love poetry

FROM THE GERMAN .

A LL the week we spend
Full of childish bliss;
Every changing scene
Brings its happiness;
Yet our joys would not be full,
Had we not the Sabbath-school.

Lovely is the dawn
Of each rising day;
Loveliest, the morn
Of the Sabbath day!
Then our infant thoughts are full

Cumbered with earthly care,
Her lot, to do and bear,
To watch and wait,
Martha, with tender thought,
Her loving service brought;
It was for Christ she wrought
Early and late.

Mary (a place most sweet!),
Low at the Saviour's feet,
Hung on His word;
Hers, but in love sincere,
Waiting His voice to hear,
With meek and holy fear,
Beside her Lord.

Be ours the bliss to sit,
Waiting at Jesus' feet, —
The twain in one, —
Whether we hear or do,
With patient hearts and true,

Who shall not love the weak and young?
The oak-tree, wide and tall,
A shade on land, a ship at sea,
Was once an acorn small.

Who shall not love the bloom of youth?
The buds of blushing spring
In summer beauty will expand,
And richest harvests bring.

Who shall not love the cloud that floats,
Slight as the human hand,
But in its fertile bosom bears,
Blessings for all the land?

Who shall not love the opening world?
The morning's first faint ray
Shines, a sweet harbinger of joy,

The God of battles praise;
Paeans of honor raise,
With heart and song.
God is our shield and tower,
Our strength in danger's hour;
To Him all might and power
And praise belong.

Here, O memorial, stand, —
Here, where the patriot band
Battled so well;
Here, where the nation's pride
The rushing storm defied;
Here, where the true and tried,
Unconquered, fell.

Tears for the loved and lost;
Joy for the land which cost
Such sacrifice.
Fond memory, grateful, weeps

THE OBJECTION .

I.

Each man who lives, the scriptures prove,
Must as himself his neighbour love;
But though the precept's full of beauty,
'Tis an impracticable duty:
I'll-prove how hard it is to find
A lover of this wondrous kind.

II.

Who loves himself to great excess,
You'll grant must love his neighbour less;
When self engrosses all the heart
How can another have a part?
Then if self-love most men enthral,
A neighbour's share is none at all.

While I am waiting for the flower why should I doubt the seed?
While I am waiting for you to love me why should I doubt your love?
While I am waiting for the ship to come in why should I doubt the ship?
While I am waiting for the total why should I doubt the pieces?
While I am waiting for tomorrow why should I doubt today?
While I am waiting for the sun why should I doubt the eclipse?
While I am waiting to be happy why should I doubt my grief?
While I am waiting for the end why should I doubt the chapters?

Encore des Amours.

Once I was musing, " I am old and lone;
Those gods have left me, whom in youth we hail:
The hope they gave me is for ever gone;
To close mine eyes that fickle troop will fail "
Lo! as I speak, a fairy comes, and smiles;
Soon as she speaks, my ravished senses play;
Ah! 'tis again some beauty full of wiles —
Not all the Loves, not all have flown away!
Yes, it may prove once more a source of pain,

" THE BOYS "

Where are the boys of earlier years,
Once known and loved so well?
Where childhood's hopes and childhood's fears,
O Muse of history, tell?

Where are the noisy shouts that spoke
In wild joy on the air?
Where are the lips, in love which spoke —
The echoes answer, Where?

Where are the ready eye and hand
That made our greetings sweet?

I AM the storm that Northward loves to flee,
Thou art the moonlight on a tranquil sea:
How can such I with such a Thou agree?

Thou art the beam that lights the lily's eyes,
I the wild hail that from the black cloud flies;
O endless chasm that between us lies!

I wild, inconstant, earth's dark guest, and Thou,
With almost angel-clearness on thy brow; —
Come, Love, and show thyself almighty, now!

I've vow'd to forget him again and again;
But vows are as licht as the air is, I trow;
For something within me aye comes wi' a sten',
And dunts on my heart till I gi'e up the vow.

I gaed to Spunk Janet, the spaewife, yestreen —
I've often heard folk o' her wisdom approve: —
Quoth she, " It's your fortune you're wantin', I ween? " —
" Na! Janet, " quoth I, " will ye cure me o' love? "