To thee, O Christ, thy Father's light,
Life, vertue, which our heart inspires,
In presence of thine angels bright,
We sing with voice and with desires:
Our selves we mutually invite
To melody with answering quires.
With reverence we those souldiers praise,
Who near the heavenly throne abide,
And chiefly him whom God doth raise
His strong celestial host to guide,
Michael, who by his power dismays,
And beateth down the devil's pride.

BY JAMES H. PERKINS .

Stand back; uncovered stand: for, lo!
The parents that have lost their child.
Bow to the majesty of wo!

He came, an herald from above;
Pure from his God he came to them,
Teaching new duties, deeper love;
And, like the boy of Bethlehem,

1

Oh, why don't you work
Like other men do?
How the hell can I work
When there's no work to do?
Hallelujah, I'm a bum,
Hallelujah, bum again,
Hallelujah, give us a handout,
To revive us again.

2

Oh, I love my boss
And my boss loves me,
And that is the reason
I'm so hungry,
Hallelujah, etc.

3

Oh, the springtime has came
And I'm just out of jail,
Without any money,

Upon yon bridge a maiden see,
She weeps — she weeps — how bitterly!

And lo! her lover passes by,
With proud and with reproachful eye.

" O come, on Sabbath morn to me,
And I will wreathe a wreath for thee. "

Morn came — he came not to the maid,
And then the flowery wreath decay'd.

The rain rush'd down — the flowrets died,
Because the youth his vow belied.

Ye stars! so small, so bright,
So beautiful, whose ray
Has led me thro' the night —
Has lighted all my way.

And thou, most fair of all,
The first — the morning star,
At whose awakening call,
I sought my love afar.

T HOU moon, in clouds bedight,
So distantly above,
Thou bringest to my sight
My pure and distant love.

M Y father oft to me,
While yet an infant, said: —
" Poor boy! his lot will be
To fare on bitter bread. "

M Y mother o'er me sigh'd,
And said — " Poor child! for him,

BY MRS. JULIA L. DUMONT .

Eternal vestige of departed years!
Mysterious signet of a race gone by,
Unscath'd while Ruin o'er the earth careers,
And round thy base the wrecks of ages lie.
Reveal'st thou nought to the inquiring eye?
What fearful changes Time has given birth
Since first thy form, where now the oak towers high,
A dark gray mass, rose from the verdant earth.

Ah! where are those who proudly trod thy brow,
Ere yet thy bright green coronals waved there—
The strong, the brave, their race—where is it now?

The very towers that time destroys,
Time may rebuild as built before;
But ruins of departed joys —
These can be rear'd to joy no more.

The forests which the axe hath laid
In dust, may spring to life anew;
But — have the dying or the dead
A germ which spring can waken too?

M Y love is wrapp'd in mortal clay —
But were a granite bed his own,
With mine own nails I'd dig my way,
Through even the hardest granite-stone.

In a dream there came to me
As to Caedmon of old,
A Stranger, and " Sing! " said he,
" Sing! Be bold! "

And even as Caedmon did
I answered him, " Nay, my lord,
I have nothing to sing in truth,
No voice, no word. "

" Aye, but you have, " smiled he;
And I answered him, " I am fain,
But what must I sing? " He said,
" Sing the rain! "

. . . . . . . . . .
The rain I sing, — the summer rain
Netting in its crystal skein
Field and forest, lawn and hill,
The wild rain that is never still,

Oh, Love is full of high disdains,
And Passion sharp with bitter pains:
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Love is a rose that holds a bee,
Which stings and dies; but what care we?
The rose remains!

BY JACOB W. ELY .

Oh his heart was sad in his early day,
 When the lights of youth around him shone,
And beamed from the brows of the young and gay,
 As tireless time danced gayly on—
But in friendship's throng, when the soul rose high,
And pleasure shone from the sparkling eye,
And the heart breathed forth a warmth and truth,
Which it only feels in the days of youth,
A voice to his heart would coldly say,
‘What dost thou here? away! away!’

Hope led him on, to the fountain bright,