A CHILD'S THOUGHT OF GOD.

They say that God lives very high!

But if you look above the pines You cannot see our God. And why?

it.

And if you dig down in the mines
You never see Him in the gold,
Though from Him all that's glory shines.

m.

God is so good. He wears a fold

Of heaven and earth across his face— Like secrets kept, for love, untold.

iv.

But still I feel that His embrace Slides down by thrills, through all things made, Through sight and sound of every place;

v.

As if my tender mother laid

On my shut lids, her kisses' pressure, Half-waking me at night; and said

* Who kissed you through the dark, dear guesser 1'

The monarch's crown, to light th«

brows ?— 'He giveth His beloved, sleep.'

tu.

What do we give to our beloved?

A little faith all undisproved,

A little dust to overweep,

And bitter memories to make

The whole earth blasted for our sake.

'He giveth His beloved, sleep.'

iv,

'Sleep soft, beloved I' we sometimes say

But have no tune to charm away
Sad dreams that through the eyelids
creep

But never doleful dream again
Shall break the happy slumber when
'He giveth His beloved, sleep.'

v.

O earth, so full of dreary noises!
O men, with wailing in your voices!
O delved gold, the wallers heap!

0 strife, O curse, that o'er it fa:l!
God strikes a silence through you all,
And 'giveth His beloved, sleep.'

vi.

His dews drop mutely on the hill,
His cloud above it saileth still,
Though on its slope men sow and reap.
More softly than the dew is shed,
Or cloud is floated overhead,
'He giveth His beloved, sleep.'

vn.

Ay, men may wonder while they scan
A living, thinking, feeling man,
Confirmed in such a rest to keep;
But angels say, and through the word

I think their happy smile is heard—
'He giveth His beloved, sleep I'

vitt.

For me, my heart that erst did go
Most like a tired child at a show,
That sees through tears the mummers
leap,

Would now its wearied vision close.
Would childlike on His love repose,
Who * giveth His beloved, sleep!'

iX.

And, friends, dear friends,—when it shall be

That this low breath is gone from me,
And round my bier ye come to weep,
Let one, most loving of you all,
Say, 'Not a tear must o'er her fall—
He giveth His beloved, sleep.'

MAN AND NATURE.

A Sad man on a summer day

Did look upon the earth and say—

* Purple cloud the hill-top binding;
Folded hills the valleys wind in;
Valleys, with fresh streams among you;
Streams, with bosky trees along you;
Trees, with many birds and blossoms;
Birds, with music-trembling bosoms;
Blossoms, dropping dews that wreath
you

To your fellow flowers beneath you;
Flowers, that constellate on earth;
Earth, that shakest to the mirth
Of the merry Titan ocean,
All his shining hair in motion!
Wby am I thus the only one
Who can be dark beneath the sun?*

But when the summer day was past,
He looked to heaven and smiled at last.
Self answered so—

'Because, O cloud,
Pressing with tby crumpled shroud
Heavily on mountain top;
Hills that almost seem to drop,
Stricken with a misty death
To the valleys underneath;
Valleys, sighing with the torrent;
Waters, streaked with branches hor-
rent;

Branchless trees, that shake your head Wildly o'er your blossoms spread Where the common flowers are found; Flowers, with foreheads to the ground;

Ground, that shriek est while the sea

With his iron smiteth thee—

I am, besides, the only one

Who can be bright without the sun.'

A SEA-SIDE WALK..

We walked beside the sea After a day which perished silently Of its own glory—like the Princes* weird

Who, combating; the Genius, scorched and seared.

Uttered with burning breath, ' Ho ! victory I'

And sank adown an heap of ashes pale. So runs the Arab tale.

tt.

The sky above as showed An universal and unmoving cloud. On which the cliffs permitted us to see Only the outline of their majesty, As master minds, when gazed at by the crowd I

And, shining with a gloom, the water Swang in its moon-taught way. iii.

Nor moon, nor stars were out. They did not dare to tread so soon about. Though trembling, in the footsteps of the sun.

The light was neither night's nor day's, but one

Which, life-like, had a beauty in its doubt:

And Silence's impassioned breathings round

Seemed wandering into sound.

O solemn-beating heart Of nature! I have knowledge that thou art

Bound unto man's by cords he cannot sever—

And, what time they are slackened by him ever.

So to attest his own supernal part.
Still runneth tby vibration fast and
strong,
The slackened cord along.

v.

For though we never spoke Of the grey water and the shaded rock, Dark wave and stone unconsciously

were fused Into the plaintive speaking that we used Of absent friends and memories unfor

sook;

And, had we seen each other's face, we had

Seen haply, each was sad.

THE SEA-MEW.

AFFECTiONATELY iNSCRiBED TO M. E. H.

How joyously the young sea-mew
Lay dreaming on the waters blue,
Whereon our little bark had thrown
A forward shade, the only one,
But shadows ever man pursue.

tt.

Familiar with the waves and free
As if their own white foam were he.
His heart upon the heart of ocean
Lay learning all its mystic motion,
And throbbing to the throbbing sea.

m.

And such a brightness in his eye,
As if the ocean and the sky
Within him had lit up and nurst
A soul God gave h!m net at first.
To comprehend their majesty.

iv.

We were not cruel* yet did sunder
His white wing from the blue waves
under,

And bound it, while his fearless eyes
Shone up to ours in calm surprise,
As deeming us some ocean wonder!

v.

We bore our ocean bird unto
A grassy place, where he might view
The flowers that curtsey to the bees,
The waving of the tall green trees,
The falling of the stiver dew.

vi.

But flowers of earth were pale to him Who had seen the rainbow fishes swim; And when earth's dew around him lay He thought of ocean's winged spray, And his eye waxed sad and dim.

vtt,

The green trees round him only made
A prison with their darksome shade:
And drooped his wing, and mourned he
For his own boundless glittering sea—
Albeit he knew not they could fade.

vitt.

Then One her gladsome face did bring,
Her gentle voice's murmuring,
In ocean's stead his heart to move
And teach him what was human love—
He thought it a strange, mournful thing.

iX.

He lay down in his grief to die,
(First looking to the sea-like sky
That hath no waves!) because, alas I
Our human touch did on him pass,
And with our touch, our agony.

MY DOVES.

0 Weisheit i Du red'st wie elue Ttmbe!

Gobthe,

My little doves have left a nest

Upon an Indian tree.
Whose leaves fantastic take their rest

Or motion from the sea:
For, ever there, the sea-winds go
With sun-lit paces to and fro.

The tropic flowers looked up to it,

The tropic stars looked down. And there my little doves did sit,

With feathers softly brown. And glittering eyes that showed their right

To general Nature's deep delight.

And God them taught, at every close
Of murmuring waves beyond,

And green leaves round, to interpose
Their choral voices fond;

Interpreting that love must be

The meantng of the earth and sea

Fit ministers! Of living loves.
Theirs hath the calmest fashion;

Their living voice the likest moves
To lifeless intonation,

Their lovely monotone of springs

And winds and such insensate things.

My little doves were ta'en away
From that glad nest of theirs,

Across an ocean rolling grey,
And tempest-clouded airs.

My little doves!—who lately knew

The sky and wave by warmth and blue!

And now, within the city prison.

In mist and chillness pent,
With sudden upward look they listen

For sounds of past content—
For lapse of water, swell of breeze,
Or nut-fruit falling from the trees.

The stir without the glow of passion—

The triumph of the mart—
The gold and silver as they clash on

Man's cold and metallic heart—
The roar of wheels, the cry for bread,—
These only sounds are heard instead.

Yet still, as on my human hand
Their fearless heads they lean,

And almost seem to understand
What human musings mean—

(Their eyes with such a plaintive shine,

Are fastened upwardly to mine!)

Soft falls their chant as on the nest,

Beneath the sunny zone;
For love that stirred it in their breast

Has not aweary grown.
And 'neath the city's shade can keep
The well of music clear and deep.

And love that keeps the music, nils

With pastoral memories;
All echoings from out the hills.

All droppings from the skies,
All flowings from the wave and wind,
Remembered in their chant, I find.

So teach ye me the wisest part,

My little doves I to move
Along the city-ways with heart

Assured by holy love,
And vocal with such songs as own
A fountain to the world unknown.

'Twas hard to sing by Babel's stream—
More hard, in Babel's street!

But if the soulless creatures deem
Their music not unmeet

For sunless walls—let us begin,

Who wear immortal wings within!

To me, fair memories belong
Of scenes that used to bless;

For no regret, but present song,
And lasting thankfulness;

And very soon to break away.

Like types, in purer things than they.

I will have hopes that cannot fade,
For flowers the valley yields:

I will have humble thoughts instead
Of silent dewy fields;

My spirit and my God shall be

My sea-ward hill, my boundless sea!

TO MARY RUSSELL MITFORD.

iN HER GARDEN.

What time I lay these rbymes anear tby feet,

Benignant friend! I will not proudly say

As better poets use, 'These flowers I lay, '

Because I would not wrong tby roses sweet,

Blaspheming so their name. And yet, repeat

Thou, overleaning them this springtime day.

With heart as open to love as theirs to May,

'Low-rooted verse may reach some heavenly heat,

Even like my blossoms, if as naturetrue.

Though not as precious.' Thou art unperplext.

Dear friend, in whose dear writings

drops the dew And blow the natural airs; thou, who

art next

To nature's self in cheering the world's view.

To preach a sermon on so known a text!

THE EXILE'S RETURN.

When from thee, weeping I removed,
And from my land for years,

I thought not to return, Beloved,
With those same parting tears.

I come again to hill and lea,
Weeping for thee,

tt.

I clasped thy hand when standing last

Upon the shore in sight.
'The land is green, the ship is fast,

I shall be there to night! /shall be there—no longer we—

No more with thee.

m.

•Had I beheld thee dead and still,
I might more clearly know,

How heart of thine could turn as chill
As hearts by nature so;

How change could touch the falsehoodfree

And changeless thee!

iv.

But now thy fervid looks last-seen

Within my soul remain,
'Tis hard to think that they have been.

To be no more again—
That I shall vainly wait—ah me!

A word from thee.

I could not bear to look upon
That mound of funeral clay.

Where one sweet voice is silence,—one rEthereal brow decay;

Where all thy mortal I may see,
But never thee.

vt.

For thou art where all friends are gone

Whose parting pain is o'er: And I who love and weep alone,

Where thou wilt weep no more. Weep bitterly and selfishly.

For me, not thee.

vn.

I know, Beloved, thou canst not know

That I endure this pain! For saints in Heaven, the Scriptures show

Can never grieve again— And grief known mine, even there, would be Still shared by thee!

A SONG AGAINST SINGING.

TO E. J. H.

They bid me sing to thee, Thou golden-haired and silver-voicad child,

With lips by no worse sigh than sleep's defiled;

With eyes unknowing how tears dim the sight;

With feet all trembling at the new delight

Treaders of earth to be!

tt.

Ah no! the lark may bring A song to thee from out the morning cloud;

The merry river from its lilies bowed; The brisk rain from the trees ; the lucky wind.