from the unlocked fountain :
Encircling the brow of the mountain.
" Or, wouldst thou return to a home in the skies !
A pencil of sunbeams is blending !
But true, fair thing, as my name is Earth,
And never regret descending !"
“Then I will drop," said the trusting Flake; “But, bear it in mind, that the choice I make Is not in the flowers, nor the dew to wake;
Nor the mist that shall pass with the morning. For, things of thyself, they will die with thee; But those that are lent from on high, like me, Must rise, and will live, from thy dust set free,
To the regions above returning.
“And if true to thy word and just thou art, Like the spirit that dwells in the holiest heart, Unsullied by thee, thou wilt let me depart
And return to my native heaven. For I would be placed in the beautiful Bow, From time to time, in thy sight to glow; So thou may'st remember the Flake of Snow,
By the promise that God hath given!"
BY C. DONALD MOLEOD.
The singing birds have chorused
The day-star to the sea ; The echoes of the forest
Are slumbering silently; The vesper bell is telling
Thine hour for wandering forth;
Are wafted up to thee,
Ma mignonne Eulalie !
The lengthening shades will hide us,
And 'neath their influence sweet, The cold hearts that would chide us,
Sleep—careless that we meetThe spirit-stars are placing
Their gem-lights in the sky;
Still rests on earth and sea,
Ma mignonne Eulalie !.
BROTHER, COME HOME.
BY CATHARINE H. WATERMAN.
Would I could wing it like a bird to thee,
Brother, come home.
That beam in brightness but to gladden thine, Come where fond thoughts, like holiest incense rise, Where cherished memory rears her altar's shrine;
Brother, come home.
Come to the ark, like the o'er-wearied dove,