Gifts.

THE INNER VISION.

OST sweet it is with unuplifted eyes

To pace the ground, if path there be or none,
While a fair region round the traveller lies
Which he forbears again to look upon;
Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene,
The work of fancy, or some happy tone
Of meditation, slipping in between
The beauty coming and the beauty gone.
If Thought and Love desert us, from that day
Let us break off all commerce with the Muse:
With Thought and Love companions of our way,
Whate'er the senses take or may refuse,

The Mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews
Of inspiration on the humblest lay.

WORDSWORTH.

THE GLORY OF NATURE.

F only once the chariot of the morn

Had scattered from its wheels the twilight dun, But once the unimaginable sun

Flashed godlike through perennial clouds forlorn,
And shown us Beauty for a moment born;

If only once blind eyes had seen the Spring,
Waking amid the triumphs of mid-noon;

But once had seen the lovely Summer boon
Pass by in state like a full-robèd king,

The waters dance, the woodlands laugh and sing;

If only once deaf ears had heard the joy

Of the wild birds, or morning breezes blowing, Or silver fountains from their caverns flowing, Or the deep-voiced rivers rolling by ;

Then night eternal fallen from the sky;

If only once weird Time had rent asunder

The curtain of the clouds, and shown us night
Climbing into the awful Infinite-

Those stairs whose steps are worlds, above and under,
Glory on glory, wonder upon wonder!

The lightnings lit the earthquake on his way;
The sovran thunder spoken to the world;
The realm-wide banners of the wind unfurled;
Earth-prisoned fires broke loose into the day;
Or the great seas awoke-then slept for aye!—

Ah! sure the heart of man, too strongly tried
By Godlike Presences so vast and fair,

Withering with dread, or sick with love's despair,
Had wept for ever and to Heaven cried,
Or, struck with lightnings of delight, had died.

But he, though heir of Immortality,

With mortal dust too feeble for the sight, Draws through a veil God's overwhelming light; Use arms the soul-anon there moveth by

A more majestic angel--and we die!

FREDERICK TENNYSON.

As

THE LATTICE AT SUNRISE.

S on my bed at dawn I mused and prayed,
I saw my lattice prankt upon the wall,
The flaunting leaves and flitting birds withal-
A sunny phantom interlaced with shade;
'Thanks be to heaven,' in happy mood I said,
'What sweeter aid my matins could befall
Than this fair glory from the East hath made?
What holy sleights hath God, the Lord of all,
To bid us feel and see! We are not free
To say we see not, for the glory comes
Nightly and daily, like the flowing sea;

His lustre pierceth through the midnight glooms;
And, at prime hour, behold! He follows me
With golden shadows to my secret rooms!'

CHARLES TURNER.

THE FOREST GLADE.

AS, one dark morn, I trod a forest glade,

A sunbeam entered at the further end,

And ran to meet me through the yielding shade—
As one who in the distance sees a friend,
And, smiling, hurries to him; but mine eyes,
Bewildered by the change from dark to bright,
Received the greeting with a quick surprise
At first, and then with tears of pure delight:
For sad my thoughts had been-the tempest's wrath
Had gloomed the night, and made the morrow grey ;
That heavenly guidance humble sorrow hath
Had turned my feet into that forest-way,

Just when His morning light came down the path,
Among the lonely woods at early day.

MAY CAROLS.

I.

CHARLES Turner.

WHO

HO feels not, when the Spring once more
Stepping o'er Winter's grave forlorn

With winged feet retreads the shore
Of widowed Earth, his bosom burn?

As ordered flower succeeds to flower,
And May the ladder of her sweets
Ascends, advancing hour by hour

From scale to scale, what heart but beats?

Some Presence veiled, in fields and groves, That mingles rapture with remorse,

Some buried joy beside us moves,

And thrills the soul with such discourse

As they, perchance, that wondering pair
Who to Emmaus bent their way,
Hearing, heard not; like them our prayer
We make 'The night is near us . . Stay!'

With Paschal chants the churches ring,

Their echoes strike along the tombs; The birds their Hallelujahs sing;

Each flower with floral incense fumes.

Our long-lost Eden seems restored;
As on we move with tearful eyes
We feel through all the illumined sward
Some upward-working Paradise.

II.

Three worlds there are :-the first of Sense-That sensuous earth which round us lies;

The next of Faith's Intelligence;

The third of Glory, in the skies.

The first is palpable, but base;

The second heavenly, but obscure;

The third is starlike in the face

But ah ! remote that world as pure!