HOLY THURSDAY.

'TWAS on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean, Came children walking two and two, in red, and blue,

and green:

Grey-headed beadles walk'd before, with wands as white

as snow,

Till into the high dome of Paul's, they like Thames' waters flow.

O what a multitude they seem'd, these flowers of London

town,

Seated in companies they were, with radiance all their

own:

The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs, Thousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands.

Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice

of song,

Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among : Beneath them sit the aged men, wise guardians of the poor. Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.

NIGHT.

THE sun descending in the west,
The evening star does shine,
The birds are silent in their nest,

And I must seek for mine.

The moon, like a flower

In heaven's high bower,
With silent delight,

Sits and smiles on the night.

Farewell, green fields and happy grove,

Where flocks have ta'en delight;

Where lambs have nibbled, silent move
The feet of angels bright;

Unseen, they pour blessing,
And joy without ceasing,
On each bud and blossom,

And each sleeping bosom.

They look in every thoughtless nest,
Where birds are covered warm;

They visit caves of every beast,
To keep them all from harm :

If they see any weeping

That should have been sleeping,
They pour sleep on their head,
And sit down by their bed.

When wolves and tigers howl for prey,
They pitying stand and weep;
Seeking to drive their thirst away,

And keep them from the sheep.

But if they rush dreadful,
The angels, most heedful,
Receive each mild spirit,
New worlds to inherit.

And there the lion's ruddy eyes
Shall flow with tears of gold:
And pitying the tender cries,

And walking round the fold:

Saying Wrath by his meekness,
And by His health, sickness,

Are driven away

From our immortal day.

'And now beside thee, bleating lamb,

I can lie down and sleep,

Or think on Him who bore thy name,
Graze after thee, and weep.

For wash'd in life's river,
My bright mane for ever
Shall shine like the gold,
As I guard o'er the fold.'

NURSE'S SONG.

WHEN the voices of children are heard on the green,

And laughing is heard on the hill,

My heart is at rest within my breast,

And everything else is still.

Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down,

And the dews of night arise;

Come, come, leave off play, and let us away

Till the morning appears in the skies.

No, no, let us play, for it is yet day,
And we cannot go to sleep;

Besides, in the sky the little birds fly,

And the hills are all covered with sheep.

Well, well, go and play till the light fades away,
And then go home to bed.

The little ones leap'd, and shouted, and laugh'd,
And all the hills echoèd.