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I join them in their songs of gladness,

And feel the happiness I see;
Yet I have known no thought of sadness

Since I knew thee!

Mine are the prouder hopes of life,

The hopes that cannot dread decay, That see no evil, fear no strife

To meet and grapple on the way; The thoughts that thrill, the joys that blessThat language never can expressAll-all are mine-my bosom’s treasure

Hopes, joys, and thoughts—the happy threeMy life hath been a life of pleasure,

Since I knew thee!

For all these gifts what can I find

What offering wilt thou keep?
A changeless faith-a constant mind-

Devotion pure and deep-
Unwearying thoughts of thee and thine ?
These—my soul's idol shall be thine.
My heart Ỉ give not-that alone

My offering cannot be-
For ah! it never was my own
Since I knew thee!

ANON.

NATURE'S GIFTS.
I can find comfort in the words and looks

Of simple hearts and gentle souls; and I
Can find companionship in ancient books,

When lonely on the grassy hills I lie,

Under the shadow of the tranquil sky; I can find music in the rushing brooks,

Or in the songs which dwell among the trees, And come in snatches on the summer breeze.

I can find treasure in the leafy showers

Which in the merry autumn-time will fall; And I can find strong love in buds and flowers, And beauty in the moonlight's silent hours.

There's nothing nature gives can fail to please, For there's a common joy pervading all.

ANON.

UNTRODDEN GROUND.
Lines suggested by a Nameless Landscape.
What avail, though earth be wide ?
All its beauty hath been spied !
Where's the vale that lies so still,
Bosom'd in so calm a hill,
That no wanderer ever found ?
Where's the spot of holy ground ?
Isle, or peak, or promontory,
That hath not some human story,
Dark with guilt, or gloom'd with woe?
Where's the water's peaceful flow,
Lake, or sea, or river deep,
Resting in such dreamy sleep,
That no eye e'er look'd upon,
Save the stars, the moon, the sun ?
Where's the wood so dense and green,
That no human hut hath seen;
Where no war-song ever peaľd,
Where no savage lay conceal'd,

Since the day the world began?
No where-no where! all earth round
Is unholy, common ground,

And iš trod by common man!
Poet, hail! and Painter, too!
There are regions known to you,
Mountains old and rivers wide,
That no eye but yours hath spied !
You behold, in valleys deep,
Quiet people with their sheep,

Like the shepherd-race of old
In the fabled years of gold !
You see rivers flowing on,
Golden with the setting sun ;
And the little boats you see,
Sail upon them tranquilly!
You see cities, old and lone,
Built as of eternal stone,
Silent, stately, and sublime:
Relics of an ancient time,
Of a race long pass'd away:
Ye are stronger than decay!
Ye can people each old place,
With its gone, forgotten race,
Ye can know whate'er they knew!
Poet, hail! and Painter, too,
Traveller ne'er was wise as you!

MARY HOWITT.

SPRING HYMN. How pleasant is the opening year!

The clouds of winter melt away; The flowers in beauty reappear;

The songster carols from the spray; Lengthens the more refulgent day;

And bluer glows the arching sky; All things around us seem to say,

“Christian! direct thy thoughts on high.” In darkness, through the dreary length

Of Winter, slept both bud and bloom ; But nature now puts forth her strength,

And starts, renew'd, as from the tomb; Behold an emblem of thy doom,

O man!-a Star hath shone to saveAnd morning yet shall reillume

The midnight darkness of the grave!

Yet ponder well, how then shall break

The dawn of second life on thee-
Shalt thou to hope—to bliss awake?

Or vainly strive God's wrath to flee?
Then shall pass forth the dread decree,

That makes or weal or woe thine own;
Up, and to work! Eternity
Must reap the harvest Time hath sown!

DELTA.

THE HEART.
TAE heart—the gifted heart-
Who may reveal its depths to human sight!

What eloquence impart,
The softness of its love—the grandeur of its might!

It is the seat of bliss,
The blessed home of all affections sweet;

It smiles where friendship is,
It glows wherever social feelings meet.

'Tis Virtue's hallow'd fane-
'Tis Freedom's first, and best, and noblest shield!

A strength that will remain,
When grosser powers and feebler spirits yield!

It is Religion's shrine,
From whence our holiest aspirations wing;

Where joys, which are divine,
And hopes, which are of heaven, alone may spring!

The fount of tendernessWhere every purer passion hath its birth,

To cheer-to charm-to bless And sanctify our pilgrimage on earth.

Oh heart! till life be o'er,
Shed round the light and warmth of thy dear flame,

And I will ask no more
Of earthly happiness or earthly fame!

CHARLES SWAIN.

A WORLD WITHOUT WATER.

Yesternight I pray'd aloud,

In anguish and in agony;
Upstarting from the fiendish crowd
Of shapes and thoughts that tortured me.

Coleridge.

I HAD a dream in the dead of night,

A dream of agony;
I thought the world stood in affright,
Beneath the hot and parching light

Of an unclouded sky;
I thought there had fallen no cooling rain
For months upon the feverish plain,

And that all the springs were dry:

And I was standing on a hill,

And looking all around:
I know not how it was; but still

Strength in my limbs was found,
As if with a spell of threefold life,

My destinies were bound.

Beneath me was a far-spread heath,

Where once had risen a spring,
Looking as bright as a silver wreath

In its graceful wandering:
But now the sultry glance of the sun,

And the glare of the dark-blue sky,
Had check'd its course,-no more to run

In light waves wandering by.

And farther on was a stately wood,

With its tall trees rising high,
But now like autumn wrecks they stood

Beneath a summer sky:

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