The Ivy. [By Bernard Barton, one of the Society of Friends.] Dost thou not love in the season of spring, Its glossy leaf, and its silvery stem, Oh! dost thou not love to think on them? And dost thou not love when leaves are greenest, And summer has just begun, When in the silence of moonlight thou leanest, To see, by that gentle and peaceful beam, And oh! in a lonely autumnal day, When leaves are changing before thee, Spread their own wide influence o'er thee? And hast thou not felt as thou stood'st to gaze The touching lesson such scene displays? It should be thus, at an age like thine; And it had been thus with me; When the freshness of feeling and heart were mine As they never more can be. Yet think not I ask thee to pity my lot, Perhaps I see beauty, where thou dost not! Hast thou seen in winter's stormiest day, Not dead but sinking in slow decay Beneath time's resistless stroke; Round which a luxuriant ivy had grown And wreath'd it with verdure no longer its own, Perchance thou hast seen this sight, and then Pass carelessly by, nor turn'd again That scathed wreck to view. But now I can draw from that mouldering tree O smile not! nor think it a worthless thing Should aught be lovely which thus can shed Now in thy youth, beseech of HIM Who giveth upbraideth not, That his light in thy heart become not dim, And his love be unforgot; And thy God, in the darkest of days will be Greenness and beauty and strength to thee! The Seasons. I've seen the beauteous flowers of Spring I've heard the sweetest warblers sing, I've seen enchanting Summer rise, Fresh from her rosy bed, And scatter, through the humid skies, Rich fragrance as she fled : But, ah! she too, so fair, so gay, I've seen, when yellow Autumn, too, Have breath'd inimitable grace, And mimick'd western skies :But, ah! I've seen his fruits decay, And Autumn, too, has pass'd away. And now dread Winter (stormy sire!) Lock'd in his cold and chilling arms And wither'd are her blooming charms, Yet Winter shall not always stay, Nor shall life's dark and wintry storm Death shall dissolve this mortal form, Where changing seasons are not known, Most priz'd because 'twill ne'er decay: PAULINA. The Storm Calmed. "BUT the men marvelled, saying, What manner of man is this, that even the winds and the sea obey him?”—Matt. viii. 27. 'Tis darkness all !-No star appears Nor charms him with her gentle light: Loud, and more loud, the billows roar, The storm is fiercer than before; And soon that ship must be a wreck ! But who is this that lies asleep, The stranger wakes from his repose, And in soft whispers die away. |