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 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,

That slumbers on this fading scene,

And throws its kind and soothing charm
O'er "all the little world within."

It trances every roving thought,

Yet sets the soaring fancy freeShuts from the soul the present out, That all is musing memory.

I love those joyous memories,
That rush, with thee, upon the soul-
Those deep, unuttered symphonies,

That o'er the spell-bound spirit roll.
All the bright scenes of love and youth
Revive, as if they had not fled;
And Fancy clothes with seeming truth
The forms she rescues from the dead.

Yet holier is thy peaceful close,

For vows love left recorded there ;-
This is the noiseless hour we chose
To consecrate to mutual prayer.
'Twas when misfortune's fearful cloud
Was gathering o'er the brow of heaven,
Ere yet despair's eternal shroud

Wrapped every vision hope had given.

When these deep purpling shades came down, In softened teints, upon the hills,

We swore, that, whether fate should crown

Our future course with joys or ills

SABBATH EVENING TWILIGHT.

Whether safe moored in love's retreat,

Or severed wide by mount and seaThis hour, in spirit, we would meet,

And urge to Heaven our mutual plea.

O, tell me if this hallowed hour

Still finds thee constant at our shrine, Still witnesses thy fervent prayer

Ascending warm and true with mine! Faithful through every change of wo,

My heart still flies to meet thee there : 'Twould sooth this very heart to know That thine responded every prayer.

65

SUNRISE ON THE HILLS.

BY H. W. LONGFELLOW.

I STOOD Upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch
Was glorious with the sun's returning march,

And woods were brightened, and soft gales
Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales.

The clouds were far beneath me:-bathed in light
They gathered midway round the wooded height,
And in their fading glory shone

Like hosts in battle overthrown,

As many a pinnacle with shifting glance,
Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance,
And rocking on the cliff was left

The dark pine blasted, bare, and cleft.
The veil of cloud was lifted-and below
Glowed the rich valley, and the river's flow
Was darkened by the forest's shade,
Or glistened in the white cascade,

Where upward in the mellow blush of day
The noisy bittern wheeled his spiral way.