I looked up to God and I said:
" Art Thou there? I am here. "
I waited in dread.
God said: " I am here. "

I answered Him: " Thus spake the word:
Thou art I ... I am Thou!
Is this true, then, O Lord? "
God said: " I am Thou. "

Then doubt shook my soul for a span,
And I cried, " When all's answered and done,
Art Thou God, but the echo of man? "
God said: " We are one. "

I

When I was young, and wanton, wide-eyed Life
Teased me from sleeping, Love himself did come
Me to console and learn to dream awake.
With heavenly toys my pillow he bestrewed,
Gifts of Dame Venus in his babyhood —
The little mirror that had held her face;
A golden shoe that Pegasus had cast,
One of her dove's bright plumes, an irised edge
Broke from the shell she lay in at her birth:
A rose kissed open by immortal lips.
All night I with the pretty baubles played,
Then asked his name, not knowing him who he was.

Our cock crows loudly, lustily,
The morn begins to shine;
My love is thinking — thinking of me,
Gentle mother mine!
Sweet youth! my heart's own child! how sweet,
Thee with thy maiden's kiss to greet —
And ask a kiss from thee.

Mother ! awake from rest — from rest,
Father says " Up, and away."
Make ready the feast — make ready the feast,
For thy daughter's marriage-day;
Thy daughter's marriage-day is this;
She must awake to bliss — to bliss,
And leave the pillow she prest.

A ND O! my lover draws near — draws near —

THE M OTHER'S Curse .

Early, at the Sabbath dawning,
Hermann combed his faithful charger:
When his mother to him hastened,
And she offered him four apples —
" Whither art thou speeding, Hermann?
Wherefore hast thy courser saddled? "
" I am going to my maiden,
To my well-beloved Dortha. "
" Go not thither, Hermann! go not;
Send thy saddled steed to bring her. " —
" Nay, I will not be uncourteous,
Will not let the guests draw hither,
While I tarry in my dwelling. "

BY JAMES H. PERKINS .

By earth hemmed in, by earth oppressed,
'Tis hard to labor; hard to pray:
And of the week, for prayer and rest
We 've but one Sabbath day.

But purer spirits walk above,
Who worship alway; who are blest
With an upspringing might of love,
That makes all labor rest.

Father! while here, I would arise
In spirit to that realm; and there,

BY WILLIAM WALLACE .

Harp of Eternity! — thy strings
Ten thousand thousand years have told,
Since o'er thy frame the mystic wings
Of time unwearied roll'd;
And still from that mysterious throne
Thy song, magnificent and lone,
Peals nightly as of old,
When Chaldea's Shepherd bent his ear
To catch the music of each sphere.

How fondly gazed that old man round
The dread magnificence above,

BY HUGH PETERS .

The boat swings from the pebbled shore,
And proudly drives her prow;
The crested waves roll up before: —
Yon dark gray land, I see no more,
How sweet it seemeth now!
Thou dark gray land, my native land,
Thou land of rock and pine,
I 'm speeding from thy golden sand;
But can I wave a farewell hand
To such a shore as thine?

I 've gazed upon the golden cloud

Benign Creator of the stars,
Eternal light of faithful eyes,
Christ, whose redemption none debars,
Do not our humble prayers despise:

Who for the state of mankind griev'd,
That it by death destroy'd should be,
Hast the diseased world reliev'd,
And given the guilty remedy.

When th' evening of the world drew near,
Thou as a bridegroom deign'st to come
Out of thy wedding-chamber dear,
Thy virgin mother's purest womb.

To the strong force of whose high reign
All knees are bow'd with gesture low,

Jerusalem, that place divine,
The vision of sweet peace is nam'd,
In heaven her glorious turrets shine,
Her walls of living stones are fram'd,
While angels guard her on each side,
Fit company for such a bride.
She deckt in new attire from heaven,
Her wedding-chamber now descends,
Prepar'd in marriage to be given
To Christ, on whom her joy depends.
Her walls wherewith she is inclos'd,
And streets are of pure gold compos'd.
The gates adorn'd with pearls most bright
The way to hidden glory show;
And thither by the blessed might

BY EPHRAIM PEABODY .

The silent wilderness for me!
Where never sound is heard,
Save the rustling of the squirrel's foot,
And the flitting wing of bird,
Or its low and interrupted note,
And the deer's quick, crackling tread,
And the swaying of the forest boughs,
As the wind moves overhead.

Alone, (how glorious to be free!)
My good dog at my side,
My rifle hanging in my arm,