THE STRANGER'S GIFT.

I FOUND far culled from fragrant field and grove Each flower that makes our Spring a welcome

guest;

In one sweet bond of brotherhood inwove

An osier band their leafy stalks compressed;
A stranger's hand had made their bloom my own,
And fresh their fragrance rested on the air;
His gift was mine- but he who gave unknown,
And my heart sorrowed though the flowers were
fair.

Now oft I grieve to meet them on the lawn,
As sweetly scattered round my path they grow,
By One who on their petals paints the dawn,
And gilt with sunset splendors bids them glow,
For I ne'er asked who steeps them in perfume?”
Nor anxious sought His love who crowns them all
with bloom.

THY BEAUTY FADES.

THY beauty fades and with it too my love,
For 'twas the self-same stalk that bore its flower;
Soft fell the rain, and breaking from above
The sun looked out upon our nuptial hour;
And I had thought forever by thy side
With bursting buds of hope in youth to dwell,
But one by one Time strewed thy petals wide,
And every hope's wan look a grief can tell :
For I had thoughtless lived beneath his sway,
Who like a tyrant dealeth with us all,

Crowning each rose, though rooted on decay,
With charms that shall the spirit's love enthral,
And for a season turn the soul's pure eyes

From virtue's changeless bloom that time and death defies.

BEAUTY.

I GAZED upon thy face,-and beating life
Once stilled its sleepless pulses in my breast,
And every thought whose being was a strife
Each in its silent chamber sank to rest;

I was not, save it were a thought of thee,
The world was but a spot where thou hadst trod,
From every star thy glance seemed fixed on me,
Almost I loved thee better than my God.
And still I gazé, but 'tis a holier thought
Than that in which my spirit lived before,
Each star a purer ray of love has caught,
Earth wears a lovelier robe than then it wore,
And every lamp that burns around thy shrine
Is fed with fire whose fountain is Divine.

THE WIND-FLOWER.

THOU lookest up with meek confiding eye
Upon the clouded smile of April's face,
Unharmed though Winter stands uncertain by
Eyeing with jealous glance each opening grace.
Thou trustest wisely! in thy faith arrayed
More glorious thou than Israel's wisest King;
Such faith was his whom men to death betrayed
As thine who hear'st the timid voice of Spring,
While other flowers still hide them from her call
Along the river's brink and meadow bare.

Thee will I seek beside the stony wall,

And in thy trust with childlike heart would share, O'erjoyed that in thy early leaves I find

A lesson taught by him who loved all human kind.

THE ROBIN.

THOU need'st not flutter from thy half-built nest,
Whene'er thou hear'st man's hurrying feet go by,
Fearing his eye for harm may on thee rest,
Or he thy young unfinished cottage spy;
All will not heed thee on that swinging bough,
Nor care that round thy shelter spring the leaves,
Nor watch thee on the pool's wet margin now
For clay to plaster straws thy cunning weaves;
All will not hear thy sweet out-pouring joy,
That with morn's stillness blends the voice of song,
For over-anxious cares their souls employ,
That else upon thy music borne along

And the light wings of heart-ascending prayer Had learned that Heaven is pleased thy simple joys to share.