English

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!’

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.

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,

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

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,